The Day Of Second Chances Read Free

laugh.
    â€˜Mummy.’ Oscar squirmed on her. ‘I’m hungry.’
    â€˜It’s not far now, sweetheart. And you just had a muffin at the café.’
    â€˜I’m
really
hungry.’
    Jo snaked her arm round so she could reach into her other pocket, the one with her keys instead of her phone, and found a small plastic container. ‘Cheerios,’ she said, producing it, grateful that there was something in it other than a used wet-wipe. She packed these small pots every morning, hiding them in various places, to be apparated like a bunny in a magician’s hat at vital moments when distraction was needed. Sometimes she forgot. Sometimes she found pots she’d left there days before.
    â€˜No!’ said Iris, and filled her chubby hand with the cereal. Little Os dropped onto Jo’s lap, onto the seat and the floor. The man sitting next to the window stared straight ahead.
    â€˜Save some for your brother,’ Jo said.
    â€˜I don’t like Cheerios. What does this button do?’ Oscar pressed the big red button on the post in front of him. It dinged. Delighted, he pressed it again.
    â€˜Ten minutes till we get home!’ said Jo, though it would be more like twenty until they passed out of the cramped streets of Brickham town centre and into the broader leafy suburb. And then a walk through the park and down the street before they reached their house. Under her jacket, her armpits were damp, and her hair was bound to be a mess. ‘Not far now! Do you want to sing a song?’
    â€˜The wheels on the bus,’ sang Iris through wet Cheerios.
    â€˜If you don’t stop that bloody kid pressing that bloody button I’m going to stop this bloody bus right now!’ The driver’s voice came via a microphone and blared through the bus. The teenagers laughed.
    â€˜Sorry,’ said Jo, her words lost, catching Oscar’s hand and holding it. He struggled to free himself. ‘You can’t press the button, Oscar, the man asked you not to.’
    â€˜That man is rude,’ said Oscar.
    â€˜Oscar loves riding on the bus,’ Jo said to the man sitting next to them. ‘And he loves pressing buttons. Any button at all. He keeps on changing the television settings. I’m hoping he’s going to be a computer programmer or an engineer.’
    The man grunted and continued to look out of the window. They passed by the end of Jo’s old street, the one she’d used to live in with Stephen and Lydia. If she craned her head, she could see the brick front of their old house. And then up the hill, down the road, trundling into the suburbs, stopping to let more people on and off with a hiss and a sigh.
    â€˜I’m really hungry, Mummy,’ said Oscar. ‘And I’m bored.’
    â€˜Do you want to play with my phone?’ Oscar nodded vehemently and Jo let his hands go to reach in her pocket for it. ‘Oh, I missed that call. Do you think it was Lydia?’
    â€˜No,’ agreed Iris, bouncing up and down on Jo’s lap and reaching for the phone, too. Iris loved talking to her big sister on the telephone. Jo held it up, squinting at the missed call number on the screen. A London code, unfamiliar number, message left.
    â€˜Just a second, sweetheart, I need to listen to this first.’ Unease twiddled in her belly as she dialled the voicemail number.
    â€˜Hello, Mrs Merrifield, this is Ilsa Kwong at the Homerton University Hospital. I wonder if you could return my call as soon as possible, on this number. Thank you.’
    It’s Lydia. It’s Lydia. Taken the train into London, hit by a bus. Hit by a car. Assaulted by strangers. Why didn’t she call me herself
,
why did she go without telling me, my little girl, oh Stephen—
    â€˜Mummy, I want to play Angry Birds.’
    â€˜Just a second, Oscar,’ she said, disconnecting from voice-mail. ‘Mummy has to make a quick phone call.’
    It couldn’t