Coming of Age by Valerie Mendes Page B

afternoon tennis and cycled home.
    He was sitting on the terrace, under the shade of the birch. Amy saw him before he saw her. “Jules!”
    He leapt to his feet. “Hi, sis! How are you?” He whirled her in his arms. “Nearly sixteen! I can’t believe it.”
    Amy returned his hug. “I’m so glad you’re home.”
    â€œMe too.” Julian grinned at her. “You look great!”
    Amy blushed. “Thanks.”
    â€œSo does the house! What a difference!”
    â€œYeah,” Amy said reluctantly. “It looks OK.”
    â€œYou don’t sound very enthusiastic.”
    â€œYou know why Dad’s done it, don’t you?”
    â€œIt was grotty, that’s why. Nothing had been touched since Mum . . .”
    â€œIt’s nothing to do with Mum.” Amy dumped her school bag on the terrace table. “It’s because there’s a new woman in his life.”
    Julian laughed. “You’re kidding.” He followed Amy into the kitchen.
    â€œI wish I was.” Amy took a jug of lemonade from the fridge and poured some into two glasses. She handed one to Julian. “Her name’s Hannah Turner.”
    â€œBut she’s the new doctor.”
    Amy flushed. She gulped at the cool liquid. “How did you know?”
    â€œDad wrote to me. Said he’d found somebody brilliant to take over from Brian Cooper. You don’t mean he’s seeing her?”
    â€œ Exactly . I bet that’s why she got the job. He fancied her.”
    â€œGood for Dad!”
    â€œHe’s trying to lose weight, he’s become a total health freak, he goes jogging at the crack of dawn, he’s turned the garage into a gym . . . He’s even dyeing his hair.”
    â€œI’m impressed!” Julian said wryly. “All that for a woman . . . Have you met her?”
    â€œShe came one Sunday,” Amy said sulkily. “For lunch.”
    â€œWow!” Julian ran his fingers through his hair. Amy noticed it was longer, lay smooth and flat almost to his shoulders. “So what’s she like?”
    Amy met his eyes. “Young.” She swallowed. “Fifteen years younger than Dad. And beautiful.”
    â€œOh, well ,” Julian said teasingly. “I can’t wait to meet her!”
    â€œThis isn’t a joke , Jules . . .”
    â€œLighten up, sis. Isn’t it about time Dad had some fun in his life?”
    Amy said stiffly, “He has plenty of fun. He loves his job, he loves Grayshott, he loves you and me . . .”
    Julian looked at her. “Yes, sis.” There was a note of patience in his voice which made Amy feel patronised. “But maybe he needs to love someone who isn’t a patient, a neighbour – or one of his own kids!”
    â€œI don’t think he should .” Amy’s voice sounded shrill, as if she were talking to a crowded room, not merely her brother in his jeans and crisp white shirt. “I think he should honour Mum’s memory.”
    Julian stroked her shoulder. “He’s done that. For six years.” His voice was gentle now, sympathetic. “That’s one hell of a long time, sis. He’s only human, isn’t he?”
    Amy waited for two days before she summoned the courage to show Julian the card. She’d kept it in her desk, peeped at it, slid it guiltily back into its hiding place. Perhaps I should pretend I never found it. Tear it up. Burn it. Forget about it. A proverb echoed in her mind: Let sleeping dogs lie .
    But something crucially important stood between Amy and the card. Her loss of memory; knowing that her mother’s death was still, all these years later, shrouded in mystery. Suppose the card held a vital clue to what had happened that January morning?
    She’d tell only Julian. Not Ruth. To tell Ruth would feel cheap and nasty, like betraying Mum to an outsider. And she certainly couldn’t tell Dad. Fat chance of getting the