Secrets at Meadowbrook Manor. Faith Bleasdale

It felt that only now, at Meadowbrook, was she beginning to process them.

      ‘It’s so weird how similar, really! And poor Fred was upset too. Well, actually, his ego was bruised mainly. He didn’t love Loretta, that’s his ex, as much as I thought I loved Mark, but actually I let Mark control me for so long I didn’t know myself anymore.’

      Gemma nodded. God, it sounded so much like Chris, but without the big house, the inheritance or the brother.

      ‘Thank you for being so understanding. I guess I’ll let you get on.’

      Pippa looked as if she would like an invitation to stay, but Gemma suddenly felt exhausted and needed to sleep.

      ‘I really need to pack. I know I’m only off for the weekend, but I need to make sure I have the essentials.’ She tried to sound light-hearted. ‘And thanks again for lending me the car.’

      ‘Well, we’ll see you for dinner Sunday evening? We usually all go to the local pub, so I hope you’ll join us. About seven?’

      ‘I’ll be back before then, so that will be lovely.’

      Gemma knew better than to try to get out of it – it seemed that being with the family was part of the job description. It really was a wonderful job, good pay, great living conditions, but it was also the strangest job she’d ever had, and one she really didn’t know if she understood. No, she definitely didn’t understand.

      After Pippa finally left her room, Gemma started to pack. She threw some of her clothes into a holdall; she didn’t worry about looking good back home, so she took her old clothes rather than the nice ones Pippa had lent her.

      She thought that when she got her first paycheque she might go and treat herself to some new clothes. Having worn those that Pippa had passed to her, she was beginning to enjoy looking better than she usually did. Surely, it was better late than never? She was twenty-eight, not twelve, but so what? She did feel a bit of a new lease of life coursing through her veins. Was that the Meadowbrook effect?

      She left early and the house was quiet. She walked quietly to the front door, where a bunch of flowers caught her eye. They were just the sort her nan loved, wild garden flowers, and there was a note attached. She picked it up.

      Gemma, Amanda and I remembered you saying your nan loved her garden flowers, so we picked these for her. I do hope she likes them.

      Love,

      Gus and Amanda

      Bloody hell, she thought as she wiped the tears from her eyes. She felt as if she were being drowned in kindness, and she didn’t quite know how to handle this alien feeling.

      Driving Pippa’s shiny Mini Countryman was also a new experience, she thought as she pulled herself together. If she didn’t stop being so emotional then Harriet would definitely fire her. She was pretty sure of that. She felt a rush of freedom as she drove away from Meadowbrook and also some relief, as she didn’t have to worry about what she did or said for a while. She programmed the sat nav as she wasn’t sure of the best way to get home and as it’d been a while since she’d driven, she felt nervous as she negotiated the traffic.

      When she told Pippa she was going home for the weekend, Pippa made it clear that she was more than welcome to stay at Meadowbrook at the weekends. In fact, she said she’d rather have her there as the house felt less empty. And Gemma would be grateful not to go back to the bungalow. It reminded her too much of the past. It had been her home, but now it belonged to no one. Her nan was never coming back to live there, and although she used to wonder if her mum would come back and find her, she never had. She used to worry that if they moved or even went on holiday – which was a week in a caravan every summer – her parents wouldn’t know how to find her.

      But of course she finally had to accept that they never had and never would. Who knew if they were even still alive? Gemma often wondered what happened to them. Had her dad met someone else and got a new family? Likely. Had her mum recovered from what her nan referred to as her “troubles” and also gone on to find happiness? Probably. Did they ever think about Gemma? Doubtful.

      When Gemma told her the whole story, one of her college friends Jane had suggested that they try to find out what happened to them, using the Internet, but after initial attempts hadn’t yielded any results, Gemma got cold feet. She suddenly realised that having been rejected when she was a child was bad enough. She wasn’t sure if she could cope with being rejected again.

      Over the years, she had also asked her nan if she knew, but her nan was as much at a loss as she was, or so she said, and Gemma had never had any reason to doubt her. She said that her father had panicked, he was young and he felt trapped, so he fled just after she was born. Her mother, Sandie, nan’s daughter, had to be a mum to Gemma, apparently, but she was sad all the time and one day she left too, when Gemma was only four. She hadn’t been in touch since. Her nan was upset about it, she missed her only child, and was happy to talk to Gemma about her, but as far as she knew, she’d never tried to find her, either.

      It was funny, well not funny but strange – when Pippa talked to Gemma about growing up without a mum, Gemma wanted to relate to her. But she held herself back, because she also spoke about her wonderful father, with a love and respect that sparkled in her eyes, and Gemma couldn’t understand that at all.

      She’d been away less than a week, but the bungalow felt cold and unlived-in as she walked through the front door. She flicked on all the hall lights and made her way to the kitchen. She sighed as she looked at it through fresh eyes. There was such a stark contrast with Meadowbrook. She was angry with herself for thinking that; she might not have grown up with the luxury of Meadowbrook, but she was always comfortable and fed, and she never thought of the bungalow as lacking until now. She was a grown-up; she had always been grateful for what she had, and she needed to remember that. This was her home, and she had been lucky to grow up here with love and warmth.

      However, this would be someone else’s home soon and she wouldn’t belong anywhere. Trying to stave off self-pity, she went through the mail, putting the bills in one pile to deal with and junk mail straight in the recycling. There was nothing personal, except an envelope from her last employer with her final payslip – it was higher than she’d expected as she hadn’t taken all her holiday, but it still wasn’t anything near what she was earning at Meadowbrook.

      She made herself a cup of tea, glad she had stopped at the petrol station to get some milk, and studied the kitchen, making mental notes as she waited for the kettle to boil. She decided she would keep the appliances for now, because she wasn’t yet sure how often she would be coming back, but she could pack any personal items she wanted to keep and then the rest would go to charity, or be thrown away. She set to work and for a while, lost in the task at hand, she forgot to think about anything. She blanked all feelings of sadness, of worry, of loneliness out of her mind as she put things in boxes and tried to think about nothing.

      After making progress in the kitchen and living room, she headed upstairs. She stopped briefly by her nan’s bedroom. The door was ajar and the emptiness of it winded her. The bed stripped, the bedside table devoid of its usual glass of water, reading glasses and book. Even the wardrobe and the chest of drawers were empty. Gemma had packed her nan off with as much as was familiar that she could fit into her new room at the home. The rest she had taken to the local charity shop – there was no point in having it hanging around. But it made her feel empty; there was no sign of her nan in her room anymore.

      She hurried to the bathroom, where all that remained was an old bar of soap. Sighing, she made her way to the spare room, which had been her mum’s room when her father left and her mum came back here to live with Gemma. But there were no traces of her now. The walls were an old cream, the curtains red, and the small queen-size bed was devoid of bedding. It had been a dumping ground for ages, and there were piles of boxes and bags that Gemma would have to go through at some point; but she couldn’t face it yet.

      Her room was the last room. The smallest room in the house. At one point, when she was about eleven or twelve and it was clear her mum wasn’t coming back, her nan tentatively suggested she move into the bigger room and Gemma could decorate