working.
‘It’s in the north, I think. Give that here, I’ll find it on a map. Smashing beaches.’ She flicked through the pages then stopped and looked at Anna quizzically. ‘Hang on, I thought Pete wasn’t keen on “abroad”. How did you manage to talk him into it?’
‘Oh . . .’ Damn. She hadn’t thought this through very well. And she definitely didn’t want to go off on a tangent about Pete, she wanted to get back to Rimini and her mum’s memories. ‘I haven’t told him yet, to be honest. Working up to that bit. I thought I’d suss it all out first and then present him with this dream holiday. So if you reckon Rimini’s a good bet . . .’ Had she got away with that?
‘It’s lovely. Probably changed a bit since I was there – God, over thirty years ago, that’s a scary thought.’
Over thirty years ago. Yes, that fitted. ‘And you never went back?’
Tracey narrowed her eyes. ‘Well, no, because then you came along, didn’t you? I didn’t have the money to go jetting abroad after that.’
‘Sorry,’ Anna said automatically, but her skin was prickling. No, because then you came along, didn’t you? Oh. Em. Gee. Her mother had practically admitted it: an Italian holiday romance ending in an unexpected pregnancy. No wonder she’d never wanted to talk about Anna’s father. She’d have had to admit she didn’t even know where he lived!
‘No need to apologize, you daft thing,’ her mum said, interrupting Anna’s train of thought. ‘It wasn’t your fault.’
‘No.’ Anna took a deep breath. ‘The thing is, Mum—’
‘I could do with a holiday myself, to be honest. Get away from it all. Bit of winter sunshine would be lovely right now.’
‘Yes.’ Anna clutched her knees under the table and braced herself. Just ask her. ‘Mum . . . I was wondering . . .’
‘It’s been so cold lately, hasn’t it? Two duvets on the bed, we’ve got at the moment, and one of them is a super-tog-doodah or whatever they’re called.’ Tracey broke off and fixed her with an intense gaze. ‘Are you okay? You look a bit odd. Peaky. Are you coming down with something?’
‘I’m fine, Mum. Listen, I wanted to ask you—’
‘Maybe you and Pete should bring your holiday forward, that’s all. Go sooner rather than later. Although I’m not sure how warm it’ll be in Italy right now, mind.’ She traced the cover of the guidebook, a dreamy expression on her face.
Anna lost her nerve. Maybe this was too public a place to start asking blunt questions after all. A new approach was called for. ‘I hadn’t thought about what time of year would be best to go,’ she said, her mind working quickly. ‘I’ve heard July and August are roasting. Maybe going earlier would be better, say, June?’ She crossed her fingers under the table, hoping her mum would take the bait. Ka-ching! Jackpot.
‘When were we there? Let me think. I’ve got a feeling it was June for us too. That’s right, because Marie had just finished her A-levels, and . . .’ A strange look passed across her face. ‘Anyway. Check in your book, that’s the best idea. But not now, yeah? Let’s decide what we’re going to eat, I’m starving.’
They both studied the menu but Anna could hardly read the words. Oh my goodness. This was totally stacking up. If Mum and Marie went in June, it tallied completely with her mum getting pregnant there. Her birthday was in March, exactly nine months later. And there was no denying that weird look on her mum’s face just then. In a split-second she had turned all shifty and secretive, clearly doing what Anna had just done, counting nine months back from her date of birth. The jigsaw was coming together so much easier than Anna had ever anticipated. Although . . . Wait. She still needed to check out the exact year, just to be sure.
‘Still,’ she said breezily, as if it had just occurred to her. ‘If you’re going to take a last fabulous holiday before you have a baby, it sounds
‘It’s in the north, I think. Give that here, I’ll find it on a map. Smashing beaches.’ She flicked through the pages then stopped and looked at Anna quizzically. ‘Hang on, I thought Pete wasn’t keen on “abroad”. How did you manage to talk him into it?’
‘Oh . . .’ Damn. She hadn’t thought this through very well. And she definitely didn’t want to go off on a tangent about Pete, she wanted to get back to Rimini and her mum’s memories. ‘I haven’t told him yet, to be honest. Working up to that bit. I thought I’d suss it all out first and then present him with this dream holiday. So if you reckon Rimini’s a good bet . . .’ Had she got away with that?
‘It’s lovely. Probably changed a bit since I was there – God, over thirty years ago, that’s a scary thought.’
Over thirty years ago. Yes, that fitted. ‘And you never went back?’
Tracey narrowed her eyes. ‘Well, no, because then you came along, didn’t you? I didn’t have the money to go jetting abroad after that.’
‘Sorry,’ Anna said automatically, but her skin was prickling. No, because then you came along, didn’t you? Oh. Em. Gee. Her mother had practically admitted it: an Italian holiday romance ending in an unexpected pregnancy. No wonder she’d never wanted to talk about Anna’s father. She’d have had to admit she didn’t even know where he lived!
‘No need to apologize, you daft thing,’ her mum said, interrupting Anna’s train of thought. ‘It wasn’t your fault.’
‘No.’ Anna took a deep breath. ‘The thing is, Mum—’
‘I could do with a holiday myself, to be honest. Get away from it all. Bit of winter sunshine would be lovely right now.’
‘Yes.’ Anna clutched her knees under the table and braced herself. Just ask her. ‘Mum . . . I was wondering . . .’
‘It’s been so cold lately, hasn’t it? Two duvets on the bed, we’ve got at the moment, and one of them is a super-tog-doodah or whatever they’re called.’ Tracey broke off and fixed her with an intense gaze. ‘Are you okay? You look a bit odd. Peaky. Are you coming down with something?’
‘I’m fine, Mum. Listen, I wanted to ask you—’
‘Maybe you and Pete should bring your holiday forward, that’s all. Go sooner rather than later. Although I’m not sure how warm it’ll be in Italy right now, mind.’ She traced the cover of the guidebook, a dreamy expression on her face.
Anna lost her nerve. Maybe this was too public a place to start asking blunt questions after all. A new approach was called for. ‘I hadn’t thought about what time of year would be best to go,’ she said, her mind working quickly. ‘I’ve heard July and August are roasting. Maybe going earlier would be better, say, June?’ She crossed her fingers under the table, hoping her mum would take the bait. Ka-ching! Jackpot.
‘When were we there? Let me think. I’ve got a feeling it was June for us too. That’s right, because Marie had just finished her A-levels, and . . .’ A strange look passed across her face. ‘Anyway. Check in your book, that’s the best idea. But not now, yeah? Let’s decide what we’re going to eat, I’m starving.’
They both studied the menu but Anna could hardly read the words. Oh my goodness. This was totally stacking up. If Mum and Marie went in June, it tallied completely with her mum getting pregnant there. Her birthday was in March, exactly nine months later. And there was no denying that weird look on her mum’s face just then. In a split-second she had turned all shifty and secretive, clearly doing what Anna had just done, counting nine months back from her date of birth. The jigsaw was coming together so much easier than Anna had ever anticipated. Although . . . Wait. She still needed to check out the exact year, just to be sure.
‘Still,’ she said breezily, as if it had just occurred to her. ‘If you’re going to take a last fabulous holiday before you have a baby, it sounds
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