Loretta giggled as she spooned tea leaves into the teapot in front of her and then poured in boiling water from the kettle. She swirled it for a few moments then filled a waiting cup, using a strainer to catch any stray leaves. Next, she added some milk from the bottle on the worktop, before bringing it over to the table and sliding it in front of Cathy. Until a month or so ago, they’d only ever used loose tea in the house, but a client who owned a local food distribution warehouse had given Cathy a box of teabags. They were keeping them for special occasions.

  ‘There you go, fatty. You’re welcome.’

  ‘I’ll ping the arse of those trousers so hard you won’t be able to sit down for a week, any more of your cheek,’ Cathy warned, but it was impossible to hide her amusement. Her sister was everything a sixteen-year-old should be. Cathy remembered being like that once. Sometimes it seemed like a million years ago. Before her parents died. Before her heart was broken. Before she made the decisions that had fast-forwarded her life by years.

  ‘Are you going into the salon today?’ Loretta asked, and Cathy shook her head.

  ‘No, I finished up yesterday. Don’t think I could have spent another day on my feet and today would have been too busy. I’m going to take this tea and go back to bed, and then I’m going to curl up under the duvet with a good book until I need to get up and start preparing everything for tomorrow’s Christmas dinner.’

  Even without their parents, or perhaps especially now that they didn’t have their parents, Cathy tried to make Christmas Day exactly the way it used to be when they were still a whole family. Presents under the tree that was already up next door in the living room, in front of the window. All the food her mum would make. Top of the Pops in the afternoon, then whatever movie was on the BBC. Some of Loretta’s friends might pop round in the evening to keep her company too. Since the accident, they’d been great about looking out for her and making plans to help the hard days become a little bit easier. Cathy wished her friends had been the same, but they’d drifted off after her parents died and other than going to work, she’d become a bit of a hermit as she adjusted to taking care of Loretta. Now, well, her situation wasn’t exactly ideal for hanging out with pals late at night or going to concerts or dances.

  Loretta retreated back to man the toaster, catching two slices as they popped up. ‘I can’t believe I’m going to be an auntie in two weeks’ time.’

  The thought gave Cathy a swift kick of trepidation. Two weeks. Sometimes she was scared that she wasn’t ready for this. For motherhood. For the responsibility. For the pain of getting this beach ball of a baby out of her lady bits. She suppressed a shudder, determined not to show anything but calm positivity to her sister. With a bit of teasing thrown in to keep things normal. ‘Yup. You’ve got fourteen days to become a good influence on this baby. I’m thinking it might take a bit longer than that.’

  Loretta seemed to wear that as a badge of honour. ‘No way. I’m going to be a brilliant aunt. Wait and see. I’m going to teach him or her all the smartest things. And it’ll have the best clothes in the street. We’ll be like twins.’

  ‘God help us,’ Cathy groaned, feigning horror. ‘This poor baby might be better staying where it is right now.’ They both knew she was joking. Much as she was terrified, there was also a bigger part of her that was desperate to meet her baby. He or she would be someone else to love, they’d be her family, and Cathy couldn’t wait to take care of them.

  ‘Do you want this toast or not?’ Loretta shot back, gesturing to the plate with two thick slices of freshly buttered toast on the counter in front of her.

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Okay, well, be nice or the birds are getting it,’ she gestured to the back door. But she couldn’t keep up the stern act for long before her ever-present sense of humour kicked back in, and she slipped the toast in front of Cathy, next to her tea. ‘There you go. I can’t have a starving preggers woman on my conscience. Or three wise men showing up at the door. We haven’t got enough bread to feed them.’

  Cathy had to try really hard to keep her bladder under control when she giggled. ‘Anyway,’ Loretta went on, ‘I need to go soon. I said I’d go into the salon for a few hours and help out. Christmas Eve – the tips will make it worth it.’

  This girl would go far. She definitely wasn’t afraid to graft or to hustle, but that wasn’t what Cathy wanted for her. Their mum had reluctantly accepted Cathy’s decision to leave school at sixteen and go full time at the salon, but she’d always said she hoped that Loretta would stay on at school, maybe even be the first one in the family to go to college. Just because Cathy’s carefree teenage years had then been cut short by tragedy, didn’t mean Loretta’s should be too.

  Loretta was still chattering away. ‘And just think about how much I’d make if I worked there full time,’ she said pointedly.

  Cathy sighed, preparing for their regular debate. ‘Shall we have the argument about you leaving school in the summer now, or can I save it until after my toast?’

  Before Loretta could reply, the doorbell rang and Cathy was suddenly aware that she was sitting in her white nightdress, her long blonde hair a distant stranger to a brush. Didn’t matter. It was probably just the postman with a card that was too big for the letter box.

  Loretta went out into the hall to answer it while Cathy took a generous bite of her toast. She was still chewing it when Loretta came back in, and Cathy immediately saw that every shred of her sister’s happy disposition had been sucked right out of her. There was a paleness to her skin that hadn’t been there before, a fear in her eyes, or maybe it was worry, and she was biting her bottom lip, which had been the sure-fire sign that she was nervous ever since she was a kid. And she wasn’t carrying anything. Not the postman then.

  ‘Erm, Cathy, it’s for you,’ she murmured, and there was no mistaking the trepidation.

  Cathy’s body flooded with anxiety. This wasn’t good. Bailiffs? Had she forgotten to pay the electricity bill. Police? Had something happened to someone she loved? No. Not again. She wasn’t even going to consider that.

  She didn’t have to, because Loretta stood to one side and Cathy gasped at the sight of the man behind her. He was tanned. His hair was much longer than it had been when she’d last seen him. He was wearing jeans and a jacket that looked like they’d been slept in. And yet he was still the most breath-taking, heart-stopping, handsome guy she’d ever seen in her life. Richie Clark. Her Richie. Her love. The one she’d said goodbye to when he’d landed an apprenticeship, working alongside his uncle in the engine rooms of cargo ships that sailed from England to countries all over the world. He’d begged her to come, said they’d find her a job on the ships too, but she couldn’t leave Loretta, so she’d insisted he go without her. She’d kissed him goodbye at Glasgow Central Train Station and they’d both cried.

  ‘Go and have the best time,’ she’d told him.

  ‘I’ll be back,’ he’d promised.

  He hadn’t said when and she hadn’t asked, too broken with grief, too heartsore from yet another loss of someone she loved. There had been no expectation. No deadline. But as the months passed, her hopes faded until there were none left at all.

  Now, here he was. There had been no letters because he was travelling, so she had no address to send them to. No conversations, because neither of them could afford an international phone call and even if they could, they wouldn’t know how, because the ships didn’t take incoming calls and Cathy didn’t have a phone. The only time she ever rang someone was from the phone box at the end of the next road.

  When he’d left, they’d both agreed that they’d live their lives, both do their own thing, because they’d had no other choice. Even though the thought of that broke her heart, she hadn’t shown it because she’d known that letting him go was the right thing to do. Holding him back, keeping him here with her would only be selfish. She’d loved him too much for that.

  In the beginning, she’d wait for him to come back every night. Then every week. Then every month until it became clear to her that he wasn’t coming. One day she’d finally decided to stop waiting and get on with her life, figuring that he’d forgotten about her. Maybe even met someone else on the ship and wiped her from his mind.

  ‘Hey, Cath,’ he greeted her with that grin that used to make her go weak at the knees. She stayed seated, because she didn’t want to test the theory. And also because…

  A frown on his face. Confusion. As she followed his gaze, she realised that it came straight to the hand that had flown to her face when she’d seen him. Her left hand. And now he was staring at the two gold rings that were there. One was her mum’s. The other was her own, placed there by someone else, just a few months ago.

  ‘I don’t understand…?’ he said, still staring.

  ‘I’m married, Richie,’ she forced out, then cleared her throat and prayed that her voice would hold up under the utter devastation of seeing him there.

  ‘You’re what?’ He knew exactly what she’d said, so she didn’t repeat it. No point. It wasn’t going to change. ‘No, Cathy. No. How could…?’ His words drifted off because they both understood the answer.

  She could, because he’d left her over eighteen months ago. Yes, he’d promised he’d come back, but as time passed Cathy had needed something more tangible than promises. That was only one side of the story, though. She didn’t have the words to tell him the other reason for the wedding, so instead she slowly stood up, revealing the part of her that had been concealed by the table.

  ‘Oh bugger,’ Loretta blurted, to no one in particular.

  Cathy didn’t react, her gaze still locked on Richie’s, her legs almost buckling when she saw the pain on his face as he took in the outline of her body, the curve of her stomach.

  Today was the day that the love of her life would find out she was married to another man. And about to give birth to her husband’s child.

  10 A.M. – 12 NOON

  4

  EVE

  Christmas Eve 2023

  It was a minute after 10 a.m. when Eve’s trusty Jeep finally exited her city centre building’s underground car park, and set off for the West End. Rush-hour traffic would usually have subsided by now, but not today. The slushy December streets of the Merchant City, home to Ralph Lauren, Emporio Armani, Mulberry and many other high-end stores, were already packed with people sporting one of two expressions – firm determination to get the last minute Christmas shopping done or blatant panic that they might have left it too late.

  Eve cut down past George Square, one of Glasgow’s most famous landmarks, where the annual Christmas market was just waking up around the ice rink and under the kaleidoscope of lights and decorations that appeared there in the festive season. Eve remembered her mum and gran bringing her here every year on the first Saturday in December. It was a tradition. Just like celebrating Mum’s birthday the day before the actual event. Or having Christmas Eve hot chocolate after nightfall in a beautiful little, fairy-lit park not far from Gran’s home in the West End.

  There were no traditions with her dad. At least, not that she could remember. Her memories only stretched back to when she was eight or nine, and by then her parents were already divorced and they’d all settled into a routine that never changed. Christmas Day was always spent at Gran and Grandad’s house with her mum, Great Aunt Loretta and whatever partner she’d brought along. There would be a late-morning brunch, then games and TV, and then dinner at night, with Mum’s birthday cake for pudding. Then Aunt Loretta would start singing (always kicking off with something by The Stones or The Doors) and they’d work their way through every song they all knew the words to, and even Mum, Saint Helena of the Holy Humour Bypass, would join in if she’d had a few glasses of wine. One night Aunt Loretta got Mum wasted on tequila she’d brought back from a trip to Mexico and they’d ended up doing a duet to ‘Relight My Fire’ – the Lulu and Take That version. Loretta did a brilliant Lulu, but if Gary Barlow had heard Mum singing his part, he’d probably have sued. After the singalong, the blankets would come out and they’d all crash on sofas and watch a movie, usually Grandad’s choice, but he’d pick one he knew they’d love, and Gran would lie on the couch beside him, her head on his shoulder, and the whole world would be perfect.

  That little bubble of bliss would be well and truly burst on Boxing Day, when she’d be dropped off to spend the day with her dad and his new family, although that had an interchangeable cast of characters. There was Annabel, the fellow solicitor who’d worked with Dad at Grandad’s company until their affair was discovered and they’d both left under a scandalous cloud. That was all the info Eve had managed to find out, and even then it had come from Annabel when she was in her early teens, because Mum and Gran both point blank refused to discuss it or bad-mouth her philandering father. That relationship had produced her twin brothers, Angus and Felix, before her dad had hot-tailed it off with Clarissa when the boys were about six or seven. That union had lasted around five years or so and they hadn’t had kids, which was probably a good thing, given that he wasn’t particularly dedicated to the three he already had. It was just as well that the hotshot firm he’d joined after leaving Grandad’s company had a family law division, because he needed the staff discount again six years later when he traded Clarissa in for Millie, a twenty-nine-year-old cosmetic nurse who now kept his sixty-year-old face and body in peak physical shape with the combination of a strenuous exercise and Botox. And no, it would never feel normal that her latest step-mother was the same age as her, but at least it meant they could relate to each other’s lives. If conversation dried up at dinner, they could always pass the time comparing their favourite One Direction song.

  Question after question about her parentage flipped through Eve’s mind.

  Were there clues that he wasn’t her dad? Was that why he was fairly indifferent to her? No. He was fairly indifferent to Angus and Felix too, and they were both younger clones of Bruce Quinn.

  Did he know that she wasn’t his? No. There was no way that he would have maintained their relationship for all these years if she wasn’t his kid, so clearly he was unaware. But that meant Helena must have cheated on him before they got married. No. Not even an option. Never. Helena McLean was the most straightforward, no-nonsense, honest woman of integrity that Eve had ever known. She didn’t break the rules. She would never cheat. Impregnation by aliens was beginning to look like the most plausible explanation.

  The uncertainties were like tiny volcanos erupting in her mind all the way across town. Thankfully, as soon as she cleared the city centre, the roads became quieter, and as she drove under grey skies down Great Western Road in the West End, the traffic was lighter, and the only challenge was navigating the endless sets of traffic lights on that stretch of road. She thought about diverting to Café Croissant to ambush Bethany Muldoon and get some answers, but again decided against it. Today wasn’t the day and she had no time for it. No matter how much it was killing her to put it off.

  Twenty-five minutes after Eve had left her building, she was pulling into the driveway of the home her gran had lived in for fifty-four years. Two Luton vans were there, the back of one of them wide open, revealing a space that was crammed with furniture and boxes. Most of the stuff had been packed up yesterday and stored overnight in the vans in the removal company’s warehouse, so this was the last of it, ready to be taken to the new house, just ten minutes away, and unpacked this afternoon.

  Taking a deep breath, Eve steeled herself for what was ahead. Today was going to be a tough day for her gran, leaving the place she’d called home for over five decades, where there were memories in every inch of every room. It would be heart-breaking for their matriarch. Emotionally draining. Not even a whole colony of singing penguins was going to take the sting out of this one. Eve decided to leave the bird family in the back seat for now, planning to take them into Gran’s new home later, so she just grabbed her bag, and her mum’s birthday present. The scarf and hat set didn’t seem particularly personal or apt for the moment. If she’d had more warning, she could have researched the best place to buy a polygraph machine.

  Her red boots crunched on the icy smattering of slush as she approached the semi-detached stone house. Deep breath.

  Gran. Soothing her heartache. Giving her comfort. That was Eve’s priority.

  Cathy greeted her by throwing the door open before she’d even rung the bell. ‘Hello, my love,’ she chirped, cheery as could be. ‘Come on in and join the party.’

  Erm, perhaps she was just doing a really good job of hiding the heartache.

  Eve opened her arms and wrapped them around her gran.

  ‘Happy Christmas Eve and happy moving day. How are you holding up, Gran? This can’t be easy for you.’

  ‘I’d be a lot more chipper if your mother would let me have a Buck’s Fizz for breakfast, but she’s insisting I can’t have a cocktail until after lunch. I don’t know where I went wrong with that woman.’ Gran said it all with a familiar twinkle in her eye, and Eve felt her tension lower a few points on the ‘stressed out’ scale. Gran had been lamenting her mum’s good behaviour for as long as she could remember, so it was reassuring to see that nothing had changed today. Maybe she wasn’t wallowing in devastation about uprooting her whole life after all.