Read Online Can't Live Without by Joanne Phillips - Free Book Online Page B

known to her friends as Maggie – worked in a bookshop in a pretty village called Stony Stratford, on the outskirts of what had just been designated the new city of Milton Keynes. It would be another ten years until the magnificent shopping centre opened, so Howard Hill had to order his college books from the local shop: titles like The A to Z of Plumbing and Careers in Construction . Hardly the stuff to turn a girl’s head, but my mum says she fell for him straight away. By the time he asked her to lunch it was a done deal.
    On the way back to the bookshop, Howard nipped into a photo booth. He tried to cajole Maggie to go inside the booth with him but she thought this too forward. She did, however, accept one of the photographs with his telephone number and address scrawled on the back, and gave him her own number on a bookmark.
    She still has the photo, and is clutching it now, gazing out of watery eyes at the likeness of her husband thirty-eight years ago. Did he keep the bookmark? Somehow, I doubt it.
    I walk up behind my mother and place a protective arm around her shoulders. She sinks into me as though melting. I am surprised when, instead of becoming more intense, her tears subside quickly. She still clings to me though, until my back is stiff from bending.
    After a while I stand up straight and push her hair back from her face. She has continued to have it expensively dyed the copper red of her youth, with expertly placed lowlights and highlights. It suits her. One day soon I’ll remember to tell her.
    ‘Cup of tea?’ I say, and see, with a degree of discomfort, that she visibly relaxes. No reprimand from Stella this time. Is that really what she thinks? Is that what she expects from me?
    She nods in agreement to the tea and begins to gather up the photographs, returning them to their black leather box. All except the passport photo; this she brings over to the sink where I’m washing out a cup.
    ‘He was so handsome, wasn’t he, back then?’ she says softly, holding out the picture like a talisman.
    I put the cup down on the granite worktop with a bang, harder than expected, making both of us jump. My fingers are clenched around the handle so tightly I can feel my nails digging into my palm. I should have seen that coming. She never passes up an opportunity to go on at me about my dad. Why don’t I go and see him? Why did I take what happened so personally? Questions that I couldn’t have made it plainer I have no intention of answering. Ever. Now she’ll make a scene, more tears and recriminations.
    Slowly, I uncurl my hand and walk across the kitchen to the fridge. My mother watches me carefully. I can feel her eyes boring into the back of my head, feel the weight of all the words she wants to say.
    ‘Skimmed or semi?’ I ask, turning to show her the choice of milk.
    She slips the photograph into the pocket of her dressing gown and leaves the kitchen without another word. I stare at the space she leaves behind for a long time after she’s gone.
     
    ***
     
    The next shock of the day comes at eleven o’clock. I’ve just ended a particularly irksome phone call from a disgruntled tenant, when my mobile rings in my bag under the desk. Thinking it might be Lipsy, I grab it and race out to the back of the building – personal calls are frowned upon even by ultra-lenient Paul. I’m still panting as I answer the phone.
    ‘Can I speak to Miss Stella Hill, please?’ Not Lipsy, then.
    ‘Speaking.’
    ‘This is Graham Canter from the Fire Investigations Office. We have a result in the investigation into your house fire. That is, we know what caused it.’
    The voice is official and nasal. I fight to get my breath back and try to focus on what he is saying. The only words that register are “fire” and “caused”.
    ‘Was it arson?’ I gasp.
    ‘Was it… no, it wasn’t arson, Miss Hill. Why would you think that?’ He sounds worried all of a sudden. ‘The police gave us no indication of suspicious