‘My agent Maddie is confident of selling the media rights to a television company who are interested in adapting my next book into a series. That’s what happened with my first book, and the company we worked with did a great job by all accounts.’
She opens her eyes wider as she chews on a slice of sausage. ‘They’re turning one of your books into a television series? When’s that going to be on then? And will it be BBC or ITV?’
‘It was released a year ago on a digital streaming channel, Mum, so you probably wouldn’t get to see it in here, as I don’t think they have access.’
‘Oh, I see. Well, do you think you could get hold of a copy for me to watch? I’d like that.’
I blink back the sting behind my eyes. To be honest, I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t enjoy the subject matter of Freddie’s troubled past, but it means the world to me that she wants to watch it because of my involvement.
‘Sure, I’ll see if I can find it for you,’ I say smiling. ‘How are your sausages?’
‘They’re herby, which I’m not a fan of, but passable with the gravy on. The mash isn’t as lumpy as I’d like. Your grandma used to make the best mashed potato. She wouldn’t overmash it, and then she’d put it in the oven with lashings of butter and cheese until it formed a hardened crust. I don’t think she’d have cared much for this, but beggars can’t be choosers and I shouldn’t turn my nose up at food cooked for me.’
A knock at the door means the tea has arrived. I collect the tray from the nurse at the door and set it down in the narrow gap on the table before pouring us both a cup from the pot. Mum finishes her meal and we stack the plate on the tray and just sit there while I tell her more about my adventures in publishing. She listens to what I have to say and asks interested questions from time to time. Before I know it, an hour has passed, her plate is collected, and two bowls of rice pudding are brought through.
‘Pam said you might be hungry,’ the young nurse explains as she hands them over, and I don’t hesitate to tuck into it.
‘There was a little girl went missing locally, wasn’t there?’ Mum says when she’s finished her pudding. ‘I read about it in the newspaper. Did they call you in to help with that?’
‘Do you mean Jo-Jo Neville?’ I ask with a hint of trepidation, worrying that her good day is deteriorating and she’s now talking about Anna.
‘That’s right. They said her mother hid her away or something. Did you hear about it?’
I nod. ‘I had nothing to do with her being found though. Poor girl. I don’t know how her mum could have concocted such a sinister plan for media exposure.’
‘The story reminded me of… Anna. I’m certain she would have been found quickly if she’d disappeared today.’
I don’t have the heart to tell her that just as many children disappear without trace in current times despite the onslaught of camera surveillance and social media. Although I didn’t want to mention Anna specifically, now that she has raised it there’s no hiding.
‘I’m still searching for her, Mum. It’s become something of an obsession for me. I won’t stop looking until I do find out what happened, and where she ended up.’
‘You need to move on with your life, Emma. How old are you now?’
‘Twenty-eight, Mum.’
‘Well, there you go. I was married and your father and I were trying to get pregnant by the time I was your age. It took longer than either of us imagined, mind you, and if you take after me, you really should start trying soon. Are you seeing anyone at the moment?’
I know she means well, and I don’t want to allow her outdated viewpoint to spoil what has been my best visit to see her. ‘I’ve got plenty of time to start a family if I decide that’s what I want. I’m not sure what I want yet.’
‘Well, I think you’d make a fantastic mum, my darling. Don’t wait too long and regret not taking action. There, that’s all I’m going to say on the matter. You’re a grown woman, and you don’t need to pay attention to a silly old fusspot like me.’
‘Thank you, Mum.’
‘You certainly couldn’t do any worse than that woman who hid her child and claimed foul play. What did you say her name was again?’
‘Who? Tina?
‘No, the daughter.
‘Oh, Jo-Jo – well, short for Joanna.’
Her eyes glaze over and she looks out of her window into the darkness. ‘It’s funny, your sister never used to like that name either.’
I frown. ‘What name, Mum?’
‘Joanna. That’s what we christened her with, but she hated it, which is why we always referred to her as Anna instead. Do you remember? You couldn’t say Joanna when you first started to talk, because the J-sound was too difficult, so you always used to call her Anna. It just kind of stuck from there.’
She had always been Anna as far as I was concerned, and I wonder what else Mum has hidden away in those memory banks. Alas, she is yawning and time is drawing on. I don’t want to force her to relive that horrific day again, not now. Hopefully we’ll be blessed with at least one more day like this, but for now I just hold her close, and cherish my mum.
Chapter Forty-Three Then
Dover, Kent
With a deep breath, the young woman hoisted herself onto the brown wheelie bin, uncertain it would support her weight
