All I Have Left of You Read online

  All I Have Left Of You

  by

  Laura Daniels

  Copyright © 2019 by Laura Pidgeon

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 9781794625501

  This is a work of fiction.

  All characters appearing in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons living or dead, other than those in the public domain, is not intended and purely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, re-sold, or transmitted electronically, or otherwise, without express written permission from the author.

  For love, because true love is everything…

  …and for Grandma Maggie.

  Prologue

  17th December 2017

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Mills,’ a gentle whisper sounded against my ear.

  I smiled against my pillow. ‘Good Morning, Mr Mills,’ I replied to my husband with a sleepy grin, keeping my eyes squeezed tightly shut. I was too tired to open them. It felt early. Too early, too dark and too cold to even think about leaving dreamland just yet. ‘What time is it?’ I wondered with a big yawn.

  ‘It’s just after seven,’ Michael whispered back.

  ‘What are you doing awake?’ I asked. It was the first day of our two-week Christmas break, and we’d planned a long lie in to celebrate. We’d only come to bed five hours earlier after drinking a bottle of wine and scoffing down a tin of Roses. We’d been watching Christmas films in our pyjamas, wrapped in fur blankets on the sofa, as the sound of rain tinkered against the windows.

  ‘Dan just rang. Scott has called in sick, so I have to go to work,’ he said with a grimace. I hadn’t even heard his phone ring.

  I rolled over and opened my heavy eyes with great difficulty. It was worth it, though. The light from the bright silver moon slipped through a gap in the curtains, illuminating the striking face of my husband. I smiled, and my heart skipped a beat the same way it always did when I realised how lucky I was to have such a handsome, kind, brave man by my side, sharing my bed with me. ‘Do you have to?’ I moaned, snuggling against the naked heat of his body. His arms closed around me. We’d planned to have a day at home, wrapping presents while singing off-key to Michael Bublé songs before we met both our families tonight for a meal and a festive show. We had tickets for Elf at The Lowry Theatre, and the day ahead promised nothing but festive fun.

  Michael smiled. ‘I’m sorry, darling. I’ll be back in time for the restaurant at six.’ He planted a soft kiss on my forehead, and my eyes slipped closed again. He gave a low chuckle. ‘Go back to sleep, love. I’m going to jump in the shower.’

  Twenty minutes later, Michael was up and dressed, and I stirred awake again. He smelled clean and soapy as he leaned down and pressed a gentle goodbye kiss on my lips. The taste of toothpaste tingled. ‘I love you, Mrs Mills,’ he said quietly, and although my eyes were half-shut, I knew he was smiling. I could hear it in his voice. I knew the sound of his smile so well.

  ‘I love you too, Mr Mills,’ I replied. We’d been calling

  each other by our married names ever since our wedding day just over two years earlier, and it still made me tingle every time I heard it. I forced my eyes fully open and watched him make his way out of the bedroom, a silhouette moving through the darkness.

  A part of me wanted to jump out from beneath the covers and smother him in a flurry of kisses before he left. But it was too cold, and my body refused to move, so instead, I pulled the quilt higher up to my chin and snuggled myself onto his side of the bed, inhaling the familiar and comforting scent of my husband. There’d be plenty of time for kisses and cuddles later. After the show, we’d come back and snuggle on the settee like we always did, and I’d thank my lucky stars that, after everything we’d been through, life was going so well at last.

  And with that blissful thought in my head, I drifted off back to sleep, not knowing that I’d never see my husband alive again.

  Chapter One

  4th September 2002

  I gave myself one last look in the mirror, pursing my lips as I took in my appearance. With or without the hair clip? That was the question. Without it, my blonde fringe was free to stick up at all angles, but with it, my hair looked too flat, making my head look almost like a pea. And if I went with it, had I picked the right colour hair clip? Or was bright pink too childish for my first day of high school? And did it even go with the bottle-green of my school sweatshirt?

  ‘Are you almost ready, love? Have you got your bag?’ Mum said, coming into my bedroom with a blue lunchbox, glancing about the mess for wherever I’d put my school bag. She ran a hand through her highlighted blonde hair and stress crept into her eyes at the state of my room. She’d tidied it for me just two days earlier, and it was already a tip. We’d only moved to this house a week ago, and every minute she’d had, she’d been assigning everything a new place, making a strange new house into our family home.

  Had it not been my first day at school, she’d have probably sighed and reminded me for the millionth time that this wasn’t a hotel with daily maid service and that I might do well to remember how many hours she’d spent making this place as homely as possible. Thankfully, one of my pillows covered the plate with toast crusts on it.

  I turned to her and nodded, still perturbed by the hair clip dilemma.

  She smiled softly, and her annoyance melted away as she caught sight of my worried little face. ‘It’s fine to be nervous, love. It’s your first day at a new school, in a new place. I’d be concerned if you weren’t nervous. Now, where on earth did you put that school bag?’

  ‘Uhm…’ I glanced about the mess, and among the pyjamas and towels that covered the floor, I spotted my black leather school bag lurking by the chest of drawers upon which my TV and VCR sat. ‘There.’ I pointed to it and turned back to the mirror, determined to solve this hair clip problem once and for all.

  I took it out and put it in again, feeling frustrated when neither option seemed to look right. I stomped my foot.

  ‘Why don’t you leave it out for now, and then take the clip in your bag so you can change your mind when you get to school if you want to? And perhaps tomorrow, I can do your hair for you. We’ll get up a bit earlier.’ Mum smiled as she slipped my lunchbox into my school bag and zipped it up.

  ‘Fine,’ I huffed, too peeved to offer her any further enthusiasm.

  ‘Do you want me to walk with you on your first day?’ She handed me my school bag. The school was just a five-minute walk away from our new house in Wilmslow. We’d moved up here from Suffolk where we’d lived since I was three. Before that, we’d lived in Manchester where my parents had met.

  I shook my head quickly, grabbing the bag from her hands. She swiftly put her hands behind her back. ‘No, Mum. It’s fine. I can manage.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ she pressed, a worried look creasing her brow.

  ‘Yes,’ I said, a little annoyed. Didn’t she understand that I was all grown up now? ‘And my bag feels lighter. Did you take something out?’ I asked as I opened the bag and looked inside. ‘Mum! Where is it?’ I demanded when I realised what was missing.

  Mum sighed, and from behind her back, she revealed what I was looking for; my incredibly worn copy of Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone.

  ‘Give it back, Mum!’ I snapped, holding out my hands.

  Mum shook her head and quickly slipped the book behind her back again. ‘Look, today is a very important day. I want you to make friends. Don’t you? I promise you can take it tomorrow, but I want you to talk to people, Elina. I want you to be happy here.’

  I opened my mouth to argue, but even as an eleven-year-old, I knew she had a point. I hadn’t made many friends at primary school, and that was because I was
always reading. I always had my nose stuck in a book, and I was forever daydreaming about faraway lands and the adventures people had in them. I didn’t mind too much, but there were times I did feel lonely; when I saw other kids my age playing out or going to the cinema together at weekends. Besides, I ran the risk of running late and didn’t have time to argue. I didn’t want to be the girl who was late on the first day. Everybody would look at me.

  ‘Okay, Mum,’ I sighed, ‘I promise I’ll try and make some friends today.’

  Mum smiled and gave me a tight hug. ‘That’s my girl.’

  I arrived at school a few minutes before the bell rang. All Year Seven students were to gather in the hall, so I followed the crowd of kids through the school and managed to find it without any issues. The older students I passed towered above me, making me feel small, so I was relieved to join the kids the same age as me in the hall; it wasn’t quite as intimidating.

  There were about three-hundred red chairs set out on the

  brown floor and a large overhead projector screen hung on the wall at the front of the room. On it, were the lists of our form groups. I scanned for my name, and then looked at the others that were in the same class as me. I wondered what each of them would be like, who I would be friends with, who I wouldn’t, which ones would get sent out of lessons.

  Each row of chairs had an A4 piece of paper stuck at the end of it, and written in big black letters on the page was the name of the form group it represented. I looked about the rows for my form, 7G, and when I saw that people were already sat in groups, my heart sank a little. They were chatting away like they’d known each other forever. Perhaps they had. Maybe they’d all been to the same primary school, and I was the only one who didn’t know anybody.

  Swallowing back a lump of fear, and trying my best to ignore the nervous heat that spread across my belly, I pushed my way through the crowds of people and sat on a chair at the end of one of the rows, away from everybody else. I would make friends, I told myself. But not then. I could hardly interrupt a conversation to introduce myself. That would be rude. There would be plenty of time later in the day to strike up a conversation with someone. But about what?

  Before I had time to worry ‘about what’, the bell rang, and the rest of the students took their seats as eight teachers and the head teacher appeared at the front of the room.

  Over the next hour, the head teacher, a stern, middle-aged, greying woman called Mrs Pepper, reeled off a whole list of expectations and rules we were to follow if we were to leave this school ‘as well-respected and developed young adults’. She wore a dull, grey skirt and jacket, and her greying hair was cut short to her head, emphasising ears that stuck out slightly. A circular pair of red glasses framed grey eyes and sat on a fat, round nose. Her voice was sharp and shrill, and she didn’t crack a smile once. It made me wonder what Mr Pepper was like and what it was he liked about Mrs Pepper.

  At the end of the dull hour, we left the hall form by form and followed our respective teachers throughout the maze-like school to our classroom. I was one of the few in my form that walked alone. I walked behind a group of five girls, all linking arms, talking and laughing. Two of them even had the same light blue Adidas school bag, and suddenly I felt I was already too late. I already didn’t fit in. Watching them walk ahead of me, I felt incredibly lonely, almost as though I’d been left behind. I should have fought harder to bring my book today, I thought, as my eyes started to sting. I blinked a few times to chase the tears back, but a thick knot grew in my throat. I wanted to be at home in my new room, soothed by the lemon walls and posters of my favourite books and films.

  ‘Okay, settle down, please,’ our tutor, Miss Graham, called as we reached our classroom in the English block. She was a youngish-looking woman with a mousy brown bob and kind eyes. It looked like she’d put a lot of effort into her classroom. The grey desks were set out in twos and were all facing forward towards the whiteboard. Posters of Shakespeare plays and classic novels adorned the cream walls, but it was the large bookcase at the back that grabbed my attention. English was my favourite subject, and the prospect of new books to read cheered me up a bit. I was excited to find out what adventures I’d be sent home with, what characters I’d soon be aquatinted with, and what villains they’d have to defeat.

  ‘Before anyone sits down, there is a seating plan in place-’ the room groaned ‘-and this has been done alphabetically. So please, look for your name and take your seat.’

  I found my name a couple of rows from the front and the desk was currently empty. I hung my bag over the back of my chair and sat down, glancing at the name next to me. ‘Michael Mills,’ it said. I breathed a sigh of relief. At least it wouldn’t be one of those girls I’d seen. I didn’t think I’d find it easy to talk to them for some reason. I assumed they’d probably ignore me and turn in their seats to speak to the others.

  I turned to look in my bag, fumbling with the contents in search of my pencil case. The pens and pencils rattled within as I found the tin and placed it on the table in front of me.

  ‘You have good taste… Elina Lawrence,’ a boy said as he slid into the seat next to me, reading my name card. I looked across at him. He had brown hair that he’d obviously tried to flatten. It hadn’t worked, and the result was a shaggy head of bed-head hair. He had rich brown eyes, and they were kind, just like his warm, genuine, smile. I was a bit puzzled by his comment, and then he pulled out his own pencil case. We had the same one. Black with the Hogwarts logo in the middle.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said shyly. I wanted to make a joke, say something witty, but words deserted me. I really was terrible at making friends.

  ‘What did you think of the film?’ he asked, staring straight at me with a happy grin.

  ‘I liked it,’ I said quietly with a small nod. ‘I’m looking forward to the next one.’ Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets was due out that November.

  The boy nodded, and his grin widened. ‘Me too! And the next book! I’m Michael, by the way.’ He pointed to his name card and held out his hand.

  It took me a moment before I realised he meant for me to shake it. He was very polite and confident for an eleven-year-old. I didn’t think I’d ever shaken a boy’s hand before. ‘I’m Elina, but you can call me Lina,’ I said as I shook his hand after wiping mine discreetly on my trousers. His hand was cool and soft, and I worried that mine might have been hot and clammy. I felt my cheeks heat a little.

  ‘Looks like we’ll be seeing a lot of each other, then,’ he said happily. ‘You’re not from around here, are you?’

  I smiled. ‘How can you tell?’

  ‘You weren’t speaking to anyone, and your accent is different,’ Michael replied. ‘Where are you from?’

  ‘My family just moved up from Suffolk. We only got here a week ago,’ I said, feeling my nerves ease up a little. There was something about this boy that seemed to calm me down. It was probably his smile, I decided. ‘Are you from here?’

  Michael shook his head. ‘No. My family just moved too. I’m from York.’

  My smile grew. He was in the same position as me! ‘So you don’t know anyone either?’

  ‘Not a sausage!’ he said with a laugh. ‘At least we’re in the same boat!’

  Unfortunately, I only had one lesson with Michael. We’d had English together just before our first break, and then headed off in separate directions for Science. We’d arranged to meet up at lunch on a patch of grass just outside the English block. He wasn’t there when I arrived, but I sat down anyway, removing my jumper to sit on.

  It was a warm and sunny day for September, and I held my face into the gentle heat of the sun, listening to the sound of the warm breeze that rustled through the trees. I watched as chirping birds soared across the endless blue sky as though weightless, before returning to their nests to tend their young. I smiled. My first day at school hadn’t been as daunting as I’d imagined, and I had a hopeful feeling I’d made a friend.

  A few minutes pass
ed, and Michael didn’t appear. My smile faded slightly, and as I looked around at the many faces, I suddenly realised I couldn’t exactly remember what Michael looked like. I remembered his brown eyes and his messy hair, but I couldn’t picture his nose or the shape of his jaw. Surely, I’d know him when I saw him.

  After a while longer I felt a little self-conscious, just sat there on the grass by myself with nothing to do with my hands. I’d eaten my sandwich on our first break and had quickly wolfed down a packet of crisps, leaving me with nothing to pretend to pay attention to as I waited. There were no daisies to make a chain with, and I didn’t want to sit there picking grass as a means to distract myself. I reached into my bag, and then with a groan remembered once again that Mum had confiscated my book. We hadn’t even been given anything for English yet. I huffed, and when he didn’t appear after a few more minutes, I assumed he’d forgotten about me. Fighting against a lump of sadness in my throat and a stab of humiliation in my belly, I stood up and wrapped my jumper around my waist, planning on heading straight to the library to find solace in the fictional friends I’d grown to love. At least I could depend on them to always be there.

  ‘Sorry I’m late, Lina!’ a voice said behind me.

  I turned around and there he stood, shaggy hair flowing in the breeze, brown eyes shining in the September sunlight. That’s what he looked like, I remembered, warm and friendly. I instantly smiled, and relief flooded me. He hadn’t forgotten! ‘Oh, that’s okay. I just got here too,’ I lied.

  ‘Oh, phew!’ Michael said, visibly relieved and a little out of breath. ‘I left my lunch at home, but we only live around the corner, so I ran back to get it. I brought you something, too.’ He opened his lunch bag and put his hand inside. When he withdrew it again, he held in his palm two chocolate buns.