Rachel rolling her eyes at Molly on many occasions.
The bus stopped in town and Rose got off, looking round to see the familiarity of the Georgian town with its old-fashioned High Street, its war memorial and numerous tea shops and antique shops for holidaymakers and weekenders. She’d always liked going into Holt. A lot of the other girls preferred to go to the nearby station of Little Radleigh and spend their free time in Norwich. She’d gone a couple of times in Year Ten but in Year Eleven, after she and Rachel had become friends again, the two of them preferred Holt. They dawdled in shops browsing endlessly; antiques, collectables, fashion boutiques and charity shops. Nobody seemed to mind and there was a brilliant arts and crafts area at the back of the High Street where she loved to buy sketch pads.
‘Are you going anywhere in particular?’ Rose said.
‘Library,’ Amanda said. ‘And Molly’s going to come with me to look at some of the vintage clothes shops.’
‘Text me when you’ve finished and we can get a drink.’
‘Yeah,’ Amanda said.
Rose watched them walk off, Molly a little ahead of Amanda. When they had gone she looked around. It was busy. Holt was always full of people at the weekends. Even in the winter families from London came and stayed in the second homes and shopped in the quaint grocers and bakers. She and Rachel used to make fun of them.
It was cold so Rose walked towards the back of the town in the direction of the Antique and Collectables Emporium, a rickety old building which covered two floors. Upstairs was a huge room full of stripped wooden tables and chairs and a variety of kitchenware dating from Victorian times right up to the 1960s. Downstairs were a number of tiny rooms, all filled to the brim with jewellery, dishes, glassware and clothes. It was an Aladdin’s cave and she and Rachel had spent loads of time there. They had always come away with some small item; a jewellery box, a pretty tin, a lacy scarf, a ring, a bracelet, once even a pair of elbow-length gloves.
Rose stayed downstairs, smelling the dampish smell that she remembered from her last visit months and months before. She looked at the rows and rows of crystal wine glasses. She suddenly thought of Anna and wondered whether she would like this place. Probably not. Anna shopped in Harrods and Bond Street. This place would probably appal her. Joshua would like it, though. There was a room at the back chock-full of workmen’s tools. She remembered the tiny bedroom he used in the house they’d lived in in Brewster Road. It was always crammed with bits of bikes and tools.
And then there was her mother. She would have loved this emporium. Her mother adored old things and scoured charity shops for old glasses or vases or crockery. She bought blouses and jackets from jumble sales and internet sites. Going to work her mother was one person; smart suit, shoes and briefcase. At weekends and holidays she wore this eclectic mix; a floral skirt, a tweed jacket, suede boots and round her neck a lace scarf that Brendan had bought her for a Christmas present. It was old, she’d said, the lace fragile; a stiff breeze might have blown a hole in it. Her mother was like two different people.
Now, though, Rose thought that her mother, Kathy Smith, was like three different people; policewoman, mother and . . . Who was the third person? The woman who had planned her own disappearance, who had left her daughter to live a lonely life?
Rose picked up a bead bangle from a shelf of glittering jewellery. Rachel had bought her one just like it, the beads turquoise and irregular like small polished stones. She’d given it to her after the summer holidays when Rose had fallen out with her. She’d got back to school a day before Rose. When Rose arrived she saw a small brown box on her pillow with the word Sorry! written on the front. Inside was the gift. Rose replaced the bangle on the shelf with the rest of the jewellery. Then she
The bus stopped in town and Rose got off, looking round to see the familiarity of the Georgian town with its old-fashioned High Street, its war memorial and numerous tea shops and antique shops for holidaymakers and weekenders. She’d always liked going into Holt. A lot of the other girls preferred to go to the nearby station of Little Radleigh and spend their free time in Norwich. She’d gone a couple of times in Year Ten but in Year Eleven, after she and Rachel had become friends again, the two of them preferred Holt. They dawdled in shops browsing endlessly; antiques, collectables, fashion boutiques and charity shops. Nobody seemed to mind and there was a brilliant arts and crafts area at the back of the High Street where she loved to buy sketch pads.
‘Are you going anywhere in particular?’ Rose said.
‘Library,’ Amanda said. ‘And Molly’s going to come with me to look at some of the vintage clothes shops.’
‘Text me when you’ve finished and we can get a drink.’
‘Yeah,’ Amanda said.
Rose watched them walk off, Molly a little ahead of Amanda. When they had gone she looked around. It was busy. Holt was always full of people at the weekends. Even in the winter families from London came and stayed in the second homes and shopped in the quaint grocers and bakers. She and Rachel used to make fun of them.
It was cold so Rose walked towards the back of the town in the direction of the Antique and Collectables Emporium, a rickety old building which covered two floors. Upstairs was a huge room full of stripped wooden tables and chairs and a variety of kitchenware dating from Victorian times right up to the 1960s. Downstairs were a number of tiny rooms, all filled to the brim with jewellery, dishes, glassware and clothes. It was an Aladdin’s cave and she and Rachel had spent loads of time there. They had always come away with some small item; a jewellery box, a pretty tin, a lacy scarf, a ring, a bracelet, once even a pair of elbow-length gloves.
Rose stayed downstairs, smelling the dampish smell that she remembered from her last visit months and months before. She looked at the rows and rows of crystal wine glasses. She suddenly thought of Anna and wondered whether she would like this place. Probably not. Anna shopped in Harrods and Bond Street. This place would probably appal her. Joshua would like it, though. There was a room at the back chock-full of workmen’s tools. She remembered the tiny bedroom he used in the house they’d lived in in Brewster Road. It was always crammed with bits of bikes and tools.
And then there was her mother. She would have loved this emporium. Her mother adored old things and scoured charity shops for old glasses or vases or crockery. She bought blouses and jackets from jumble sales and internet sites. Going to work her mother was one person; smart suit, shoes and briefcase. At weekends and holidays she wore this eclectic mix; a floral skirt, a tweed jacket, suede boots and round her neck a lace scarf that Brendan had bought her for a Christmas present. It was old, she’d said, the lace fragile; a stiff breeze might have blown a hole in it. Her mother was like two different people.
Now, though, Rose thought that her mother, Kathy Smith, was like three different people; policewoman, mother and . . . Who was the third person? The woman who had planned her own disappearance, who had left her daughter to live a lonely life?
Rose picked up a bead bangle from a shelf of glittering jewellery. Rachel had bought her one just like it, the beads turquoise and irregular like small polished stones. She’d given it to her after the summer holidays when Rose had fallen out with her. She’d got back to school a day before Rose. When Rose arrived she saw a small brown box on her pillow with the word Sorry! written on the front. Inside was the gift. Rose replaced the bangle on the shelf with the rest of the jewellery. Then she
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