Read The Sun in Her Eyes Online
Authors: Paige Toon
The Sun in Her Eyes (2 page)
Prologue
Recently Doris had not been able to stop thinking about the little girl. Of course, she had thought about her ceaselessly after the accident, but that had
been over twenty-six years ago and Doris was now in her nineties with decades of memories at her disposal.
‘
Please… You have to tell her
…’ the woman had said with her last few breaths. The memory made Doris wince, the pain almost as potent now as
it had been back then.
Doris tried to shut out the images that filled her head, but it was no use. The woman would not be silenced, not then and not now. Even sleep brought Doris no peace, and she
was so very tired these days.
Doris had taken the woman’s hand, not knowing how to tell her that her daughter was unconscious in the back of the car she was driving. But a moment later, the woman was
gone, her dying words ringing in Doris’s ears.
The little girl had stirred, a stuffed toy clutched in her arms, and Doris’s fractured heart had split at the sight of two cobalt-blue eyes opening and flinching at the
same sunlight that had been the likely cause of her mother veering off the road.
If only she knew what had happened to the girl, perhaps she could let go, move on, sleep without the nightmares. She had told the policeman what the woman had said before she
had died, but had not made certain that the message was passed on to the child. Should she have told the girl herself, as she had promised?
In that instant, Doris knew what she needed to do. She would write a letter, and she would ask her son to help her track down the child, who would of course be a grown woman
by now. Her name was Amber, Doris hadn’t forgotten. Amber Church. It was time to come good on her promise.
Amber Church, the Girl
With the Sun in Her Eyes
Chapter 1
It has been a shit of a day.
It started off badly when I woke up for the second time that week to find myself in bed alone without my husband beside me. Ned had been socialising with his boss – again – and I
found him out cold on the sofa, reeking of stale booze and cigarettes.
Her
cigarettes, to be precise. His boss is very much female and very much attracted to him. Or so I suspect.
My first thought was to pour a glass of water over his head, my second was that it might ruin our brown-suede sofa, so I resisted. Then I spied a little pile of vomit on his shoulder and soon
realised that it was not so little and not entirely on his shoulder.
‘Ned, you
idiot
!’ I shouted at the top of my voice, making him jolt awake, his hazel-coloured eyes wide open with terror and his sandy hair sticking out every which way.
‘What?’ he gasped.
‘You’ve thrown up on the sofa! Clean it up!’
‘No! I’m sleeping,’ he snapped. ‘I’ve got a pounding headache,’ he added, throwing his arm over his face. ‘I’ll do it later.’
‘Get up and do it NOW!’ I yelled.
‘NO!’ he yelled back, just as vehemently.
It was safe to say that our honeymoon period was well and truly over.
I was seething as I got ready for work, banging about and ranting about how selfish and pathetic my husband was. I didn’t give a second thought to the couple who have just moved in
downstairs, so when I
slammed
the front door and
stomped
down the communal stairs, I was a bit surprised to come face-to-face with one of them.
‘Thank you
very
much for waking up my baby,’ the woman of about my age had said sarcastically, her face purple with rage as a child screamed blue murder in the background.
‘He only got to sleep two hours ago after being up all night.
I
was lucky enough to get a whole hour before the banging in your flat started.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ I replied, shamefaced. ‘I had an argum—’
‘Just keep it down in future, yeah?’ she interrupted.
I felt guilty and on edge for the entire walk to the Tube station.
That was when the fun
really
began.
Thanks to severe delays on the Northern Line, the station was backed up with commuters mimicking bumper-to-bumper traffic all the way down into the darkest depths of the tunnels.
By the time I arrived at work, I was hot, flustered and forty-five minutes late. Not only that, but the heat from the Underground had made my wavy auburn hair go lank and sweaty. It was a
bad-hair day, to boot.
I hurried into the office, so full of apologies that I thought I might burst, and then came to a sudden stop. I work as a commodities broker in a start-up company in the City, and the flurry of
activity that usually greeted me somehow seemed off. Spying me, my boss clicked his fingers and motioned for me to join him.
‘You’re late.’
‘I’m sorry—’
‘Never mind,’ he interrupted. ‘HR want to see you.’
He nodded to his office, and I headed warily towards it. Most of my colleagues were carrying on as normal, but I noticed a few empty seats. I caught my next-door neighbour Meredith’s eye
and registered pity, but by then I’d reached my boss’s office.
The two people from HR asked me to close the door and take a seat.
I was being made redundant. Five of us were going, right then, right now. In fact, four had already gone.
I would be paid three months’ salary, but would be missing out on my substantial bonus that was due in less than two months’ time.
I felt sick to my stomach.
Brokering is not the most reliable employment, nor is it something I wanted to do. I chose to go into teaching when I left university, after getting a First in Mathematics. Some of my fellow
students thought I was mad not to opt for a better-paid job when I had so many choices laid out in front of me. I bumped into one of them last summer and he told me that he’d got involved in
a start-up company that was raking in millions. He gave me his card and said that he could put me in touch with someone if I was interested in quitting my teaching job. He caught me at exactly the
right time. I needed a change. Unfortunately, I was unwittingly destined for another one.
Bob, one of the building’s security guards, kept me company while I packed up my stuff. His presence wasn’t necessary – I wasn’t going to stash my PC in my handbag.
Although, saying that, I did swipe a couple of pens when he was looking the other way.
Then I had to do the hellish journey in reverse, this time my head spinning with questions about what I was going to do next.
Eventually I made it back to our flat on the second floor of a three-storey terraced house in Dartmouth Park, an area of London that’s not far from Tufnell Park, Highgate and Archway,
depending on who’s asking.
The place still reeked of Ned’s antics the night before; he’d barely attempted to clean up his vomit. So
I
did, seething as I rubbed and scrubbed at the stain.
Like I said, it has been a shit of a day. And it’s only lunchtime.
I sigh heavily as the credits on the television programme begin to roll. What now? I should phone Ned to let him know about my job, or lack thereof, but even the thought of
speaking to him annoys me. He hasn’t even called me to apologise.
A moment later, my mobile rings. I bet that’s him, and about time, too.
I dig out my phone from my bag, but it’s not a number I recognise. If it’s those idiots calling about Payment Protection Insurance again, I’ll give them an earful.
‘Hello?’ I say irritably.
‘Amber, it’s Liz,’ my dad’s partner replies in her usual clipped, restrained tone.
My dad and Liz have been together for seventeen years, but have never married. I keep wishing she’ll leave him so he can find someone nicer, because he’ll never be the one to walk
away. Dad likes an easy life.
‘Hi, Liz,’ I reply coolly, wondering why she’s ringing me on my mobile when it’s so expensive. Oh, of course, she doesn’t know that I’m now unemployed.
That’s going to be fun news to break.
‘I’m calling about your dad,’ she says. I instantly tense up. ‘He’s had a stroke.’
My heart leaps into my throat and my face prickles all over. ‘Is he okay?’
‘We don’t know yet,’ she admits, sounding like she might cry. Liz wouldn’t normally be seen dead crying, so this is bad. ‘I found him on the floor in the bathroom.
He couldn’t speak or, at least, I couldn’t understand what he was saying. He sounded drunk, only worse, and I saw that his face looked strange – sort of droopy on one side. He
couldn’t move his arm and then I realised the whole right-hand side of his body had just stopped working.’
‘Oh God,’ I murmur.
‘I called an ambulance straight away and they’ve brought us to the Acute Stroke Unit at the Royal Adelaide Hospital. They’ve taken him off to have a CT scan. I wanted to let
you know as soon as I could.’
‘Oh God,’ I repeat, unable to find the vocabulary to utter anything else. ‘Is he—’
‘I don’t know, Amber,’ she cuts me off, sounding like the Liz I’m all too familiar with. ‘I don’t know anything yet,’ she adds with frustration.
‘All they’ve told me is that it was very, very lucky that I was there. The faster he’s treated, the more likely it is that the damage will be less. I don’t know what would
have happened if I’d gone to the movies with Gina. I had a bit of a sore throat so I stayed at home.’
‘Will you call me—’
‘I’ll call when I know more,’ she interrupts, completing my sentence for me.
‘Should we come home?’ I ask, fear tying knots in my stomach.
‘We’ll talk later,’ she snaps. ‘I’ve got to go! His consultant has just come in.’
‘I’m at the flat,’ I tell her quickly, but she’s already hung up.
I feel so helpless. Dad and Liz live in Adelaide, South Australia, where I grew up, and I’m here in London on the other side of the world.
On autopilot, I take the home phone out of its cradle and dial Ned’s number.
He doesn’t even bother to say hello. ‘What are you doing at home?’ he asks instead, obviously seeing the caller ID.
‘I’ve been made redundant.’
He gasps, but I cut him off before he can speak.
‘But I’m calling because my dad has had a stroke.’
There’s silence at the other end of the line, and then I hear him exhale.
‘Oh baby,’ he says in a low voice.
At the sound of his empathy, I break down.
‘You poor thing,’ he murmurs. ‘Do you want me to come home?’
‘You don’t have to,’ I cry. Please do, though.
‘I’m on my way,’ he says gently. ‘I love you.’
I text Liz to ask her to call me at home when she can before taking my iPad and going to lie down in the bedroom. Ned arrives three quarters of an hour later and I hear him taking off his big
winter coat in the hall before coming to find me. He pauses in the doorway, looking all dishevelled in his unironed grey shirt and jeans.
‘Hey,’ he says quietly, smiling sorrowfully at me.
I slide my hand towards him in a small peace offering. He sighs heavily and sits on the bed, taking my hand. ‘What did Liz say exactly?’
I repeat our conversation.
‘What about your job?’ he asks next, so I fill him in about that, too.
‘What an arsehole,’ he mutters about my boss, shaking his head and squeezing my hand.
‘Mmm.’ My expression darkens as I stare at him. My ex-boss is not the only arsehole around here.
Finally
he has the grace to apologise.
‘I’m sorry about earlier.’ He looks down at our hands, still entwined.
‘I can’t believe you shouted at me,’ I reply. ‘After throwing up on the sofa—’
‘I know, I know,’ he cuts me off. Ned
hates
having his nose rubbed in his mistakes.
This argument could go on for days – they certainly have in the past – but there are bigger things to worry about, so I bite my tongue.
‘I’ve been looking at flights back to Australia,’ I tell him miserably, reaching for my iPad. ‘The prices are horrendous, but at least we’re past Christmas.’
It’s the middle of February, which is still summer Down Under, but December and January are the peak times.
‘Do you think you should go?’ he asks.
‘Definitely,’ I reply. ‘I can get on a flight the day after tomorrow.’
‘Really? Okay. I guess in a way it’s good timing.
Not
good timing,’ he quickly corrects himself when he sees me gape at him. ‘You know what I mean.’ His
leg starts jiggling up and down. ‘At least you can stay out there for as long as you’re needed.’
‘Will you come?’ I ask hopefully.
‘Amber, I can’t,’ he replies regretfully. ‘I wish I could, I really do, but I’m so busy at work.’
A dark feeling settles over me.
‘Hey.’ He pats my shoulder. ‘You know I can’t just drop everything. I have to go to New York the week after next—’