Chapter One
CLARISSA
I was looking at a ghost. Either that or I was losing my mind.
The boy – blonde, dressed in battered Velcro sandals, blue cotton shorts and a short-sleeved T-shirt – looked up at me with wide eyes, and I felt myself sway, the tea towel I was holding floating to the floor as I reached for the door frame.
I’d been halfway through making a sponge cake for the raffle at the community centre this weekend, while listening to an interesting debate on the radio about bees.
It was a perfectly ordinary Friday. So why was this child standing in my doorway with a rucksack bursting at the seams and a ragged teddy bear clutched tight in his tiny hands?
His eyes were a haunting reminder of my past – of someone I’d said goodbye to long ago.
But it wasn’t just the eyes. It was everything.
The way his blue-and-red sandals turned inwards at the toes.
The little dimple to the left of his mouth.
The smattering of freckles on his upturned nose.
Even the shape of his chin. He couldn’t have been more than four or five.
He stared at me, unspeaking, and I glanced over his head to the taxi idling at the kerb, the driver standing next to it.
‘Righto, I’m off then. Don’t worry about settling up – the little ’un’s ma already paid.’ The cabbie turned, making to get back in the car.
‘I’m sorry, what?’
He paused, his fingers already on the door handle. ‘She said to see him to your door. I’ve done my bit. You should be proud of the lad. Good as gold, he was.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Gotta dash – got a pickup at Southampton Airport in twenty minutes, and I’m pushing it at this time of day.’
‘What?’ I shook my head, feeling slow and stupid, trying to understand what on earth was happening.
The driver, clearly frustrated, frowned as if I was missing something that should have been obvious. He gave a shrug, then looked at the boy. ‘Be good for your grandma then, fella.’ He flashed him a wink, then climbed back in the cab, revved the engine and drove away.
‘Grandma!’ I exclaimed, staring after the car in shock as it rounded the corner, leaving me alone with the silent child.
I shook my head again, helpless and confused, wondering for a brief moment if I was going senile.
If I should somehow have been expecting this boy – a grandchild – to arrive.
But that was impossible. I didn’t have any grandchildren.
I continued to stare at the empty road, waiting to see if the taxi would reappear, the driver rushing back in a panic to tell me in an apologetic, sheepish tone that he’d got the wrong house, made a massive mistake. But the road remained silent and empty. He really had gone.
I looked down at the child to find he was staring up at me with those eyes. Those familiar blue irises that unlocked a chest full of emotions I was quite sure I wasn’t prepared to face. I swallowed, then cleared my throat, taking a long, steadying breath. ‘What’s your name?’ I asked.
He shrugged, and I saw his lip tremble. Lowering myself to my haunches, I smiled, trying to hide how flustered I was. Children needed to feel cared for; to believe they could rely on a grown-up to know what to do, in any situation.
‘It’s okay,’ I reassured him. ‘You can tell me. What’s your name, darling?’
‘Tommy.’
‘Ah. Hello, Tommy. I’m Clarissa.’
He screwed up his face. ‘Mummy said I should call you Grandma.’
‘Did she?’ I furrowed my brow. ‘And what’s your mummy’s name?’ I asked, holding my breath, not daring to believe he might say the word I longed to hear.
He shook his head, looking embarrassed. ‘Mummy,’ he whispered. ‘I say Mummy. But everyone else says she’s called…’ He paused, looking up at me as if for permission, and I remembered my children when they were small, how they thought it was the height of cheekiness to call me by my given name.
‘You can say it. It’s okay,’ I said with another smile.
‘They call her Chloe.’ He gave a shrug, looking down at his sandals.
I rocked back on my heels, the air leaving my lungs in a whoosh, my fingers gripping the door frame, nails sinking into the glossy red paint, leaving a mark that would remind me of this moment for ever.
It couldn’t be true. There was no way this boy was Chloe’s son.
He had to be mistaken. It had been fifteen years since I’d lost my children. It was impossible.
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