Save Her, Abigail Osborne [ebook reader for surface pro txt] 📗

‘Let me discuss it with my business partner and I’ll get back to you, okay?’ Flora did not have a business partner. But Linda wasn’t to know that.

With a heavy heart she had locked up the centre, said a glum goodbye to Charlotte, her heart and head in turmoil and Linda’s contact details burning a hole in her pocket. Guilt made bile rise to her throat as she thought about the four-course dinner she was about to consume whilst Linda was probably going without to ensure Ethan got enough food.

3

Linda and Ethan’s plight had consumed Flora’s mind as she drove her battered red Vauxhall Corsa out of Manchester’s city centre. Orange brick terraces almost mounting each other gave way to stone semis with expensive cars until these were replaced with gates leading to large, towering mansions bordered by great swathes of countryside. Usually she spent the journey fascinated by this visual representation of the class system. It was the type of day she would normally have loved. The sun was apologising for the earlier rain, its rays reflecting off the residual droplets, making everything around her sparkle. The green grass enhanced by the sunlight would dazzle her, each vibrant shade of green vying for her attention. On any other day, the beauty around her would be making her feel lucky to be alive. But she noticed nothing, driving purely on autopilot. Unable to think of anything else but Linda and Ethan.

It was with a bad taste in her mouth that she went up the tree-lined driveway leading to Cavendish Manor. As she handed her key to the valet, she wondered if Linda had ever been able to afford a car. It was the hole in Linda’s shirt that she thought of as she gave her coat to the butler, a frumpish elderly man called Reginald who probably earned more in a week than Linda did in a year. It was Ethan’s grey raincoat with the rip in one sleeve that she pictured as she listened to Cecelia agonise over whether they should have Christmas at their French mansion or in their holiday home in Spain.

And it was just as the lemon soufflé was served and Cecelia was informing them that she’d had the chef throw out the first batch because they didn’t all match – that Flora’s misery and frustration erupted like a volcano. She didn’t mean to do it. Her impotence at being unable to help Linda combined with her dislike of Cecelia had silenced her sensibilities. Before she knew it, in a voice that she hoped mirrored Cecelia’s when she was delivering one of her backhanded compliments, Flora interrupted her mother-in-law.

‘Oh, Cecelia, before I forget, we won’t be around for Christmas this year as we are planning to have it in our new house on our own.’

The room went as silent as a crypt. Sam’s spoon had hovered in the air as he looked at her, incredulously. They had agreed to wait until they signed the paperwork and Sam had wanted to talk to his parents on his own. As soon as she had spoken, she knew she’d made a mistake. She wanted to chase after the words and gobble them back up. She closed her eyes praying that it was all just a dream, like the many occasions at night where she would picture what she should have said to Cecelia but was never brave enough to actually say it.

But when she opened her eyes and looked across the table to her sister-in-law Sophie, she saw her face had lost all its colour. She had done the unspeakable. Greg, Sam’s brother looked dumbfounded, his mouth wide open in shock. Alistair, Sam’s father was looking at her intently, but she could not read his expression.

She wanted to explain to them that Cecelia had made her do it. After years of abusive snide comments, she had finally had enough. That being with Linda and Ethan, two people in genuine need, had meant she could not stand the shallowness of Cecelia’s conversation anymore. Cecelia used none of her wealth to help people. Did she even realise that people like Linda existed? That they had real-life problems that were more important than which house to spend Christmas at and whether they should get there by bloody plane or helicopter. Accustomed to the power that came with the family wealth, Cecelia was only concerned with the chess game that was her own life. She put her pawns where she wanted them and expected them to do as they were told. Sam and Flora lived in the house that Cecelia had bought for Sam when he turned eighteen, a house that was next door to the one she had bought Greg, his brother. These houses were, coincidentally, five minutes around the corner from Cavendish Manor.

Flora had known that she would be apoplectic when she found out that Flora and Sam would be moving away. Cecelia did not allow her pawns to move of their own accord. However, she did not foresee her mother-in-law collapsing to the floor like a statue, clutching at her right arm.

4

Cecelia clutched her right arm and fell to the floor. If Sophie’s brain had not been distracted by trying to process what Flora had said she would have found the entire thing comical. Before Flora had opened her mouth, nothing would have pleased Sophie more than seeing Cecelia falling to the floor, apparently having a heart attack. But as it was, Sophie was so stunned that she felt she could quite easily have joined Cecelia on the floor.

Her heart thumped in her chest as she tried to take in Flora’s words. Flora was moving. And worse still: she had not said a word to Sophie. It made the blood boil in her veins.

Since they were four years old, Flora and Sophie had been best friends. A friendship that started with them both liking the green crayon the best, it