Page 57 of The Sunrise Sisterhood

Had he seen her in the car seat? she wondered. Possibly not. Everything had happened so fast, and his attention had been on her. Father and daughter, separated by nothing more than a car window. Thank goodness she’d left Ivy in the car for those few minutes. Imagine if she’d walked in, a dark-haired baby on her hip. She shuddered. She’d just have to hope he didn’t have a clue what – or who – was in the back of her car.

Adam. Her stomach flipped at the memory of him. Of what they’d done. Of what had come afterwards. If things had been different, if she’d met him on any night other than the one on which her mum had died, then maybe they’d have had some sort of relationship. But, as it was, she’d never seen him again.

It had been easy to write him out of the story, no one had questioned her. Dad wasn’t interested enough, and Liz had been too bereft after Jen had died to want any more than the basic facts. As far as anyone else was concerned, Adam was an ex-boyfriend who was out of their lives. Ivy had Clare; she didn’t need anyone else. His choice, his loss. They were better off without him. That was Clare’s story and she’d stuck to it.

What she hadn’t told anyone was that she’d never even known Adam’s second name. The whole thing was just so sordid. How was it possible that the one night – the one and only night – she’d done something reckless and out of character could have set the course for her future? She felt confusion, shame and, above all, unbearable grief. But not regret, because to regret meeting Adam would mean regretting having her daughter, and Ivy was her world. Now her carefully curated life as a woman whose ex-partner had rejected the idea of co-parenting was in danger of coming apart at the seams. Her mind raced ahead to worst-case scenarios: he tracked her down; he demanded access to Ivy; he wanted joint custody. She knew she was catastrophising, but even so, her body started to shake with fear.

‘No, no, no,’ she whispered. ‘Please, don’t let that happen.’

‘Sorry,’ said Skye, oblivious to her real concerns.

Clare moaned as the car hit a pothole. Her whole left arm felt on fire. She had a flashback to falling in the kitchen. She remembered that she’d slipped sideways, her feet skidding in the cake. She’d fallen heavily on her side, but her hand had caught on something and she’d heard a crack. Looking down, she’d seen her forearm twisted outwards at an improbable angle. Without hesitation, she’d grabbed her wrist and wrenched the arm back towards her and clamped it to her chest. She hadn’t let go since.

‘I hope Adam’s all right,’ Skye muttered. ‘I put all my strength behind that punch. I thought he deserved it.’

She left it hanging, clearly waiting for Clare to speak.

Say nothing, a voice in Clare’s head whispered, admit nothing. She’d already said more than she should have.

After a minute or so, Skye tried again.

‘How’s the temperature in the car? Too hot, too cold? Tell me if I can do anything to help.’

‘The shopping in the boot of the car!’ Clare remembered with a gasp, some stuff needs to go in the fridge.

‘It’s not important,’ Skye said quietly. ‘But you are.’

Clare turned her head away so Skye couldn’t see her tears; neither of them had ever said anything nice like that before. ‘Is Ivy OK?’

Ivy was directly behind her, making it impossible to check on her. She’d put the car seat there, diagonal to the driver’s side, so that they could see each other.

Skye glanced quickly over her shoulder. ‘She’s fine, she’s awake. Hello, Ivy!’

‘Ivy, Mummy’s here,’ said Clare, forcing herself to sound normal. Tears of pain squeezed out of her eyes. ‘We’re going on a little trip with Auntie Skye. Actually, where are we going?’

‘Kingsbridge hospital. It’s the nearest A & E department.’

‘Oh no.’ Nausea surged through her. If she never went there again it would be too soon. ‘Isn’t there anywhere else?’

‘Not for broken bones.’

It was on the tip of Clare’s tongue to lie and say that it was only a sprain, but it would only delay getting pain relief and she wasn’t sure how long she could endure this.

‘I hate that place,’ she whispered under her breath and, if Skye heard it, she didn’t comment. Clare gave her a sideways glance; Skye had hitched the driver’s seat as far forward as she could and was hunched over the steering wheel, shoulders up by her ears. ‘Oh my God!’ Clare cried suddenly. ‘You’re not insured on my car. Pull over, I’ll have to drive.’

‘With a broken arm? Are you insane?’ Skye retorted.

‘If we have an accident and Ivy gets injured …’

‘We won’t have an accident.’

‘You’re not used to Devon’s narrow lanes and the high hedges. Slow down!’ Clare screeched as a tractor came towards them. She tensed her body, trying to protect her arm from the movement of the car.

There was a passing place just in front of them. Skye pulled in tight, the branches of the hedge scratching the side of the car like nails down a chalkboard.

‘It was you who told me to go fast,’ Skye said as the tractor inched past them. ‘And I’ve been driving a knackered old minibus in Uganda for years, where tarmac is a luxury. Relax.’

‘Very funny.’