Page 39

Sophie

You can do this. Joan would want you to help her son and give him closure.

‘Can I help you?’

‘Sorry. I thought Trevor Harding lived here?’

Her eyes narrow into slits as she dabs at a mark on her daughter’s blue dress. ‘And you are?’

‘Sophie. I used to be friends with his mum, Joan.’

‘She was my nan!’ The woman kisses the top of her little girl’s head. ‘I’m Nadia.’

I sway slightly. Joan talked so much about her granddaughter and grandson. Will Nadia hold a grudge, as well as her dad?

‘Do you want to come in? I have a few minutes before I need to head out.’

I clutch my bag to my chest as she leads me through the hall and into a tiny sitting room. Toys are scattered across the carpet and on the sofa. Family photos cover every shelf and the mantelpiece. My throat tightens with emotion as I spot a picture of Joan and Trevor, hugging each other.

‘Sorry about the mess.’ Nadia scoops up a stray rattle and toy rabbit. ‘It’s chaos as usual this morning.’

My throat is dry; I should have taken a swig of water before knocking. ‘Don’t worry – you should see my flat.’ I cough. ‘Will Trevor be back soon? I’m down from Bristol for a few days and hoped to catch him while I’m here.’

‘You’d better take a seat. Would you like a drink? I can put the kettle on.’

I shake my head, perching on the edge of the sofa. She sits on a chair opposite, cradling the sleepy toddler on her lap.

‘I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but Dad died six months ago from lung cancer.’ She clears her throat. ‘It was weeks from diagnosis to the end – a huge shock. He didn’t have time to get his finances in order. Debt collectors still call round. That’s why I was suspicious just now.’

My mouth falls open. Inwardly, I’m reeling. ‘I’m sorry! I had no idea. I shouldn’t have disturbed you.’

I’m about to stand when Nadia frowns. ‘Did you say you’re called Sophie? Dad used to talk about a girl with that name. Nan taught her to sew before she died.’

‘That’s what I wanted to discuss with him.’ I steel myself for her reaction. ‘You see, your dad blamed me for her death.’

Nadia nods, but her expression doesn’t change. ‘That’s right. He said you persuaded Nan not to go out that night.’

‘I was worried about her walking in the storm.’ I take another breath. ‘I wanted to tell your dad that I’m sorry and how much Joan still means to me. I never forgot her. She inspired my love of sewing and I make quilts in her memory.’

‘Dad would have loved that.’ She kisses the top of her child’s head. ‘You know, he regretted the way he treated you.’

‘What?’ I gasp.

‘He was ashamed of the nasty letters he sent and the stuff he posted online back then – he told me what he did a couple of years ago. He said he was distraught but knew that wasn’t an excuse. You didn’t deserve it.’

I grip the side of the settee, my heart beating wildly. I can scarcely believe it.

‘Dad tried to track you down to say sorry, but never managed to find you. He couldn’t remember your last name, so didn’t have a chance.’

Blood pounds in my ears as my mind races. Trevor forgave me. He didn’t send those recent accusatory messages and it’s unlikely anyone from his extended family did either.

‘You look shocked,’ Nadia remarks.

‘I am. I thought your dad still hated me.’

She shakes her head, leaning forward. ‘I’m glad I’ve had the chance to apologise on his behalf. He was a good dad and Joan was a lovely nan. She enjoyed cooking treats for me and Mikey and made quilts from our old clothes.’

‘I know. She showed me them.’

‘That was another of Dad’s big regrets – everything in Nan’s house was destroyed in the explosion. He couldn’t pass on her wedding and engagement rings or the home-made bedspreads to me and Mikey. All he ever had were his photos and memories.’

‘That’s where I can help.’ I pull out the sewing sampler from my bag. ‘Joan had started making a new quilt for your dad, using a print of his dog in this log cabin design. She gave it me to work on the night she died. I forgot I had it.’

Nadia’s eyes well up and her hand flies to her mouth.

‘I came across it again yesterday. I thought it might comfort your dad.’ I pass it to her. ‘But it’s yours now, to remember her by.’

Tears roll down her cheeks. ‘This is Chester, my dad’s old border collie.

He’d have loved this, loved you for bringing it.

’ She hugs the frame to her chest, her bottom lip quivering.

‘You have no idea how much this means to me, to Mikey, our whole family. It’s the most precious thing in the world. We’ll always treasure it.’

Nadia and I exchange numbers and promise to keep in touch.

Afterwards, I buy a large bunch of yellow, pink and white tulips from a local shop and walk the short distance to the site of Joan’s old semi.

The street has barely changed; I remember the house with the bright-green front door and the large old oaks.

The damaged tree that lost a branch in the storm that night has been hacked back to a stump.

I stand outside number 40, which is unrecognisable.

A detached, modern-looking white house now stands where my wonderful, kind friend used to live.

I place Joan’s favourite flowers by the gate.

‘I’ll never forget you,’ I whisper. ‘You’re a part of every quilt I stitch and the fabric of my life. I’ll always love and remember you. Goodbye, Joan.’

I blow her a kiss and leave, smiling to myself. I’ve finally done a good deed for her after she did so many for me. Nadia will treasure the heirloom, eventually passing it on to her own daughter. Hopefully, my quilt will bring long-lasting happiness to Adam and Wren too.

Walter was right about the need for closure, and Trevor had managed to find it without my help.

But who hasn’t?

I stop walking and re-run in my head the list of people I tried and failed to save. Who connected to them might hold a secret grudge? Who is still in pain after all these years?

I have no idea. They’re all strangers. But the person writing the emails seems to know me.

This definitely feels personal.

I stride away with the claws of the past clinging on firmly.

They refuse to release me.