A Sea Change by Veronica Henry Page B

slammed shut behind her. She stepped out into the street, blinking at the early-evening sun that shone in her eyes, and trailed up the road to find a taxi.
    No one batted an eyelid when she walked through the door. Her mum was lying on the settee watching telly. She grumbled a bit when Jenna asked for a fiver to pay the cab driver, but she gave it to her.
    ‘You’re back, then?’ she asked. ‘You can’t have your room. Your brother’s using it as an office.’
    ‘An office?’ Jenna frowned.
    ‘Yeah. He’s set himself up in business. Delivering pet food. He keeps it all in the garage. He’s doing all right for himself.’
    Her mum sat up. Jenna looked at her more closely.
    ‘What?’ her mum asked.
    ‘Nothing. You look . . . different, that’s all.’ She did. She looked slimmer, younger, not so puffy. And she wasn’t drunk. Usually by thistime on a Saturday she’d have started the second bottle of vodka.
    ‘I’ve got a new bloke, haven’t I?’
    Jenna put down her bags and glanced around the room. Everything looked tidy. There were no dog hairs. There were no empty glasses, no ashtrays. In fact, her mum wasn’t smoking.
    ‘Have you given up the fags as well?’ she asked.
    ‘Most of the time,’ her mum admitted. ‘I have the odd sneaky one every now and again. I wouldn’t want to be perfect, would I?’ She grinned at Jenna, then looked away.
    Jenna felt a lump in her throat. She turned away before her mum could see her tears and think she was soft. Instead, she lugged her bin bags upstairs and put them in her old room. All her stuff had gone, but she could sleep on the floor for the time being. Compared to her old flat, it would be luxury.
    Her mum appeared behind her in the doorway.
    ‘I’ll give you a hand shifting his stuff out. Your brother can do his paperwork in the kitchen.’
    ‘Thanks.’
    Her mum traced the pattern of the carpetwith the toe of her shoe, then cleared her throat.
    ‘I’m cooking a chilli tonight, if you want some. You can meet Arnie.’
    Jenna looked out of the window onto the front garden that she’d stared out at so many times during her childhood. She noticed that the lawn had been cut, and there were two pots of flowers on either side of the front door. Whoever Arnie was, he’d certainly made some changes happen. She couldn’t remember the last time her mum had cooked a proper meal.
    ‘I’d love that,’ she managed finally. ‘But there’s something I’ve got to do first. Can you lend me a tenner?’
    Her mother rolled her eyes. ‘You’ve only been back five minutes,’ she grumbled, but she rummaged in her purse and handed Jenna the money.
    Five minutes later, Jenna rooted through the bin bags until she found her favourite dress – a vintage sundress with a full skirt covered in red cherries. She pulled out her make-up bag and drew a sweep of black liner over her eyelids, added mascara, then finished with a slick of bright red lipstick. She brushed her hair out, backcombed it and tied it back up in a highponytail. Then she walked out into the street, made her way down to the main road and jumped on the bus. Twenty minutes later she was in Everdene.
    By the time she got to the Ship Aground it was jam-packed. Tourists and locals mingled, the tourists pink from the sun. The bar staff poured pint after pint and filled up jugs of sangria. The competition was in full swing. The in-house band provided the music from a list of favourites as contestant after contestant got up to sing.
    Jenna signed herself up for the competition before she could change her mind. She read the list of songs to choose from and made her choice. She sat in a corner of the bar and listened. The range of talent was quite varied. Some murdered their songs with good humour, while others took their attempts very seriously.
    She was as good as any of them. She knew she was. And suddenly it was her turn. As she stood at the microphone, she remembered all the people who had listened to her sing