Book Club Reads: 3-Book Collection: Yesterday’s Sun, The Sea Sisters, Someone to Watch Over Me. Amanda Brooke
As she went through the motions of getting showered and dressed, her mind remained focused on finding a rational explanation for what had happened the night before. There was absolutely no doubt that she had left the house during the night. The open kitchen door and the wet jog pants proved without a doubt that she had gone into the garden. The wooden box left abandoned on the kitchen table confirmed that she had been playing with the moondial. But at what point did reality end and her imagination take over?
Everything had a rational explanation up until the point when she had banged her head. Mild concussion might explain her bizarre vision of the future; in fact, it was the only explanation Holly was willing to consider.
Refusing to waste any more time thinking about the hallucination, she readied herself for a full day’s work. She went downstairs and made the promised pot of tea for the builders and then a strong cup of coffee for herself. She set out the tools of her trade on the kitchen table, determined to spend the day focused on Mrs Bronson’s commission. Being organized and disciplined sometimes conflicted with her creativity, but today she needed something to concentrate her mind on. No distractions.
Tom phoned. There were some distractions that were an exception to the rule and Holly needed the comfort from simply hearing his voice.
‘Good morning, my light, my life,’ Tom chirped.
‘Good morning, my compass, my anchor,’ replied Holly, and she was surprised at how relieved she was to have Tom hear and acknowledge her. She thought of the man she had seen the night before, bereft and lost, but quickly pushed the image from her mind.
‘Haven’t disturbed you, have I?’ Tom asked.
‘No, not at all. You wouldn’t believe how much I’ve missed you.’
‘Not got the substitute installed yet, then?’ Tom asked playfully.
Holly smiled, enjoying the normality of the conversation. The tension she had been carrying with her all morning slipped from her body. ‘It was a bit fraught earlier,’ she told Tom, ‘but I’ve managed to kick the rugby team out of my bed.’
‘Only one rugby team? Your stamina must be slipping.’
‘So how about you? Sourced out a string of hussies to keep you busy?’
‘Oh, there was extensive auditioning last night but no one compares to you.’
‘I miss you,’ Holly whispered, unable to keep up the pretence any longer.
‘I miss you too.’
‘I don’t think I can bear to be away from you for so long. To hell with Mrs Bronson, I should come and join you.’
There was the longest silence. Holly sensed Tom’s agreement but neither of them wanted to break their resolve to see it through.
‘No, ignore me,’ Holly added quickly before Tom could answer. ‘I’ve had a bad night, that’s all and it’s only been one day. I’ll be fine, honest. It’ll take a few days for me to settle and after all, I’ve got this damned commission to do. Throwing in the towel just isn’t an option. I’ve only got today and tomorrow left to get the designs right. I’ll throw myself into my work and I’ll be fine. Ignore me. I’ll be fine. Honest.’
‘Holly.’
‘Yes?’
‘You’re rambling.’
Holly sighed. ‘Sorry.’
‘So didn’t you have a good night?’
‘Now that’s an understatement.’ Holly paused, not sure about how much she could tell Tom without worrying him. ‘Now don’t go freaking out, but I had a bit of an accident and no, I don’t mean I wet the bed.’ She hoped the levity in her voice sounded genuine.
‘What kind of accident? Are you OK?’ Tom’s voice was laced with anxiety.
Holly did a quick editing exercise in her mind. Tom was level-headed about most things, but he’d be sending her off for a brain scan if she mentioned hallucinations. ‘I was in the garden and slipped. It’s just a graze on the cheek, nothing major.’
‘You banged your head? Did you knock yourself out? Did you lose consciousness?’
‘I watch the medical dramas too, you know. No, I didn’t lose consciousness. No concussion, doctor, honest,’ Holly said with an air of confidence she didn’t feel. ‘Although I may have dented the moondial with my head.’
‘What do you mean the moondial? Don’t you mean the sundial? Are you sure that knock to the head didn’t affect your senses?’
‘I’m fine,’ repeated Holly, a little too curtly. Tom was closer to the truth than he realized. ‘It was Jocelyn who called it a moondial and she should know, she lived here first.’
Holly had already told Tom all about her unexpected visitor and mentioning Jocelyn again was a good way to change the subject. Holly hadn’t exactly lied to Tom about her fall but she hadn’t told him the whole truth either. ‘She wasn’t very impressed with the rest of the garden though and I was actually embarrassed. So when are you going to spend time at home long enough to get it sorted?’ she asked.
It was Tom’s turn to be cagey, which eased Holly’s conscience. He told her there was still lots of upheaval at the studio and reminded her that everyone there was fighting to keep their job. Demanding where he went and what he did simply wasn’t an option.
They chatted a while, until eventually work couldn’t be put off any longer for either of them. Holly put the phone down and reluctantly picked up her sketch pad. Her plan was to continue to work up more sketches based on the two designs she had already settled on.
When she opened her sketchbook to the first of her drawings, the one of a mother holding a baby, her eyes were immediately drawn to the image of the baby. Her sketch had only subtle suggestions of form but even so, when she traced the baby’s face with her finger it brought to mind the baby of her hallucination. Libby. With a warm rush of emotion, she recalled the moment that she had looked into Libby’s eyes and felt an instant connection. Was this what maternal instinct felt like, she wondered, or was she just desperately trying to justify Tom’s belief in her?
Holly’s gaze turned to the figure of the mother. With new eyes, the pose was all wrong. The figure she had sketched was holding the baby tentatively, almost as if it were a box of spiders ready to crawl up her arm. Holly scored a line through the drawing before she knew what she was doing. Then she turned to the second sketch, which she had thought was the most promising in terms of concept. She still liked the spiralling form of the mother spinning the baby around, but again the pose seemed all wrong and the mother might just as well be twirling her handbag. She scored a line through this drawing too.
With a flutter of panic, Holly knew the pressure was on and she was going to have to work solidly for the next two days to get her proposal ready in time.
The trip to London was a dramatic gear change from the country life Holly was slowly becoming accustomed to. She left the serenity of the village to catch the early morning train from a nearby town and then battled in vain for a seat, losing it to one of the more seasoned commuters.
The meeting with Mrs Bronson was to take place at the gallery where Holly exhibited and sold her sculptures. It was a small gallery but ideal for her work, partially because of its prime position and select clientele, and partially because she worked well with the proprietor, Sam Peterson. Sam had been extremely supportive of her fledgling career when she had first arrived in London and had played a large part in Holly’s success as an artist.
Holly had met Sam through one of the many part-time jobs she had taken after leaving art college. She had worked for a pet-care agency, walking dogs, babysitting rabbits and, in Sam’s case, feeding his cats while he was away on one of his many tropical holidays with his partner James. Sam had taken a keen interest in her artwork and had not only encouraged her to keep up with her art after she left college but had eventually offered