Page 14 of The Sunrise Sisterhood

‘I wish …’ she began, but Mike had turned away and was looking at something else. ‘Never mind.’

I wish you had visited me, Dad. Just once.

She’d have loved to have shown him around, introduce him to the village ladies, who she just knew would have giggled and probably run away at the sight of this handsome British man with the twinkly eyes and charming smile. But he hadn’t come and now it might be too late. Mum had been over once, but she’d struggled with the heat and washing her hair under a hosepipe. wasn’t what she was used to. It hadn’t helped that her mum had fainted in the night and hit her head on the wooden bedstead either. The visit hadn’t been repeated.

‘This has been great, Skye.’ Mike glanced at the time on his phone. ‘I’m glad you brought me. I think we’ve seen everything now, so shall we head off? I fancy nipping to the gym for half an hour if we get back in time.’

Her stomach flipped, aware that her time slot was nearly up.

‘Not yet.’ She put her arm around his waist while they walked, to ensure he stayed close. ‘There’s a stall selling preserves and pickles that we haven’t seen yet. They’ve got a job vacancy … I thought I might apply for it.’

He looked at her with bemusement. ‘So you’re planning on staying here then, not returning to Uganda? That little interlude is over, is it?’

‘That little interlude was five years of my life, Dad,’ she retorted, disappointed with him. ‘I’ve got some extended leave from the Hope Foundation, that’s all. And while I’m here, I don’t want to rely on your charity. So I’m going to get a job for the summer. Dad! Are you listening?’

He’d taken his phone out again and was tapping at the screen. He quickly closed it down but not before she’d read the message.

‘Hmm? Sorry, sweetheart. Just answering an email.’

‘On Friday night? Can’t it wait?’

He laughed under his breath. ‘It’s still morning in LA. My guy over there can’t wait until Monday for an answer just because I’m swanning around a food market eating vegan chicken.’

‘For goodness’ sake, Dad! The subject of the email was “Fancy a game of golf tomorrow?” So unless your guy is already at the airport or you’re telling porkies.’

Mike laughed and threw his arm around his daughter’s shoulder. ‘OK, you got me, it wasn’t LA. Let’s go and look at the jam you wanted to show me.’

‘Would you like to taste our locally made cider, sir?’ A girl stepped in front of them holding out a tray of taster glasses.

‘Now you’re talking,’ Mike said with a grin.

Skye took one too and tapped hers against her dad’s. ‘Cheers.’

‘Now that is delicious.’ Mike groaned with pleasure, making the girl blush. ‘That fizz on the tongue and a hit of sweetness. Tell me, what sort of apples are in it? Local, I presume?’

Skye just about managed not to roll her eyes; she’d forgotten just what a flirt he could be. It had been so embarrassing when she was younger. Her mum used to laugh it off, saying that he wasn’t even aware he was doing it.

Skye’s phone began to ring and she smiled with surprise when her godmother’s name flashed up.

‘Call me Mikey,’ she heard her dad say to the girl.

‘Ugh,’ she muttered under her breath before answering the call. ‘Hi, Liz, how are you? Hold on, I’ll just move somewhere quieter.’

‘Fine, sweetheart, just fine,’ came Liz’s voice down the line as Skye leaned on the railings overlooking the water.

‘I was going to come and see you soon,’ Skye began. ‘But I’ve been worried about Dad being on his own while Nilla’s away.’ She glanced back over to the cider stall. Mike had attracted another woman to his little harem now. ‘He’s fine though.’

Liz harrumphed. ‘Your father’s always fine, he’s got skin thicker than a month-old bowl of custard.’

Skye grinned. Liz always did have a way of cutting her dad down to size. ‘True.’

‘Now,’ said Liz, ‘I know you’ve probably got a million and one things on, but I wondered if you’d consider coming to work for me for a few weeks?’

Skye made a noise somewhere between a choke and a laugh. She hadn’t expected that. ‘Me?’

Liz laughed. ‘Yes, darling, you.’

‘What sort of work?’