Monthly Archives: May 2014

All the nuns at the orphanage were ruthless except for Sister Francis. Well, that was how she remembered it anyway. All the others had cared about was whether or not you’d learnt your catechism or been to confession or said your Hail Mary’s properly. Not about their young charges themselves. Only whether they themselves were doing their job properly. But Sister Francis had been different from the rest of them. Sister Francis had always had a few chocolates in her capacious pockets and a few kind words of comfort if she heard you crying whilst she did her rounds. When she came to you like a short, round angel if you were upset or frightened by nightmares in the cold, dark dormitory when you woke up scared and alone at midnight she had always sat down beside you on the bed and talked to you softly until you had gone back to sleep. Sister Francis had actually cared.

And then she had vanished. One day she was there, the next she’d gone. No-one knew why, no-one knew where. And if you asked about her the others would close ranks and remain silent. It was as if she had never even existed. The days had stretched into weeks, the weeks into months and the months into years. Where she had gone and what had happened to her remained a mystery. After a while they didn’t even talk about her amongst themselves, when they were alone. It didn’t get them anywhere. Sister Francis became a myth, not a real person.

But Sister Francis was not a myth and she was not forgotten. Not totally forgotten anyway. Sophie still remembered. And when she had turned eighteen and it was finally time to leave St Anselm and St Ethelburga’s she had tried one last time. She had gone to see Mother Superior and asked. Just before she’d left she’d asked. And Mother Superior had gone white and turned away. She remembered too but she was saying nothing. Well, nothing to Sophie anyway. So Sophie had picked up her small brown suitcase and left. Left the only place she had ever called home. And she had not looked back.

For the next few years Sophie’s life had followed the predictable path of every other clever young woman of her generation. On leaving the orphanage she had moved into a small bed-sit, alone, before going on to University to study for her degree. After graduation she’d gone to work for a faceless bank in the City. Not exactly the career path she had envisaged but it was well paid and she was good at what she did. Ten years passed by quickly. Ten years since it had happened. Ten years since she had seen Sister Francis. Ten years. She had hardly thought about her childhood and her teenage years, she’d been too busy. Too busy with her new friends, with her career, with a new life free from rules and chapel and nuns and harsh punishments for unknown misdemeanours and no-one that cared about her. But still she hadn’t completely forgotten. Just occasionally, usually when she had been lying in bed in the twilight zone between being properly awake and being truly asleep, she had thought about Sister Francis and wondered. She’d thought about looking for answers before but had never known where to start.

But now things had changed. Well she thought they had changed anyway. Suddenly and without any warning. She’d just stood there and stared. She hadn’t been able to believe her eyes. Had she really seen what she thought she had seen? She wasn’t sure. Maybe not. But just maybe yes. Just maybe, at last, she might get the answers she needed. But what was the best thing to do? She didn’t know. She couldn’t just stand around and wait. She might be standing around forever. Was there anywhere she could go? Was there anyone she could ask? What was the best thing to do?

She’d never been here before. The sleepy little town had looked like a good place to just rest and recuperate. Somewhere where she could just sit and think about herself. Somewhere where she could just be herself. Somewhere where she could just come to terms with being alone again. Somewhere where she could try to learn how to just be Sophie again. Somewhere to try and forget. Somewhere to try to put her life back together. Somewhere with no memories. Somewhere where there wouldn’t be reminders around every corner. The break up with Jeff had been painful. So very painful. They had been together so long. She’d thought that they would be together for ever. But no. Not after what he had done. Not after he’d done what he’d done. She had needed stability. She’d needed someone she could rely on. She’d needed someone of her very own. She’d needed someone who loved her for herself. She’d needed someone to love. And she thought she’d found that in him. But no. Not now. Not with him. But he didn’t matter at the moment. What she had seen that morning was what mattered.

She was sure. She had no proof but she was sure. It had been so long ago but she was sure. But the moment had passed. Too quickly it had passed. Was it too late? Was it too late already? Was there anything she could do? Was there anywhere she could go? Was there anyone she could ask? She didn’t know. She just knew that she had to know. One way or the other she just had to know.

She looked round. Where should she go now? Back to the comfortable little hotel she’d found? Probably not. She’d just sit and brood if she went there. But where else was there? There wasn’t much else. Some nice walks but she didn’t much feel like walking. A small museum but she didn’t much feel like going to a museum. A shopping arcade with a few bijou boutiques but she didn’t feel much like shopping. A tea room with a selection of creamy, fattening, sweet things but she didn’t feel like tea and cakes at the moment. She just wanted to sit down somewhere quiet and think. Somewhere where she could be alone. Somewhere where she would not be disturbed. She looked round. There was a little sandstone church at the end of the road. Perfect. No-one would bother her there. There wasn’t likely to be anyone there at all. Even if there was they weren’t likely to talk to her. People didn’t talk to you in churches. They usually just wanted to be alone as much as you did.

The heavy wooden door was reassuringly dark and substantial, studded all over with blackened iron studs which looked as if they had been there since time immemorial. They probably had. She reached out, turned the large round handle and pushed. Slowly the door swung open and she went inside. The heat of the day hadn’t penetrated the thick stone walls and the place was quiet and cool, just what she wanted. She walked down the nave along central aisle past the ancient pews. To one side was the door to, what she presumed, was the vestry, and to the other the entrance to the Lady Chapel. In front of her was the chancel with the ornately craved choir stalls on either side and, shrouded as ever in crisp white line, the alter. She stood for a minute, looking up at the beautiful stained glass window at the East end before turning towards Lady Chapel. That looked like the best place to sit. Even if someone did come in they would be unlikely to see her there. She would be able to be alone as she wanted. Alone with her thoughts. She went in and sat down.

How many years had it been? How long since she’d been inside a church? Not since she’d left the orphanage. Not since she’d gone that last Sunday before she’d left. She’d forgotten how peaceful they were. She’d spent so much of her childhood in the church and her childhood was something she’d wanted to forget. All those years alone. All those painful years. And then she’d met Jeff. He had helped her forget. Helped her realise how good life could be. Helped her realise she had a future. Helped her leave the past behind and look forward. And then he was gone. What was she gong to do next? Did she want to go back to the flat they had shared? Did she want to return to the job she was growing to hate? Did she want to go back at all? She sat back and shut her eyes, lost to all but memories and misery.

She never heard the church door opening. Never heard the footsteps coming down the aisle. Never heard anything until the sound of laughing, happy children broke through. She shrank back in her seat. If she just stayed still and quiet maybe they wouldn’t notice her. Maybe they’d go away and leave her alone.

“How many have you got to do today Mummy?”

“Just the main one on the altar and the one by the pulpit. It shouldn’t take long.”

Sophie frowned.

“Can we do something fun after that?”

“I don’t know. What do you want to do?”

“Can we go to the cinema? I really want to see that film.”

“I don’t know. I’ve got to get Daddy’s tea ready for when he gets home. I don’t know if we’ll have time for the cinema today. Maybe it’ll have to wait until tomorrow.”

“Please Mummy. I’m going out to tea tomorrow and there won’t be time at the weekend, School starts next week and I have to get ready for that. Today’s really the last chance. I’ll help you then we can be quicker and get to go today. Please…”

The woman laughed, “Maybe. We might be able to make it to the early showing if we hurry. Why don’t you go and get me the vase from the Lady Chapel and we’ll see what we can do.”

Sophie shrank back in the pew. She really didn’t want to be disturbed.

The childish footsteps came closer.

“Do you want both vases or just the big one?”

“You get the little one and I’ll come and get the big one.”


The child came in, stopped by the entrance and stared at Sophie.

“Oh.” She didn’t look to be more than nine or ten. “Hello.”


“Is it OK if I get the old flowers? I’m helping Mummy get the new ones done. Do you want to be alone?”

Sophie smiled, “No, its fine. You go and get what you need.”

The child moved over towards alcove by the altar.

“I like helping Mummy get the church ready for weddings. We do the flowers so it’s pretty.”

“I like doing flowers too.”

“My name’s Sophie. What’s yours?”

“Is it really? That’s funny. That’s my name too!”

The child’s eyes widened, “Mummy, come here! Quick Mummy. Mummy, this lady’s got my name.” She ran to the doorway, “She’s called Sophie too!”

“Sophie, don’t bother the lady.” The woman joined her daughter and took her hand to lead her away. She turned to Sophie, “I hope she hasn’t disturbed you.”

Sophie stared. It was her. She was sure it was her. She stood up and moved towards the other woman, “Sister Francis?”


She hadn’t changed much. Older but still the same. Sophie would have recognised her anywhere. “Is it really you? Where did you go? Why did you leave us?”

“I had to leave. I didn’t want to but I had to. I had no choice.” Sister Francis held out her hands as she came forward.

“But you never even said goodbye. Why?”

“I couldn’t stay. I had to go. Mother Superior said I had to go. As soon as I told her she said I had to go. She said it was best if I just left quickly. She wouldn’t let me do anything else. So I went.”

“But why? We missed you. You were the only one who cared. You were always the only one who really cared. We missed you so much.”

“I had to go. I couldn’t stay.”

“But why?”

“It was complicated and I couldn’t.”

“You never even said goodbye.”

“They wouldn’t let me.”

“But why wouldn’t they?”

“They said I had to go immediately. They said I wasn’t allowed to stay.”

“I don’t understand. Why did you have to go?”

“They said I was a sinner and as a sinner I couldn’t be allowed anywhere near you all.”

“I still don’t understand.” Sophie shook her head, “How were you a sinner? What had you done that was so bad? Why weren’t you allowed to even say goodbye?”

“I couldn’t. I’d done something they just couldn’t forgive.”

“But they were nuns. They were supposed to forgive.”

“They couldn’t forgive me.”

Sophie shook head, “I still don’t understand. What had you done that was so bad they couldn’t? What had you done that meant they wouldn’t even let you say goodbye?”

“I’d done something they considered unforgivable.”

“But we weren’t allowed to talk about you. We weren’t allowed to ask where you were. We weren’t allowed to even mention your name. Not ever. It was like you’d never even existed. What happened?”

“The best thing in the world happened.” Sister Francis smiled and held out her hand towards her daughter. “My own Sophie.”


He sat at the desk, looking down at the blank sheet in front of him, pen in hand, ink ready. The oil lamp flickered and brightened. He was nearing the end of his days and he had only one thought on his mind. Soon he would see her again. His thoughts took him to far off places. To the sights and sounds of the bazaar. To the music, the dancing, the smells, the colours. Memory upon memory. And Lily. His Lily. He prayed to God that he would see her again soon. Benjamin, Adam and Isabel would be all right. They had their own lives to lead. Their own histories to write. He could rest safe in the knowledge that he had done his best for all of his children. They had their own families now, their life paths stretching out before them. They did not need the burden of an old man who had nothing left to give. Nothing but this. One thing left to do before his final journey – tell the world what had happened to him. He started to write.

Chapter 1

When she woke up on that cold Monday morning it felt just the same as usual. Rachel had no idea how that day would change how she looked at her life for ever. As far as she knew, it was just a normal January day – get up, have breakfast, go to work, attend another tedious meeting or two, come home, watch the same old TV shows, eat another lonely take-away and then back to bed. Same old, same old and as boring as ever. She took a look at the clock and then, as it was only saying 6:57, pulled her duvet closer to her chin and snuggled down for an extra three minutes, thirteen if she were forgo her usual cup of morning coffee.

Forty minutes later she was standing in the narrow hall trying to struggle into her warmest coat. A quick glance out of the window once she had finally wrenched herself out of bed at 7:20 had shown her a world coated in a thick white layer of snow and her neighbours struggling to pull out of their driveways into the road. Even though her boiler sounded as if it was about to blow a gasket, it was freezing cold and there was a thin film of ice on the surface of the soil surrounding the spindly geraniums on the windowsills in the so called sun room at the back of the house. January had certainly turned down the thermostat to arctic. Rachel shivered. In the battle between buttons and frozen fingers the buttons were winning and she was going to be late and miss the bus again if things didn’t improve fast. The rattle of the letter box and the heavy thump of mail hitting the mat did nothing to improve her spirits. It was time for the post-Christmas bills and her bank balance was not healthy. Presents for the family had been even more expensive than usual now her cousin’s twins were old enough to understand the concept of Santa and her meagre December pay packet had been eaten up in an orgy of retail therapy the previous weekend. Sure she had picked up some great bargins but did she really need a coffee maker when she already had two kettles? And the purple dress from the designer boutique at the end of the street looked awful in the natural light of day, however much it had suited her in the soft mood lighting of the poky changing room.

She sighed deeply and bent to grab the half dozen envelopes that lay scattered on the floor. As expected, the first one looked uncomfortably like an electricity bill, the second had the logo of the gas company on the front and then, just to complete the set, the third one was from the phone people. She put them on the shelf under the mirror by the coat hooks – they would have to be dealt with eventually but not right now. She looked down at the other three envelopes in her hand. What looked like a corporate Christmas card from her hairdresser went straight in the bin and was rapidly joined by the yet another request for a donation from a national charity that had nothing to do with her or her family. This left an expensive looking manilla envelope with her name and address typed on the front and the name and address of a firm of solicitors in a swanky London street printed on the back. Rachel stared at it. What on earth…..? Tentatively she ripped open the envelope and pulled out the single folded sheet it contained.

‘Dear Miss Fareman,

Further to the instructions of our late client, Mrs Millicent Frobisher, of Simonstown, South Africa, we would be pleased if you would attend our offices at the above address on Tuesday 29 January at 2.30pm.  Please confirm your attendance at this meeting by telephoning the number shown above.

Yours sincerely

Robert Winterbourne, BA (Hons) Dip Law’

Millicent Frobisher? Simonstown? Robert Winterbourne? Rachel glanced at her watch. 8.00am. With a shriek of horror Rachel quickly refolded the letter and shoved it in her bag, pulled open the front door and shot outside. Time to worry about strange letters she didn’t understand later. She was going to be late again and that would three times in as many days. Her manager, Mr Mohammed would not be pleased. She rushed down the road toward the bus stop, narrowly avoiding the frozen dog shit by the gate and the icy puddle by the litter bin on the corner whilst still remaining upright. Just. Hopefully most of the others would be late too due to the weather and Mr Mohammed would not notice.

Fifty minutes later she was standing in the kitchen in the office, only five minutes late, making her missing cup of coffee. For a wonder, Mr Mohammed had not arrived yet and she had got away with it.

“Me too please.”

Sandy had made it in too.

Rachel grabbed another mug off the rack and shovelled coffee granules and sugar into it.

“Good weekend?”

“So so.” Sandy dropped into the comfy chair by the table. “How about you?”

“Felt good at the time – went shopping and bought loads but I reckon I’ll be taking most of it back. Got the winter bills this morning and I haven’t got enough bank balance left for food and rent, let alone gas, leccy and phone.”

“I’m with you on that one.” Sandy agreed, nodding “A lottery win would be really good right now – if I actually played the lottery – or a nice little legacy from a long lost relly.”

“Couldn’t agree more.” Rachel carried the mugs over to the table and sat down. “Talking about legacies, what do you reckon to this?” Reaching into her bag she pulled out the manilla envelope and passed it over. “Do you think it could be something good?”

Sandy took the letter from the envelope and read it through. “Who’s Millicent Frobisher?” she asked.

“Dunno. Maybe she’s that long lost dead relly you were talking about.”

“Well it does say ‘the late client Mrs Millicent Frobisher’ so it sounds like she’s dead at any rate. Are you gonna go?”

“Dunno. Would you?”

“Might if I had nothing better to do.” Sandy looked down at the letter in her hand again, “29th is tomorrow. Feel like taking a day off?”

“Dunno. I could ask Mohammed for leave if he’s in later or chuck a sickie if he’s not. What would you do?”

“I reckon I’d go. Can’t hurt and its something different at any rate.”

“That’s true. And January is usually such a boring month…”

Rachel picked up her mug and took a drink. “I’ll do it.”

“Good. And don’t forget to ring me in the evening and tell what it’s all about. Promise?”


Rachel stood up, grabbed her mug and started to walk from the room. “I suppose we better go and do some actual work, the phones won’t answer themselves and you never know when Mohammed will turn up. We can’t let him catch us in here gossiping or it’ll be both of us to the Jobcentre tomorrow rather than me to a solicitor in Mayfair. Coming?”

Sandy sighed and stood up. “OK. Guess you’re right. Only three hours to lunch…”


During the morning Rachel had made up her mind and had snatched a chance to ring the number on the letter to confirm she’d be going to the solicitor the following afternoon. For the rest of the day she and Sandy had tried to guess what it might be about and Rachel had decided that, when she got home, she’d ring her mother and see if she had ever heard of Millicent Frobisher of Simonstown, South Africa. Rachel had racked her brains and still hadn’t got a clue. As far as she was concerned, as the afternoon dragged on seemingly slower than usual, 5.00pm couldn’t come fast enough, but eventually it was time to go and she hurried to the bus stop as fast as she could given the icy conditions and her not very practical high heels. Because of the conditions the bus seemed to take forever to get to her stop but, nearly an hour later than usual, she was finally home.

Chucking her bag on the chair in the hallway, Rachel kicked off her shoes, hung up her jacket and headed for the kitchen. It was Monday and her mother would be a choir practice until 9.00pm so there was no point in ringing her yet – she might as well check out the meagre contents of her fridge and have something to eat. As usual there was nothing much apart from a half eaten take-away from Saturday, a bit of cheese, three sorry looking tomatoes, a wrinkled excuse for what might once have been a mushroom and something unidentifiable but furry in the bottom of an open can. She grabbed the cheese and the firmest tomato and went over to the bread bin. With any luck there’d be a slice or two left that weren’t too green and she would be able to have cheese on toast.

Supper prepared, she took her plate into the living room and switched on the TV. Tucking her legs under her, she curled up on the sofa and tried to concentrate on the depressing goings on in her favourite soap whilst trying not to stare at the clock every ten minutes willing the hands to go faster. A fast paced quiz show followed the soap where she had no idea of most of the answers, but neither did the contestants and no-one won anything worthwhile and then a documentary about some wildlife in hot country that wasn’t South Africa but eventually it was 9.00pm and her mother would finally be home.

Rachel went out into the hallway, grabbed the cordless phone and headed back to the comfort of the sofa. She dialled her mother’s number and waited impatiently for the older woman to pick up.


“Hi Mum, its Rachel.”

“Hi Rach, how lovely to hear your voice. What’s the weather like in London? It’s absolutely rotten down here, hasn’t stopped snowing all day – I haven’t even been able to get to choir. Thank goodness I froze the left-overs from Christmas or there’d have been nothing to eat and you know what your Dad’s like when he doesn’t get his proper supper.”

Rachel sighed. She hadn’t needed to wait so long to phone home after all, her Mum had been there all along.

“It’s been snowing here too Mum but not so bad as too stop me going to work unfortunately. Hey Mum, I got a strange letter this morning. Do you know who Millicent Frobisher is, or was, cos the letter seems to be saying she’s dead.”

“Oh Goodness – Millicent Frobisher dead? Oh dear, your Dad will be so upset. Alex! Alex, come here! Rachel’s on the phone and she says she’s had a letter saying that Millicent Frobisher is dead.” Rachel could hear her mother calling to her father.

“But who’s Millicent Frobisher Mum? Does Dad know her then?

“She’s your father’s aunt – your grandfather’s younger sister. She went out to South Africa just after the war and hasn’t been back since. You’ve heard your father talk about his Auntie Millie haven’t you? She married a farmer from what used to be called Rhodesia back in the early 70’s. He must have died about 20 years ago though – he was quite a bit older than her. She went on to run a B&B.”

“Of course! Great Aunt Millie! I’d forgotten all about her! Well I’ve had a letter from a solicitor here in London and he says it’s something to do with Great Aunt Millie. I’m going to see him tomorrow afternoon.”

“Says what about her? Has she left you something then?”

“Says nothing except that she’s their ‘late client’ and can I go and see some guy called Robert Winterbourne tomorrow.”

“Perhaps she’s left you the B&B, or at least a bit of cash – Neville Frobisher wasn’t short of money you know.”

“I could do with some money right now Mum. Mohammed pays practically nothing and I’ve just had all the winter bills. There’s always too much month left at the end of my money but January is always the worst”

“You’re really going to have to find a better job you know. With your brains, call centre work is a little demeaning you know, and such a waste of your talents and that degree you borrowed so much to do.”

“Oh, leave off Mum. I’ll look for something else but there’s not much out there at the moment. I’m lucky to have a job at all.”

“Well just you make sure that you do.”

“I will. Anyhow, I better sign off now – there’s a good film starting in a min and I don’t wanna miss it. I’ll ring you tomorrow after I’ve seen the solicitor and tell you what he had to say.”

“You’d better! I’ll be waiting with baited breathe. Love you…” With that her mother hung up.

Rachel returned the cordless to its cradle and sat back. Next thing to decide on was her excuse for the morning call to work. Mr Mohammed hadn’t been in all day so she was going to have to rely on a sickie to explain her absence. The unexpected cold wouldn’t work, she’d already used that one twice before Christmas so she could get some extra shopping done and she was a really bad actress anyway. Mohammed hadn’t really been fooled by the ‘I’ve got a blocked nose and feel absolutely awful’ act last time so he was even less likely to believe it now. Maybe unspecified ‘women’s problems’ would do it! She looked at the clock – nearly ten. Good. Now, what to wear. Smart, but not too smart. Professional, but not over the top. Warm but not so warm she would end up bright red and sweaty – smart Mayfair solicitors’ offices probably had decent central heating unlike crappy call centres and impoverished call centre worker’s flats.

Without actually getting up she went through her wardrobe in her head. Not that there was much to choose from – her dark grey woollen winter interview suit or the light-weight beige linen summer one.. No choice really, grey wool it was – and her Mum’s Christmas pressie, the red silky blouse with the cute, antiqued metal buttons she had loved as soon as the wrapping paper came off. Thank goodness she’d bought those black real leather heels during her Saturday shopping splurge and had a bag that matched them quite well. It wasn’t like she had to dress up or anything but she felt that she’d better make a good impression, she was an heiress after all!

Another glace at the clock. Eleven twenty! Where had the evening gone? She got up, switched off the TV and the lights and headed for the bathroom. Better get a good night’s sleep as she would still have to get up early enough to phone Mohammed and sound convincing. As her Dad often said, ‘tomorrow is another day and let us see what we will see.’

He didn’t care where they lived, just that they stopped long enough to settle down. How was he going to tell Maddie? What would he say to her? How could he explain what had gone wrong this time when he didn’t even know himself? This was the second time in as many months. Something had gone wrong somewhere. Somewhere there must be a leak. Someone was talking who shouldn’t be. He just wished it would stop. He just wanted his life back. He just wanted to forget it had ever happened. But he couldn’t.

Why had it happened? Why had it happened to him? Why had it happened to them? If he had just had that second cup of coffee. If he had just stopped to kiss Maddie goodbye one more time. If the dog had not come inside so quickly when she was called. If he had just spent an extra couple of minutes playing peekabo with Tommo. If he had just stopped when Mr Robinson, next door, had said good morning. If the bus had been late the way it had been every other day that week. If he’d just walked a bit quicker, or a bit slower. If he’d just gone a different way. If he hadn’t gone into the corner shop for a paper he probably wouldn’t have even had the time to read.

So many ifs but none of them had happened. As it was he had just been in the right place at the right time. Or, if you looked at it another way, in the wrong place at the wrong time. Whichever it was he had seen what he had seen and he could never unsee it. As a result everything had changed. Everything in his life had changed. Forever. Less than three minutes. Just three short minutes. That’s how long it had taken. Three short minutes.

He’d been meaning to build the new barbeque that weekend but now it would never be built. Well not there anyway. Or not by him. They had being going to have a party for his mother’s sixtieth birthday on the Sunday. The guests had all been invited. The presents had been bought. The food had been in the freezer. All her favourite things. Now he would never see his mother or his father ever again.

There had only been two other customers in the shop, a woman who had looked to be in her mid twenties and a child of no more than six or seven who was pestering her for chocolate. The woman, obviously her mother, had been trying to drag her away from the display but she was having none of it. She was whining and whinging and saying it wasn’t fair. And then there was the newsagent, standing by the till behind the counter waiting resignedly for the woman to give in and let the child have her own way. He’d gone over to the magazine racks, picked up the paper and then gone to pay. The child was not about to be pacified and, after a few minutes delay, her mother did what so many pressurized parents did every day, she succumbed and the child got her chocolate bar. That short delay was all it had taken. But, not knowing what was to come, what fate had in store for him, he had just handed over the price of the paper before he too had left the shop.

Had he not had to wait those extra minutes he could have been in and out quickly, have walked further on down the road and it would never have happened. As it was, as he had hurried out through the door, he had walked straight into a man running out of the post office next door. Even that would have not had been such a disaster if it had not been for the little Jack Russell tied to the railing outside, waiting patiently for it’s owner. As it was, when he had bumped into the man the little dog had decided that was the exact moment it should let off a fusillade of frenzied barking as it shot forward to the fullest extent of its lead. The man, in swerving to avoid the dog, had tripped and fallen. He had stopped to help but the man had waved him away as he had started to rise to his feet. And that was when it had happened. That was the precise moment when it had happened. If he hadn’t have looked at the man when he had done his Good Samaritan act and tried to help he would have not seen what he did see but he had seen and that was the problem.

The man had been wearing a dark scarf, tied tightly around the lower part of his face, so that his nose, mouth and chin were hidden, sunglasses and a closely knitted hat which covered his hair. And because of the fall the scarf had slipped and the hat had come off. Greasy dark hair had become visible and the spotty, stubble covered chin and weak, narrow lipped mouth had been revealed. And in that brief moment both his life and the lives of his wife and child had changed.

It was funny how the smallest thing, the slightest delay, the tiniest departure from the norm could shape the future in such a dramatic way. When the police had attended and witnesses had been questioned, he had been the only person who had actually had a good look at the man who had held the gun whilst his friends had made the cashiers fill the bags and holdalls with the money from the drawers under the counter in the Post Office. He had then spent the next few hours staring at the serried ranks of grainy black and white photographs in the old-fashioned albums the bored looking officer had put on the desk in front of him at the police station. And eventually he had indeed seen someone he recognised. He had been in no doubt and had told the policeman who had been taking his statement that he was certain that this was a picture of the man he had seen. And that had been about the last seemingly normal thing he had done.

He had wanted to go home to his family once he’d finished but the police had kept him at the station. They had given him endless cups of sludge coloured tea and Maddie and Tommo had been brought in from their home in the suburbs to join him. Tommo had been taken away by a kindly young police woman whilst he and Maddie had been shown into the drab office of a middle-aged inspector. They had been asked to sit down and the inspector had calmly told them that the man he had seen and had identified was the son of a gangland boss who was suspected of the much-publicised but hitherto unsolved murder of an undercover police officer the previous year.

This was the first break the police had had in the last twelve months. As the only person to have seen anything that could finally lead to a conviction for anything, he, Maddie and Tommo were to be taken into the witness protection scheme and hidden away. Not just until a trial had taken place but forever. They had wanted to tell their families what had happened and say goodbye but that had not been allowed. Instead they had been taken down to the underground carpark and driven away in an unmarked saloon car with blackened windows. They were to be spirited away. They were to vanish. Their lives had been turned upside down. Their ordinary, hum drum lives had been changed. Forever. And now something had gone wrong and they were to be moved again.

This wasn’t the first time that this had happened either. Only a few weeks beforehand they had been moved from the first house they had been given because there had been a leak and their whereabouts had become known. The police had not wanted to run the risk of their only witness being discouraged’ from testifying so they had been taken to the anonymous flat in the anonymous grey tower block, many miles from his hometown, where he was now standing. And now they were to be moved again. Where to he had no idea. He just knew it would be soon.

He put the handset back into the charger, sighed, then headed back to the living room where Maddie had been relaxing, watching her favourite soap.

“Who was it? Another wrong number?”  She looked round.

He said nothing.

“Oh no, not again.” She’d guessed, without him even having to open his mouth she’d guessed.

“How long?”

“Within the hour.”

“Where to this time?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

“What happened?”

“No idea. There’s been a leak, that’s all I know.”

“Does that mean it will happen again?”

“No idea. I hope not.”

“Should I get Tommo ready now?”

“No. Just leave him till the last minute. He’ll only get cranky if we wake him up now. Go and ram some clothes into the bags whilst I check that we’ve left nothing anywhere that could identify us.”

“Won’t the police do that? After we’ve gone I mean?”

“Probably but I want to make sure.”

“Will everything go back to normal one day? Will we ever be able to stay anywhere for more than five minutes? Will we ever be able to have friends and jobs and do all the stuff that families get to do like have holidays and days out and children’s parties for Tommo? Will this ever be finished?”

“The police say things should settle down once the trial is over. I really hope so.”

“Do you know where we’re going next?”


“Do you think there’ll be somewhere for Tommo to play safely?”

“I don’t know.” He shook his head, “With any luck they will have thought of that but I don’t know. We can ask at any rate.”

“Don’t any of them have kids? Don’t any of them realise how hard this is?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, I’ll be telling them. I’ll tell them we can’t go on with this. I’ll tell them to just find somewhere for us to be safe. I’ll tell them to find somewhere where we can stay for ever. I’ll tell them…”

She was right. How could they go on like this? How much longer? Would it ever be over? Would the police ever find the leak? Would they ever be safe? He sighed. Maddie was right. This couldn’t go on. It wasn’t fair. Where would they be tomorrow? He hadn’t a clue. Would it be far? He had no idea. What did the future hold for him and for Maddie and for Tommo? He didn’t know. He only knew one thing. There were only two things that really mattered. That they were all together and that they were all safe.

It only took them half an hour to be ready. Thirty minutes to put the few personal possessions they had left into a holdall. And only forty minutes before the doorbell rang out, signaling what? Signaling another change. Another end and another beginning. Maddie fetched Tommo from the little room where he had slept. He grizzled and moaned as she lifted him from his cot but they had no choice. No choice but to do as they were told. No chance to do anything else if they wanted to be safe.

Maddie went out first, with Tommo nuzzling against her neck. He stood in the doorway and looked round. Where would they be in the morning? Not here. Not now.

He turned and walked away, closing and locking the door softly behind him.