‘Do you have family?’
‘Just you.’
Babs raised his hand and kissed his knuckles. ‘We’ll be all right, won’t we?’
‘Yep.’
‘I’ll look after you. You can move in here with me.’
It was crushing. She had no memory of her upcoming move to a care home, and his heart broke for her once more.
Will simply nodded and sat back on the sofa as Marie entered with the photo album, and Babs smiled widely as though no cares were to be had.
But Will knew the cottage would soon belong to someone else, her things gone, her memories hazy.
He smiled at the pictures of faces he didn’t know while listening to his grandmother merrily natter away about her past. He had a gran, some understanding about his childhood . . . and nowhere else he had to be.
Chapter 2
Ginny
Three grocery shops later and Ginny still hadn’t found the brand of strawberry jam her mother liked. It was time to give up, else she’d be late for work. She had given her most trusted member of staff, Annie, a key and the alarm code for the café so she could open up on days Ginny was running late. Today was definitely one of those days. Annie didn’t mind, but Ginny always did. She hated being out of routine. Weighing up her options, she popped in one last convenience store to see if they had what she needed. Nope!
Ginny felt deflated even before she crossed the threshold of her mum’s house.
‘Did you get Birdy’s jam?’
Ginny wrinkled her nose at her mother’s care worker. ‘I swear to high heavens, Suzanne, I blimming well tried. I told old Smitty he needs to get it back in stock, but he said he’s been trying. I did consider making my own, but who makes strawberry jam in October?’ She plopped the shopping bags on the kitchen table and huffed.
‘Is that Ginny?’ yelled a rough voice from the living room.
‘Yes, Mum.’
‘Did you get my jam?’
Ginny’s shoulders flopped. She entered her mother’s space, already knowing the reception she would get regardless of right or wrong conserves. ‘Smitty said it’s still not in stock.’
‘Bet you didn’t tell him it was for me,’ she grumbled, slowly turning the page of her magazine.
‘He knows.’
‘Did you use my real name or nickname?’
Ginny silently sighed. ‘He knows you’re Yvonne and Birdy. He’s known you for years. It makes no difference to his stock.’
‘I’ll have to call Lee. See if he can send me some.’ She scowled at Ginny. ‘Your brother works hard, you know. I shouldn’t have to bother him with this stuff. It’s not as if he lives up the road.’
‘Speaking of work, I have to—’ A black kitten rubbed along Ginny’s ankle, catching her attention. ‘There’s a cat in here.’
‘Well done, Sherlock. At least your eyes work. Shame they’re not blue like Lee’s. Hazel is such a boring colour, don’t you think?’ Birdy started making kissing noises, but the kitten seemed to prefer Ginny’s leg.
‘Who does it belong to, Mum?’
‘It’s mine, isn’t it? Stupid.’
Ginny clenched her teeth, determined not to bite back. It wasn’t as though she wasn’t used to the name calling. She scooped up the skinny creature, then pulled back her face from its fishy breath. ‘Where did it come from?’
‘It’s not an it. Her name is Lucky, and I bought her from Mary up the road. Her cat had kittens.’
