Where I Found You by Amanda Brooke Page A

daughter to himself. His voice was the barest of whispers as if it was a confession he didn’t want to reveal.
    ‘Me too, Dad. I could do with her guiding arm right now.’
    ‘I should come home. I’ll check the flights.’
    Yes, please come home, she wanted to say and was thankful she had waited until she felt strong enough to hold back the urge. ‘No, Dad, I’m fine. Mum spent her life preparing me for this by showing me first-hand how to be a good mum. I’ll try not to let her down.’
    ‘You are your mother’s daughter.’
    ‘That’s some compliment. But you can expect loads more calls from me in the next few months because I might need you to keep reminding me of that,’ she said.
    ‘Anytime, day or night.’
    ‘As long as you’ve got your hearing aid switched on,’ she reminded him.
    ‘Yes, you’re definitely your mother’s daughter!’
    Maggie wasn’t only smiling now; she was practically glowing. ‘Thanks, Dad.’ She was about to end the call but found herself returning to an obsession she hadn’t quite relinquished. ‘Before I go, could I pick your brain?’
    ‘You can try.’
    ‘Do you remember a greengrocer’s in Sedgefield called Flo’s Fruit and Veg? It would have been around in the fifties.’
    Stan muttered to himself as he put his memory to the test. ‘Your mum would remember stuff like that, not me.’
    Maggie wasn’t ready to give in. ‘Apparently it was owned by someone called Mrs Jackson.’
    ‘Ah yes, of course! You mean Flo Jackson. Her shop was somewhere on the High Street, I think.’
    ‘Really? You remember her?’ Maggie asked. She was surprised at how relieved she felt from the confirmation that the shop and Mrs Jackson had existed at all. Even in her most lucid state, Mrs Milton had been reluctant to give Maggie any indication that Elsa’s story was fact or fiction.
    ‘Vaguely. Her husband died and she ran the shop on her own for a while. She was quite lonely, as I recall. I don’t think she had any kids.’
    ‘Do you remember any other relatives? Or maybe a young woman staying with her in the early fifties?’ There was a flutter of excitement as Maggie considered the possibility that her dad had once met Elsa.
    Stan thought a little while longer. ‘Now you’re asking. There might have been some kind of falling out with family … Could it have been a niece? No, I’m sorry, love. I probably didn’t pay enough attention at the time, let alone remember it now.’
    The sound of the front door opening brought Maggie back to the present. James was home from what would be his last day at work for a whole week and he would be curious to know why his wife had started digging into Elsa’s past when she had already told him how Mrs Milton’s appearance had exorcised that particular ghost. And she didn’t have a convincing argument, not even to herself. Her only answer was that you had to be there, sitting with Elsa sixty years ago by the lake, so she preferred to avoid the debate. ‘Never mind, it doesn’t matter,’ she said.
    ‘Why on earth are you asking anyway?’
    ‘Oh, just some research,’ Maggie said. Heavy footfalls grew closer and then James was there. ‘Thanks, Dad. I’ll get James to email the scan photo to Aunt Dot so you can have the first glimpse of the baby.’
    ‘All right, love, and tell James I said congratulations.’
    ‘Yes, I’ll tell him you said congratulations and then I’ll thank him for not taking off his work boots and making a mess of my nice, clean floor.’
    ‘Hello, Stan!’ James called as he backed carefully out of the kitchen.
    When Maggie put down the phone, she sent James upstairs to take a bath while she set to work mopping up. Fortunately for her husband, she was too distracted by the fading path that led to the past than the trail of mud down the hallway.
    What sounded like a herd of elephants charged through the front door and down the hallway. With a well-developed sense of smell, they picked up a scent too