The Whiskerly Sisters Read Online Free PDF Page B

the grounds of the church where Fresna was to have been married seemingly a lifetime ago. Without exception, the villagers turned out to say their goodbyes to this well respected yet taciturn man. His wife, stoical in grief, but unable to cope without her lifelong companion, succumbed to the flu that very winter and was lovingly buried, under an avalanche of flowers, beside the only man she had ever loved.
    The rocks upon which Fresna had built her life had suddenly begun to crumble beneath her. She was inconsolable. She felt vulnerable and scared, but throughout it all, George stood steadfastly by her side, supporting her, comforting her, holding her. Whatever would she have done without George? He had become her salvation.
    Six months to the day that they buried her grandmother in the little churchyard on the hill, driving back from a medical conference in Bristol, George’s Cavalier was hit head on by a speeding lorry driver rushing to catch the afternoon ferry to Rosslare. George died instantly. Amongst the wreckage, on what should have been the seat beside him, they found a bunch of bright, golden daffodils.
III
    There was not enough grief in the whole wide world to satisfy Fresna.
    Almost overnight it seemed a bomb had been dropped onto her life, without warning, leaving in its wake denial, devastation and an enormous crater in the centre of Fresna’s world. How Fresna hauled herself through the empty, hollow days immediately following the accident was remarkable. Her reason for doing so was, of course, Verity.
    For Verity’s sake, she had to cope with her allconsuming grief. For Verity’s sake, she had to get out of bed each morning when she would really rather have turned to face the wall to stare at nothing. For Verity’s sake, she had to leave the comfort of her little flat each morning and try to get through her working day. For Verity’s sake, she had to go on living.
    It was the last thing she wanted to do. It was the only thing she could do.
    And, as the days turned to weeks and the weeks turned to months and the months turned to years, Fresna began to rally, to pick herself up from the debris of her shattered life, shakily at first, like a dazed survivor trapped within the rubble of a collapsed building staggers blinking towards the sunlight, confused, uncertain, not comprehending why this one had lived yet that one had died. Fresna was truly grateful for the support and assistance of her shocked and distressed neighbours and friends, who simply wanted to help her and yet puzzled by their ability to get on with the ordinariness of life, to go about their daily business and remain calm in the midst of such overwhelming tragedy.
    Fresna tried hard to pull herself together; to bring herself back to the person she had been before the tragedy, but the wounds were deep and such injuries do not mend without trace. Something deep inside Fresna had died, something within had been altered irrevocably; something soft and giving had become hard and unyielding. Behind the facade of Fresna’s warm smile and approachable manner, there now lay a cold, impenetrable core. Overwhelmed with grief and abandoned by her irreplaceable partner and much beloved grandparents, she wrapped up her heart and hid it deep within the fortified walls of her castle where she knew it could not be reached, then she raised the drawbridge, locked herself in the keep and threw away the key.
    Fresna would never allow herself to be vulnerable again.

CELIA
I
    J ust as Celia’s foot reached the second stair of the spiral staircase on the first floor, the phone in her office began to ring. Carefully, she reversed, deftly balancing the tray of cups and saucers in her hands, returned to her office and picked up the phone, tucking it neatly under her chin.
    “Dumbleton’s Toys, how may I help you?” she enquired politely. Putting the call through to Customer Services, she retraced her steps and this time managed to get the required crockery