She took a deep breath. ‘It’s horrible, Mum. I feel completely out of control, and you know how much I hate that.’
Her mother nodded. They could both agree that Pip liked to be in control.
‘It kind of starts with my scalp,’ Pip continued. ‘And then my neck and my cheeks go numb. That’s when I know it’s coming and I can’t do anything to stop it. It’s like I can’t get any air, like there’s a band squeezing my chest so I can’t breathe. Then my vision goes wobbly and in the end I just black out and . . .’ She stopped. She didn’t know what happened after that. She glanced up at her mother. There were tears rolling down her cheeks.
‘Oh Pip, love,’ she said, her voice cracking a little. ‘My poor baby.’
Pip had no tears. They just wouldn’t come. It was as if her emotions had been sliced away from her. ‘It’s okay, Mum,’ she said. ‘You get used to it after a bit.’
But that wasn’t true. She had lost count of the number of flashbacks and panic attacks she had had since the accident, and yet she still couldn’t come to terms with it. And that was why she couldn’t believe she would ever be able to pick her London life back up. She was starting to forget what it was like to be Rose.
In fact, she’d been so wrapped up with what was going on inside her head that she barely looked beyond her own problems these days. But now, the more she thought about the diary and what it might contain, the more excited she became. And this curiosity was something new.
By the time she wheeled the bike into the farmyard, she was buzzing. She looked to see if the light was on in the kitchen. If her mother wasn’t in there, then it would be child’s play to sneak the diary in without anyone noticing. But of course the light was on, warm and welcoming. Briefly she considered leaving the plastic bag with the bike and going back to retrieve it later, but who was going to be interested in whatever she was carrying? She tucked the bag under her arm and headed into the warmth of the kitchen.
‘Hi, Mum,’ she called as she opened the back door.
‘There you are at last,’ replied her mother, her voice a little strained and unnaturally bright. ‘You’ve got a visitor.’
Pip peered past her mother and saw the broad back of a dark-haired man in a smartly cut suit sitting at the table. It was Dominic, and Pip was surprised to find herself mildly irritated that he should have shown up unannounced and spoiled her date with the diary.
But that wasn’t right. She was supposed to be delighted he was here, and she was really, she told herself. It was just that she hadn’t been expecting him. The shock of it had thrown her and she wasn’t good with surprises any more. Finally, she got to the place where she should have been at the outset: pleased to see him.
‘Dominic!’ she squealed. She dropped her handbag and the diary on the dresser and almost ran the short distance across the kitchen with her arms open wide. ‘What are you doing here? I didn’t know you were coming up this weekend. You never said. But it’s lovely to see you,’ she added breathlessly, just in case there was any doubt.
Dominic stood up and, opening his own arms to greet her, smiled.
‘Surprise!’ he said, and Pip pushed herself against his torso and buried her face into his lapel, the citrusy scent of his aftershave putting her in touch with a part of herself that had, until that second, felt vague and blurred. She felt his arms close round her, but there was no accompanying squeeze. Immediately she felt wary, anxiety rising in her like cold, dank floodwater.
‘That party in Bristol was cancelled,’ explained Dominic. ‘So, as I had some unexpected time on my hands, I thought I’d pop up here. I hope that’s all right with you.’
‘Of course,’ Pip replied as she tried to push her own doubts away. It was fine, she told herself. Everything was fine.
‘And I’m sorry to descend on you with no notice, Rachel,’ Dominic added, turning to her mother.
Her mother waved a hand dismissively, as if an additional person at the farm was not even worthy of mention, but Pip knew she would be fretting about the contents of her fridge and how she could transform it into a meal of the appropriate standard for her sophisticated house guest. She would be worrying about the state of the sheets, too. The Appleby family really didn’t deal well with impromptu.
‘Supper won’t be for an hour, though,’ her mother said, ‘so why don’t you two go and make yourselves comfortable in the snug and I’ll bring you a drink through in a few minutes.’