The Dandelion Clock: The Nightingale Lane Series

By Andrea Hicks

Sixteen-year-old Kate McGuire has a secret. Her father, Joe has disappeared, and Kate, her mother, Stella and sister, Emma are left to fend for themselves with little income and no one to turn to. For two years they are heartbroken, wondering why he left, or whether he is still alive. Kate decides she must take on a role she never wanted; as carer for her abusive alcoholic mother, and guardian of her sister who seems intent on finding the solace she needs her own way, a decision that leaves Kate almost unable to continue because of the hurt she causes. Kate is devastated because in her heart she is almost certain she will never see her father again, and wishes for his return on the dandelion clock he gave her years before, the seed heads of a flower she wrapped in a piece of pink fabric and placed in her memory box as a lucky charm. Kate wonders if she will ever find the love and affection she craves and whether her dad loves her enough to return to them and the place they call home.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Andrea Hicks
• Release date: Apr 14, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393872870

Book preview

The Dandelion Clock

Nightingale Lane Publishing

Andrea Hicks

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination, or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organisations is coincidental.

Join the Nightingale Lane community at www.andreahicks-writer.com

Copyright ©2020 Andrea Hicks

PART I

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 1

Kate McGuire hurried across King Henry’s Square, sidestepping the boisterous crowd as it surged towards her like a tidal wave. 

‘Will you get a move on, Emma, for goodness sake,’ she cried, frowning over her shoulder to a younger girl dawdling a few feet behind her. Snow tumbled silently onto the bustle of Christmas shoppers on the grey streets of Willowbridge, the first tiny flakes of winter glistening like tiny shards of glass on their uncovered heads. 

The leaden sky suddenly surrendered its icy cargo and the children running around Hatters Market stopped suddenly, their eyes wide and shining as they looked up into the heavens. They held out their hands to catch the soft, fluffy flakes then shrieked with excitement, their cold, red cheeks, wobbling with laughter.

Kate shivered as the bitter wind penetrated every inch of her skin, the freezing air cleaving into her flesh and freezing her. 

Fifteen-year-old Emma trailed behind eating a hot pie from a paper bag. She meandered through the crowd, efficiently avoiding anyone who crossed her path. 

‘You’re crazy, Kate,’ she said, her mouth full of pie.  ‘Look,’ she cried. ‘You’re panicking and you’re only a little way in front of me.’ 

Putting the last piece of pie into her mouth, she licked each of her fingers in turn, then rolled the bag into a tight ball and flicked it into the gutter.

‘You’re such a litter-bug,’ said Kate. 

Emma grinned. ‘Do you want me to help you with your bags?’ 

‘Oh, please, Princess Emma. Don’t put yourself out on my account.’ 

Emma smirked then bent unenthusiastically towards the bags, testing them for weight, choosing the lighter of the two. 

‘Come on then,’ she said, curtly. ‘I thought we were in a hurry.’ 

Kate scowled at Emma, her eyes on her sister’s back as she took off down the street. 

‘You should’ve had a pasty, Kate,’ Emma called to her wistfully. ‘The one I had has really warmed me through. My hands feel all tingly because it was so hot.’

‘There was only enough money left over from the housekeeping for one, Emma. P’raps we could’ve shared it.’

‘Oh, yeah!’

They made their way through the crowd dodging people as they went. The pinpoint beams from endless strings of fairy lights sparkled seductively from the shop windows of stores selling every kind of gift to entice the shoppers of Willowbridge; beckoning those with money in their pockets to go in and part with their cash.

Kate looked up nervously as she rushed past her sister. The brightness of the lights seemed to merge into one and she winced, dazzled by the gaudy glare. It hadn’t been so long ago she had felt as joyful and excited by the anticipation of Christmas Day as the delighted children around her. 

As the crowd began to thin out, Kate’s walking pace increased to a run, her long, black hair streaming out behind her, nervous perspiration rolling in droplets down her back.

An old woman shuffled down the congested street, taking up most of the pavement, oblivious to the people around her. As Kate stepped off the footpath to get past her she twisted her ankle, pain ripping through her foot as she stepped into the gutter. She cried out, cursing loudly. The old woman scowled as she walked away, looking at Kate with indignant eyes, indifferent to her mumbled apology.

‘Kate, for God’s sake, I can’t keep up with you. You nearly knocked that old woman over. Can’t you be more careful? What’s worrying you about getting home anyway? Why would anyone be in a hurry to get back there?’ 

Kate’s eyes clouded over. Rubbing her ankle, she leant against a shop window. 

‘Last time I was late with the shopping she cut the leaves off the plants in my bedroom and ripped up my homework. The time before that she tipped a jug of water over my bed to pay me back, oh... and I got a beating too. What would you do if you were me, Emma?’

‘Sorry,’ said Emma in a low voice. ‘I didn’t know.’

‘You know, Emma. You just pretend it’s not happening.’

As they turned off the main road, the tinny sound of Christmas Carols playing over the Town Hall’s speakers got fainter and fainter. By the time they’d turned onto their street, a stitch gnawed at Kate’s side. 

She set her bag down on the pavement and bent forward from her waist, holding onto a fence that had lost some of its panels. The gap left revealed an untidy garden, the final resting place of an old washing machine and a chair, the insides hanging out in a tangle of springs and grey wool. A makeshift line of dingy washing tied between two lifeless trees that someone had left out for days, was stiff with ice. 

‘Are you all right, Kate?’

‘Yeah, I’ll be fine.  Don’t worry. It’s just a stitch, that’s all.’

‘I’m always sick when I get a stitch,’ said Emma, pulling a face.

‘It’s a good thing it was me that got it and not you then.  Come on. We need to get back.’ 

As they got nearer to home, the atmosphere changed dramatically as the sights and smells of Christmas evaporated into the cold air. Drifts of litter left strewn about dirty roads that hadn’t seen a street cleaner for years had blown into the gutters and shabby, uncared for front gardens. Nomadic cats and dogs dumped by their owners, roamed the streets fouling the pavements and scavenging for food.

‘I’m going to Jenny’s now,’ announced Emma, leaving her bag in the middle of the pavement. She pushed her blonde hair behind her ears with thin, pale fingers. This habitual action accentuated her slender face and her prominent cheekbones were nipped red with cold, making them appear even more pronounced.

‘But it’s over the other side of town,’ Kate cried. ‘Does Mum know about it?’

Emma laughed. ‘Don’t be daft. Anyway, even if I’d told her she wouldn’t remember. I can’t see the point of telling her anything.’ She stopped and looked around, shoving her hands into her jacket pockets. ‘Why is our street the worst street on the estate? The other streets are OK. Look over there at Victoria Gardens. The houses are lovely, really pretty and well looked after. Why can’t we live there?’

‘Mum and Dad have always lived in Sunningdale Terrace.  It’s our home. We come from a respectable home.’ 

Emma snorted. ‘What? There you go again, kidding yourself we’re the same as everyone else. Some home. Anyway, you should be pleased for me I’m going. They eat nice food at Jenny’s house, and if I get there in time Jenny’s mum will give me a dinner.’ Emma hopped from one foot to the other eager to get away to have some fun. 

‘OK. But don’t forget how quickly it gets dark. You should try to leave Jenny’s before then,’ Kate said, knowing Emma probably wouldn’t bother. ‘Have a good time,’ Kate called after her, but Emma had already disappeared around the corner, eager to get to the relative luxury of her friend’s home and hoped for dinner.

Kate tried not to look too closely at her surroundings as she made her way up the street. She swallowed down her sadness as she continued alone, walking more slowly now, her eyes on the distant front door of her home as the familiar feelings of dejection closed in on her forming a clamp around her heart; squeezing the life out of her hopes and dreams. The sorrow she felt each time she was in the street sometimes reduced her to tears. Right now, they pricked provocatively under her eyelids. It would have been so easy to give in. The effort it took not to cry left her with an ache in her throat.

A sudden wind raced down the street, startling her as it whipped up the discarded litter that had settled in the gutter. She narrowed her eyes and bent her chin to her chest as the squall turned the silent snowfall into an icy twister. A spiral of crisp packets and old cigarette cards flew haphazardly above her head as everything was whisked