The Two Week Wait Read Free Page A

time.
    It’s been a while, but she finds the spot quickly and kneels down. The ground is damp with frost.
    How strange to think of him beneath this soil.
    Even after all these years, she still misses him. She wishes that she could talk to him; so much has happened since he died. She’s finished her training, moved to Brighton, come out to her
mother . . . And now, this lump. What would he say about that?
    In part he’s what’s made her so jumpy. She’s thrown right back to the experience of his illness: the protracted demise, the pain and fear, the loss of dignity. He became so
thin and fragile, a ghost of his former self. The prospect of going through anything even remotely similar to her father terrifies her.
    Lou plucks at the grass, struggling with her memories. Although most plants have withered in the cold, the hump still needs weeding, she thinks abstractedly. It can’t have been done in a
while. She’s surprised her mother hasn’t tended it – Irene’s garden at the B. & B. is immaculate: every pot diligently planted with winter pansies, the drive lined with
snowdrops, just beginning to push through. Maybe she doesn’t come here much, can’t face it. Lou finds that notion strange, but that’s her mum all over.
    She yanks at the weeds more deliberately, uses her nails to prise them from the cold soil, working from the front of the plot to the back. Soon she’s collected a little pile of wilted
leaves. She smoothes the earth with her palms, sits back to check her handiwork. The couch grass will need a fork, but it’s a start.

2
    ‘That’ll be Mummy,’ says Lou. ‘Do you want to buzz her in?’
    She follows Molly to the intercom. Small fingers reach up to hit the button.
    ‘Let’s watch her come upstairs,’ Lou suggests. Together they go to the landing; she lifts Molly so she can see over the banister.
    Lou and Sofia live in a studio flat on the top floor of a three-storey house – she and Molly hear Karen’s footsteps before they see her. Eventually she comes into sight: chestnut
hair and anorak soaked from the rain.
    ‘Mummy!’
    Karen looks up from the floor below, her cheeks rosy from being outside. ‘Hello, Molster,’ she smiles. When she reaches them she bends to kiss her daughter.
    ‘Ew, you’re wet,’ says Molly. ‘And don’t call me Molster.’
    ‘Sorry.’ Karen glances at Lou. ‘Everything OK?’
    Lou nods. ‘We’ve had a great time, haven’t we?’
    ‘We’ve done a funny drawing,’ says Molly.
    ‘Ooh,’ says Karen. ‘Why is it funny?’
    ‘It’s a plan for the allotment,’ says Lou. ‘She wanted to plant seeds – she saw the ones I’d ordered from the catalogue – but I told her it wasn’t
the right time of year. So we did a plan instead.’
    ‘Come and see!’ says Molly. The three of them head into the kitchen.
    ‘It’s really great of you to have her,’ says Karen, peering at the drawing.
    ‘No problem at all,’ says Lou. She looks at the combination of her own adult handwriting alongside Molly’s enthusiastic colouring-in and smiles. ‘I’ve enjoyed
it.’
    ‘Well, you know Molly’s your number one fan.’
    That pleases Lou. The feeling is mutual. ‘Have you time for a cup of tea?’
    Karen pushes damp tendrils from her face. ‘I guess I have – just a swift one.’
    ‘Here, let me.’ Lou takes Karen’s coat, hangs it on the radiator to dry.
    Karen stands gazing out of the window. The street of Victorian terraced houses looks tired and tatty, a hotchpotch of mismatched dirty pastel frontages. Beyond it the sea is dark and dreary.
Even the pier seems to be struggling to remain bright and cheerful with its gaudy lights flashing in the drizzle and fairground attractions empty.
    ‘So how are you?’ says Lou, catching Karen’s wistful expression.
    Karen sighs. ‘OK, I guess.’ Molly is winding herself round her legs like a cat. Karen glances down at her daughter, strokes her hair. She looks up and smiles wanly at Lou.
‘I’ve