Page 96 of Broken Beyond Repair
CHAPTER36
Sydney closed the door of the small cottage and hung her thick coat up on the hook. “Mum, I’m back.”
“I’m making us some cheese and pickle sandwiches for lunch,” her mum called from the kitchen.
“Great!” It was one of her favourite combos.
Rhona, a slim, pale woman with the complexion of someone ten years her senior, moseyed into the hallway. “Where did you walk?”
“Down to the harbour.”
“Oh. Right,” she replied softly, her gaze falling to the floor.
Why had Sydney let that slip? She hadn’t intended on mentioning it. She didn’t even know why she had gone or what she expected to find there. All it did was bring back painful memories.
“This came in the post this morning,” her mum said, taking an A4 card envelope from a small table and handing it to her.
It was already open, so Sydney reached inside and extracted a green piece of paper. Her dad’s death certificate. She looked at her mum.
“We left enough time, didn’t we?”
Rhona gave a gentle nod. “More than enough time. We should have done it sooner.”
Sydney reached for her, as she noticed a glistening in her mum’s eyes, and pulled her into a hug. “It all seems so final now, doesn’t it?”
“It needs to. We should move on. It’s what he would have wanted.” Rhona pulled back and wiped her eye. “You should stop searching too.”
Sydney opened her mouth to speak.
“Don’t deny it. I saw you in the supermarket yesterday, scanning everything except the groceries. It’s time to stop.”
Sydney gave an obedient nod. It was her mum she’d made the promise to, and if she said to stop, she would. She thought she had; she’d certainly been trying since Beatrice said the same thing. Her insides fizzed at the thought of Beatrice, causing her to let out a little sigh. Luckily her mum hadn’t noticed.
“A parcel came for you,” she added. “I put it in your room.”
A parcel? Sydney wasn’t expecting anything.
“I thought we’d eat early, and then we could go to the cinema — catch the matinee. That woman you worked for has one out. Do you want to see it?”
“I don’t know, Mum. Can we see how we feel after lunch?”
Seeing someone you were trying to forget at ten times their true size a few meters from your face was not going to help with Sydney’s fizzy feelings. On the other hand, her mum was suggesting they go out, and as she rarely left the house, except to buy groceries, Sydney wasn’t sure it was wise to refuse.
“Go on up, open your parcel while I finish these sandwiches.”
Running up the stairs, two steps at a time, Sydney discovered a flat parcel on her bed, postmarked London. She ripped it open to find a copy of Beatrice’s autobiography. She sucked in a breath at the words ‘Co-Author Sydney MacKenzie’ gracing the cover.
The excitement she should have felt at seeing her name on the front cover of what was to be one of the hottest books of the year was masked by the pain of her distance from the woman on it — the breathtaking woman in a red dress, whose eyes were once again penetrating her own as they had when the photograph was taken.
The chosen photograph was a pose with a sullen look on Beatrice’s face rather than one taken seconds after, when she’d been unable to withhold her smile. It was the right choice; it fitted the tone of the book. As she opened the book to its title page, Sydney noticed a signature —With love, Beatrice x.No doubt generic. She tore at the envelope that accompanied it, sitting on the bed to read it. A small card with ‘Heathrow VIP Lounge’ stamped at the top held Beatrice’s handwriting. So she’d been in England recently.
Not bad for an aspiring writer, who was never an aspiring writer!
The moment you do is the moment you are.
Don’t forget to sign it, too, partner.
B x
