Lucy was feeling as light as a breeze today. She giggled, pressing her hand to her mouth as the sound echoed around the confines of her car. The basement was waiting, all ready to welcome her next guest. Her dress, boots and white cotton smock were washed, pressed and laid out on her bed. She cast her eyes over her gloves; they were especially made, just like the rest of her outfit, and she could not wait to put them on. Everything was ready for when she could go to her special place.
She shrank back in her seat as the professional-looking woman shoved a key in the lock of the house across the road.
It was a lovely house, far nicer than the last place she had been to, and had encouraged her to dress in a style more fitting to her new mother. Monica had a well-paid job, drove a nice car, and liked to wear designer clothes. So Lucy had bought herself a Karen Millen suit, with designer heels to match. Monica was tall, about five foot ten, but Lucy’s heels afforded her a generous enough height to convince her mother that she really was her adopted daughter. After all, if you gave up a child for adoption all those years ago and she came knocking on your door, would you really doubt what she had to say?
Lucy touched her long dark locks, checking them in the mirror. It was real hair, not that cheap synthetic stuff. The cap itched like hell though, and the warm weather made her scalp sweat. She took a deep breath before opening the car door. The most important thing was to appear confident. Just be the daughter she wants you to be, Lucy thought as she walked towards the townhouse. Monica’s husband had a well-paid job in the city. But there was no room for men in the happy ever after that Lucy had planned. Her father figures had caused Lucy nothing but pain. Such a beautiful house, Lucy thought – certainly no shortage of money there. So why hadn’t her mother got in touch? She clenched her jaw, forcing herself to relax as she pressed the doorbell. There was no point in getting upset about it now. Monica would have lots of time to explain.
Lucy did not expect the clamour of a dog from inside the hall. It must be a new addition. She hated dogs. They got in the way and nipped at your heels. She was never allowed any dogs in the foster homes she stayed in, which was just as well, or they would have been beaten to a pulp. But the one in the hallway of Monica’s home sounded like one of these spoilt little designer dogs, which were probably treated far better than she ever had been. Lucy managed to keep calm as a shadow filled the doorway.
Monica looked even more glamorous up close. Her wavy brown hair had been perfectly styled, and she had definitely had her teeth fixed, maybe even a little Botox around the eyes. The soft ivory blouse clung to her curves, and the pencil skirt accentuated her hips. She was wearing just enough make-up to complement her flawless skin, but not too much that it aged her. The woman looked Lucy up and down, returning her gaze as she spoke. ‘Yes?’
Lucy realised that she had been staring. But given this was the first time she was about to speak to her mother she felt it acceptable. ‘Are you Monica Sherwood?’ Lucy said, trying to sound nervous. People generally preferred if you were meek, subservient. She had learned from experience that it helped keep the situation calm.
‘Yes, what can I do for you?’ she said, perhaps affording Lucy a little more respect because she was so well-dressed.
‘My name is Lucy. I’m your daughter.’
It was Monica’s turn to stare open-mouthed now, and Lucy was ready to take the helm. ‘Can I come in? We need to talk.’ That was the understatement of the century, Lucy thought, as Monica cautiously allowed her inside.
She glanced past Lucy at the neighbouring houses: probably checking to see if they had noticed her arrival.
‘I… I don’t know what to say,’ Monica said, her hand touching her bottom lip. ‘I’ve thought about this moment since you turned eighteen,’ she gave a small gasp as if somebody had punched her in the stomach, ‘but I… I never imagined it like this… ’
She seemed to go weak at the knees, and Lucy caught her arm and led her into a room on the right. It was tastefully decorated with cream furnishings and tasteful prints embellished the walls. Lucy scanned the fireplace for family photos, reassured there were no additions since her last visit. A surge of happiness grew inside her. If she had no brats to contend with, then it was all the more attention for her.
I’ve come home, Lucy thought. At last, I’m home.