Never Close Your Eyes by Emma Burstall Page A

‘think about the neighbours. Things were different in those days, remember. There was a lot of shame.’
    Zelda thought of Carol in her little house. Zelda never saw the baby before it was taken away, she wasn’t allowed to. She put a corner of sheet into her mouth and sucked on it.
    â€˜Don’t do that,’ Mother said crossly. Zelda took it out again.
    â€˜And you need to give this room a good clean,’ Mother went on. ‘It’s disgusting. I didn’t bring you up to live in a disgusting room like this.’
    Zelda’s brain ached. She guessed Mother would be at it for hours. She was in one of those moods. There was no point trying to argue back, it would only make her worse. She turned over and tried to think about her walk earlier, the ducks and Canada geese. She tried to think about which way round the pond she’d go tomorrow. Maybe she’d pop over to the café in the morning and have one of their nice, frothy coffees.
    She pictured Derek’s face. His brown moustache, his crisp white shirt with the spotless cuffs. Funny how he always looked so young, just as he was when she knew him. He wasn’t here tonight. Probably off somewhere having fun with his mates. He was a bit of a lad, that Derek, always had been.
    She scrunched her hands into a tight fist and dropped off at last, with the sound of her mother’s voice droning in her ears.

Chapter Eleven

    â€˜Shall we meet for a drink after work sometime? It’d be good to catch up after all these years.’
    Becca swallowed. It was so tempting. Gary looked lovely in his Facebook picture. Kind, friendly, even if he was thinning on top. Cute snaps of his kids, too.
    She realised that she was greedy for information, for any scraps he could give her. He’d opened the lid and unleashed a swarm of emotions. She didn’t know if she’d be able to put the lid back on.
    He worked for a human rights charity. That fitted. She remembered that he was always a bit different, sensitive, even at the age of twelve or thirteen. Not like other boys. Suppose he told his wife, though, or his friends? Once out, information had a habit of leaking all over the place no matter how careful you tried to be.
    She read on. ‘You look great in your profile picture.’ It was an email. She’d told him not to write on Facebook any more. Too risky.
    â€˜Very different, though,’ he continued. ‘I recognised you by your nose, believe it or not. You always had a cute little upturned nose. I’ve often wondered what happened to you. I’m glad things have worked out for you.’
    Becca decided not to reply. She ate the last bite of the salade Niçoise wrap that her PA had brought her and took a swig of English Breakfast tea. She glanced out of the window. It was still pouring with rain and there was no point having her usual stroll around the block before getting back to business.
    Some of her colleagues in the big, open-plan office were at their desks like her, but most were out. In the canteen, probably. There tended to be an exodus around 1.15 to 1.30 p.m. There was a pile of newspapers on her desk that she hadn’t had a chance to look at yet. She picked up the FT first – her bible – and turned to the Lex column. Then she switched to the Independent ’s financial pages, followed by The Times . She was adept, by now, at scanning through and speed-reading just the bits she needed to know. It only took about ten minutes.
    Now she opened the Telegraph and turned to the sports pages. She was relieved to see a small piece in there by Tom about the Spanish defender leaving Chelsea to rejoin Barcelona. Tom hadn’t had anything in there for days, which always worried her.
    He was so lazy. He couldn’t pull the wool over her eyes. She was terrified that one day he’d get the boot and the awful thing was, he probably wouldn’t even care. He’d love to slob around all day in