Warning: Episode may contain strong language, violence and sexual content. Reader discretion is advised.

PREVIOUSLY ON GLENDALE…

• Ben proposed to Emma.
• Queenie was finally reunited with the daughter she was forced to give up for adoption over seventy years ago.
• The Montgomery family became the new owners of The Oak & Vine.
• Marion brought an end to her affair with her son-in-law, Lewis.
• Queenie was attacked and left for dead by Luke.

AND NOW, THE STORY CONTINUES…

WARNING: This episode contains violent and sensitive material that readers may find distressing.
Reader discretion is advised.

The Oak & Vine,
Glendale

The Oak & Vine looked glorious in the summer sunshine of an early August morning. A beautiful floral archway of lemon roses, creamy white chrysanthemums and blue hydrangeas framed the old wooden doorway, while inside, fairy lights and long swathes of ivory silk adorned the ceiling, and the furniture had been rearranged to create rigidly straight rows of tastefully decorated tables.

“There we go,” Johnny Montgomery said as he stepped off the ladder and stood back, hands on hips, to admire the banner that now hung crookedly above the bar. He smiled and nodded, pleased with his efforts. “Proper job, that.”

Tess turned her head and looked at her husband, chewing on her cheek to try and smother the giggle that was building within. “It’s fine… besides the spelling mistake.”

Johnny’s smile collapsed. “What spelling—”

It was then he saw it.

CONGRATHULATIONS MR & MR

“Oh, for fuc… JUDE! Get in here!”

Summoned from the kitchen, their 24-year-old son appeared wiping his wet hands on a red gingham tea towel.

Johnny pointed accusingly at the banner. “You ordered that.”

Jude shrugged. “Yeah.”

“And you don’t see anything wrong with it?”

Puzzled, Jude walked out from behind the bar and stood beside his parents, looking back at the banner. “It’s a bit crooked but—”

“Crooked!” Johnny spluttered and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was going to have a stroke. He just knew it. “It’s spelt wrong! And you haven’t even got the genders right!”

“It’s twenty twenty-six, Dad; gender is whatever you want it to be.”

Johnny made the most peculiar sound – a grunting sigh mixed with a gurgling growl – and Tess knew he was about to explode.

“Where did you get it, luv?” she asked gently, shooting her husband a look that said, ‘Just breathe; I’ll deal with it,’ before smiling at their son in the same way she would when he was little in a bid to stop him from crying when he got in trouble.

“Marketplace,” Jude replied with another shrug, as if it were nothing. “The guy seemed nice. A bit cross-eyed and kept calling me Judy, but nice enough.”

“Unbelievable,” Johnny muttered under his breath and dragged a hand over his mouth as if wiping it clean. “You had one job!”

“What have I done?” Jude protested with bulging eyes. “So, it’s a bit crooked—”

“Crooked?” Johnny inhaled so much he puffed up like a balloon. “Are you thick or just stupid?”

“Technically that’s child abuse,” Jude smirked.

Before things had a chance to go nuclear, Tess had the spark of a bright idea. “Right. Enough. We’re not letting a dodgy Facebook banner ruin Ben and Emma’s big day. Hannah can fix it.”

Johnny and Jude turned their heads and looked at her in perfect unison.

“We’ll just get her to cut out the letters from all those scraps of fabric she’s got lying about upstairs, and then we’ll glue them over the top,” she stated as a matter of fact and nodded as if trying to convince herself more than the others. “It’ll be fine. It’ll be perfect. No one will be any the wiser.”

Before Johnny had a chance to challenge the idea, Hilda Hollingsworth entered from the toilets with her cleaning caddy in one hand and a polishing cloth in the other, screeching out an ear-piercing rendition of The Dixie Cups’ classic.

“Goin’ to the chapel, and we’re, gonna get maaaaaaaaaaaarried.”

She glanced up at the banner and stopped dead in her tracks, blinking at it as she read and re-read the message. “I didn’t know Emma was non-binding.”

Johnny closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose harder and let out an irritated huff. Great! It was starting. “She’s not.”

Hilda frowned and pointed a marigold-gloved hand toward Jude’s purchase as she placed the cleaning caddy down on the freshly polished bar. “Oh, but… the banner…”

“It’s wrong, Hilda.”

“No, now you can’t be sayin’ that, Johnny. Now nowadays,” Hilda replied, shaking her head and tutting after every second word. “If Emma identity-fries as a fella now, well, then who are we to stand in judgement? I ain’t Judge Rinder. We need to support her. I’m all for gay marriage, me.”

Johnny’s patience had reached its limit. “Emma’s not gay, Hilda.”

“Or a man,” Tess said, feeling the need to clear up the obvious.

“But the banner—”

“The banner’s wrong, Hilda!” Johnny snapped, his voice straining before catching himself and taking a calming breath.

“Oh,” Hilda said, looking back at the banner as a frown spread across her brow. “I didn’t think congratulations looked right.” She removed her bright yellow cleaning gloves and dumped them in her cleaning caddy before standing beside Tess, arms crossed, tapping her lips with an index finger as she thought. “Should we tell the baker to change the cake toppers to two grooms?”

Johnny rolled his eyes. “Oh, for the love of—”

“No, Hilda,” Tess quickly interjected, shooting her husband another ‘calm down, it’s fine’ smile, before looking back at their cleaner. “Everything is fine just the way it is. It’s not a gay wedding; Emma doesn’t identify as a gay man, and we don’t need two groom cake toppers. The banner is just wrong, that’s all. Jude got scammed but—”

“Scammed!” Hilda screeched so loud everyone was surprised the windows didn’t blow out. She clutched a hand to her chest and took to Jude to offer him a hug of support. She squished his head to her chest and stroked his hair. “Oh, ya poor darlin’.” She then held him at arm’s length and looked him over to check he was okay. “Me mate Betty got scammed once, y’know. We was up in London to catch a show. Lion King. Stunnin’ piece of theatre. Beautiful. Will make ya cry even with a heart of stone. And this woman came up to her, offering her a rose, ya see. Well, it turns out, she was a gypsy. Now, ya know me; I ain’t one to turn away a gypsy. Bad luck that is. So, I told Betty to buy the rose. So, she did. Gave the gypsy woman fifty quid. Bit steep for a rose I thought, but it was London after all, and ya know what the prices are like up there. The gypsy gave her the rose, and that was that. Away she went. Anyways, turns out, it wasn’t a rose at all. It was a Camilla. So, she got scammed. So anyways, moral of the story, Judy-boy, is always buy from a gypsy and everyone gets scammed. It’s just the way of the world now. That and being gender fluids.”

“Hilda!” Johnny groaned. He’d had enough, and her nasally rapid-fire was giving him an earache.

She held up her hands, showing her surrender. “I was just sayin’.”

Tess clapped her hands to get everyone’s attention and restore order. “Right. Enough. Hannah will cut the letters from her fabric stash. Johnny, go and get the glue gun, and I’ll patch it up. No one will be any the wiser. Now go. We don’t have time to stand here jibber-jabbering.”

Hilda gave the banner one last longing glance.

“Shame,” she said with a sigh. “I do love a gay wedding, me.”

Greenview Cottage,
Glendale

Lewis Carter stood at the foot of the bed, fastening the last button of his shirt and looking around for his belt that had been discarded in a moment of passion. He spotted it in the corner near the door. The same spot Marion Atkins had dropped it when she unbuckled it as he had kissed her neck and unbuttoned her blouse.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said, glancing at her as he picked it up and threaded it through the loops of his trousers. “We should go away one weekend.”

Marion smiled at the thought as she smoothed a crease from her blouse. If only.

“And how would that work? You think Sam and Ed won’t notice we’re both gone at the same time?”

“We agreed not to say their names.”

The reminder suddenly made Marion feel guilty and cheap. She watched him buckle his belt, wondering how she had got into such a mess. Lewis was her son-in-law. This shouldn’t be happening. But the attraction between them was so strong.

“You should go.”

“I know,” he replied with an achingly sexy smile that gave Marion butterflies. “You’ve said that three times already.”

“I mean it this time.”

Lewis moved towards her with a horny glint in his eye and a mischievous smile. “Of course you do.” He wrapped his arms around her waist and nuzzled her neck.

The sensation took Marion’s breath away. “I… mean it… really.”

She felt him harden in his trousers again.

“Mmmhmm.”

His hands moved over her stomach.

He pressed against her.

She panted.

He slipped a hand inside her blouse and cupped her breast.

She lost her breath.

He rubbed against her thigh and let out a breathy grunt.

The front door unlocked with a clunk.

The moment shattered.

Marion froze.

Lewis pulled away.

The front door closed with a thud.

Marion’s face drained of colour.

“Marion?” Ed’s deep voice carried up the stairs, striking fear in her heart. “Hun?”

“Oh, God.” Lewis’s eyes widened. “I thought he’d gone to Birmingham.”

“He had!”

Marion’s heart pounded fiercely against her ribcage.

Lewis looked frantically around the bedroom. There was nowhere to hide. No cupboard big enough. No window wide enough. No escape.

Ed called again. “Marion? You in?”

She grabbed Lewis’s jacket and thrust it into his hands. “Downstairs.”

“What?”

“Now!”

“My shoes—”

“Carry them!”

Lewis snatched them up.

Marion caught sight of the unmade bed. She yanked the quilt straight, fluffed two pillows with remarkable speed and chucked a discarded cushion back into place. It wasn’t perfect, but it would have to do.

Ed’s footsteps reached the bottom of the stairs. “Marion?”

“We’re up here!” she shouted, trying desperately to sound casual.

There was a pause.

“What are you doing?”

She looked at Lewis with fear in her heart.

He blinked back at her.

Fuck!

“We’re just coming down!” She said, hurrying into the hallway.

Lewis followed close behind, hurriedly slipping on one shoe while hopping to keep up.

“Stop!” she whispered, realising how ridiculous he looked.

“What?’

“Your tie.”

Lewis looked down. It was hanging around his neck.

Marion snatched it off and shoved it into his jacket pocket just as Ed appeared at the top of the stairs carrying a laptop bag.

“There you are.”

Lewis managed a painfully stiff smile. “Afternoon.”

“Oh. Lewis. Hi.” Ed looked between them. “You okay?”

“Of course,” Marion replied far too quickly.

“I… err…” Lewis cleared his throat. “I just popped round.”

Ed frowned at the obvious. “Are you sure everything is okay?”

Marion’s heart hammered so loudly she was convinced her husband could hear it. Lewis glanced towards her, and she silently begged him not to say anything foolish.

“I needed to borrow your hammer.”

Ed frowned. “My hammer?”

“Yes.”

Marion blinked. A fucking hammer?!

“For that thing,” Lewis continues.

“Yes,” Marion agreed quickly. “The thing.”

They sounded ridiculous.

“The birdhouse thing Gracie wants to build.”

Marion nodded. “Yes, the birdhouse for Gracie.”

Ed thought for a moment. “Oh,” he smiled. “That’s in the garage.”

“Of course it is.” Lewis tried hard not to breathe a sigh of relief.  “I wondered where you kept it.”

“Not upstairs, that’s for sure,” Ed laughed, shaking his head at the stupidity as he started back down the stairs. “Nothing to hammer up there.”

Marion and Lewis shared a knowing glance. If only he knew.

The conversation between Ed and Lewis faded to silence as they headed downstairs and into the garage.

Alone, Marion let out a shuddering exhale of breath and closed her eyes. For the first time since the affair had begun, she truly understood how close they had come to destroying everything. Mere seconds were all that stood between the life she had and existing in a nuclear wasteland of her own doing.

She returned to the bedroom and straightened the bed. Everything needed to be just so. She fixed a cushion, the same one her head had rested against as Lewis kissed her neck, and smoothed out a crease, the same one she had created when she twisted the duvet in her fist as Lewis had made her orgasm. She could still smell his cologne. Yet, the marital bed no longer felt like a safe haven for her sexual liberation. It felt dirty and cheap.

Her eyes welled with tears as a heavy guilt settled over her. For months, she’d convinced herself they were being careful. That nobody would ever know. That somehow, she could keep two lives separate.

Now, Marion realised how delusional she had been. There was no such thing as careful. There was no such thing as nobody ever knowing. There was only ever one way this was going to go. It was only ever going to end in heartbreak and disaster. They hadn’t avoided discovery because they were clever, they had only avoided it because they had been incredibly lucky. A luck, she knew, wouldn’t last forever.

Jubilee Walk,
Glendale

The Medway shimmered like diamonds in the summer sunshine, while Ted Montgomery and Audrey Granger strolled slowly along the Victorian promenade on their weekly walk, her hand hooked through the crook of his arm for stability and support. That had taken this exact route, every Friday at noon, for the past three months. Just the two of them, enjoying the companionship in old age amongst the calm beauty of the riverside.

“Never understood that me,” Ted said, nodding towards a man that jogged past them in fluorescent orange.

Audrey watched the rather handsome man pass them by, noting the incredibly small jogging shorts that barely left anything to the imagination. “What? Wearing orange?”

“No. Running when no one’s chasing ya.”

“Perhaps he enjoys it.”

Ted looked at Audrey with a seriousness that made her smile. She knew how to push his buttons.

“Ain’t no one on this planet who enjoys jogging. It’s just some gimmick cooked up by those corporate types to make ya buy new trainers and whatnot every year.” He looked back to the path ahead. “Like Christmas and Valentine’s Day. Nothin’ but a scam it is. Nothin’ but a scam.”

“I ran once,” Audrey said, glancing at him out the corner of her eye as they meandered along the paved pathway with the sun on their backs and the river burbling beside them. “Tryin’ to catch the bus.”

Ted glanced at her. “And?”

“I missed it.”

“There you are, see?” he smiled. “Ain’t nothin’ good comes from running. Unless it was Trevor Francis goin’ after a football. That’s the only time running did anythin’ good for anyone.”

A little boy ran past them with an ice cream almost as tall as he was. Seconds later, it toppled onto the pavement with a splat. A brief silence was followed by a heartbroken wail.

“See,” Ted said, firing off a “told you so” look in Audrey’s direction. “Nothin’ good comes from running.”

He stopped in his tracks and began rummaging around in the pocket of his twill trousers.

Audrey cocked an eyebrow. “What are you doing?”

“I’ve got a pound,” Ted replied, drawing the coin out and holding it aloft like Rafiki in The Lion King. He handed it to the little boy who immediately stopped crying.

“You carry emergency ice cream money?”

“You don’t?”

The boy’s father offered his thanks but politely handed the coin back.

Audrey smiled at Ted’s kindness, and a warmth spread through her body.

“Y’know, I’ve got you worked out, Ted Montgomery.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh really?”

“You pretend to be a miserable old git—”

“I am a miserable old git.”

“But secretly…”

Ted looked at Audrey.

“…you’re nothing but a big ol’ sweetheart.”

Ted overdramatically rolled his eyes and swatted away Audrey’s observation as if it were an annoying fly. “You don’t ‘alf talk some rubbish, woman.”

Audrey laughed harder than she had in years. There was something about Ted that brightened her spirit. He was unassuming, jovial and charming. She could lark around with him, the way she did with William. The memory of her late husband didn’t diminish her happiness, although it did dull her laugh somewhat.

Ted noticed that her laugh changed, and he also knew why. Grief was funny like that. It never left you. He could be having the time of his life one moment and then thinking about Anna the next. She had died peacefully in her sleep ten years ago. There to say “goodnight” but gone before “good morning”. He understood the feeling of guilt, of being happy while the one you loved was gone. But he also understood that life was for living and that at their age, there wasn’t much life left to live.

They carried on walking. Vocally silent but mentally chattering away. They knew what each other was thinking. The good old days. Lost love. The joy of today. The inevitability of mortality just over the horizon.

Soon, they reached the confluence where the River Medway met the River Beult and took a moment to admire the beauty. Trees crowded the riverbank opposite, while reeds swayed and hissed in the warm summer breeze. Audrey smiled at the call of a redwing and rested her arms on the black-painted railings.

“It really is beautiful here.”

Ted looked at her rather than the view. “It is.”

Audrey caught him doing it, but before she had a chance to react, a four-person rowing boat slid past them. They both watched as its oars chopped up the glassy water in perfect timing with the coxswain’s calls.

“William always wanted to learn to row.”

The morsel of information caught Ted’s attention and caused him to cock an eyebrow. “Did he?”

She nodded. “Oh yes.”

“Did he ever try?”

“Almost.”

“Almost?” A frown creased Ted’s brow.

“He got one foot in the boat…”

“Oh?”

“…then he remembered he was afraid of water.”

Ted laughed heartily, which in turn made Audrey chuckle. She liked making him laugh. It was one of her new simple joys.

“Maybe we should give it a go one day,” Ted suggested, wiping a tear of laughter from the corner of his eye and nodding toward the boat as it moved beneath the medieval stone bridge that spanned the Medway.

Audrey snapped her head in his direction, practically giving herself whiplash. “What? Us? On a rowing boat? At our age?”

“Our age?” Ted said playfully, pretending to be offended. “Speak for y’self, y’ old bat! I’m sprightly, me! Sprightly and handsome!”

“You stupid old fool.”

“Uh-uh-ah.” Ted waved a finger at her. “You stupid handsome old fool.”

Audrey chuckled and nudged him with her shoulder. It was true, though. Ted was handsome. And a stupid old fool.

They both looked back out across the river, their heads turning in unison, and their shoulders rising and falling synchronously with the same intake and exhale of breath. Things like this happened without either of them noticing it. They were on the same rhythm.

“You know,” Audrey began, glancing to Ted with the coyness of a smitten teenager, “I rather enjoy our little walks.”

“Me too.”

“The company ain’t half bad either.”

Ted turned his head to look at her as a puff of breeze seemed to try and push them together. A loose strand of silver hair had escaped from behind Audrey’s ear, and without really thinking, he reached out and tucked it gently back into place.

His hand lingered for just a second.

Audrey looked up at him.

“Y’know, I don’t think William would mind.”

The air crackled.

Ted’s blood fizzed.

“No?”

Audrey shook her head. “He’d tell me to be happy.”

Ted swallowed. “Anna would tell me to stop dithering.”

Audrey smiled.

“She sounds like a sensible woman.”

“Very.”

“So…”

“So…”

An awkward yet charged silence settled over them as they both realised it was the beginning of something special.

“I don’t think either of them would object if you kissed me.”

Ted smiled.

“No,” he said, gently trailing the back of his index finger down Audrey’s soft cheek. “I don’t think they would.”

He reached her chin, tilting her head up just enough before leaning forward. The kiss was gentle, but their hearts sang.

When they drew apart, Audrey slipped her hand into his as if it had always belonged there.

“Come on,” she said. “We’ll be late.”

Ted frowned. “For what?”

“For ice cream!” She looked up at him and smiled. “You do have emergency ice cream money, after all.”

Ted laughed, and hand in hand they turned and walked back the way they’d come, with the sun on their faces and joy in their hearts.

Glendale Hall,
Glendale

In the kitchen of Glendale Hall, Natalie Harrington-Jones stood as still as a statue, staring out the window at nothing in particular as the coffee machine clicked and whirred before her. Only when it stopped did she move on autopilot, stirring the sugar in her mug and adding the milk, her vacant eyes never moving from the window.

Everything now happened that way. Without thought. Without feeling.

Footsteps approached behind her, and then Nick’s chirpy voice filled the space. “Here she is! The most gorgeous woman in the world!”

Brought back to earth, Natalie managed a faint smile but didn’t turn to face her husband.

Nick stepped closer, wrapping his arms around her waist. His chin rested on her shoulder, and she stiffened at his touch.

Nick felt it immediately, and his cheerfulness faltered, but he tried to ignore it. He pressed a gentle kiss against the side of her neck.

Natalie pulled away just enough to let him know “not today”.

“Coffee?” She asked, forcing herself to smile and suddenly counting the seconds until she could go and scrub off Nick’s kiss in the shower.

He dragged a hand across his mouth in frustration, watching as his wife busied herself with tidying up the already immaculately clean kitchen. Anything to get away from him.

“You’ve been doing that a lot,” Nick said, leaning against the counter as he watched Natalie wipe the benchtop for the third time.

She couldn’t meet his stare. “What?”

“Pulling away.”

Natalie shrugged. “I’m just tired.”

A silence settled as Nick considered her response. It was a lie. He could tell immediately. He watched her wipe the same spot on the bench over and over. The same circular motion, compulsively cleaning that one spot as if she needed to do something – anything – to distract her from talking to him.

Nick studied her. The woman in front of him looked like Natalie and sounded like Natalie, but something had changed. She no longer laughed. No longer paid attention. She seemed repulsed at his touch. The same woman who seduced him, left him drained and exhausted several times a day thanks to their mind-blowing sex, now seemed disgusted at the thought of having him anywhere near her.

“When was the last time we actually…” his voice trailed off. “Y’know. Fucked?”

Natalie didn’t answer. She couldn’t. There was something about the way he asked the question that was just so repulsive. She knew she had changed and she completely understood Nick’s frustrations. How could she explain? How would he understand?

“You barely let me touch you anymore.”

Natalie dropped the cleaning cloth in the sink and tried not to flinch at the comment. Just because Nick was her husband didn’t entitle him to touch her whenever he wanted. There really was no way to explain or make him understand.

“I feel like I’m losing you.”

That was the comment that made her look at him. Really look at him. She clocked the look of hurt mixed with fear. The confusion. The worry. She searched his chocolate brown eyes, and her heart broke. He just wouldn’t understand. He had already dealt with so much over the last couple of years. She knew it would break him. How could it not? It had broken her.

“You aren’t,” Natalie replied with a rare sincerity. “I promise you.”

Nick stepped forward and Natalie stepped back. It was the perfect dance move of a heartbroken tango. It was all the proof Nick needed.

“See, you never want me near you.”

“That’s not true.” Natalie let out a deep exhale of breath that seemed to be dragged up from the depths of her soul. “I just… don’t feel like myself.”

A soft frown fixed on Nick’s brow, and he slowly, cautiously stepped closer, like a zookeeper approaching a wounded animal. “I’m worried about you.”

Natalie looked away. “I’m fine.”

“I don’t think you are.”

“I’m fine.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because I’m fine.”

The words were strained. It was a lie. They both could tell.

“What do you want me to say, Nick, huh?” Natalie barked a bit harsher than intended, glancing back at him as frustrated tears threatened. “What do you want me to say? I’m. Fine.”

Nick’s shoulders sagged.

“I just miss you,” he said with a resigned huff. “The real you. The old you. That’s all.”

That was a punch in the gut. For a second, Natalie wanted to tell him. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. Instead, she just looked back out the window.

Nick nodded slowly, accepting reality. “Cool.”

There was little subtlety to the sarcasticness of his tone.

He snatched an apple from the fruit bowl.

“I’ll be home about six.”

Natalie nodded. “Okay.”

“Love you.”

Nick looked at his wife, wondering whether he’d hear it back.

Natalie fixed a smile that barely seemed genuine. “Love you too. Have a good afternoon.”

Nick smiled sadly, then left.

The front door closed.

Silence returned.

Natalie picked up her coffee and stood completely still, staring out the window. She hated herself. Hated what had happened. Hated what had become of her.

“Well, that was convincing.”

The cold voice sent an immediate fear coursing through her veins.

Hated him.

Luke Kennedy sauntered into the kitchen as though he owned the place. He watched from the window as Nick’s car pulled away before turning his attentions to his daughter-in-law.

“You almost sounded sincere.”

Natalie didn’t respond.

Luke moved towards her, and her body stiffened. He stood before her, his dark, unfeeling eyes watching her from beneath his eyelids. He dragged the back of his fingers across Natalie’s cheek in a slow and deliberate way that made her want to vomit. A satisfied smile slithered across his face.

Natalie couldn’t look at him.

Luke took the mug from her hands unchallenged and gulped down the coffee, his glare never once leaving her.

“What do you want?” Natalie finally managed, although her voice trembled in a way that made Luke grin.

“Bit early for that tone.”

He drained the mug before handing it back to her.

“You should be nicer. Be a good girl.”

A wave of nausea crashed over Natalie like a tsunami, and she felt her knees beginning to buckle. Her body prickled. Her mouth watered. She was going to be sick.

Be a good girl.

That’s what he had said. That’s what he had said when he…

“Poor Nick.”

Luke’s voice made Natalie jump.

“He still thinks he’s happily married.”

Her jaw clenched.

He stroked her cheek again.

She lowered her head.

He smiled.

She caught a whiff of his cologne. The smell turned her stomach. She couldn’t scrub it off her no matter how hard she tried.

He ever so slowly kissed her cheek.

Natalie jerked at his touch, jumping back.

“Now that’s not being a good girl,” Luke said menacingly as his eyes flared. “We had a deal. Remember?”

Natalie felt herself tremble. “There is no deal.”

“No?” Luke smiled his disgusting grin. “Funny. I remember one.”

Natalie stepped back. “You disgust me.”

Luke stepped forward. “I’ve been called worse.”

“You attacked me.”

Luke’s head tilted to the side, and his expression darkened instantly. “Now, that’s a dangerous choice of words.”

Natalie stepped back again and bumped into the counter. She was backed into a corner.

“I wonder who Nick would believe. Me, the long-lost father he so inexplicably hero-worships and adores, or you, his cheap slut of a wife who has a reputation of putting it about?”

“You know exactly what happened.”

“I do.”

“You forced me.”

Another wicked grin turned Natalie’s stomach.

“I didn’t hear you complaining,” Luke said, crossing his arms and leaning against the countertop.

Natalie’s eyes filled with painful tears.

“I said ‘no’.” Her breathy voice quivered at the horrific memory. “I told you ‘no’.”

Luke cocked his head to the side with a nausea-inducing smirk. “They always say no. They never mean it.”

“I did. I said ‘no’.”

“According to who?”

“I said ‘no’!”

“You said nothing. You just lay there. Limp. It was quite disappointing really. A reputation like yours and a performance like that?” Luke sucked his teeth. “So disappointing. Guess that’s why you feel guilty now. Wasn’t really worth it, was it?”

Natalie’s body vibrated uncontrollably. She wanted to scream. She wanted to kill him.

“You…” a tear rolled down her cheek, and she choked on her words. “You raped me.”

Luke stepped closer, not close enough to touch her but just enough to invade her personal space so she could feel the threat of his breath.

“Accusations have consequences, Natalie,” he said with a growl that made her hairs stand on end. “Imagine Nick’s surprise when he hears that his own wife has been keeping such scandalous secrets.”

Natalie couldn’t bring herself to look at him.

“The secret meetings.”

Luke smiled.

“How often we’ve been alone together.”

He curled a lock of her raven-black bob behind her ears and leaned forward so his mouth was mere millimetres from her earlobe.

“How many times I’ve been inside you.”

Natalie was green. Revulsion overwhelmed her.

“So, you stick to the deal, or dear little Nicky boy learns the truth. And we all know how that ends for you. Penniless. In the gutter. Like the little tramp that you are.”

Ice filled her veins as Luke clamped his hands around her upper arms. Fear paralysed her. He squeezed tightly in a way that made her wince. He smiled. Pleased with the power he wielded. Then, he slowly kissed her on the lips. Natalie tried to turn away, but it was useless. She clamped her eyes shut and scrunched up her mouth. A tear rolled down her cheek.

“Be a good girl for Daddy,” Luke growled in a way that sent a shiver down her spine. He released his grip of her, stroked her cheek and smiled before turning and walking out of the kitchen.

Natalie roughly wiped his kiss from her mouth with the back of her hand and slumped down onto the floor. Hugging her knees, she began to cry, realising she was trapped in a living hell.

CuriosiTEAS,
Glendale

Kate Spencer balanced a mug of tea in one hand and a plate carrying a toasted ham and cheese sandwich in the other as she scanned the café for a free table.  It seemed every seat was occupied by old-age pensioners nattering away about Antiques Roadshow or the latest political topic from Radio 5 Live.

“For fuck’s sake,” she muttered under her breath, turning a full circle. Today was not the day for it and for a moment she felt herself on the edge of frustrated tears.

“You can sit here, if you like?”

The deep voice caught Kate’s attention.

A man sat alone by the window with a half-finished coffee and a neatly folded copy of The Daily Mail beside an empty plate. He was tall, well over six foot, with broad shoulders and dark hair that was flecked with silver at the temples. His eyes were friendly and he gestured toward the empty chair opposite him.

Kate gave a grateful smile even though it all felt a bit weird.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to intrude.”

She hoped he would say no or offer to get up and leave.

“Not at all.” He smiled back. “I’d only be tempted to raise my blood pressure reading this crap otherwise.”

The man slapped the newspaper with the back of his hand as if it had insulted him.

“Then why’d you buy it?” Kate asked in her thick Welsh accent as she slid into the chair opposite, placing her goodies down on the table as she did. “Should’ve just chucked your money in the river instead of buying that rubbish.”

The man chuckled. “It’s for my mother.”

“Suuuuuure.” Kate rolled her eyes. A likely story. “And I’m Liz Taylor.”

“Nice to meet you, Liz. I’m Stuart.” He held out a hand, and Kate shook it. “You look great for someone who’s dead.”

Kate chewed on the inside of her cheek, desperately trying not to laugh or smile. She wasn’t going to reward such cheesiness. “I’m actually Kate.” She gave him another smile. “Nice to meet ya.”

“You too, Actually Kate.”

Another moment of cringe that would go unrewarded.

“Stuart?” Kate repeated with a frown as the name rattled around in her head.

“Hollingsworth,” he replied with a smirk, waiting for the penny to drop as he cleared a wider space on the table for her.

It clicked.

“Hilda’s son! I heard you were back.”

“News travels fast with a mother like mine.”

“I’m Kate Spencer. Tom’s wife.”

There was an immediate silence, and the air around them tightened. It was nearly two years since Tom’s death, and the slip of the tongue stopped Kate in her tracks. Should she correct herself? Was Tom’s wife? Am Tom’s widow?

Recognition spread across Stuart’s face. He remembered hearing the news about Tom’s suicide from his mother. It was such a tragedy. They had been childhood friends, best friends in fact, but time had seen them drift apart. Once Stuart left the village, they had fallen out of contact. Hearing about Tom’s death had filled him with a strange sense of guilt. If only they’d remained in contact and remained friends; maybe Tom would’ve felt like he had someone to talk to. Someone who would’ve listened to him when his world went dark.

Kate ignored the growing silence and took a sip of her tea. The weak taste soured her expression, and she reached for two sugar sachets without hesitation.

“So… how is it being back?” She asked, deftly changing topic and glancing at him briefly whilst ripping them open and tipping them into her drink.

Stuart gave an exaggerated sigh.

“Oh, yeah, fantastic. Just what every forty-nine-year-old divorcee expects when living in their parents’ spare room.”

Kate raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

“I wake up every morning to Mum standing over me with a cup of tea asking if I have clean socks and underwear for the day, and every night Dad still asks if I’ve brushed my teeth before bed.”

“It shows they care.”

“I guess.” Stuart leaned back in his chair. “I love them both, don’t get me wrong.  But there’s something depressingly humbling about moving out at twenty thinking you’re going to conquer the world only to end up back again nearly thirty years later. Unemployed. Divorced.”

“Having to listen to the dental drill that is your mother’s voice.”

Stuart laughed so loudly that one of the women at the next table glanced over with an unimpressed frown. “Yes! Exactly! You get it!”

Kate smiled and took a bite of her toasted sandwich.

Another silence settled between them.

“I’m so sorry about Tom,” Stuart said gently, assessing Kate’s reaction to see if he’d made the right decision in bringing up the subject. She didn’t give one. “He was a good man.”

Kate nodded as she chewed. “Yes. He was.”

“I grew up with Tom. We were inseparable as kids. Caused absolute havoc together.”

He looked out the window towards the village green and smiled at a memory.

“We climbed every tree on that village green. There was this one day we were up in that oak over there,” he said, pointing to an old tree in the far corner. “And we were throwing acorns at everyone pretending they were bombs. We’d just watched Platoon and we’re playing.” He glanced back at Kate to clarify before continuing on. “Anyway, Tom lobbed one so hard that it hit that cranky old dick, Harold Bancroft, so hard in the head that it knocked him into the pond.”

Stuart chuckled.

“We’d never run so fast in our lives. Terrified we were with that fat, soggy old git chasing after us screaming blue murder.”

Kate found herself laughing along. It felt good to have someone remember Tom the way she remembered him – fun, cheeky, and always up to mischief.

Stuart watched as Kate took another bite of her toasted sandwich. He could see the wheels turning in her brain and knew he’d stirred up things he probably shouldn’t have. She seemed to zone out again as she chewed and unconsciously tucked a curl of her reddish-brown hair behind her ear. Stuart realised he was staring, captivated by her natural modesty, and sucked in a breath before quickly filling the silence between them.

“So, how’s the farm? I used to love going up to Greystone Downs.”

“It’s busy,” Kate replied, glancing back at Stuart and welcoming the change in conversation. “As always.”

She thought about the sheep that needed to be moved into the new paddock and the broken fence and the bills she’d spent all weekend avoiding. Since Tom’s brother, Dan, had up and left to go travelling, she’d been forced to take on more at the farm as well as juggle her full-time job at the surgery.

“Actually, borderline overwhelming, really.”

Stuart watched her. He could see the wheels turning again.

“You know, if you ever need a hand with anything, I’m still looking for work. I’d be happy to help out until I find something more permanent.”

He tried not to take offence at the shocked and sceptical expression that had suddenly appeared on Kate’s face.

“You… want to work on a farm?”

“What? You think I can’t?”

“No, it’s just… are you sure you’re up to it?”

Stuart laughed. “You think I’m not? It’s the grey hair, isn’t it?”

“No!” Kate felt her cheeks burn and practically hid behind her tea. If anything, the grey hair was what added to his good looks. “It was because you look like you’ve never done a day’s manual work in your life.”

“I have!” Stuart appeared affronted, although his smirk said otherwise. “I was a paperboy for Queenie back in the early nineties, thank you very much!”

“And you know your forks from your hoes?”

“I was married to one for twenty years.”

Kate laughed so hard she snorted, which made her laugh even harder to the point she had tears in her eyes.

The woman at the next table glanced over again, this time with an even darker frown.

Stuart grinned and chuckled along. “Sorry. That wasn’t very politically correct of me. I take that back.”

“Don’t,” Kate said, struggling to regain her composure. She wiped her eyes and sucked in some calming breaths as she struggled to keep the giggles at bay. “I haven’t had a laugh like that in a long time.”

Stuart smiled, pleased with his efforts.

Kate noticed how his cheeks dimpled and his eyes sparkled.

“Fine,” she said. “If you think you’re up to it, stop by tomorrow morning and we’ll see if you’re ddigon da.”

Stuart frowned, not understanding Kate’s Welsh.

“Good enough,” she said with a smile. “We’ll see if you’re good enough.”

The Store,
Glendale

The bell above the door gave its familiar jingle as Julia Harrington-Jones stepped inside carrying a wicker basket in the crook of one arm and wearing a navy cashmere longline cardigan despite the summer heat.

“Afternoon,” Gail Jenkins said with a genuine warmth as she looked up from reading her copy of Woman’s Own from behind the counter.

Heading for the dairy fridge, Julia stopped in her tracks.

Something wasn’t right.

She turned and looked at Gail with a very faint crease in her brow, the best frown she could muster up thanks to Botox. “What are you doing there?”

Gail looked around in an overexaggerated manner before locking eyes with Julia once more.

“Working… by the looks of it.”

While everyone in Glendale seemed to be somewhat intimidated by Julia, Gail couldn’t give a stuff. She saw through the polished façade, the designer clothes and that overly tight blonde chignon bun. She saw Julia for who she was – a normal person just like everyone else.

The corner of Julia’s mouth twitched into what appeared to be the beginnings of a smile, or was it a smirk? Gail wasn’t too sure.

Julia took a step toward the counter. “Where’s your mother?”

“In London. With Emma.”

Julia raised an eyebrow. “In London? With Emma?”

Gail looked around. “Huh, must be an echo.”

Julia took another step closer. The intrigue was slowly drawing her in like the beginning of an Agatha Christie novel.

Gail continued. “Last-minute wedding shopping.”

Julia rolled her eyes. As if there weren’t already enough flowers and bits and bobs turning the village into something Liberace would be proud of. “Have you seen the Oak and Vine?”

Gail chuckled. “They caught the early train. Making a day of it, apparently.”

“So, you’ve been abandoned?”

Gail winced at Julia’s comment. She knew she didn’t mean anything by it, but the choice of words still felt off. “It would seem so.”

“I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“I have no choice.”

Betty Worchester emerged from behind a display of tinned prunes like a disgruntled badger and stomped her way up to the counter before slapping down a packet of digestives with such force that Gail knew they’d instantly be broken.

“Been pretending she’s lady muck all day!” She barked at Julia as she jabbed her head in Gail’s direction. “Anyone would think she’s in charge or something.”

Gail cocked a brow.

“I am in charge,” she said through a tight mouth as she scanned the packet of biscuits. “One pound forty.”

Betty mumbled bitterly under her breath while she fished some coins out of her purse. “She’s already put the biscuits in the wrong place.”

“I did not!”

“You moved the bourbons next to the penguins!”

“It makes more sense. Chocolate with chocolate.”

“It upset me.”

“It would!”

The bell jingled again, and all three women looked over.

“Oh, here we go,” Gail muttered as Hilda swept into the shop with the subtlety of a newborn giraffe. Although she had only been in the village a few months, it hadn’t taken her long to realise the village gossip was as annoying as a mosquito.

“You’ll never guess what!” Hilda said in her shrill, nasally tone, excited to have an audience of three to share her gossipy goodness with.

“I imagine we shall shortly,” Julia said under her breath and gave Gail a soft smirk.

Hilda heard but ignored her. “The banner!”

Julia blinked.

Gail frowned.

Betty looked around for one. “What banner?”

“The banner!” Hilda stressed, looking at each woman in turn and noting their confused expressions. “At the Oak an’ Vine! The wedding banner!”

Julia took the bait. “What about it?”

Hilda wet her lips and leaned against the counter. “It said…” She paused for dramatic effect. “ ‘Congrathhhhhhulations Mister and Mister’!”

She squawked with laughter and slapped a hand against her thigh. From the others there was silence.

“Mister and Mister!” She pointed out. “But they ain’t gay! And Emma ain’t a man! Although she could be gender fluids, I still don’t think that Jess has that bit right.”

“Tess,” Julia corrected, although Hilda paid no attention.

“Don’t get me started on gay marriage,” Betty grumbled.

“Don’t worry,” Gail replied curtly, shooting Betty a sharp glare as she accepted the biscuit money from the old pensioner. “We won’t.”

Julia smiled.

The exchange went completely over Hilda’s head. “Well anyways, that Jess—”

“Tess.”

Hilda frowned, worried about Julia’s sudden Tourette’s affliction, but continuing on undeterred. “She’s getting that Hannah to fix it with bits and bobs. I think it will look tackty, but yer’d expect nothin’ less than a weddin’ reception at a pub. But it did give me a good chuckle.” She shook her head, smiling at the memory. “Mister and mister.”

Suddenly, the bell jingled again, and every smile vanished.

Luke stood in the doorway.

Julia felt herself stiffen uncomfortably in his presence, and Gail’s face hardened instantly. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that Luke had been the one responsible for the break-in at the store on Christmas Eve. The one responsible for leaving Queenie for dead, lying in a pool of her own blood on the floor. They just couldn’t prove it.

“No.” Gail’s tone was stern, and she stood up from her stool behind the counter, refusing to cower in his presence.

Luke looked at her, his cold, dark eyes rolling over her. “No?”

“You’re not welcome here. Get out.”

The shop was silent.

He smiled. “I’ve only come for some milk. Natalie’s gagging for it.”

Gail held onto the countertop to steady herself. “I don’t care if you’ve come with a million pounds. You’re not welcome here. Now get out!”

Luke didn’t move.

“I said leave.”

“I heard you.”

“Good.”

“Didn’t say I was going to go, though.”

Gail came around the counter, anger poisoning her bloodstream. “You’ve got some nerve walking in here.”

“I’ve every right.”

His cockiness was repulsive.

Julia moved to her side in a show of support, while Hilda and Betty turned their heads from Luke to Gail and back again as if watching match point at Wimbledon.

“No,” Gail hissed, her voice shaky. “You lost any right to walk through that door a long time ago.”

Luke’s expression darkened. “Still blaming me?”

“I don’t blame you.” Gail looked him dead in the eye. “I know what you did.”

A stomach-churning Jack Nicholson smile slithered its way across Luke’s face. “You’ve got no proof, you stupid old bitch.”

Gail’s nostrils flared. “No,” she said through gritted teeth. “But we all know it was you, and one day you’ll pay.”

The Christmas attack on Queenie still lived in everyone’s memory.

The blood on the shop floor.

The ambulance.

The weeks nobody knew whether she would survive.

Nobody had been able to prove who was responsible, but everybody in Glendale knew Luke’s reappearance the same night Queenie was left for dead was no coincidence.

Luke took another step inside.

Julia set her basket down on the counter and mirrored Luke’s step forward. She wasn’t afraid of him. They stood a few feet apart, eyes locked, hatred pulsating in unison. “You’ve been asked politely to leave.”

“Ah, the Julia Harrington-Jones. Sticking her nose in as usual.”

Julia knew not to take the bait. “As I said, you’ve been asked politely to leave. So, if I was you, I would turn around and walk out that door before you’re thrown out.”

Luke smiled. “And who’s gonna do that? You?” He looked from Julia to Gail. “Or you?” And then to Hilda. “Or you?”

“You ain’t wanted here, Luke!” Hilda hissed, stepping up to Julia’s side. “Now sling yer hook!”

Luke’s confidence never faltered. Instead, he rolled his eyes back in Julia’s direction and tilted his head ever so slightly. The darkness in his eyes made her breath catch for the first time, not that he noticed.

“You know, it’s amazing to me that after all you’ve done, I’m still the bad guy.”

Julia was silent even though she caught Gail glancing at her out the corner of her eye.

Luke took another step forward.

“You’re the one who can buy a baby from a drug addict, but I’m the bad guy.”

Gail glanced at Julia again. Was that true?

He took another step forward.

“You’re the one who can lie to that baby day after day, pretending he’s yours, but I’m the bad guy.”

Hilda and Betty exchanged a quick, worried glance before looking back at Luke.

He took another step forward.

“And you’re the one who can turn a blind eye when her husband kills a woman, but I’m the bad guy!”

That was the line that made Julia falter.

She frowned, and Luke suddenly realised the truth.

“You don’t know.” He laughed and wiped his mouth, gleefully realising he had an ace up his sleeve. “You haven’t got a clue what James has done. Do you?”

Julia felt everyone’s eyes on her.

“I asked you to leave,” Gail said sternly one final time as she moved to Julia’s side. “If you don’t leave right now, then I’ll call the police.”

Luke held Julia’s stare for a long moment, sizing her up, before looking at Gail.

Neither woman looked away.

Luke gave a breathy, insincere laugh.

“Fucked!” He snuffed, shaking his head as he turned sharply and walked back towards the door. “This whole village is fucked!”

The bell clanged loudly as the door slammed behind him, and Julia felt her shoulders slump. She let out a deep exhale, unaware she had been holding her breath.

“Are you okay?” Gail asked, rubbing a supportive hand against Julia’s arm, noticing the colour had drained from her face.

“Yes,” Julia lied, forcing a smile in appreciation of Gail’s kindness. “I’m fine.”

She was anything but. Julia knew from the look in Luke’s eyes that he was telling the truth. James had killed a woman, and now she needed to know the truth.

The O’Connell Clinic,
Harley Street, London

Inside Professor Farrelly’s office, Queenie sat with both hands wrapped around a paper cup of water. She hadn’t taken a sip, although she probably should. Her mouth was as dry as an overcooked roast, but somehow, she just couldn’t muster up the energy to drink. The truth was that she was too scared to function.

Beside her, Emma tried very hard not to look frightened. She was failing.

Queenie noticed the way her foot kept tapping against the carpet. She glanced towards the consulting room door again, for the tenth time, before forcing herself to smile whenever Queenie caught her eye.

“Yer’ll wear a ‘ole in the floor,” Queenie said in her usual Estuary accent. “It ain’t dun anythin’ to deserve it.”

Emma looked down and a soft laugh escaped her.

“Sorry.”

Queenie huffed and rather overdramatically rolled her eyes.

“‘ow many times do I gotta be tellin’ ya? Stop bein’ sorry.”

A silence settled over them once again, and Queenie’s eyes roamed. She observed the jumble of framed photographs on the desk, glanced at the rather bland landscape painting on the wall, and then admired the vase of daffodils on the windowsill. Someone had gone to a lot of effort to make the consulting room feel more homely and less scary.

It hadn’t worked.

The door opened suddenly, and Queenie jumped, almost spilling her untouched water.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” said a tall man in a charcoal suit. He closed the door behind him and made his way over to the desk. “I’m Professor Farrelly, and you must be Elizabeth.”

He smiled at Queenie, and she noticed his kind, chocolate brown eyes. She also sensed the awkward tension the professor had carried in with him.

“Please, call me Queenie,” she said, forcing a smile and trying to maintain a calm, even breathing pattern. She looked to Emma and rested a hand against her forearm. “An’ this is Emma. Like a daughter to me she is.”

Emma nodded at the professor. “Nice to meet you.”

“She’s also a doc,” Queenie added for good measure. “Knows her stuff, this one. That’s why she’s ‘ere. To explain things to me if ya waffle on a bit t’much.”

Professor Farrelly gave a brief, faint smile and then folded his hands. From the exhale of breath that he pushed through his nose, Emma knew it wasn’t good news.

“Queenie…” He began. His voice was calm and gentle. “I’ve had a look over all the results of your scans and biopsy.”

Queenie nodded.

Professor Farrelly looked directly at her, and she noticed his eyes change. They were no longer kind. Instead, they had a look of pity.

“I’m afraid it’s not the news we were hoping for. The biopsy has confirmed that you have cancer.”

The word landed like a hammerblow.

Cancer.

Such a simple word. Just six letters. Six small letters that delivered so much devastation.

Queenie pondered it for a moment, trying to digest exactly what she was hearing. She’d seen this exact scene hundreds of times before on EastEnders and Casualty, but to hear it for herself seemed so strange and unreal. It was fanciful yet also terrifying. Like being stuck somewhere between fiction and reality.

“We’ve also found that it has metastasised to your liver and your bones.”

Professor Farrelly paused.

Queenie glanced at Emma.

“That means it has spread,” she clarified.

“I see,” Queenie replied, trying unsuccessfully to swallow.

The voices carried on around her, but she didn’t hear them. Instead, her gaze shifted and she stared at the daffodils. Someone had arranged them beautifully. Really taken the time and effort to make them just so. Was it because there was only ever bad news delivered in this room? She noticed that half of them hadn’t opened yet and wondered whether they would bloom before they wilted. Died.

Professor Farrelly spoke again, and it pulled Queenie from her thoughts.

“The biopsy also tells us that this is an aggressive cancer.”

Emma’s breath caught. “Aggressive?”

“Yes. Unfortunately, this particular type tends to grow and spread quickly.” He looked at Queenie with those stupid, brown, pitying eyes. “I know this is incredibly difficult to hear.”

She huffed at the absurdity. Difficult. It felt like such an inadequate word. Like describing the Atlantic Ocean as a puddle.

Emma looked at Queenie, waiting for her to react. To cry. To question. To say something. Anything. Instead, she simply sat silently holding her paper cup as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

Professor Farrelly’s face softened. “Miss Baxter, I wish I could tell you we’re aiming for a cure, but with cancer this advanced, it has already spread beyond where surgery can help us.”

Emma noticed Queenie’s hand tighten ever so slightly around the paper cup, and she reached over, placing a supportive hand on the elderly woman’s bony, wrinkled arm and rubbed a thumb against her tissue-like skin in support.

“Queenie,” the elderly woman barely managed to get out in a voice no louder than a squeak. “Call me Queenie.”

Professor Farrelly nodded.

“Because of how aggressive this is, I’d like to begin a round of chemotherapy as soon as possible.”

He removed a leaflet from the desk drawer and slid across the desk.

“Our aim is to slow the spread. To give you as much quality time as we possibly can.”

There it was. The sentence no one wanted to hear.

“I’m sorry. We’ll do everything we can to make you comfortable.”

He slid across another leaflet and then another. There was suddenly a printed appointment schedule. A list of emergency contact numbers. Several prescriptions. A cancer treatment alert card.

Queenie heard the discussion between Emma and Professor Farrelly about other treatment options and something about a PICC line or a port, although she didn’t like the sound of either. There was mention of fatigue, hair loss, and infection risk. Emma mentioned something about transport services and then Macmillan Cancer Support. There was going to be a dietitian and a palliative care team.

Words, words, words. So many words, yet only a select few stuck.

You have cancer.

She blinked.

An aggressive cancer.

She heard Emma fire off a rapid list of questions. Something about an MDT discussion – whatever that was.

And then there was suddenly silence.

Queenie realised Professor Farrelly and Emma were looking at her, awaiting an answer.

“Sorry.”

“You drifted away for a moment,” Professor Farrelly said, smiling gently, although Queenie could sense some irritation. “Would you like me to go over any of that again? Do you have any questions?”

Yes! A million!

She finally relinquished her hold on the paper cup as she leaned over and placed it down carefully on the desk. She sat back, wet her lips with her tongue, and let out a steady exhale as she pulled the front of her cardigan in place. Her fingers brushed against the silver pendant that sat over her heart, and she suddenly thought about Gail. Then Will and little Jemima. 70 years of pain and agony had vanished last Christmas when they had all been reunited, when they had finally found each other, and now, what, that was it? A few months of happiness before fate dealt another slap and ripped them away from each other again?

“So, yer tellin’ me I’m gonna die?” Queenie asked, sitting up straighter and looking him squarely in the eye. The atmosphere in the room suddenly shifted. It crackled and fizzed. There was a charge in the air.

Emma’s tear-filled eyes looked from Professor Farrelly to Queenie and back again.

Professor Farrelly shifted in his chair. “Miss Baxter, this is an advanced pancreatic cancer—”

“That weren’t the question,” Queenie interrupted. “An’ me name’s Queenie.”

He met her unwavering stare. “If you want me to talk plainly, then yes, we’re looking at a finite timeframe.”

Queenie snuffed and smiled, looking down as she once again fixed her powder blue cardigan. She shook her head and muttered something under her breath.

Emma frowned, her eyes shifting from Professor Farrelly back to her elderly friend. “What’s funny?”

“He’s wrong,” Queenie replied, waving a dismissive hand at the professor, unable to shift the smile from her face. “I ain’t dyin’. I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

Professor Farrelly frowned with confusion. “Queenie—”

“I ain’t. Goin’. Nowhere. D’ya ‘ear me?”

There was suddenly a firm defiance in Queenie’s crystal blue eyes, and her posture stiffened with the strength of Sheffield steel.

“All me life folk ‘ave underestimated me. Told me no. Told me I couldn’t. An’ every time I’ve proved them wrong. Given ‘em two fingers. Stuck it up ‘em. We’re all dyin’ Doc, but this ain’t gonna kill me. It ain’t gonna get me. “Nah, not me.”

She looked to Emma.

“She’s gettin’ wed t’morrow. To me Godson,” Queenie said, stubbing an index finger into her chest as she looked back at Professor Farrelly. “She’s gonna be family. So I’m gonna be ‘ere for that. An’ then there’s Gail.”

Professor Farrelly cocked an eyebrow. “Gail?”

“Me daughter.” Queenie rubbed the silver pendant without thinking. “Sevn’y years I looked for her. Worried about ‘er. Wondered where she wos. ‘ated meself for doin’ what I did. But I found ‘er. An’ she’s wonderful, an’ beau’iful, an’ I only just got ‘er back. She’s only just come ‘ome.”

“Queenie—”

“No,” she quickly silenced Emma, shooting her a brief side-eye before looking back at the professor. “I’ve spent over seven’y years doin’ wot sensible people tell me. Listenin’ to those that know better.”

Her eyes began to go glassy with tears. She could see reality written on their faces. A reality she steadfastly refused to believe.

“I listened when people told me I couldn’t raise a littl’ girl on me own. When they told me to give ‘er up. When they tried to tell me not to look for ‘er. That I’d never find ‘er.”

She looked at Emma and brushed away a tear, refusing to show even the faintest hint of weakness.

“But I did. I found ‘er. I got ‘er back.”

Her voice grew stronger.

“An’ not just ‘er. I ‘ave a grandson who only just discovered ‘e ‘as a granny an’ a great-granddaughter who thinks I’m the Queen of England.”

She looked back at Professor Farrelly, stubbing her finger against the desk as if to emphasise each point.

“I’ve already lost so much time. I’ve only just been called mum. ‘eard me grandson laugh. ‘eld me great-grandaughter’s ‘and. I ‘ave birfdays to attend. Christmases. School plays. Cakes to bake. Things to teach. Memories to make. I ‘ave over seven’y years of lost time to make up for.” Queenie lifted her chin. “So, with the greatest respect, Prafessa, yer wrong. I ain’t sayin’ goodbye before I’ve even ‘ad a chance to say ‘ello.”

Queenie caught the look that was exchanged between Emma and the professor.

It wasn’t fair. But then, no one ever promised that life would be fair.

Queenie felt her chin tremble, and she looked back at Professor Farrelly as a tear broke free and rolled down her wrinkled cheek. Despite all her bravado, there was a part of her that wondered.

“‘ow long ‘ave I got?”

“Queenie, I don’t—”

“‘ow long?”

“I don’t know exactly,” Professor Farrelly admitted with a softness. “Every person responds differently, and every cancer is different. But this is an aggressive form, Queenie, and we could be looking at only a matter of months. Perhaps a little longer.”

The room fell utterly still.

Queenie felt Emma clutch her hand.

All air escaped her lungs.

Another tear fell.

She looked to the daffodils and took in their beauty.

Wasn’t life beautiful? How precious. How fragile.

“I’m sorry, Queenie,” Emma said gently. “I’m so sorry.”

Queenie looked at her and gave the faintest of smiles, trying in some way to ease the pain she could so clearly see.

“So am I, Doc,” she said with a sad acceptance. “So am I.”

NEXT TIME:

• The wedding day dawns.