Uphill All the Way by Sue Moorcroft Page A

ingredients of a conversation with her daughter. Had Judith been very self-absorbed not to notice how her mother's world had shrunk? She must make more effort. 'I've got a temporary job.' It would probably be easier for Wilma if Judith began the conversational ball rolling. 'I'm a temporary photographer's assistant.'
    Wilma laughed. 'A temporary assistant? You? Does your employer realise that you'll be bossing everyone about in no time?'
    Settling in the chair, Judith got herself comfortable. 'That doesn't sound like me at all! Anyway, it's just one bloke. The one who rents my house, Adam Leblond, he was two years above me and Mel at school. It's just till he gets someone more suitable. What's new with you?'
    Wilma gave the matter some thought. She wore no powder, and her skin looked duller than usual. 'Nice lunch, today,' she offered. 'Beans.'
    'Green beans?'
    'Yes, I don't like baked beans. And a chop and new potatoes. Very fresh and tasty. They look after us lovely, here.'
    'That's good.' Judith cast around for more material for discussion. 'Have you read your paper today?'
    'Most of it. And done the crossword, the crossword's my favourite, I always leave it till last. And the problem page.' Wilma explained how she and her friends at The Cottage all bought different newspapers and passed them around during the day. Florrie had read out a problem from a magazine today, ever so racy, and only from a girl of seventeen. They'd all giggled and been embarrassed.
    Despite her good intentions, Judith's mind began to wander. Giorgio in a stark white hospital room, his gaze not meeting hers. Sliema Z Bus Tours in liquidation.
    Wilma grasped Judith's wrist gently, regaining her attention. 'Today there was one from a woman who was awfully worried about her daughter.'
    She blinked. 'Sorry?'
    'A problem, m'duck, on the problem page.'
    Like many people, Judith only skimmed problem pages for the snigger-worthy and the salacious. 'Oh?'
    Wilma went on, adjusting her glasses that had the fancy designs up the side and flexing her fingers on the handle of her stick. 'She's middle-aged, the daughter, and a very competent person - on the outside. But she's thin as a rake and awfully upset. Something horrible's obviously happened, but she hasn't told the mother what it is. Which is quite all right. The daughter has always bottled up her problems and solved them herself, right from when she was a tiny girl. But it doesn't stop the mother worrying.'
    Hot tears pricked Judith's eyes.
    Wilma shuffled in her seat so that she could lean forward and take both of Judith's hands in her cool fingers, leaving the stick standing alone on its three feet. The light overhead reflected on the lenses of her spectacles, making her expression particularly earnest. 'But she will get over things, duck. However horrible whatever it is that's happened. It's just that the road to recovery is uphill all the way.'
     
     
    Chapter Ten
    Judith had cried off Moll's traditional Yorkshire pud meal (and the traditional washing up that followed). Things had calmed down in the O'Malley household in recent days, but still Judith liked to be out as much as possible. Moll had refused point blank to talk things over, putting on a smile. 'We're fine, don't worry about us.'
    The Sunday stroll took Judith through a park, where she watched a football match, and to Hannah's Pantry, where she drank latte, and she managed to keep occupied until lunchtime. She determined to get in touch with her old friends and get back in the swim of her English life. But Sunday lunchtime probably wasn't the moment for dropping in, when roasts would be out of the oven for carving and gravy thickening on the hob.
    The rain, which until then had stayed in the bruised clouds, began after she'd left the town centre on the way to the riverbank to have lunch at the coffee shop and watch the narrowboats. Big splats on the pavement to begin with, then faster, heavier, heavier, and cheered on by thunder. In seconds