Chapter Forty-Six
The low, cheerful hum of the foyer faded slightly as the inner doors opened, allowing the first notes of the opening worship hymn to drift out into the corridor.
Lydia stood near the welcome desk, the canvas strap of her Sunday School bag looped over her shoulder, her thoughts drifting back to Mr and Mrs Vance and how quickly they had refused her invitation to church that morning.
Ollie stood proudly in front of her, pointing his plastic drawing ruler towards his silver sandcastle medal, while Jake hovered beside William, clutching his red toy car and watching eagerly for Caleb Linton to appear.
“We have to sit near the front again today, Lydia,” Ollie informed her with seriousness. “Because my cast takes up extra room between the chairs.”
Lydia managed to keep her expression grave. “Won’t you be having that off soon?”
“Yes,” Ollie said solemnly. “Next Wednesday. My dad is taking me. Not Grandma.”
William stepped closer, the guarded tension he had worn all morning easing slightly as he caught her eye. He looked rested after two days away from the station, though a faint tightness remained around his eyes.
“Morning, Lydia,” he said, his voice low and unhurried. He glanced toward the inner doors, then back to her. “I wanted to say a proper thank you for taking Richard and Sally in a night early on Friday. I know it wasn’t planned, and I’m sorry if their arrival was abrupt.”
“Oh, there’s no need to apologise at all,” Lydia smiled warmly. “They’ve been no trouble. In fact, we had quite a long chat in the conservatory during breakfast. They were telling me about their visit to their grandchildren.”
Ethan, who had been standing quietly beside his father, looked up with sudden interest.
“How are you getting on with Grandma Sally and Grandpa Richard?” he asked. “Dad says they can be a bit particular about how things are done when we visit them in Surrey.”
Lydia’s smile held, but only just.
Grandma Sally. Grandpa Richard. Surrey.
The pieces fell into place with sickening clarity. The grandchildren who supposedly ran wild through the garden belonged to William. The incapable father was William. The neglected house was Cliffside House.
And the local woman who had supposedly inserted herself into the children’s lives was Lydia herself.
William’s brow creased. “Everything all right?”
She drew a slow breath and tightened her fingers around the strap of her bag.
“Yes,” she managed. “It’s just warm in here. We should go in—the service is starting.”
As she guided Mia and Sophie towards their usual row, the opening chords of the hymn filled the hall. Lydia took her place beside the Parkers as the congregation began to sing.
William stood close enough that his sleeve brushed hers, unaware that his in-laws had spent breakfast condemning them both.
Lydia opened the hymn sheet, but the words blurred before her eyes.