Page 86 of The Wedding Proposal

She met her dad and Tania at the pub beside the motel where she’d booked a room. Tania, Elle was sure, had made the long haul from Wales only to make certain that Elle understood Will didn’t have money to splash around contributing to the care of ex-wives.

Elle offered only brusque reassurance. ‘I didn’t expect anything of Dad so I’m not disappointed that it’s all down to me.’

Will looked pained. ‘That’s not worthy of you, young lady.’

Elle picked up her wine glass, determined not to accept her father’s reproof like a child. ‘So who else is it down to?’

Will didn’t come up with anyone, so Elle went on doggedly with her round of meetings until she thought her head would explode from information overload and hard choices. But at least it stopped her thinking about Lucas. Much.

The late afternoon of the second day, after a particularly onerous and shitty meeting, she went into McDonald’s and logged on to the Wi-Fi.

Then she did something she didn’t think she’d ever do.

She opened a new Facebook account and filled out the profile with her background details. Bettsbrough Comprehensive School; Keele University; University of Manchester.

She activated the profile and wrote a couple of status updates about being back in Northampton; then sent out a dozen friend requests to people she remembered were surgically attached to their Facebook pages so could probably be relied upon to react promptly.

Into the search window she typed: Ricky Manion. Three came up. Ricky James Manion, Ricky DJ Manion and Ricky Manion Smith. Ricky DJ Manion’s profile picture was a musical note rather than a photo of himself, and unless the Ricky she needed had started adopting names and changing his appearance, neither of the other Rickys was the correct one.

She drank a cup of coffee and ate a chocolate brownie, slowly, and by the time she’d finished five people had friended her back, people she’d worked with who sent Hey, where have you been — got to meet up! messages.

She returned suitably brief and non-committal replies. Satisfied that she now had a Facebook presence, however superficial, she clicked on Ricky DJ Manion and, hoping that his settings allowed people other than Facebook friends to make contact, sent him a private message.

I need to speak to you. Call me. She added her mobile phone number.

If she had found the right Ricky Manion, he wouldn’t be able to resist finding out why Elle Kirsty Jamieson would get in touch.

It was an uncomfortable feeling, doing everything she’d so carefully avoided up to now: making herself visible and discoverable. Drearily, she reminded herself that it didn’t matter any more. All her dirtiest beans lay spilled in the muck.

On the morning of her fourth day back in England, she visited her mother, as she had done each day. Joanna had been moved into a geriatric ward and was in a large orange vinyl armchair, her head resting on one of the chair’s wings, her fingers twisting and one corner of her mouth dragged down.

‘Hello, Mum.’ Elle stooped tentatively to hug her mother’s shoulders; lost muscle tone had made them narrow, loose under Elle’s hands. ‘How are you?’

Joanna gazed back at Elle with watery blue eyes and her mouth worked as if groping for words that hovered just out of reach. Her hair was held out of her eyes with a hair slide. It was a girlish style Joanna would never have worn when she was well and Elle realised that she probably hadn’t thought to book her mother haircuts while she was away. She put it on her mental ‘to do’ list.

To fill the silence, and because Joanna was gazing at her, Elle launched into an account of all she’d been doing since leaving the ward the day before. Encouraged by Joanna’s apparent attention and by what might have been attempts to smile, she moved on to what the healthcare worker had said and what conclusions Elle had drawn from her conferences at The Briars and the alternative care homes.

‘I think it’ll be best for you to go back to The Briars,’ she ended. ‘You know the staff and they’re able to give you the care you need. It means being in a new room and, hopefully, you’ll keep improving.’

Elle waited while her mother tried to say something. When the attempt ended only in a sigh, she added, ‘I’ve sorted out the money side of things.’ Elle hated to think what would happen when the money from Joanna’s share of the family home was gone. Elle’s contribution would no longer be enough. She’d have to return to the UK and secure a proper job again. She could see her new life circling the drain.

Shoving that unwelcome thought aside, she pasted on her brightest smile. ‘So there’s nothing for you to worry about, Mum. It might even be as soon as tomorrow that you’re back at The Briars.’

Joanna’s mouth worked again, and she frowned with the effort of transferring her thoughts to her lips. Slowly, indistinctly, the words came out.

‘Do I know you?’

Elle recoiled. But, as she stared at the shell that had once been her mother, her phone began to vibrate in her pocket. Unknown number. She dashed out of the ward and into the Ladies’ to answer the call, her voice choked with tears. ‘Yes?’

A pause, then, ‘Why did you want me to call you?’

The sound of Ricky’s voice, after four years, added a thread of panic to Elle’s jangling emotions. ‘I can’t talk now, but it’s important. Are you in Northampton?’

‘What if I am?’

She wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand. ‘Can you meet me?’

‘Why should I?’

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