LITMIR.BIZ

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vast rift which now existed between her and her parents. They’d been so close once: a tight, loving family unit. Now they existed in parallel universes. And the most depressing part of all was that Miranda couldn’t imagine ever finding a way to mend the rift; couldn’t imagine ever forgiving them for subjecting her to Briardene.

      Consequently, she spent as little time as possible in their presence, treating her bedroom exactly as she had her room at school. Spending every spare moment she could in there; crossing off the days on her calendar until her eighteenth birthday.

      Tina and her other friends in Jarrow having long since deserted her, on her days off she’d catch the bus to Newcastle airport and watch the cabin crew strutting through the departure gate, soaking up every detail of their appearance, right down to the way they walked and talked. On the day of her eighteenth birthday, her application was in the post. And, after a gruelling round of tests and interviews, she was accepted. The day she received the news was the day Miranda felt her life was about to begin.

      And so it had.

      Based in Manchester, she’d left Jarrow without as much as a backward glance, taking to her new career like a duck to water. After only a few months, she was assigned the New York route, upon which travelled several regular faces. Doug’s included. Doug’s was a nice face. Not conventionally handsome, but with pleasant features, and kind brown eyes. Miranda correctly estimated him to be about ten years older than her, in his late twenties. At well over six feet, he literally stood out from the crowd, always immaculately dressed, and, unlike some of the punters who treated the crew as nothing more than skivvies, always polite.

      She bumped into him one day outside Macy’s. He’d been returning to his hotel after a business meeting. Miranda had been shopping. He invited her for a coffee. She accepted. And, surprisingly, for the first time in years – ever since she and Tina had been close in fact – Miranda found herself relaxing in someone else’s company. She couldn’t put her finger on exactly what it was about Doug that made her feel like that. It could have been any number of things: his easy-going charm; his kind brown eyes which, on closer inspection, twinkled with humour; the fact that he shared her working-class roots, but had relentlessly followed his vision of success. He was so clever; so capable; so grounded; so in control. And he knew exactly where he belonged.

      After that first meeting, they made every effort to see one another as often as possible. Not half as often as either of them would’ve liked given their hectic work schedules, but often enough for an astounded Miranda to find herself pregnant four months later. She’d been on the pill, but with jetting all over the place, and the time differences, had obviously slipped up somewhere along the line. Surprisingly though, for one so young, and only just starting out on her career, the idea of having a baby or, more precisely, the idea of having Doug’s baby, appealed to her. She’d already decided to keep it, whatever his reaction. But, albeit slightly baffled by the news at first, his surprise had quickly turned to joy.

      ‘Why don’t we get married?’ he’d suggested, completely out of the blue, two weeks later.

      An ecstatic Miranda hadn’t needed long to consider her reply.

      Having no siblings, a limited social circle, and zero inclination to involve her parents, Miranda insisted on a small wedding. Doug agreed, whisking her off to Gretna Green where the marital party had consisted of the bride and groom, the registrar, and four American tourists.

      On their return, Miranda moved into Doug’s apartment in Manchester where, a few months later, Josie joined them. Miranda had been slightly daunted at first at having such a tiny being completely dependent on her 24/7. Doug, though, in his easy, capable way, slipped effortlessly into his new role, and his work schedule settled into a pattern which involved only a couple of short foreign trips a month. For the best part of a year Miranda’s life was idyllic, often sparking memories of her own childhood. Of course she’d taken Doug and Josie to meet her parents. And while they’d cooed over Josie and did their best to make Doug welcome, the visits left Miranda sad and empty. Imagining how different things would have been had her dad never received the inheritance made her want to cry. But then again, had it not been for that same inheritance, she most likely would never have left Jarrow, never have met Doug, and wouldn’t have Josie.

      Miranda started as the shrill tone of her mobile blasted through her thoughts, sending her hurtling back to the present. She whipped up her bag from the passenger seat and fished out the phone. Rather spookily, given her recent musings, her parents’ number beamed at her on the screen. Miranda pressed the End Call button. The last thing she needed today was to talk to her mother. Her only conversation these days revolved around lists of physical complaints. And Miranda, frankly, had enough complaints of her own.

      Leaning back against the soft cream leather seat, she wondered how her parents would have felt if she’d carried on driving straight into the wall. She only saw them once a year now and made no attempt to disguise the fact that her visit was purely of a dutiful nature. She doubted they would miss her much if she was no longer there. In fact, she doubted if anyone would care, or indeed notice, if she was no longer there. She played no significant role in anyone’s life. Nobody needed her. Not even her daughter. Josie was a resourceful kid, who could happily look after herself. And Doug had his own life in which she featured only fleetingly. In a nutshell, she was of no use to anyone – which led her to conclude that perhaps she really should have carried on driving into the wall after all.

       Chapter Three

      Ask anyone who knew her, and they would all agree that Julia Blakelaw was generally an easy-going soul, phlegmatic and resigned to her existence. Since her run-in with Max in the supermarket a few days ago, however, Julia had demonstrated none of those traits. A deluge of discontentment and despair had swept away all other emotions. While never placing herself in the ‘Ecstatically Happy’ category, Julia had, however unwittingly, accepted her lot and got on with it. Since bumping into Max, though, it all seemed completely futile – a feeling exacerbated by a surreptitious rummage through her old photo albums. The albums she kept hidden in a battered old suitcase in the bottom of her wardrobe. The albums crammed with photos of her and Max.

      ‘Has my blue striped shirt been ironed?’

      Propped up against the pillows still abed on Monday morning, Julia observed her husband, Paul, as he flicked through the rainbow of shirts in his wardrobe. Fresh from the shower, he had a towel wrapped around his waist. He wasn’t in bad shape for a man just the wrong side of forty, Julia concluded. Courtesy of his twice-weekly squash games, there wasn’t so much as a hint of a paunch. And the grey bits in his dark curly hair served only to make it more interesting. Totally unfair.

      ‘Julia. My shirt?’ he repeated. ‘Has it been ironed yet?’

      Dragged out of her reverie, Julia shrugged. ‘If it isn’t there, then probably not.’

      The look on Paul’s face told her this was not the answer he’d been hoping for. ‘But I need it.’

      Julia heaved an almighty sigh and folded her arms over her chest. ‘Why? You’ve got thirty others to choose from.’

      ‘But I need that one. I’m presenting to the Board today and it’s the only one I feel really comfortable in.’

      Julia rolled her eyes. She didn’t have the energy for an argument. ‘All right. All right. I’ll iron it.’

      ‘Thanks.’ He flashed her a smile as she clambered out of bed.

      Well, at least that was something, mused Julia, tying the belt of her robe around her waist. ‘Thanks’ was not a word uttered with much regularity in the Blakelaw household. Her positivity, though, was short-lived.

      ‘And can you do it quickly?’ he added. ‘I need to be in the office half an hour earlier today.’

      ‘Right,’ she muttered through gritted teeth.

      On the landing, she bumped into Faye.

      ‘Oh. If you’re ironing, could you do

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