Page 143 of The Dead Ex

‘Is this the first time you’ve been away from home?’I ask gently.

The girl shakes her head. ‘Been in care all my life. My mum – she’s in prison. My last foster family was OK but then they had to move.’ She takes in the brightly coloured walls and the lively noticeboard which I’ve been rearranging. ‘There’s table tennis?’

‘That’s right. You’ll like it here. Just keep your head down and don’t do anything wrong.’

‘I’m not like that.’ She looksat the noticeboard again. ‘Cool pictures.’

‘I took them myself.’ I try to sound casual. ‘In fact, I’ve won a few competitions.’

‘Wow! I’ve always wanted to take photographs.’

I get a sudden flashback of Robert, my foster father, donating his old camera and showing me how it worked. Taking pictures had somehow made all my anxieties melt away. I contacted them a few months ago to apologize foreverything. Dee wrote back saying all was forgiven, but that Robert had been ill and it might be better if we didn’t see each other for a while. Maybe this is my chance to go some way towards making up for my terrible behaviour.

‘I can teach you, if you like,’ I tell the girl in front of me.

‘Wow! Thanks.’

And for the first time in a long while, I begin to feel there might, after all, be adecent way forward.

Later on, one of the hostel kids knocks on my office door. I’m knee-deep in paperwork. ‘There’s someone to see you.’

My heart does a little flip. I’ve never been able to stop wondering where my grandparents are or even if they are still alive. Soon after getting this job, I’d saved enough money to place some ‘Looking For’ personal ads in the local paper (Mum had finally revealedthe name of the small Welsh village where she’d been brought up). But there’d been no response. Even so, I can’t help a burst of hope every time someone rings and asks for me.

‘Says her name is Vicki Goudman.’

Shit. How has she tracked me down?

‘Tell her I’m busy,’ I say sharply, looking down at my paperwork again.

‘Please. It won’t take a minute.’

It’s her! Standing at my door. There’s nogetting out of it.

‘It’s taken me a long time to find you.’ She seems to be studying my face. ‘I thought you seemed familiar that time by the sea in Penzance. I could see your mother in you.’ She shakes her head, almost as if speaking to herself. ‘I knew something had upset me. I just couldn’t remember what.’

My heart sinks. ‘You’d better come in.’

Already I’m cursing my decision. But partof me can’t help being curious. ‘What do you want? How did you find me?’

She ignores the first question and goes for the second. ‘Online, actually. Your name came up under the hostel. Deputy warden, I believe.’

I can’t help the note of pride that creeps into my voice. ‘I was promoted recently.’

As I speak, there is a high-pitched cry. I’d been hoping she wouldn’t see. But now her eyes are rivetedon the Moses basket on the floor by my desk. I pick up my daughter, holding her against my chest and patting her gently. Mum had been right. Even though I’d been terrified about how we’d manage, and despite the fact that I loathed her father, the loving bit just came naturally.

‘What have you called it?’ she asks with a note of wonder in her voice.

‘It’s a she,’ I correct her. ‘Her name is Hope.’I give a short laugh. ‘It seemed fitting.’

Mum’s old enemy has tears in her eyes. ‘That was one of the names on our list.’ She appears to struggle for a moment, trying to compose herself. ‘You bring her with you to work?’

‘I want my daughter near me, and anyway I can’t afford child care.’

‘Actually, that’s why I want to talk to you.’ Her fingers are twisting themselves together in a cat’s cradleas though she’s nervous. ‘I’m aware that I was convinced your mother had attacked me, not just from the ball in her room but because of her earlier behaviour. That was wrong of me.’

I think back to last week’s prison visit. Hope and I see Mum every Sunday. I owe that much to her. ‘You’re right, so why the hell are you here?’

‘Has my ex-husband offered to help you out?’