‘I. Am. Not. Spoilt,’ cried Viola, stamping her foot.
‘Now then, Viola, that’s not polite, is it?’ said Huw, who was standing beside Viola in the doorway. She stuck out her tongue at him and ran off. They all stood in silence as her shiny patent sandals clomped across the tiles in the hallway.
Elspeth sighed theatrically. ‘I don’t know what we’re going to do with that girl.’ She turned to Katy. ‘But it’s not something you need to worry about. I’ve been told you’re a good girl.’
Fiona stood up, looking concerned. ‘Is Viola going to come around to having Katy here? I don’t really want to leave Katy in a hostile environment.’ She glanced at Katy worriedly. As far as social workers went, Katy knew she was lucky. Fiona genuinely seemed to care about her welfare, which wasn’t the case with her last one, Derek, who had told her to put up and shut up when she was placed with a foster family who used her as an unpaid skivvy. Luckily he was sacked and Fiona replaced him, with her freckled face and warm smile. She could see how unhappy Katy had been at the Morgans and had whisked her out of there and back into the children’s home within the day.
‘Why don’t you go and find her in the garden? I’ll show you. Come on.’ Elspeth held out her hand to Katy and led her through the library, then outside and down a few steps onto a terrace. ‘She’ll be in that tree house, I expect.’ Elspeth made an encouraging face and Katy tentatively walked across the huge garden, wanting to please her new mother. When she got to the back of the garden where the tree house was a hand pulled her to the ground. It was Viola’s.
‘You’re not wanted here,’ she hissed at her, surprisingly strong for such a slight girl. ‘I’m going to make your life hell and then you’ll be begging to go back to that puky home like hideous Tommy.’
Katy stared into the girl’s perfect face in shock. How could something so pretty be so … so mean? She felt her eyes fill with tears.
‘Oh, great. Another weakling,’ said Viola, getting to her feet and dusting off her dress. ‘No wonder your real parents didn’t want you. I’ll break you within a week.’
Katy watched Viola stomp off, anger rising in her throat.
Katy had spent years wishing for a new family. And now here was her chance and she wasn’t going to let that brat Viola spoil things for her.
12
Una
I laugh at something Elspeth is saying as we walk through the arcade on Friday morning. She’s on good form today, as though getting out of the house has lifted her spirits. We’ve just come from the wool shop because Elspeth said she’d like to take up crocheting again. She was surprised when I told her I also liked to crochet and that my mum had taught me. We used to sit and make blankets for the NSPCC while she was recovering from chemo, chatting about travelling to an exotic destination. When I relayed this to Elspeth in front of a triangular display of blue-hued wools she went quiet and gripped my arm, her fingers surprisingly strong. ‘What a wonderful thing to do,’ she’d said. ‘I’d love to make a blanket for charity. Will you help me?’ I’d agreed eagerly and we spent a pleasant half-hour picking out the colours we would use. She refused to let me pay for any of the bundles and as we left the shop I felt relief that we’d found something we have in common – tinged with sadness that I can no longer do it with my mum.
Afterwards, she shows me her antiques shop, Viola’s, and the jewellery store, Kat’s. I like that she’s named them both after her daughters. I want to ask about Viola but Mum’s voice pops into my head: Curiosity killed the cat, Una. And I know she’s right. Particularly about this.
Elspeth’s arm is linked through mine and she’s telling me how she used to drive to the markets in northern France to pick up bargains for the antiques shop back in the early 1990s, when I notice Kathryn ducking into a card shop. I’m sure she saw us. I don’t mention it to Elspeth but let her talk as she steers me down the corridor and towards the art gallery. It’s called simply McKenzie’s.
‘Kathryn runs this one for me,’ she says, as I push open the door. The bell tinkles. Inside, the space is quite big, with some beautiful paintings on the wall – not that I know anything about art – but there are no customers milling about. ‘Oh,’ says Elspeth, looking around her. ‘I thought Kathryn would be here now.’ She checks her watch. ‘It’s ten o’clock.’
A girl younger than me emerges from the back, clearly surprised to see us – it’s as though she was expecting someone else. Elspeth introduces her to me as Daisy, Kathryn’s assistant. ‘Do you know where my daughter is?’