Dora nodded politely, hoping her own face wasn’t betraying her ignorance and confusion. Since she had no idea who Mr Law was, his lateness was immaterial to her. But clearly she wasn’t about to tell Mr Muir that.
‘Here we are.’
She blinked. Clearly he had a very different idea of ‘cosy’ from hers. The room was larger than the whole of her downstairs at home, with huge bay windows and a selection of comfortable sofas and armchairs. Above the period fireplace a huge rectangular mirror ran the entire length of one wall.
‘Would you like some refreshments? Coffee, tea...?’
Thanks to Archie’s molars, she had overslept and hadn’t actually had time to eat or drink anything that morning. What she really wanted was a couple of Danish pastries.
‘Coffee would be lovely,’ she said quickly. ‘Milk, no sugar, please.’
‘Ah, Susannah.’ Mr Muir turned as a glacially beautiful blonde straight out of a Hitchcock movie appeared in the doorway, one perfect eyebrow raised in anticipation.
‘Some coffee for Ms Thorn, please. If you’ll excuse me a moment, Ms Thorn, I’ll get the paperwork.’
‘Of course.’
Left alone, she sank back into a smooth velvet-covered sofa and then instantly sat up straight. If she started to relax she would to fall asleep. She needed to stay alert, to concentrate.
With Della gone, she was the grown-up. And if that wasn’t terrifying enough to keep her awake, she wasn’t just responsible for herself, but for Archie too.
It made her feel young and frightened, and yet her sister had made it look so effortless—not just with Archie, but after she’d been left to raise Dora after their father had left.
Remembering her younger self, Dora grimaced. She had been a typical teenager. Stroppy. Lazy. Always complaining that everything was unfair or boring.
But their home had always been tidy.
There had always been food in the fridge.
And Della had certainly never felt so overwhelmed that she’d looked into putting Dora up for adoption.
The silence in the room was suddenly stifling, and she stared dully at the grey sky outside the window, feeling the guilt she had tried so hard to stifle bubbling up inside her.
She had made that call at the end of last week. After a particularly difficult few days.
Ever since Della’s death Archie had been understandably unsettled and clingy, but Dora usually managed to distract him and calm him down. This time, though, nothing she’d done had worked.
He had been inconsolable, red-faced and furious.
Exhausted, desperate and defeated, she had finally been forced to acknowledge what he was clearly feeling and admit what she had known right from the start.
She could never be Della.
She could never replace
her sister—his mother.
She was an imposter who could barely take care of herself, much less a baby.
What Archie needed—what he deserved—was to be looked after properly by someone who knew what she was doing.
It had been a relief to make the call the next day, and the woman at the adoption agency had been very kind and calm, not judgemental at all. But even before the interview had been over Dora had known she could never let Archie go.
Yes, life with him was going to be challenging, and time-consuming, and exhausting sometimes. But without him it would be unbearable.
He was her flesh and blood, the last link she had with her sister, and when she’d picked him up from the nursery she had held him close and sworn to do her very best for him, just as her sister had done for her.
Whatever sacrifice needed to be made, she would make it. Even if it meant being a glorified waitress with a smile glued to her face.