On the morning of our departure, as luck would have it, the stock markets decide to plummet.
It’s hardly the Wall Street Crash, but it’s dramatic enough to etch a permanent groove above Toby’s nose as he sits in his study, urgently discussing the repercussions with his colleagues in the office.
I knock on the door as noon approaches. Toby’s ear is still welded to his phone.
‘Shall I pack for you?’ I ask, feeling guilty for interrupting such high-level discussions.
He turns and looks at me blankly.
Then he says in a really stern voice, ‘Bloody hell, no, that would be an absolute travesty.’
I blink at him, confused for a second. I suppose he thinks I’d pack all the wrong things. Then I realise he’s still talking to his colleague.
Sighing, I slink out of the room and leave him to it.
I told Clemmy we’d be there by three and she said she’d have a picnic basket with afternoon tea waiting for us. But my vision of lounging on a rug in the sunshine with Toby, enjoying home-baked scones with jam and cream and Earl Grey tea, looks like it might not happen after all.
At last, at just after four, we hit the road in Toby’s Fiesta.
It’s not exactly the relaxing journey down I’d envisaged as Toby is constantly on the car Bluetooth, talking to the office. But I don’t mind too much. It means I can indulge in a spot of daydreaming, staring out of the passenger window, enjoying the scenery and looking forward to arriving at what will be our lovely home for the next seven days.
I’d thought about asking Toby if we should invite Rosalind along and maybe some of the boys if they wanted to come. But I sensed Toby would probably want it to be just us.
We go round to Rosalind’s every week for Sunday lunch and it’s pretty chaotic, with kids running around and everyone talking over each other. Toby hates it, but to me, it’s a sort of celebration. It reminds me of Christmas.
Every Christmas Eve, Mum used to invite the neighbours and her friends from the call centre where she worked for a bit of a party. It was the one time in the year we had folk round and Mum really pushed the boat out. The house was bursting with people and laughter, Christmas music and big aluminium platters of festive food.
Even as a little kid, I looked forward to that party on Christmas Eve more than the big day itself. I’d love a big family one day …
I glance across at Toby with affection and catch his eye. His stern brow smoothes out and he smiles at me, before returning to the vexing world of market slumps.
Eventually, he winds up the conversation then turns and beams at me. ‘After a day like today, this is just what I need. Some no-holds-barred pampering in a luxurious setting.’ He sighs and rolls his shoulders in anticipation of the relaxation ahead.
I stare at him in alarm.
Why didn’t I at least think to bring a bottle of supermarket champagne?
I clear my throat. ‘Listen, Toby, I … er … there’s something you need to know. This place we’re going to—’
He shakes his head firmly. ‘Stop right there! You said you wanted it to be a surprise, and I’m absolutely fine with that.’ He smiles across at me and my heart flips. He looks so handsome with his fair hair flopping over his forehead.
‘Yes, but—’
‘No buts, Daisy. Just tell me where to go when we get to – Appley Green, is it?’ He grins. ‘And for goodness’ sake, stop looking so worried. I’m sure I’ll love it, wherever it is. In fact, I know I will – as long as you’re there with me.’
He pats my knee and I relax slightly. Perhaps he won’t be disappointed after all. Spotting a signpost, a little thrill of anticipation – mixed with a degree of trepidation – zips through me as it hits me that we’re travelling nearer my place of birth with every mile. I lived down there for the first four years of my life. Would anything spark a memory?
I’m not even thinking about Maple Tree House, though.
I’ve tried to imagine myself knocking on the front door. But I can’t for the life of me think what I’d say if someone actually answered it.
Did you used to know my adoptive mum, Maureen Cooper?
Is this your handbag?
Do you know anyone round here who had a baby thirty-two years ago and gave her up for adoption?
I break out into a sweaty panic every time I think about it.
So I’ve decided the best thing to do is to just enjoy the holiday with Toby and put searching for my birth mum out of my mind.
I can obviously check out the area and maybe even visit the village of Appley Green and have a look around.
But as for walking up to the front door of Maple Tree House?
Absolutely no way …