Page 1 of The Promise of Tomorrow
PROLOGUE
21 DECEMBER 2004
Elena held Teddy tightly. He always understood and gave the best hugs.
‘Mummy’s had an accident,’ she whispered to her bear, as if saying the words more loudly might cause a bad outcome. ‘The police came to the door. Daddy’s gone with them to the hospital. Auntie Gayle is downstairs making me something to eat but I’m not hungry. Not even for a slice of my birthday cake that we never got to cut. Mummy iced a big number ten on top.’
She pushed back the covers and shivered, despite burning up with the hot tears that made her feel sick, along with the temperature Gayle said she was running. Tonight the roads were icy and the police thought that was one reason the other car hit Mummy’s. Elena was about to look out of the window. She was tempted to sneak outside, to cool off – to desperately look for her driving down the street as if nothing had happened. However, the phone rang and Auntie Gayle’s voice carried upstairs. Elena went onto the landing.
‘Elena is okay, Don, upstairs in bed. No… don’t worry, I’ll stay here for as long as it takes.’ Auntie Gayle listened for several minutes. ‘Are the doctors sure?’ she asked eventually, voice wavering. ‘There’s really no hope she’ll recover?’
The landing spun for a moment before Elena dropped Teddy on the floor and rushed downstairs. Auntie Gayle’s eyes filled and she passed her the phone. When the call ended, after Daddy said goodbye, Elena threw up on the floor. She’d never heard him cry before.
The next morning, Elena woke up and beside her, on the pillow, lay a playing card with a fancy back. The king of hearts? She had no idea where it came from. She yawned and sat up.Teddy lay, nestled in her arms, undisturbed by the jolt that ripped through Elena’s body as it all came back. The police, the call with Daddy and then… Elenahadsneaked out; she’d gone to the woods and… She gulped at the memory of the stranger in the purple shawl, of the terrible promise Elena had made to help her mum… Shaking, she covered her face with her hands. They dropped away when the door creaked. It opened slowly and Auntie Gayle came in.
‘I’ve let you sleep in, sweetheart, but you should know that… You see… this morning the hospital rang and…’
Holding her breath, Elena stared at Auntie Gayle, willing her words to be happy ones.
1
ELENA
Twenty years later
Rory came back into the house carrying a large glass tank. Mouth open, Elena moved out of the way, unaware that this eyesore would be the least of her problems by the end of the evening.
Her colleague had already dumped two suitcases and a bag of outdoor gear in her hallway, whistling as if he’d lived here all his life. The crisp air tried to reach in, but Elena swiftly closed the door on the inky November night. At a recent work party, a few gins had loosened his tongue about the hell of living in an apartment that was being renovated. He hoped it would be finished by Christmas. Elena had a spare room in her detached house, and in a rare show of impulsive behaviour, she had suggested he crash at hers. After all, how weird could it be living with someone from the office?
Perhapsvery, now she thought. Elena jerked her head towards the glass tank. ‘You’ve got a lot of explaining to do.’ Shetried to look annoyed, but a sheepish look had crossed Rory’s face, so unlike the assured one she was used to.
‘We need to get going, I’ll tell you everything later. The fireworks venue opens soon,’ he said swiftly and shivered. ‘Unless we stay in, fire on, a cosy movie playing, and get takeout, my shout. Amazing as it was, I can still feel the breeze going right through me from this morning’s skydive. It’s a while since I did the last one. I’d forgotten what it was like in winter.’
Inwardly she rolled her eyes. Why did he have to jump out of an aeroplane to have a good time? ‘Rory Bunker, it’s Bonfire Night. It’s actual law to stand out in the cold and wish you were anywhere else.’
Rory gazed around and shook his head. ‘How have I never visited your place before? Wow. Who were the previous owners? The Kardashians?’ With his floppy curly hair, Rory gave that cute, boyish smile that might have been irritating on a grown man, but somehow he got away with it. He leant against the wall. Average height, slim, with the casual confidence of a cowboy movie star, blowing on his gun after a shootout in a corral. ‘Talk about palatial, and what with being in a private cul-de-sac with fake sentry boxes at the entrance to it…’
‘Palatial, my arse,’ she muttered and blushed. However, his words reminded Elena of when she’d first moved in, unable to quite believe the property was hers. To the left was the lounge, airy in mint and cream, with the welcoming wide arms of a comfortable oat-coloured sofa, and an unassuming television in the corner – reading was more her thing. A dining room ahead had French patio doors that looked out onto a large, sensible square of lawn. To the right was a kitchen with a breakfast bar in the middle, surrounded by marble work units. On one stood a coffee machine and rows of biscuit packets. A mini fireextinguisher hung from the wall in a prominent position – safety first, with Elena. The hallway was spacious, with the nut-white decor and ceiling high above the second floor. Dark wooden banisters curved upstairs, passing bedroom doors as they reached the top. As for the sentry boxes, the property developers had insisted they added class to the street. The residents took themselves a little less seriously and had put scarecrows in them for Halloween last week.
Not that she’d tell anyone, least of all Rory, but those sentry boxes gave Elena’s home a much appreciated, added sense of security.
‘It’s not like you couldn’t afford a place like this,’ she said.
‘It’s not like I’ll give up my exhilaratingly expensive hobbies for mere bricks and mortar.’
Their relationship was an honest one that suited the cut and thrust of them both being marketing executives for a large, dynamic manufacturer, Bingley Biscuits. However, the common ground between them was sparse, apart from their choice of career. Sensible Elena led a life that was adventurous only vicariously, through book characters. Whereas Rory mountaineered and whitewater rafted for real – he found any spectator sport, like League football, boring. And at work Rory focussed on facts and statistics, packet format and colour, consumer trends, footfall areas in supermarkets. Whereas Elena was more inspired by the story a product could tell its customers, in order to become an impulse buy or their regular favourite.
She took the heavy glass tank from him, trusting that Rory knew better, by now, than to ask if she could manage. Elena disappeared into the kitchen. After washing her hands, she returned to put on her belted plum trench coat, matching scarf and wool-felt beanie. The Wheatsheaf pub was the site for thefireworks display and it backed onto a field. It was thirty minutes away on foot, the other side of the Cariswell, a south Manchester village that thought it was better than everywhere else. By walking, both of them could enjoy a drink. Once at the end of the drive, Elena nipped back to check she’d locked up properly and then the two of them set off. Her elderly next door neighbour tapped the inside of his front window and waved.
‘Fantastic.’ Elena groaned and waved back. ‘By the end of your stay, Tahoor will have us engaged and the wedding breakfast menu chosen. He’s horrified that I’m thirty next month andnot evencourting.’
‘Don’t worry, I won’t do a single thing to encourage him.’ Rory waved at Tahoor and linked his arm through hers, leaning in. He increased their pace as she went to glare, but couldn’t help smiling instead, even though he was more annoying than fog on Bonfire Night. The humour between them, despite their differences, had more than once saved the day when they’d clashed over a project. They were halfway to the pub, in the village, when the aroma of garlic and seafood wafted out of a bistro with subtle lighting and no prices on the menu. Cariswell prided itself on not having a single branded high street store. A real shame, in Elena’s opinion, she’d have loved a Superdrug or The Works. The shops were upmarket, such as the designer boutique, herbal emporium, and organic cheese and meat deli. Even the charity shop shouted high-end, with its antique books, vintage garments and collectible porcelain pieces.
A group of young women passed by, Rory oblivious to their appreciative glances, with his pink scarf, the jaunty baker boy hat and bell bottom jeans. The refined way he moved underplayed his sporty strength. Rory dressed as he liked, from the beaded necklace he’d worn to the staff Christmas party, to the denimtrucker jacket when the heating failed and the office became chilly. A fluid style, a fluid mind, a carefree attitude – everything Elena lacked. Looking at him sometimes felt like seeing the Elena she should be. He’d worked freelance for Bingley Biscuits during the last year, and formally given up contract work and joined the company officially at the end of the summer. Their professional clashes shouldn’t have been unsurprising. Her leisure time involved reading cliffhangers, unlike his, which saw him scaling cliff edges. And her nightlife involved dinner with friends or cinema trips, whereas he’d recently dated a trapeze artist.
Elena didn’t do dates. Not often. Certainly not serious ones.
A coldness wrapped around her bones, as if the November chill had found a way through her coat.
