Free The Runaway by Grace Thompson Page B

felt as she had walked away from Matt and his mother, and the baby, tormented her. Yet there had been no alternative once she had read those newspaper reports.
    She went over the conversation with Winnie. She had a six-month-old daughter called Dorothy. Dorothy Pryor. Her wishes had been followed. The child she had refused to accept had been given her mother’s name, a mother she had never known. History was cruelly repeating itself in a way she would never have believed she would even contemplate. Abandoning a child to a fate as heartless as her own. How could she have done such a thing?
    Dorothy, born on St Valentine’s Day, 1960 and fostered with a family who wanted to adopt her. That hurt more than she had expected. Adoption was so final, and there was still a part of her who saw the tiny baby as simply that, an innocent baby, not a tainted human being who might grow into someone as evil as her father.
    Over the following weeks she met Winnie several times but didn’task for news of Matt or his mother. She had to close that part of her life away in a dark corner of her mind, hoping it would become less and less real. She always searched the faces of the crowd hoping for a glimpse of Ian, but his car would have been mended long ago and there was little chance of meeting him again on the train.
     
    As summer drifted by on a cloud of warm days filled with gardening and long walks, she began to relax and accept the tragedy of her lost child. Mrs Thomas was undemanding and she was as content with life as she could expect. The only irritations were the occasional visits of Mrs Thomas’s son, Samuel. He usually came for lunch and quickly made it clear that she was not expected to eat with them, but simply wait at table. She ate her meal in the kitchen like a disgraced child and listened to his list of complaints with stoicism. He was clearly suspicious of her friendliness toward his mother, almost, but not quite, pointing out he was aware of the danger of his weak mother changing her will. After his departure, she and Mrs Thomas would joke a little about his over-fussiness, although Faith avoided mentioning his fears about his inheritance.
     
    In late September, while the town was still overflowing with holidaymakers , Faith became aware that Mrs Thomas was less active. They always spent afternoons in the garden when the weather was sunny. Sometimes Faith would read to her and when necessary she would weed flower-beds and dig up plants that were past their prime. They went together to the growers and chose their future displays and while Mrs Thomas sat in the shade and advised, Faith did the planting.
    Of late, Faith had gone on chatting to her before realizing she had fallen asleep. Then she would go in and prepare a tea tray before gently waking her.
    One afternoon when they had planned to dead-head roses, Mrs Thomas said she would stay indoors.
    ‘But it’s so lovely now with the fuchsias and annuals still giving such a wonderful display. And besides, I need you to tell me where and how to dead-head your roses,’ Faith coaxed.
    ‘Not today, dear. I’ll just sit in my armchair.’
    ‘What if I took your armchair outside? The air is so still, I’m sure you’ll enjoy it. Just a half-hour or so?’
    ‘My mother says she wants to stay inside. You are bullying her, Miss Pryor.’ The voice of her employer’s son startled her. She hadn’t heard his approach.
    ‘Bullying? What do you mean? She loves sitting in her garden!’
    ‘Not today. She’s made that clear, to any one who’s capable of listening.’
    Ignoring him she leaned down and asked, ‘Was I too persistent? I’m sorry, Mrs Thomas, I didn’t mean to bully you. If you’re sure you don’t want to go outside, then I’ll bring our tea in here.’
    ‘Our tea! Mine and my mother’s. You can take yours in the kitchen. I need to talk to my mother in private.’
    ‘Of course, Mr Thomas.’
    Red-faced with humiliation she went into the kitchen and turned