Page 73 of The Christmas Fayre on Holly Field

‘What’s happened?’ Harriet glanced at Kelly. ‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘I’m going to have to go.’ With an apologetic look at the rest of the people in the room, Harriet hurried Sara into the corridor, worry making her feel sick. ‘What’s wrong?’

The only answer she got was a hiccupping sob.

The door to the room where the birthday party was being held was firmly closed, and Harriet was tempted to barge in and demand to know what was going on, but Sara tugged her hand, dragging her into the hall and outside.

‘Get in the car,’ Harriet said, and Sara, sobbing so hard that it made Harriet’s heart ache to hear it, clambered in. Harriet got into the driver’s seat, but before she started the engine, she turned to her daughter. ‘I’m not leaving until you tell me what happened.’ If someone had hurt her daughter, by God she’d go back in there and—

‘It’syourfault!’ Sara cried.

‘Excuse me?’

‘It’s your fault,’ she repeated. She had a flinty look in her eye and her chin jutted out. ‘I hate you.’

‘Why? What haveIdone?’

‘My dress.’ Sniffing loudly, Sara reached into her bag for a tissue, pulled out the packet, then threw the bag at Harriet. ‘How could you?’ Sara twisted away, refusing to look at her. ‘You ruined my life.’

Harriet froze.Oh, God. She suddenly knew where she had seen Darlene’s mother before.

‘I didn’t know,’ Harriet said in a small voice. How could she? Because the last person Harriet would have expected to see at a boot sale was Darlene’smother.

‘It was awful, Pen.’ Harriet jammed her mobile between her ear and her shoulder as she poured herself a large measure of wine. This was her second of the evening.

‘It sounds it. Poor Sara, and poor you. Is there anything I can do to help?’

Harriet took a deep glug of her wine. ‘Wind the clock back?’

‘How could you know something like that would happen?’

‘I keep telling myself that, but it doesn’t do any good.’ She took another gulp and swallowed hastily. ‘I might have known it was too good to be true.’

‘Have you been drinking?’

‘Yes, I have. What of it?’ The last thing Harriet needed was a lecture from Pen. She’d had a bloody awful day as it was, without that.

‘Good. I was going to suggest you had a glass or two. It won’t change anything, but it might help dull the pain for a bit. I was only asking because you seem a little… out of focus, shall we say?’

‘I wish I was,’ Harriet retorted with feeling. ‘Unfortunately, everything is in very sharp focus indeed.’

‘What a cow.’

‘I wouldn’t go as far as to call Darlene a cow. That’s a bit harsh; she is only twelve.’

‘I was referring to her mother. What a horrible way to treat a child. She should be ashamed of herself.’

‘It wasn’t Darlene’s mother who said anything about the dress, it was precious little Darlene herself.’

Pen gasped. ‘How did she know it washerdress? You could have legitimately bought it from the same place her mother bought it. What a cheek to assume that she’s the only one to own a dress like that. Does she think she’s that much of a queen bee that other people can’t afford to buy designer dresses?’

Harriet finished her wine and poured herself another. She didn’t normally drink much, never more than a glass or two, and only when she was out or with friends. But on the way back from Deri Castle she had called into the corner shop, her hands shaking and nausea roiling in her stomach, and had come out with two bottles of wine and a big bar of chocolate.

She was already beginning to feel the effects of the alcohol, because things were starting to get fuzzy around the edges. Good. She needed all the fuzziness she could get, in order to drive the image of her poor distraught daughter out of her mind. But she had the feeling that no matter how much she drank, she would never forget.

‘Darlene knew it was her dress because of the buttons,’ Harriet said. ‘It seems the dress originally came with buttons that were covered in the same fabric as the dress itself. One or two of the original ones had come off and couldn’t be found, so Darlene’s mother had bought pink, heart-shaped buttons and had replaced them all.’ Harriet closed her eyes in despair. ‘What are the odds?’

‘Blimey, you couldn’t write this stuff, could you?’

‘No, and I wouldn’t want to. Sara cried all the way back, and as soon as we got home, she went straight upstairs and shut herself in her room and hasn’t come out since. I took some food up to her, but she didn’t touch it. Bobby’s been trying his best to cheer her up, but she keeps yelling at him to go away and leave her alone. Apparently, I’m the worst mother in the world. She hates me, she never wants to see me again, and she’s going to live with her father.’ Harriet let out a sob.

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