High Tide by Veronica Henry Read Free Book Online

seemed impossible that her mother wasn’t there for a giggle or a gossip or a timely piece of advice. Joy was the least judgemental and most practical person Kate had ever known. It was why their relationship had worked so well – because Joy had never judged her for leaving, for beginning a new life so far away.
    ‘I know where you are if I need you,’ she had told Kate, ‘and you know where I am. The apron strings can stretch that far.’
    And they had. Even though her mother had never managed to embrace the wonders of Skype or Facetime, and telephoned Kate from her landline at vast and unnecessary expense, they spoke at least three times a week. She came out to visit twice a year, and although Joy looked like a fish out of water in New York, she embraced everything it had to offer – the galleries and restaurants and shops.
    Kate managed to smile at the memory of her mum in her comfy shoes and elasticated trousers and anorak striding round Bergdorf’s, talking away to the assistants at the jewellery counter, who found her utterly charming even though it was clear she wasn’t a potential customer. The thing about Joy was she was comfortable in her own skin; she needed no embellishment. She genuinely didn’t give a fig what she looked like or wore, and she was all the more beautiful for it.
    Kate sometimes wished she had an ounce of her mother’s confidence, for confidence it was. Even in the confines of the most glamorous and expensive sushi restaurant in town, Joy sported a navy-blue round-neck jumper, a denim A-line and flat lace-ups, with no adornment or make-up, yet she beguiled the waiters, who blossomed under her attention: within moments of arrival she had them eating out of her hand – or rather, the other way round, as they sneaked the tastiest morsels from the kitchen for her to try.
    Kate was so proud of her funny little mother with her Cornish burr and her twinkling eyes and her ability to talk to anybody on the planet.
    She wasn’t here any more. She would never hear her voice again.
    She opened the window and leaned out. The air was sharp and cold and delicious on her face. She looked down the street. From up here, she could see nearly all the town that had once been her world, and the road ribboning down to the harbour, dark blue with morning chill. She took in a deep breath as if to gather strength from the slight mist that was still clinging to the rooftops and chimneypots.
    Run, shower, breakfast.
    Call the doctor.
    She should call the undertakers, too, to tell them she had arrived and make sure everything was in hand.
    Then change.
    Then …
    She wasn’t going to think that far ahead. She needed to focus on the now, if she was going to get through it. She pulled on her sweat pants and a T-shirt and laced up her running shoes. She was good to go.

5
     
    At seven o’clock on the morning of her husband’s funeral, Vanessa Knight sat on the cobbled terrace of her house and drank a pot of strong coffee. She loved being up before anyone else. Well, most people; you had to be up very early indeed to beat the Pennfleet fishermen.
    She watched their fishing boats setting off for the day, the little white lines they left in their wake cutting through the blue.
    She watched the gulls circling, beady eyes vigilant, never missing an opportunity to scavenge.
    She watched the early-morning clouds drift away and make way for the sun.
    But she didn’t see any of them.
    She pinched her arm, to make certain she was actually still there. She wasn’t at all sure what it was she was supposed to be feeling, but she was fairly confident it shouldn’t just be nothing.
    Not grief. Not shock. Not distress, or anger, or bewilderment. Or fear.
    She didn’t even feel numb.
    She felt normal. As if today was just another day, not the day she was burying her husband of seventeen years.
    She shivered slightly in the morning freshness. It was as if the weather knew the calendar had changed, for the moment September ended