‘No way I’m leaving now,’ Fiona declared stubbornly. She never changed her mind about anything, that one. ‘This could be the day that changes our lives. School play Calamity Jane one day, TV actress the next.’
Nancy and Olive giggled at her optimism.
‘Aye okay, Doris Day, we’ll humour you. But I tell you, don’t fall out with me if this bloke takes one look at me and gives me the part,’ Nancy teased.
But, of course, that wasn’t what happened, because, a few weeks later, Olive made sure that it was her name in lights, by doing something she’d never have believed she was capable of. She’d…
‘Found her! Well, slap my thigh and call me Agatha Christie,’ Calvin hollered, shocking Odette straight back into the present, to a comfy leather seat that was stuck in a traffic jam on a Glasgow motorway.
Odette’s heart began to beat faster. ‘You did? Are you sure?’
Calvin held the iPad across the seats so that she could see the information on the screen. The first thing was an obituary, saying that Peter Jenkins had passed away, and was survived by his wife, Nancy. The second was a photograph from theWeirbridge Gazette, of a school reunion the year before, and along the bottom were the names of the people in the photo – one of them was Nancy Jenkins.
Calvin used his fingers to zoom in and make the face larger and… Odette couldn’t conceal her gasp. She was much older now, obviously, but there was the unmistakable smiling face that she’d stood next to in the audition queue that day. Nancy Jenkins.
‘That’s her. But how do I find her? Do you think she still lives in Weirbridge?’
‘I know she does,’ Calvin beamed proudly. ‘Because look!’
He opened another tab, and there was a tiny advert from theWeirbridge Gazette.
Garage sale. Saturday 27 October 2018. Yellow Cottage, River Lane, Weirbridge. Please note that Nancy Jenkins will donate all proceeds to Macmillan Cancer Support in memory of her late husband, Peter.
‘That’s her. That’s definitely her.’
‘Great. Are you going to tell me why you’re looking for her? Old friend? Are you bearing a grudge? Hang on, is she a long-lost sister, because if so, I’m calling Elliot and we’re getting the documentary team in on this.’
‘Old friend.’
‘Ah well,’ Calvin replied, showing obvious disappointment that it wasn’t a long-lost sister. ‘You could pop out and see her next week. Give you something to look forward to.’
Odette thought about that and immediately dismissed it. No. Who knew what could happen between now and next week? The sooner she went, the sooner she’d begin to fix her karma. Besides, next week she wouldn’t have a car and a driver, so she was as well making the most of it on her last day.
‘Harry, can you turn the car around. I want to go to River Lane in Weirbridge.’
‘Now?’ Calvin exclaimed. ‘But… but… it’s almost six o’clock and I’ve got dinner reservations for us at eight. I’m not cancelling, Odette. It’s been arranged for ages, our final professional goodbye, and I’ve got some lovely treats planned for you.’
Odette was touched. The poor soul looked so panicked.
‘Then we’ll go straight there afterwards. A bit of lippy and some perfume and I’ll be fine. Harry, head for Weirbridge please. I need to call on an old friend.’
Or at least, she used to be a friend. Odette was fairly sure there’d be no warm welcome waiting for her now.
18
TRESS
Tress had only seen Anya once after the accident that had killed Max and it was from a distance, at the airport, when Anya had left the country. All she’d felt then was relief.
But here she was again. And the woman who was staring back at her now looked so very different from the one that had left here four months ago.
The Anya who had been her friend for many years was tall and athletic, with corn row braids in her hair that fell down past her shoulder blades. She had captivating, deep brown eyes and the most glowing, gorgeous skin. Her outfits, whether business suits for the office or even casual at the weekend, were always the kind of colourful or monochromatic chic that a thousand articles inCosmopolitancouldn’t teach. One glance at her and anyone would say that she was stunning, classy, incredibly cool.
The lady sitting on the bench in Noah’s front porch was someone different altogether. This Anya still had the small scars on her cheek, left by her face hitting the glass of the windscreen that had shattered on impact. Her hair was shorter now, shoulder length, just a basic bob style that didn’t catch the eye. Her clothes were unremarkable too. Black jeans. Black jumper.A dark grey coat and boots. It was as if her whole appearance was designed to be anonymous. Invisible. To divert attention.
But the biggest change was that the mile-wide smile and the fiery eyes that had been her trademark were gone. It was as though she had lost her sparkle, been abandoned by her love of life.
Despite everything that had happened, Tress felt a pang of sympathy for her. Anya had lost everything – her home, her career, her friends, the two men she had loved, Max and Noah. And yes, what she’d done was awful. Unforgivable. But that didn’t mean that on a human level Tress didn’t have some compassion for her.
