‘Are you okay?’ I ask her, when I give her a goodnight kiss and cuddle. ‘You’re not worried about Jaxon, are you? He’s just a silly man. You don’t need to be scared of him.’
‘Okay. My party was nice, wasn’t it, Mummy?’
I smile. ‘It was lovely.’
‘Can we do that again when I’m five?’
‘Ooh, maybe. Perhaps we’ll be in a lovely house of our own when you’re five and we can have a party there.’
I’ll make it happen. I promise, Eva.
She smiles and yawns.
‘Go to sleep, my pet,’ I whisper, and she closes her eyes, turning on her side and snuggling in, her thumb gravitating towards her mouth.
I leave her room, closing the door softly and sink onto the sofa in front of the TV. After the trauma of the past few hours, my mind feels blessedly blank. I’m exhausted. But at least I don’t feel afraid any more.
I’m determined I will no longer dance to Jaxon’s tune. Eva will grow up with a strong, confident mummy to inspire her – not someone weak who gives in to bullies like Jaxon Savidge.
A feeling of dread creeps in to mar my resolve - a little voice that whispers: What will Jaxon do now that you’ve provoked him? Because he won’t take this lying down. You know he won’t.
But I brush away the fear and reach for my phone. Checking my on-line savings account makes me feel instantly better. I’ve had two wages since I started work at the café and I’ve already – by budgeting even more tightly than usual - managed to save fifty pounds. It’s going to take months rather than weeks to get a deposit together, but I’ll just keep doing what I’m doing, and we’ll get there in the end. With the café so much busier these days, Fen has already asked me if I want some extra shifts. Hopefully, by Christmas, I’ll have sorted out my finances and we’ll be able to afford to rent a little place of our own.
My insides turn over. The festive season seems a very long way off. A lot could go wrong between now and then.
All I can do is keep saving, and try to stay cheerful for Eva’s sake…
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Next morning, I wake up with a scratchy throat and the beginnings of a cold. And by the time I’ve dropped Eva at school, I’m feeling dreadful. Banging head, stuffed-up nose and absolutely zero energy.
I drag myself through my shift, which thankfully passes fairly quickly as we’re non-stop busy. But although I’ve brought what I hope passes for running gear – a pair of joggers, an old sweatshirt and trainers that have seen better days – there’s no way I can go for a run with Matt and Patrina tonight.
By four o’clock, I’m feeling so ill I’m just longing to lie down. Added to which, after hurling obscenities at Jaxon on the village green the day before, my urge to pick Eva up from school, then go straight back to the flat and lock the door is stronger than ever.
‘You do look terrible,’ says Bertha, when I tell her I can’t run. ‘You should take tomorrow off if you still feel as bad as you look today.’
I grin. ‘Thanks, Bertha. I think.’
‘Yes, you look on death’s door, quite frankly,’ puts in Patrina, appearing behind me. ‘You definitely shouldn’t be running, Molly. I would take the whole week off, if I were you. You don’t want to be infecting the customers, do you?’
I smile wearily. Matt has obviously told her I’m joining them on their run tonight, and she’s desperate to put me off.
‘That’s incredibly caring of you, Patrina,’ remarks Bertha slyly. ‘Thinking of the customers like that.’
Patrina shoots her a suspicious look. ‘I’m a very caring person. Ask anyone.’ She turns her back on Bertha, lays her hand on my arm and murmurs, ‘Straight home to bed for you, I think, Molly. You don’t want to be picking up some deadly virus while your immune system is weakened.’
‘It’s just a cold.’
She frowns. ‘That’s what they said about the Spanish Flu and millions of people died. I saw it on Downton Abbey.’ She pierces me with a look. ‘So are you going home, then?’
I sigh wearily. ‘Yes, Patrina, I’m going home. Please tell Matt I’m sorry I can’t make it.’
‘I will,’ she trills cheerfully, whipping out her lip gloss and dabbing some on. She whisks out her hair tie, shakes her gleaming golden locks and twists them back up into an elegant knot.
Watching her preparing to see Matt, my heart actually hurts. I wasn’t relishing the idea of a run, but I’d jog from Land’s End to John o’ Groats just to spend time with Matt. In fact, I’d be first in the queue to sign up. Apparently, that’s how pathetic I am these days.
Today, though, I wouldn’t even be able to stagger to the end of the lane. It’s almost as if I’m being sabotaged by my own body.
Fen gives me a lift back to Sunnybrook, telling me I should go to bed and stay there until I’m feeling better. ‘Do you need me to get you anything?’ she asks, drawing up outside Eva’s school. ‘Cold remedies? Tins of soup? I can nip to the shops while you’re collecting Eva.’
I shake my head. ‘No, honestly, I’ll be fine. But thank you so much for the lift. Sorry to let you down like this when we’re so busy in the cafe, but I’ll be back as soon as I can.’
‘Only when you’re feeling better,’ she warns, as I get out of the car. ‘Shall I wait and drive you both home? Make Eva’s tea?’
I shake my head quickly. ‘No, don’t worry. I’ll be fine.’
‘Okay. Well, phone me if you need anything, okay? I might pop round to see you tomorrow.’
I force a cheery smile and wave her off, then I trudge into school to collect Eva.
*****
By Wednesday, I’m feeling human again, and I arrive at the café just before opening time to find Hope and Bertha leaning on the counter, heads together, discussing the horrors of getting older.
‘I’m actually scared of sneezing these days,’ says Hope with a sigh. ‘I keep thinking I might put my shoulder out. Again.’
Bertha groans. ‘All those mysterious aches and pains. You deal with one and hey presto, up pops another one in a really weird place. And what about scrolling down to find your birthdate? How depressing is that? I can drink an entire cuppa in the time it takes to reach the 1950s.’
Hope nods. ‘I’ve started saying “oof” every time I bend to pick something up.’
‘I spent ten minutes searching for my glasses yesterday and I was already holding them.’
‘Crikey,’ I laugh. ‘Shall I ring the retirement home? I’m not sure your old bones will be operational by lunchtime.’ I shrug. ‘You shouldn’t let your age get you down.’
Hope straightens up, grinning. ‘True. Very true. Mainly because it’s too bloody hard getting back up again!’
‘Quite. Just because you’re barely out of nappies, Miss Molly!’ protests Bertha. ‘Honestly, you kids don’t know the half of it. Do you have any idea at all how traumatising it is to see the skin on the back of your hands waving about under a hot air hand dryer?’
I can’t help laughing at her deadpan face. ‘Why are we being so depressed this morning?’