The Wish: The most heart-warming feel-good read you need in 2018
The Wish: The most heart-warming feel-good read you need in 2018
Alex Brown
The touching and emotional new novel from the No.1 bestselling author of The Secret of Orchard Cottage.Sam Morgan knows he messed up with his wife Chrissie and daughter Holly – he wasn’t there when they needed him most, but now he’ll do anything to put his family back together again. Until then, he's living in the picture-postcard village of Tindledale helping to renovate the Blackwood Farm Estate for its elusive new owner.Jude Darling is coming home for good this time. She's taking over the antique shop in Tindledale, the place where she grew up and she's going to make sure she's there for her friend, Chrissie, and Goddaughter, Holly. They certainly need her right now.As for Holly, there's only one thing she wants and it's not the sort of thing you can buy in a shop. She might be thirteen years old, but Holly still believes in wishes, and perhaps if she wishes hard enough, this one might come true…
Copyright (#udb3af770-d185-57cb-ac92-c3deca23ceb8)
HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
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www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Publishers 2018
Copyright © Alexandra Brown 2018
Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2018
Cover illustration © Shutterstock.com (http://www.Shutterstock.com)
Alexandra Brown asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780008206697
Ebook Edition © May 2018 ISBN: 9780008206710
Version: 2018-08-17
Dedication (#udb3af770-d185-57cb-ac92-c3deca23ceb8)
For all of you, my magnificent readers,
with luck & love xxx
Epigraph (#udb3af770-d185-57cb-ac92-c3deca23ceb8)
‘If you want the rainbow, you gotta put up with the rain’
DOLLY PARTON
Contents
Cover (#ub37b4ae2-acd9-5997-9689-eef4313c6ddd)
Title Page (#ub5249c09-736b-5665-82b7-5e926983a65b)
Copyright
Dedication
Epigraph
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
The Wish Recipes (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Author
Keep Reading … (#litres_trial_promo)
Also by Alex Brown
About the Publisher
Prologue (#udb3af770-d185-57cb-ac92-c3deca23ceb8)
Tindledale 1976
As the hot evening air furled around their bare bodies hidden among the medley of wild flowers in the meadow, the two young lovers lingered for one last kiss before parting and hurriedly pulling their clothes back on.
‘We can’t carry on like this,’ the man murmured, catching a frond of the woman’s wavy blonde hair and twiddling it between his fingers. Nuzzling the side of her neck, he drew in the sweet, sultry scent of her new Blasé perfume, knowing that, no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t seem to resist her. And it had been this way since the very first time he had caught sight of her, when he’d started at the senior school in nearby Market Briar. Thirteen years old and pulsing with teenage boy hormones, he had fallen for her beguiling ways, the teasing, lingering looks, letting him think he was in with a chance, when all the while he never was. Not really. He knew that now. But that had made him want her all the more, so when she had eventually given him a kiss behind the old abandoned caravan in the Tindledale Station car park, he had thought he’d died and gone to heaven … and he had been kept dangling, trapped in the never-ending cycle of lust and loathing ever since. Simply unable to resist coming back for more whenever she wished.
‘Why not?’ she pouted and pulled her hair away from his fingers before pushing it back over her shoulders. After slipping her clogs on, she dashed over to the layby to retrieve a packet of Player’s cigarettes from the glove box of a coffee-coloured Ford Cortina.
‘You know why …’ he started, swiftly swiping the Afghan coat that they had been lying on out of the grass and going after her, vowing to call it a day. He lifted her wrist and traced his thumb over the big, shiny engagement ring on her finger. ‘You’re getting married.’
She snatched her hand away and flipped open the Zippo lighter, sucking on the cigarette until the tip sizzled and glowed flame red. ‘And you’re not! So stop worrying.’
She made a circle shape in the air with the cigarette before blowing a couple of smoke rings into his face. ‘We’re having fun, aren’t we?’ She handed him the cigarette and he managed a couple of puffs before she gestured to get it back.
‘Sure,’ he shrugged, slinging the coat onto the back seat of the car before pushing his hands deep into the pockets of his flared jeans. ‘But—’
‘No buts! Come on, why spoil the moment?’ They stood in silence, side by side, resting their backs against the car doors as they took in the view. Tindledale. The little village they had both grown up in. ‘Help me with this,’ she instructed, lifting her hair and indicating for him to fasten the buttons at the back of her floaty blouse. ‘I deserve a bit of fun. And you … my love,’ she paused and gave him a lingering look, ‘are far too nice. That’s your problem! Always has been,’ she laughed, almost mockingly.
And as the golden glow of the sun dipped down on the horizon, framing the fields full of strawberries, sheep, cows, apple, pear and plum trees, he knew that it was time to face the truth. She was about to marry someone else and he needed to tell her straight. He had to, because he couldn’t carry on feeling this way. It was wrong. And he needed to be free. Free to find someone else. Someone to love, properly, and not in secret, feeling brimful of shame and confusion.
Chapter One (#udb3af770-d185-57cb-ac92-c3deca23ceb8)
Present day
Sam Morgan pulled over into the muddy gap beside a five-bar gate that led into the fields behind Tindledale Station and switched off the engine of his tank-like old Land Rover. He undid his seat belt and tried to relax as he sat in silence, watching a plump robin perched on the gate, its stout crimson breast in stark contrast to the virginal white of the spring evening frost. Sam was sure he’d read somewhere, years ago, that robins signified ‘new beginnings’ … well, he sure hoped that was true. He wound down the window and inhaled, drinking in the surroundings, as if drawing strength from the familiarity of the sycamore trees that led down to the train track. The place where he had always come to think, right back from when he was just a young boy.
Peering into the rear-view mirror, he pushed a hand through his messy dark hair and then pulled his lower eyelids down to inspect his conker-brown eyes, which were bloodshot and dry after the ten-hour flight from Singapore. But it was going to be worth it – a new job, a year-long contract, which he hoped would be more than enough time to fix things. He would be right here, redeveloping the Blackwood Farm Estate. He’d have less responsibility than he was used to, but it meant being back home in Tindledale. And it would be the perfect opportunity to put everything right with his family. His daughter, Holly, would be fourteen soon. Her birthday was just around the corner, so he really wanted to do that … more than anything.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, making him jump. Since when did Tindledale have full mobile coverage?Things sure have changed since I was last home. He couldn’t believe it was almost a year. Why on earth had he left it so long? On seeing that it was Dolly, his gran, he pressed the button to take the call.
‘Hello Sam, love. How are you getting on?’ she asked, in her familiar country accent.
‘I’m almost home, Gran, shan’t be much longer.’ He glanced at the clock on the dashboard and quickly calculated that he’d arrived at the airport over three hours earlier, which was when he had called her to say that the plane had landed safely.
She had insisted he let her know immediately when he touched down. Dolly didn’t trust aeroplanes, having only ever been on one in her lifetime, and it had taken two attempts to land on the tiny holiday island of Mykonos before reaching terra firma. Dolly had never forgotten it, and had vowed to stay in the village ever since, or travel to faraway places only by coach. So it was the least he could do to put her mind at rest, especially as she and her second husband, Colin – a coach driver she had met on one of those trips to a faraway place – had kindly offered Sam their spare bedroom to stay in for the duration of his new contract, if need be. But it had taken ages to find the long-term parking place near the airport, and then even longer to defrost the lock on the driver’s door so he could actually get in to his car, which had been standing outside in all weathers since he’d last been home to Tindledale. And the parking bill had been astronomical, almost as much as the ancient old Land Rover was worth. But it served him right, Sam figured, he really should have come home sooner.
‘Oh well, that’s very good now,’ Dolly chuckled kindly. ‘We’re really looking forward to seeing you, son … I’ve got your favourite cottage pie with a cheesy mash topping keeping warm inside Beryl, all ready for your dinner when you get here.’
Sam grinned, fondly remembering the extended name of his gran’s buttercup-yellow Aga, Beryl the Peril, on account of her being quite temperamental, often needing a tweak to get going, making her perilously unreliable at times. One Christmas, when he was a boy, they had eaten their turkey dinner with all the trimmings at nine o’clock in the evening, thanks to Beryl conking out at the crucial moment. They’d had to take the tinfoil-covered turkey in its tray round to the neighbours next door to cook in their conventional oven. And Dolly had been devastated. Christmas dinner was always at one sharpish in her house, and quite a magnificent affair … except that year.
‘I can’t wait. Thanks, Gran.’ Sam smiled fondly, momentarily feeling like that twelve-year-old boy again and, given that he was pushing forty-two, there sure was a certain comfort in that.
‘Right you are. Cheerio, Sam,’ she said, and then added, ‘and don’t go haring off down those lanes. It’s been very wet this spring and then chilly in the evening, so they become coated in frost. Take your time, the pie will wait.’ And, after a big intake of breath, followed by an even bigger sigh, she was gone.
Using the elbow part of his jacket sleeve, Sam wiped away a circle of condensation from the windscreen, big enough to look out across the lush, undulating fields leading all the way down to the valley. The valley he knew like the back of his hand, having grown up right here. Number Three Keepers Cottages. A neat row of tiny two-up two-down converted old workers’ homes, situated at the top of the unmade lane near the orchards, and not far from the woods. Violet Wood, they used to call it, on account of all the purple flowers that covered the ground in springtime. Where he would play and fish for pike and trout on the banks of the stream with his younger brother, Patrick, and the rest of the boys from the village – Matt (he was the village farrier now) and his older brother, Jack. Not forgetting his good pal, Cooper (who now had the butcher’s shop in the High Street), plus a load of other kids who always turned up in the school summer holidays. It was idyllic. And a shame in a way that life couldn’t stay like that for always. Sam often wondered why it all had to be so complicated.
Talking of which … his thoughts turned away from the past, where he had avoided the implosion of his marriage rather than dealing with it and trying to do something, and to the reason he had finally returned to Tindledale after so long away. His wife, Chrissie. Well, his soon-to-be ex-wife, if she had meant what she said when they had spoken on the phone that time. ‘Right now, divorce feels like an inevitable eventuality for us, Sam,’ she had told him, frankly.
That conversation had been soon after he hadn’t made it back home for Christmas. There had been a last-minute near-catastrophe at work, when their largest investor had almost pulled out, and Sam and his team had spent anxious weeks trying to keep the project on track. He was the architectural engineer for a Pan-Asian company, building a prestigious chain of new hotels in Malaysia, Hong Kong and Singapore. He’d cancelled his long weekend home, and knew that both Chrissie and Holly had been devastated. Chrissie had told him it was the final straw the last time they had spoken on the phone.
‘If it was this one thing in isolation, Sam, then I might have been able to deal with it. But, on the back of everything else, I just can’t. It’s all the other weekends when you could have come home and didn’t, the phone calls you could have made and didn’t, and the five-minute Skype calls that we’ve had to make do with – or without – most of the time. It’s the culmination of everything …’
‘Chrissie, I’m honestly doing my best here. I just want this project to be a success and then it could set us up for the rest of our lives. It could really put me on the map and make a huge difference to all of us.’
‘And what about me? And our daughter? What is the point of all that success if we’re not together to share it? It’s meaningless. Empty and lonely.’ Sam could hear the frustration and anger in her voice and roused his own to meet hers.
‘I’m doing this for us – for you and for Holly, can’t you see that?’
‘No, Sam, that’s not what I see. All I can see is a sad young girl whose heart is broken because her daddy isn’t coming home for Christmas, and a permanently empty space next to mine in bed. The empty space where my husband used to be.’ He heard her voice crack.
‘Chrissie, please, it’s just going to be a few more months …’
‘I’m sorry, Sam, but I can’t take any more of this. As far as I’m concerned our marriage is over. Holly and I have been at the bottom of your priority list for too long and I’ve had enough.’
Since then, they’d communicated only via email. Sam had called and tried to talk to Chrissie on several occasions, but she had refused to speak to him. He couldn’t quite work out when the reality of it had hit home, but he thought it struck him hardest when a Facebook memory popped up on his timeline and he was confronted with the awful, stark reality that he hadn’t actually seen his daughter for almost a year. The picture had glared out at him accusingly. He, Chrissie and Holly, on top of the Sentosa Sky Tower in Singapore, with Holly pulling faces for her numerous selfies. He’d clicked through some more. He and Holly, their faces contorted in wild excitement on the Jurassic Park Rapids Adventure ride at Universal Studios, while Chrissie had a look of controlled terror. Then his beautiful daughter cuddling a baby elephant on a magical trip to an elephant sanctuary in nearby Malaysia. Sam had welled up with emotion on seeing Holly so absolutely enchanted – the look of pure joy in her eyes was too much to bear; he missed her and blamed himself for shattering her happiness, so had then gone out and got very, very drunk. The next morning, hungover but with more resolve than he had felt in ages, he had called the CEO of the company he worked for and handed in his notice.
The situation he was now in had unsettled him like nothing ever had before, prompting him to put the feelers out for a job closer to home. The truth was impossible to ignore. He and Chrissie had been drifting apart for a while, long before he ever went away to Singapore.
Sam had been working hard for years to build his reputation as an architect. He was never the cleverest at school, but he’d been a grafter – it had taken him three years of evening classes, and working all day as a labourer on a building site, to get the exams he had needed before eventually being able to pursue his dream of training to be an architect. Then, frequently working late into the night to qualify had paid off, and he had got a job in a large practice. Since then he’d steadily worked his way up over the years.
Ever since he was a boy, he’d loved building stuff, designing it from scratch and seeing it materialise, magnificent and strong, much like his marriage before the cracks set in. His father Rob had bought him his first Meccano set when he was still in short trousers, and the two of them would spend hours over it. Sam had thought that he and Chrissie were as tightly bolted together as his Meccano constructions, but last year, despite the smiles on Facebook, their Singapore trip had only highlighted the fractures that were becoming apparent …
*
‘Wow! This place is awesome!’ Holly had bounced down backwards on the king-sized bed in her dad’s Singapore apartment, pushing her legs and arms out wide into a star shape. ‘This bed is like a giant marshmallow! It’s so soft and squishy.’
‘Hey. Don’t get too comfortable, your bedroom is down the hall,’ Sam had laughed, going to scoop her up into a big bear hug.
‘But that’s not fair! How come the grown-ups get all the best bits for themselves?’
‘Well, you won’t be saying that when you see your bedroom. Let me show you.’ Sam’s apartment was on the twenty-fourth floor of one of the most iconic developments in the city, and the view from each room was stunning. Holly’s room had an inbuilt entertainment centre, which included Apple TV and a karaoke machine, her own en-suite shower room and a mini-fridge, well stocked with chilled water and sugar-free drinks on account of Holly being diabetic. Delighted, Holly had instantly whipped out her phone to ensure she captured every detail for her Instagram account, taking the time to select the perfect filters, before then telling him she needed to give herself an insulin injection.
‘Oh, right, of course. Want me to do anything?’ he’d offered.
Holly shook her head matter-of-factly. ‘Nope.’
‘OK, I’ll be outside with Mum.’ He leaned over and gave her a kiss on her head, as she pulled what she needed from her needle case. ‘Love you, darling.’
‘Love you too, Dad. This holiday is going to be so amazing!’
While Holly slept off her jetlag, Sam and Chrissie had reacquainted themselves with each other in the master bedroom. It had felt so good to have her in his arms again – they’d always been really into each other, and for Sam their lovemaking felt like the monsoon after a drought. They dozed lightly afterwards and Sam wrapped himself around his wife, burying his nose in her soft blonde hair, drawing in the familiar scent of her strawberry shampoo. Uncharacteristically, she had seemed a bit detached. He couldn’t put his finger on it but something wasn’t quite right.
‘Hey,’ he said gently. ‘What’s up?’
‘Nothing …’ She’d hesitated for a split second before answering.
‘You sure?’ He could tell when something was on her mind.
A beat of silence followed.
‘It’s just …’ she stalled. ‘This place … I wasn’t expecting anything like it. It’s incredible. I’m not surprised you haven’t come home.’
‘What do you mean?’ Sam asked, leaning up on one elbow. ‘This place is great, but that’s not the reason I haven’t …’
He stopped talking as Chrissie turned around to look up at him, her blue eyes scanning his face as if searching for the right words. ‘You’ve been here for three months and this is the first time we’ve seen you since you left. When we talked about you taking this job, you promised that you’d be home every six weeks. That’s what we agreed.’
‘I know, love, but things have been difficult to get off the ground. There’s been a lot of bureaucracy and trouble with getting the right contractors. We’ve been working around the clock to get everything up and running, there’s been lots of schmoozing and lobbying … and then there’s the time difference to factor in.’
‘While Holly and I sit at home watching TV and sharing a cake from Kitty’s Spotted Pig café in the village, wondering when you’re going to come home?’
‘But Chris, you know I’m doing it for us. A few more jobs like this could set us up for life.’ He moved his hand from her back and brought it round to the front, where it cupped her breast and his thumb played lightly with her nipple. He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. ‘Come on, let’s get rude again.’
Chrissie grinned, but took his hand with her own and moved it back to where it had come from.
‘Seriously Sam, promise me things won’t stay like this. Every job you’ve had over the last few years has taken you further away. First it was Frankfurt for six months, then Dubai for the best part of a year, but you came home far more often then. And now you are here in Singapore and we’re still back home in Tindledale, missing you like mad. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to stay away from us.’
‘How could you even think that?’ Sam shook his head.
Chrissie raised her eyes at him.
‘OK, I see what you are saying, but we’ve always known my work would take me away.’
‘You know, it’s been much harder since Holly’s diabetes diagnosis.’
‘Everything’s all right though, isn’t it?’ Sam checked right away.
‘Yes, as far as it can be, but it’s changed things. You feel further away and I feel less … I don’t know … it’s just getting harder without you at home.’
‘Hey,Chrissie, you’ve always been strong, you can cope with this,’ he said tenderly. ‘And I’m only ever a phone call away. No matter what the time difference is.’
‘Maybe,’ Chrissie faltered, her eyes welling up. ‘But I feel like your career is taking you away from me here, Sam.’ Chrissie touched her chest, in the place where her heart was. She wasn’t the overly sentimental type, but as he caressed away her worries, he felt her soft tears on his own cheeks and, like her words, their memory stayed with Sam for the rest of the holiday.
*
Sam wished now, more than anything, that he had listened to what Chrissie had said that day. She had always been the strong one of them, holding it all together while he built his career. He was solid in his own way, of course. He’d worked hard, given them a beautiful home, sent Holly to a fee-paying secondary school – though of course it had been Chrissie who’d put the effort in to get her through the entrance exams, especially as the exam had been around the same time as Holly’s diabetes diagnosis. They were a team, weren’t they? Each bringing their best points to the marriage and the whole being more than the sum of its parts. That’s what he’d always thought – until now.
They were still married, though, for better or worse … and that had to count for something. It was a starting point at least, and he wasn’t about to give up on everything they had together, even if it seemed that Chrissie might already have.
And Holly, he couldn’t wait to see her, having missed her so much. Skype calls were OK for keeping in touch, although nothing compared to the real thing, like a proper bear-hug cuddle followed by a tickling session until she begged him to stop. But he had a chance to change that now; he’d be able to see her properly and make up for all those moments that he had missed.
Sam sat back in the seat and allowed himself a moment of contemplation. Time to go over his plan to put everything right. He had thought of nothing else for months now. Ever since he had made the decision to come back for good, and broken the news to his boss. He’d had to work some notice and hand over to his deputy but he’d finally made the break. And it was spring now, a time for new beginnings, he thought optimistically.
Looking back over the last few years, he understood that he had got things badly wrong. He believed that he and Chrissie knew what their priorities were but he could see now – too late – that Holly’s diabetes diagnosis had changed so much more than just the blood sugar levels in his little girl’s body.
Chapter Two (#udb3af770-d185-57cb-ac92-c3deca23ceb8)
Jude Darling tucked Lulu, her grumpy old caramel-coloured cockapoo, under her arm, and inhaled the crisp, spring air infused with a glorious aroma of fresh paint. Smiling, she stared at the black timber-framed, white wattle-walled shop with tiny mullioned windows in the middle of Tindledale High Street. Home. After several years of travelling around the world, before settling in Los Angeles for a while, it now felt surreal – but at the same time ever so good – to be back.
‘So what do you think?’ Tony Darling asked. Jude turned, and with her free arm she gave her dad an enormous hug.
‘I love it, Dad. Really I do.’ She stood back on the pavement, her rumpus of red curls bouncing on her shoulders as she beamed up at the swirly gold lettering above the window. ‘Ooh, it’s perfect! Darling Antiques & Interiors. Has a certain ring to it, don’t you think?’
‘It sure does! Though sorry again for the silly surname you’ve been lumbered with … it’s the family curse.’ He rolled his eyes and shrugged before going to give Lulu’s curly head a stroke, but thought better of it when she growled and lifted her nose up into the air. ‘Well, excuse me,’ he laughed.
‘Sorry. She’s still sulking over this wet weather – you know what a diva she is; looking down her nose at these muddy puddles everywhere after the heat of the streets in Los Angeles.’ Jude adjusted Lulu’s little tartan coat. ‘And don’t be daft! It’s a brilliant surname. It’s our family’s name, and I love it, always have, you know that …’ she replied, nodding her head as if to punctuate the point.
‘Hmm, if you say so. But three guesses who’s doing the Mr Darling’s Magic Show gig again this year for the kids at the May Fair?’ Tony sighed.
‘Ahh, Dad, you love it really. You’re the real deal, a proper magic man … especially now you’re turning into a silver fox. Very distinguished for when you don the velvet Willy Wonka suit and whip a rabbit out of a top hat. And you’ll have a full white beard and barnet in no time, the way you’re going!’ Jude laughed, giving his salt-and-pepper hair a quick ruffle, and remembering as a child how she loved having a magician for a dad, or the ‘Magic Man’ as her school friends used to call him. And she never tired of telling new people she met along the way that her dad was a magician. That he could do proper tricks, like make a white dove fly out of her ear. Of course, years later she had worked out that it was all an illusion. But back then, when everyone in Tindledale and the surrounding villages loved Mr Darling’s Magic Show, it had made her feel special. Proud and safe … and God knows she had needed that after her mum had died. Nine years old she had been when she’d got home from school one day and found her lovely mummy, Sarah, slumped over the sofa, lifeless after suffering a fatal asthma attack. And that was how it became just the two of them, Tony and Jude Darling. A unit. An unstoppable team.
Tony had been a brilliant dad. Still was. And that was why Jude had come back home to Tindledale, after her wanderlust had petered out, much like her relationship with Scott, the American businessman she had dated for a year or so before he’d announced that he’d ‘rather not be exclusive any longer’. Fair enough. Jude hadn’t been that into him in any case; plus she had come to the conclusion that what had suited her in her twenties and thirties – fun with no ties – didn’t really cut it any more. No. But whilst she had never really been the ‘settling down’ type, she reckoned she’d be open now to the possibility of a proper committed relationship, with a mature man who would put the effort in. Not an immature guy clinging on to his youth, who only wanted to hook up when he was in town.
Plus Dad wasn’t getting any younger – not that sixty was old or anything these days, but still … there were never any guarantees in life, Jude knew that only too well, with losing her mum at such a young age. And she’d had enough of being away from her home, the place where she had grown up, and the place she loved, Tindledale. She had always planned on coming back here, but the urge to travel, as if to find out who she really was, had always been a driving factor. Growing up without her mum had been difficult at times, especially during her teenage years, when she had yearned to find a connection, a tangible way to know all about her mother, Sarah. To find out who she really was. The dreams and aspirations that were cruelly snatched from her at such a young age. Of course, Jude had never forgotten her mum, and the memories she had of their time together. But having been so young when it happened meant that the hazy snippets of events, feelings, even the scent of her mum’s favourite perfume on a treasured scarf had faded. So when Jude was in her twenties, and after a string of disastrous relationships had disillusioned her, she knew it was time to go for it. She travelled to LA to meet Maggie, her mum’s cousin, who lived there.
Maggie even looked like Sarah, and had similar mannerisms, but, better still, she remembered vividly growing up with Jude’s mum; the silly antics they got up to, the daft things Sarah had said and done. Maggie was able to give Jude a real insight into who Sarah really was. And another wonderful thing for Jude: Maggie was able to share how Sarah had felt about her only child. The love she had felt for Jude, and everything she had hoped she would grow up to be. This had given Jude a tremendous sense of peace, that tangible connection she had yearned for. To feel an affinity with her mum and to know she would have been proud of her. And Jude had wanted to harness that affinity and never let it go, so she had stayed in LA with Maggie, who had moved into Sarah’s maternal role with ease, giving Jude a comfort that she hadn’t had for so long. And, in doing so, Jude had also felt close to her mum.
LA had become Jude’s base, her haven if you like, and after travelling to as many enchanting places as she could afford to on her modest savings, she had then started the antiques and interiors business in order to properly pay her way. And this, in turn, plus loads of hard work, had taken her from Maggie’s little spare room in the condo to a plush, mink-colour-carpeted studio in one of LA’s most exclusive business districts.
It had been a wrench to leave that studio behind, but Jude had missed her family here too – Dad (though he’d come out to visit every year for at least four weeks), plus the three rambunctious golden retrievers called Betty, Bob and Barney that Lulu had hated on sight. But then Lulu was used to being the centre of attention, and certainly wasn’t going to share Jude’s affections with any other dogs, so had taken to growling if Jude so much as glanced at one of the retrievers. A properly pampered pooch, Lulu had been a welcome cute-puppy gift to Jude from one of her grateful LA clients, who bred pedigree cockapoos. Small enough to travel with Jude on her very own pet passport, Lulu was used to first-class treatment at all times, often perched, regally, on her lap during flights, or nestled inside a designer pet carrier, as was the norm in LA. It was no surprise, really, that Lulu was finding it tricky to acclimatise to her more modest living arrangements – with her bed in the corner of the kitchen alongside the other dogs.
Jude had also missed her best friend, Chrissie. She had missed her so much. And Chrissie really needed her right now. Jude still couldn’t get her head around the disaster that was her best friend’s marriage. Last time she had been home, about four years ago, Chrissie, Sam and Holly had been doing OK – they had been a happy family unit. And Chrissie and Sam had always been one of those couples you imagined were set to be together for ever. Like butter and crumpets. The two just go. And it was unthinkable to have one without the other. But somehow that had happened. And Jude was horrified at the situation because, if Chrissie and Sam’s relationship could fall apart, then what hope was there for everyone else still searching for their perfect match? That’s how solid they were, or had been. It was shocking. More so, as Jude hadn’t realised just how bad things had become – Chrissie had always had a tendency to batten down the hatches, make out that she was coping, that everything was fine, that she had it all under control, even when she didn’t; that was her way. But Chrissie really had glossed over the startling truth about the state of her marriage during the numerous phone calls and Skype calls they’d had together all the time Jude had been in LA. And her goddaughter, Holly, she needed Jude too. The whole family – Chrissie, Holly and Sam – had been having a tough time this last couple of years or so, and Jude wanted to do all that she could to support Chrissie, who was more like a sister than a best friend. It was the right thing to do. Chrissie had been there for Jude all those years ago when her mum had died, as well as ever since … and so now it was Jude’s turn to be here, close by, for her.
‘And I love you too,’ Tony smirked, shaking his head some more and cutting into Jude’s thoughts. ‘But less of the “old man” jokes please … if you really are planning on staying around for good.’
‘Yep, this is me, back home in Tindledale for good …’
‘Well, I sure hope so, love, because it’s not safe out there any more. Not with all the horrors going on around the world. You can’t switch the telly on these days without seeing some other awful incident unfold. No, it’s no good you gallivanting around the globe picking up all that junk …’ He gestured inside the shop, which was crammed full of unique artefacts from far-flung places.
‘Oh Dad, it’s not junk! Come on, let’s take a look inside.’ She looped her free arm through Tony’s and practically skipped him inside, she was so excited.
Inside, and after placing Lulu carefully on the rug, Jude wandered around, oohing and ahhing as she took in the gorgeous Farrow & Ball painted walls.
‘And, see, I was right about this one, Elephant’s Breath …’ She darted towards the main wall that ran the length of the back of the shop, her red curls flaring out behind her, and ran a hand lovingly over the smooth wall, ‘and with this one too, Calamine. The perfect match, don’t you think?’ She dashed over to the adjacent wall to stroke that surface too. Tony couldn’t help himself, and his sun-baked, brown crinkly face broke into a big smile, only just managing to stop short of actually laughing at the absurdity of the paint names. He was old school, and these new, fancy, fandangled colours bemused him.
‘Yep. Of course … it looks nice,’ he shrugged, before gathering up his brushes and tools to tidy away into his white work van parked outside the window.
‘Nice?’ Jude pretended to be put out. ‘Just nice, Dad. Oh, come on … you’ve done a brilliant job, used the exact hues that I asked for, and it looks amazing.’
‘Well, it’s grey and pink at the end of the day, love.’ And after placing his tool bag down on a nearby chair, he held out his hands, palms up, and laughed, ‘but if you want the flash stuff that costs an arm and a leg and has to be specially ordered off the internet, when the cheap stuff from the builders’ merchants down on the industrial estate would have done just as good a job, then who am I to argue?’
‘But it has to be right, Dad. It’s important to create the right ambience.’ Jude folded her arms and chewed the inside of her cheek as she scanned the shop once more. She’d put her heart and soul into this new venture, not to mention a tidy sum of money that she had saved up over the years for this exact moment. ‘And look …’ She carefully picked up an exquisite, multi-coloured glass Art Deco lamp. ‘This is an expensive antique. It was my job to scour the globe for special items for my clients. They’re very discerning you know.’ Jude gave her dad a playful punch on the arm.
‘Yeah, well they can “discern” or whatever with someone new now. I’m not letting you leave Tindledale again.’
‘There’s no chance of that. My “gallivanting” days, as you say,’ Jude paused to do silly quote signs in front of her dad, trying not to smile when he pulled a face and batted her away, ‘are well and truly over. I’ve gathered enough stock of my own now for the shop, and once the soft furnishings arrive in the next day or so for the interiors section, I’ll be having a grand opening.’
A short silence followed as father and daughter exchanged nods, with intermittent glances around the tiny but perfectly formed shop. ‘Well, maybe a not so grand opening,’ Jude shrugged and grinned gamely, knowing this wasn’t London’s Mayfair. No, Tindledale was a tiny village in the middle of nowhere, ‘but certainly a few friends round for an Aperol spritz or a flute of pink Prosecco and a scrumptious fondant fancy or three from Kitty’s café over there, that’s for sure.’
Jude pointed across the street towards The Spotted Pig Café & Tearoom, looking all cosy on the corner with the glow from the pretty little tea lights sparkling in the windows and the floral bunting buffeting in the breeze. On her return to Tindledale, she had been delighted to see the café still here, having fond memories of visiting after school with Chrissie to drink big mugs of hot chocolate and feast on slabs of Battenberg cake. This was back in the day, and long before Kitty took over; Kitty now lived with her daughter Teddie and boyfriend Mack in the adjoining cottage. So Jude had made a beeline across the road to introduce herself and see if the café had changed very much during her time away. She was delighted to see that it hadn’t.
Jude waved when Mack pulled up outside in his car and opened the boot to let two gorgeous dogs jump out – a beautiful, glossy black one-eyed Labrador and a lovely little cocker spaniel, the spitting image of that dog in The Lady and the Tramp film. Kitty’s daughter, Teddie, came bouncing out of the café to greet them, closely followed by Kitty, who took the dogs by their leads so that Mack could swing Teddie up into his arms for an enormous cuddle. Ahh, she smiled at the wonderful sight, a part of her musing on how nice it might be to have a family of her own.
Tindledale really was a wonderful little village, and she was proud to have grown up in such a picturesque place, but she was under no illusion that it might take the villagers a little while to warm to the idea of paying a fair price for an exquisite antique. They could be very provincial and quite unworldly at times, but more than made up for this with their warmth and generosity. She’d had a number of cards welcoming her back home and wishing her luck with her new venture – Mrs Pocket, parish council stalwart and Jude’s old headteacher at the village school years ago, had been the first to call in. Then Mrs Cherry, aka Brown Owl, from the 1st Tindledale pack that Jude had been a part of as a child, and then lovely Molly from the butcher’s a few doors along had popped in with one of her famous steak and ale pies. And Jude knew it would take time for things to really take off, but she had built up enough clients around the world to take care of the antiques side of the business in any case – she’d ship the items to them. And that’s why she had opted for soft furnishings too – cushions, curtains, door stops, blankets, throws, quilts, and some heavenly-scented candles and trinkets, so there would be something for everyone’s budget.
‘Good. And you can stick me down for a Bakewell tart and a pint of beer from the Duck and Puddle pub,’ Tony laughed. ‘None of this pink fizz for me at the party. Call it payment for the decorating.’ He placed his free arm around his daughter’s shoulders and pulled her in for a solid cuddle.
‘You’re on. But I’ll still be paying you the proper rate for all the work you’ve done, Dad. I have the money,’ Jude grinned, giving her dad a nudge in the side. ‘I’m not fifteen any more and on the scrounge.’
‘More’s the pity. Are you sure you’re going to be forty-one on your next birthday?’ Tony lifted his eyebrows. ‘Makes me feel properly old.’
‘Awww, well … at least you’ll have me here now to make your cocoa and tuck your tartan blanket in around your old weary knees, eh Dad?’ Jude laughed.
‘Oi, wotchit, cheeky! I’m not that old.’
‘Ahh, you know I’m only joking – sixty is the new forty these days,’ Jude laughed as Tony pulled a roll-up from behind his ear and popped it into the side of his mouth.
‘Come on; let’s go to that new Indian restaurant over by the village green. You can buy me a Balti with all the trimmings!’
Chapter Three (#udb3af770-d185-57cb-ac92-c3deca23ceb8)
Sam devoured Dolly’s delicious cottage pie in record time. Then, after a quick catch-up over a cup of tea with her and Colin (to be polite, but not wanting to wait another minute to see Chrissie and Holly), he had jumped back in his Land Rover. With Dolly’s words of, ‘Please don’t be expecting too much,’ and, ‘It’s going to take time for you and Chrissie to sort out your differences,’ still ringing in his ears, he had driven through the village, the spring bloom much in evidence as he drove past the villagers well-tended front gardens crammed full of buttery lemon daffodils. He was carrying a big bag of presents for Holly as he apprehensively pushed open the gate of The Forstal Farmhouse, a beautiful sixteenth-century, tile-hung cottage, set on the edge of farmland, which he and Chrissie had bought over ten years ago, after saving for ages to get the deposit together.
Holly had been a toddler, all fair wispy hair and big wide smiles, when they had first moved in, living in a caravan in the garden while they renovated the whole house. They had done most of the work themselves. Sam had designed and built the kitchen units from scratch, lovely soft scrubbed pine for the perfect country farmhouse kitchen. He had plastered the walls, painted, decorated, laid the carpet and the tiles, and had even waterproofed the crumbling old cellar to turn it into a cosy family room. A den, with a TV and a big comfy sofa for watching films and football at one end of the room, and a long table for all of Chrissie’s crafting paraphernalia at the other end. The room was also fitted with shelves for her sewing machines; she liked to collect the vintage Singer ones with the brown wooden curved covers and little carrying handles. Sam had even made a special cabinet to house her rolls of wallpaper and fabrics, beads, ribbons, and all kinds of colourful knickknacks that might one day come in handy to decorate a gift, or give their Christmas tree a unique style, perhaps. Chrissie was really thoughtful and generous like that. Sam had thought this was the perfect house for the both of them, Holly too – she had her play area with the replica dolls’ house that he had made for her fifth birthday, and the wooden rocking horse for her sixth. Everything had seemed happy and perfect back then.
Sam paused, smoothed back his unruly brown hair, using the moment to get himself together. A smile. Not flashy, or cocky. No, he didn’t want Chrissie to think he didn’t care about the state of their marriage that – quite frankly – was hanging together by a single thread. He wanted her to know that he now understood the impact of focusing on his job and not on his family. He had to get it right. And, if he did, then maybe, just maybe, she would be pleased that he was back to make an effort to try to sort it all out. To put things right. He’d explain about the new job. The big changes that he was planning. That was another thing she had said during that fateful phone conversation. She’d said it would take something really big to make a difference now. And she was absolutely right. But he was back now, even if he did feel like a guest, a stranger even, as he walked up the path, glimpsing the warm, welcoming lights through the lounge window, to the front door of the house that they had created together, as a family.
So many wonderful memories were wrapped up inside this house. Sam cast his mind back to their first Christmas here. Holly had been a toddler and the three of them had been really happy. On Christmas morning, he had let Holly open every single one of her Christmas presents first thing when she woke up, the two of them running downstairs and ripping open the carefully wrapped gifts under the tree. The entire living room was deluged in piles of wrapping paper and boxes of toys, games and treats. Holly had squealed in excitement and Sam had loved the chaotic fun of it. Chrissie had come downstairs in her dressing gown, perplexed and frowning at the anarchy unravelling in front of her. She’d told Sam off for letting Holly go nuts; now she didn’t know who any of the presents were from and it wasn’t instilling in their daughter the value that the people who had bought the presents placed on them.
‘It’s Christmas Day, you can’t take anything too seriously, love. And look how much fun Holly is having.’ The sight of Holly’s face, lit up in excitement, had allowed them to laugh it off, with chuckles of ‘it’s only once a year’. But with the benefit of hindsight, it was those polar approaches to parenting that highlighted the differences between them, foretelling the cracks in their relationship.
Sam went to retrieve his key from his jeans pocket, and stopped. He wasn’t even sure why he still carried the key to The Forstal Farmhouse around with him … it wasn’t his home any more, not now. Chrissie had also made that quite clear with a reticent, ‘Maybe it would be better if you stayed with Dolly the next time you come home’, a suggestion that was definitely not optional. Followed by something about not wanting to destabilise Holly, as she was used to it being just the two of them now. Sam felt a momentary flash of anger. Chrissie had always tried to drive home to him that he had needed to take his responsibilities seriously – once they’d had Holly – and wasn’t that what he’d been trying to do over the last few years; and now Chrissie wasn’t even going to let him come home? He took a deep breath and tried to calm down. No, Chrissie was right – he hadn’t listened when he should have. But all he wanted now was to see Holly. They were close. They always had been. He knew that Holly had missed him being there, just like he missed her, but surely he would have known if she was unhappy with him, wouldn’t she? Or if she was angry that he hadn’t been home in ages. They spoke all the time, on the phone, on FaceTime, and she’d always been her usual bouncy and happy self. But then Chrissie always did have a tendency to want to control situations. Not in a nasty way … it was just her natural coping mechanism after having experienced no control as a kid. Her childhood had been very chaotic, with her mum an alcoholic and dad seeking solace at the bookie’s until they died within a year of each other when Chrissie was in her twenties, shortly before she and Sam met.
Sam pushed his hand into his pocket again. Having the key there felt comforting, like a talisman of some kind, something to hold on to, something to give him hope that this house he had so lovingly restored for his family would be his home once more.
He pressed the bell on the centre of the black front door, and then it struck him, the door had been yellow before. A gorgeous sunshine yellow. A happy colour; that’s what Chrissie had called it when they had chosen the paint together in the hardware shop in the village. And he had loved every second of preparing and painting the front door for her … their happy home, together. And for some reason this made Sam catch his breath. He folded his arms, as if to warm his body, or was it to comfort himself? Either way, he needed to get a grip. He couldn’t dither here on the doorstop like some kind of idiot. No, he needed to get inside and sort things out.
He rang the bell.
Seconds later, although it felt like an eternity, the door opened.
‘Dad!’ Holly was standing in front of him, her face wreathed in a smile. Gone were the little girl bunches and gappy grin that he always pictured in his mind’s eye when he thought of his daughter, even though bunches hadn’t been a thing for a while now. Her shoulder-length bobbed hair had sophisticated-looking caramel and honey-blonde bits running through it, which accentuated the sparkly shimmer on her eyelids. Her gappy grin was now complemented by a brace on her teeth. Sam felt his forehead crease; the skirt, if you could call it that, was way too short. It was her usual tartan school skirt, but it barely covered her bottom. Surely that wasn’t the regulation uniform? How could she have grown up so fast? And how come he hadn’t noticed these changes during those FaceTime calls? It just went to show that nothing could beat a proper old-fashioned face-to-face conversation.
‘Hello, darling!’ Sam beamed, and Holly threw herself into his arms. He picked her up and swung her around, like he used to when she was little. ‘Ooof, steady on,’ he joked, pretending to be winded as she squeezed him tight.
‘Oh Dad, you’re not that ancient.’ Holly stepped back, giving his arm a playful punch. Sam was aware of Chrissie standing aside, allowing father and daughter their moment together.
‘Hi, Sam,’ Chrissie said. Sam caught his breath as they made eye contact. She looked amazing in a clingy black top and tight jeans. Her blonde hair was a little longer and wavier than it used to be, and she had lipstick on, something she rarely wore. And she smelt gorgeous, like honey and almonds. But it wasn’t her usual perfume. Sam instinctively wanted to reach out and touch her, but managed to resist. He and Chrissie had always been affectionate and touchy-feely with each other. To hover here, with her so close but just out of reach, was almost too much for him to bear.
Chrissie held his gaze and Sam noticed a slight flush on her cheeks, a sure sign that she was struggling to keep her emotions in check too. He took a step towards her, but an almost imperceptible shake of her head stopped him in his tracks. In her eyes, Sam could see resolve, but conflict too. Damn it, how had they got to this point? When he adored her. And he was sure that she … at the very least … still cared.
‘Come on, Dad, come in. I’ve got so much to show you.’ Holly quickly sidestepped around her mum, holding Sam by the arm. ‘You’ll never believe how good I am on the guitar now. Better than you, I bet.’ She laughed, but her smile faltered a little when Chrissie spoke.
‘Dad can’t stay for too long today, Holly. Perhaps you can have tea with him on Saturday at Granny Dolly’s house. Plus, you need to go and finish your homework now … it’s getting late and you have school tomorrow,’ Chrissie said, not looking Sam in the eye.
‘But it’s only Tuesday. I want to see him now. Saturday is like nearly a whole week away.’ Holly folded her arms.
Sam could see, despite feeling as if he’d been punched in the stomach, that this wasn’t the moment to challenge Chrissie’s decision and risk starting an argument.
‘Maybe it’s best if you do as Mum says. We’ll have loads of time together just as soon as Mum and I have had a good catch-up,’ he intervened, smiling and keen to keep his cool. ‘Here, these are for you,’ he said giving her the bag of knick-knacks that he’d picked up from the airport – keyrings, a cuddly toy, bath bombs, sticker book; there were no sweets, though: for Holly they were strictly rationed.
‘Oh, thanks, Dad!’ Holly grinned, taking the bag and peeping inside it before turning to Chrissie. ‘Mum, can I just show Dad my room, I want him to see the blanket I knitted.’
Chrissie eyed them both warily. ‘OK, Hol, but just ten minutes, you and Dad can have a proper catch-up at the weekend. I’ll be in the kitchen, Sam, if you want a quick chat before you go.’
Ten minutes later, and Sam was sitting on the chair beside Holly’s desk. She had hurriedly told him absolutely everything that had happened in her life since they had last spoken on the phone. Plus, proudly shown him the blanket which had taken her two weeks to knit. It was a mixture of pansy colours – purple, pink, blue, yellow and white squares all sewn together.
‘This is amazing,’ Sam said, holding up the blanket and keen to show an interest in his daughter’s new hobby, but then inadvertently spoiled the compliment by adding, ‘did you knit it all by yourself?’
‘Of course I did, Dad. I’m not a baby,’ she told him, rolling her eyes dramatically. ‘I learnt how to knit on YouTube. It’s really cool.’ She took the blanket from him and carefully positioned it over the duvet across the bottom of her bed.
‘I see.’ Sam nodded. ‘So it’s not all gangsters demonstrating dodgy dance moves and people telling you what stuff to buy on there, then?’
‘Oh Dad, you’re so lame sometimes,’ Holly laughed, shaking her head at him. ‘But, it is brilliant to have you home.’
‘It’s brilliant to be home,’ he smiled and stood up. ‘But I’m going to pop down and chat to Mum now.’
‘But what about the guitar? I want to show you how good I am?’
‘I know, darling. How about we get the guitar out at Granny Dolly’s when you come over?’ Sam appeased, but thought the whole situation just felt so wrong. And none of it was fair on Holly. She was still just a kid … even if she was dressed up like Taylor Swift.
‘OK.’ Holly sat down on the bed, looking resigned, but just as he bent to give her a kiss goodbye she asked, ‘Everything is going to be all right … isn’t it, Dad?’ And in that moment, she was the little girl with the bunches. The image he always held in his head from when she was about six years old and everything was happy and good. And long before his marriage had started to crack. He hesitated before answering, unsure if Chrissie had explained anything to her.
‘It’s complicated, Holly.’
‘But you will make it right, won’t you, Dad. You’ll sort it out with Mum?’
Sam saw the heartache in his daughter’s eyes and felt a swirl of emotion. ‘I’m going to do everything I can, I promise you.’ Holly gave him a smile, reassured. And he wished he felt as confident as he sounded.
Heading downstairs, Sam sneaked a glance at the master bedroom as he passed by, briefly pausing to take in the familiar soft grey walls with the original black wooden beams and shabby chic furniture that Chrissie had sourced from various country fairs, and then lovingly restored. The handmade crushed velvet curtains. A stack of books on her bedside cabinet, her intoxicating perfume punctuating the air. The neatly arranged hand-crochet-covered cushions on their enormous bed. The bed that he and his wife should be in together.
Sam found Chrissie in the kitchen, standing against the red Aga. She handed him a mug of hot black coffee. ‘Strong and sweet. The way you like it,’ she said, tilting her head to one side.
‘Thanks.’ As he took it, his fingers brushed hers and an electric spark shot up his arm. ‘Strong and sweet … just like you.’ He eyed her over his coffee mug, trying to be playful, but on seeing the look she gave him, a knot of doubt crept in. Did she think he was being patronising? It was hard to be sure. There was a time when he could read her like a book, but not now, it seemed … and that just compounded his feelings about this whole situation. It was almost as if they were two strangers.
‘Hmm, it’s a good job I am strong, Sam. Seeing as I’ve had to manage on my own for the last few years.’ He smarted. Chrissie had gone straight for the jugular.
After gulping down a mouthful of the coffee, he replied.
‘Look … Chris,’ he started, ‘I know that I haven’t got things right. I realise now that I should have seen that you needed me here, but you’ve always been so … capable. And self-sufficient.’
‘Self-sufficient?’ Chrissie’s voice rose an octave. Her cobalt eyes flashed as she quirked an eyebrow. And the uncertainty Sam had felt earlier vanished in an instance – he knew exactly what she was thinking now; her hackles were well and truly up. ‘Is that how it works then? I’m the self-sufficient one, just getting on with it all, while you’re the one who travels around the globe, having only yourself to think about? Like, what gourmet meal you’re going to choose from the restaurant in your luxury hotel-apartment complex, or what film you might enjoy as you kick back and relax on the super-king bed the maid has made for you? While, meanwhile, I look after our daughter – make sure she keeps on top of her diabetes, her homework, friendships, guitar lessons, gymnastics, packed lunches, school uniform, cake sales, netball matches, sleepovers … and all the rest of it.’ Sam watched as Chrissie counted off the list of tasks on her fingers. ‘And I make sure all the bills are paid, the house is kept running, the garden is tidy, the bins are emptied, the hedge is trimmed, the lane isn’t littered with leaves, the monthly parish magazine is paid for, the village charity collections are contributed to, the May Fair cakes are baked, the summer school show costume is made. Honestly, the list is endless! And I do it all. I keep everything going!’ Her voice cracked. ‘But who’s keeping me going?’
Sam immediately wished he could go back out to his car and start this all over again. This wasn’t what he’d had in mind at all. Of course, he knew that Chrissie was going to be hostile, that was her way … their fight pattern, if you like. Whenever they had fallen out in the past, had an argument, she would be super-cool with him afterwards, and as soon as he’d calmed down and invariably realised what an arse he was being, he’d apologise. They’d talk it out, do something nice for each other, and they’d make up. That was the way it was. His dad, Rob, had shown him long ago that it was best to back down and be the appeaser – ‘happy wife, happy life’; that’s what Rob had always said. Sam remembered it clearly – Dad invariably in the back garden, his favourite domain, snipping some roses to take into the house for his mum, Linda, even though she’d been scolding him only moments earlier for not having done something or another exactly the way she liked it. But Rob never seemed to hold a grudge and always let it wash over him. Maybe that was the key to happiness, Sam had surmised, but he wasn’t sure he managed it as well as his dad had. He and Chrissie had different ways of doing things – it wasn’t always possible to keep the peace and maintain a state of continuous calm.
But Sam had tried hard, always apologising, even if he felt he was in the right – Chrissie could be very black and white, not always able to see things from the other person’s perspective. So he’d pull Chrissie in close for a nice cuddle on the sofa, followed by making love as soon as Holly was asleep, and they would wedge the laundry basket behind their bedroom door so she couldn’t barge in unannounced, as had happened one time when she was about three years old. Thankfully, she had still been young enough for them to pass off Chrissie bobbing up and down astride him, naked, as ‘mummy dancing’. And they had giggled silently together like a pair of silly teenagers for ages over that afterwards, whenever Holly had asked to see ‘mummy dancing’ again.
Sam put the coffee mug on the kitchen counter and dropped his hands down by his sides, his heart sinking at the sadness of the current situation. He and Chrissie at loggerheads, no mummy dancing on the immediate horizon and their daughter upstairs bravely hiding her heartache. The feeling was quickly followed by an even greater determination to fix things.
‘Please, Chrissie, I don’t want to fight. Can we talk, properly? I’m back for goo—’
‘It’s too late for that,’ she said quickly, as if instantly throwing up a brick wall to protect herself. Sam wasn’t sure if she even really believed the words herself; it was as if she was saying them on autopilot, without conviction, just to keep him at a distance … or maybe that was just wishful thinking on his part. ‘Besides, now isn’t a good time …’ Chrissie’s eyes flicked to the watch on her left wrist.
‘But I’ve just got back. I thought we could try and have some time together …’
‘There have been plenty of opportunities for us to have some time together over the last year. But you didn’t take those chances, Sam.’
‘But I’d like to now … if you’ll let me?’ Sam tried.
They stood in silence momentarily, until Chrissie took a big breath, exhaled and then added, ‘I honestly don’t think there are any chances left.’ She fixed her gaze on the kitchen floor tiles.
‘Come on, Chris, that isn’t fair. You know as well as I do that this job was 24/7. I was doing it for us. It was what we agreed.’
There was sadness in Chrissie’s eyes now, as well as the anger, and her voice was more gentle as she spoke this time. ‘No, Sam, I never agreed not to see you for months and months on end, and that isn’t what you thought either. Why did you stay away so long? Why didn’t you come back months ago when you knew I’d taken as much as I could? I still don’t understand, and you gave me the impossible job of explaining it to Holly.’
Sam scraped his hands through his hair. Trying to find the right words. She was right; he knew that he was avoiding something, but he wasn’t sure he could even explain it to himself, let alone Chrissie.
‘Well?’ Her eyes were full of questions. Ones he couldn’t answer.
‘I don’t know.’ They stared at each other. ‘I just don’t know the answer, Chrissie, but I’m trying to work it out – I want to work it out, you know how much you and Holly mean to me, don’t you – how much I—’
But before he could tell Chrissie how much he loved her and Holly, how he desperately wanted to sort things out, she stepped towards him and placed the tips of her fingers over his mouth. ‘Don’t say it,’ she whispered. ‘Please. I can’t bear it. You need to go back to Dolly’s house now.’
Sam could feel the situation slipping away from him. He reached out to Chrissie but she gently pushed him away.
‘Please don’t send me away, Chris. You know how good we can be together,’ he said, the desperation in his voice impossible to hide.
‘I used to, Sam.’ More silence followed. ‘But now …’ She paused and briefly closed her eyes before carrying on, ‘I’m not so sure.’ Silence swung in the air between them like an enormous pendulum pushing them further and further apart. ‘It’s time to go,’ Chrissie continued. ‘Maybe you should take some time to really work out why you didn’t come home until now.’ She looked away. ‘Because I’m not sure about anything any more.’
As Chrissie followed Sam towards the front door, both of them turned on seeing Holly standing on the stairs. They looked at each other, united briefly in concern in case their daughter had overheard the conversation.
‘I don’t want Dad to go!’ Holly stated, her voice a mixture of petulance and fear.
‘Dad has to go now, Holly. You’ve got your homework to finish.’
‘But that’s not fair. Dad has just come back and I got hardly any time at all with him.’
‘Holly, will you please do as you’ve been asked?’ Chrissie said tightly, fiddling with the crystal drop necklace that he and Holly had chosen together for her fortieth birthday. At least she was still wearing it – that was something, Sam thought, resisting the urge to play peacemaker; he didn’t want to undermine Chrissie. He knew how much she hated that, trying to remember all the rules around bedtime or screen time; he’d always been useless at keeping on top of all the boundaries. But before either he or Chrissie could play their next move, Holly suddenly exploded.
‘Fine! But I HATE you!’ And then, after glaring at Chrissie, she shot back up the stairs to her bedroom, two at a time, and slammed the door, making the mini-chandelier hall light jangle precariously above them. Sam instinctively stepped towards the foot of the stairs and called after her.
‘Come back here and apologise, you mustn’t talk to Mum like that—’
‘Just leave her, Sam.’ Chrissie indicated with her head after Holly, before turning to look him in the eye. ‘She doesn’t mean it … Besides, there’s been a lot of that lately. I’m hoping it’s just a phase and she’ll grow out of it.’
‘But she shouldn’t say stuff like that to you. Or slam doors.’
‘True.’ Chrissie lifted her left shoulder. ‘Maybe not. And having you around to tell her so every now and again might have been quite helpful, don’t you think?’
Sam knew that Chrissie had a point. He hadn’t been around to do his proper share of parenting. And, on top of everything else, this tension between her and Holly was another worrying development.
‘Look, I’m sorry but I really need to get on …’ Chrissie glanced at her watch.
‘Err … OK,’ Sam said, baffled by her distraction now. ‘But we really need to spend some proper time together – tomorrow, the day after, any time,’ he urged, keen to have a plan, however tentative …
‘Yes … we’ll sort something out,’ Chrissie said, quickly glancing at her watch again. Why does she keep doing that? And why does she look so edgy now? Sam followed her line of sight and saw her staring at the door.
And then a weird feeling shrouded him. He inhaled sharply. And then the proverbial penny dropped. He got it.
‘Are you expecting someone?’ he asked, turning to go. Chrissie nodded quickly, as if keen all of a sudden to get rid of him as swiftly as possible. She even darted around him to pull open the front door, standing by it to make it absolutely clear that his time was up. Sam went to leave and then something inside him – a feeling, a hunch in the pit of his stomach, he wasn’t sure, he couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but whatever it was made him stop, abruptly.
Of course! The perfume, the lipstick, the new hairdo.
‘Is it a bloke?’
Sam’s heart lurched as he stared at her, willing the pulse in the side of his neck to stop flicking like an overcharged piston. But it was all too much to take in.
His wife?
Another man?
‘Is that really any of your business?’ Chrissie’s face was hard to read, but Sam could feel a jumpy anger rising inside him, making his own face smart.
‘Are you seeing someone else?’ As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he hated how pathetic and whiny he sounded. He had to pull it back. Chrissie was never going to give him a second chance if he carried on like some kind of possessive teenage boy. But Sam often felt as if he was muddling through when it came to women and properly understanding them. His mother had always been the boss in their house when he’d been growing up, and sometimes unreasonably so. Yes, his dad had always been the peacemaker, but he had also pandered to her too, almost as if he was overly grateful to be her husband and would do whatever it took to keep her. As if he was punching above his weight. But Chrissie wasn’t like his mum at all.
‘I can’t believe you have the nerve to ask me that question,’ Chrissie said, clearly annoyed now too … but she hadn’t denied it.
Sam suddenly felt a strong urge to run, a feeling he always had when things were going badly. ‘Look, I’ve gotta go. But we really need to talk.’ He backed away before turning on his heel and setting off down the path towards his car.
Chrissie called something after him. But Sam couldn’t really hear any more. He had to get away. Suddenly, he felt like a teenage boy again, out of his depth, making it up as he went along, trying to get it right.
Sam reached his car and, after quickly diving in and pulling the door closed, he sat for a second before letting his emotions spill over. His heart was pounding with panic and anger and fear and sadness … Chrissie with another man. It didn’t bloody bear thinking about. He loved her. And he was almost certain that she still loved him.
Or maybe not.
Maybe she had moved on already.
After willing himself to get a grip, he managed to shove from his mind the thunderous thoughts of hunting the other man down and ripping his arms off. It could happen, the mood he was in now. But Sam wasn’t a violent man, never had been. So he clenched his jaw and drove away, heading back to the five-bar gate that led to the fields behind the station. He knew where he was there. It was his spot, ever since he’d been old enough to cycle to it as a kid.
As he sat there, he tried to figure out how things had gone so catastrophically wrong between him and Chrissie, but the answers wouldn’t come. He had thought things were bad before he came home, but he now realised … they were much, much worse than he could ever have imagined.
Chapter Four (#udb3af770-d185-57cb-ac92-c3deca23ceb8)
Holly Morgan swept the bedroom curtain aside and looked out down to the path. She pressed her hand to the window, wishing she could bang on the glass or, better still, push the window wide open and shout out after Dad. Beg him to come back. But the window was double-glazed and locked, plus he was gone and inside his car before she had a chance to do anything. She thought about going after him, but it was pitch black outside in the lane and across the fields. And Mum would only go mental if she caught her sneaking out instead of doing her homework. She felt her eyes fill with tears as she whispered, ‘I still love you, Dad. And I know Mum does, deep down in her heart. She does, I’m sure of it – why else has she been really moody since you went away? Please come back and fix it. Tell Mum you love her, that you really do … and then we can all be happy.’
After lifting her headphones from her head and scrubbing her face dry with the paw of a big white teddy bear, Holly lay down on her bed and stared at the ceiling, counting the numerous luminous rainbow and unicorn stickers, as she came up with a plan. If her parents were going to behave like children, then it was going to be down to her to be the mature one, the sensible grown-up around here. She wasn’t a kid any more. She was a teenager. Thirteen years old, and that was practically an adult. She’d be able to drive a car in a few years’ time. So she was pretty sure she could navigate her parents’ marriage onto steadier ground.
Yes, her mind was made up. Holly leapt up off her bed and rummaged around in her desk drawer for a new pad. She had loads of half-used pads, mainly with stories in, she liked making up stories … usually about animals – she loved animals, or girls going on adventures to exotic, faraway places like the moon, or Hawaii, or even Antarctica. And sometimes she wrote magical, mythical stories about a magic unicorn called Lily. But this called for a brand-new pad. She retrieved a pen from her fluffy pencil case – a Finding Dory one with a big blue feather on the end – hmm, it was a bit babyish, but it would have to do under the circumstances, as there really was no time to waste.
It would be her birthday soon, and there was no way she was going to let it be ruined because they couldn’t all be together at Granny Dolly’s house like they always were every year. It was tradition. And it would be no fun at all if she was stuck at home with just Mum on her own, moaning about everything and bossing her around all the time like she had been ever since Dad first went away. And Mum had been in a bad mood ever since Dad had missed her forty-first birthday. And it wasn’t like Dad did it on purpose … not coming home like he had promised. He couldn’t help there being a last-minute emergency at work. Dad had explained it all, and he was so sorry, Holly could see for herself how upset he’d felt when she’d FaceTimed him. And also he had sent Mum the biggest bunch of flowers to make up for it. But Mum hadn’t been the same since. Holly had overheard her on the phone to Auntie Jude, saying, ‘he knew things were bad and he still didn’t come back, not even for my birthday. I feel so let down, yet again.’
Ever since it had all gone wrong with Dad, Mum had been a nightmare to live with, and she didn’t even try to remember Holly’s feelings before saying mean stuff to Dad and upsetting him. I bet that’s what she did just now. Ruined it all … And Mum should also remember who pays for everything. If it wasn’t for Dad, they’d have nothing, Holly surmised, glancing at the new iPhone in her hand, which Dad had sent her, and she absolutely loved. She had customised it with pink crystals. Then there was the computer on her desk, the TV/DVD player, iPad, laptop, and all her lovely shoes lined up by the wall near her wardrobe that Mum had bought for her … using Dad’s money. Exactly.
Holly opened the pad.
Get Mum and Dad Back Together in Time for My Birthday.
On the fifth of June.
She wrote the words at the top of the second page (she never used the first page, not ever, because it just ruined the whole pad) underlined the date and flipped the feather against the side of her nose as she thought about what to write next. Yes! Good idea.
Granny Dolly and Aunty Jude. Holly wrote down their names and underlined them. They’re bound to help me. Dad is her grandson, after all. And Aunty Jude, not that she’s my real aunty, but she’s Mum’s best friend and was a bridesmaid at their wedding, so the last thing she will want is for them to split up properly. I know that for a fact as I heard Mum telling her on the phone about Dad coming home, but staying at Granny Dolly’s house instead of coming here, and Aunty Jude had said it was such a shame. Mum had the phone on hands-free in the kitchen cos she was making some jam and it had just reached the ‘crucial bit’, she had said, where she daren’t leave the saucepan unattended or it would boil over.
Holly numbered the lines one to ten down the left-hand side of the page, figuring if she could come up with ten things that she could do to get her parents back together in time for her birthday, then that would be a brilliant start.
Send Mum a bunch of flowers. BUT write on the card that they are from Dad!
Send Dad some flowers. BUT write on the card that they are from Mum!
Holly wasn’t sure about number two. Dad wasn’t really the ‘getting flowers delivered’ to him type of man. No, she had better come up with something else. Beer. Or brandy – Dad likes ‘three fingers full’, as Granny Dolly always says on special occasions when she pours from the decanter on the sideboard into a tumbler. But Holly knew that would be hard to get. Even if she tried the supermarket on the industrial estate, they were bound to see she was too young to buy alcohol. She tried really hard to think of more ideas. A bag of wine gums … hmm, not much of a present. Socks … boring. Phone case. A good leather one would cost a lot. And it had to look like it had come from Mum. But she wouldn’t buy Dad a new phone case after the way she just was with him.
A few seconds later, Holly had it. Chocolates! Yes, Dad seemed to love those sea-salt truffles from the sweet shop in town, the one in the square in the centre of Market Briar. She remembered how he had eaten nearly all of them in the box he bought for Mum on Valentine’s Day about two years ago, the last time he had been properly home. Mum had teased him about it and they had laughed together, saying that he really wanted the chocolates for himself and that’s why he had bought them for her. But that was when Mum was still being nice to him. Yes, it was the perfect present. And Dad might even think that Mum was thinking about that Valentine’s Day and wanted to get back with him, so it would be a romantic thing too. Brilliant. Holly would buy some on Saturday when she went there on the bus with her best friend, Katie Ferguson. She could wrap them up and take them to Granny Dolly’s house to give to Dad and pretend that Mum had sent them. To say sorry for being so horrible earlier on and sending him away. How evil is that?
And then Holly wondered if she should bother sending flowers to Mum from Dad. She wasn’t sure Mum deserved them, after the way she had carried on … And she must have said something really nasty to Dad before he left to make him nearly run down the path to get away from her. Holly wished she hadn’t been watching a Zoella make-up tutorial on YouTube with her headphones on, because she’d been so angry with Mum. Maybe, if she’d been paying attention, listening on the landing or something, then she would have heard what had happened and could have done something to stop it all.
But it wasn’t too late, she was convinced of that. And first thing tomorrow she was going to put her ‘Get Mum and Dad Back Together in Time for My Birthday’ plan into action. Obviously she’d have to come up with some more ideas, too, because just sending flowers and chocolates was a bit of a rubbish plan. But Aunty Jude was bound to have some really cool ideas … she used to live in LA. And everyone knows that LA is the coolest place on earth. Apart from Disneyland, that’s super-cool too. Holly hadn’t been to either place; in fact, apart from visiting her dad in Singapore and Malaysia last year, there were so many places she still hadn’t been to. But she’d Google-Earthed loads of towns all over the world and none of them was as nice as Singapore … in fact, if Mum didn’t stop being so angry at her all the time, then that could be her back-up plan. Go and live in Singapore with Dad. It had to be better than being here on her own with Mum in a rubbish mood all the time.
Holly looked at the page again and underlined the words ‘Get Mum and Dad Back Together in Time for My Birthday’. That was her wish! Even though she was thirteen years old now and knew deep down that wishes probably weren’t actually a real thing … she still believed in them sometimes. Surely, if you wished hard enough, anything was possible? She had already wished for ages that Dad would come back home, and here he was! So, it could happen. It was just positive thinking and all that. They had a lesson about it at school. In Personal, Social and Health Education. Or PSHE as everyone said. All about mindfulness and the power of thought and focus. And Pinocchio was still one of her favourite Disney films. Especially the bit at the end with the ‘When You Wish Upon a Star’ song … she loved singing along to it. She remembered the first time she saw the film, on the sofa snuggled up in between Mum and Dad. They had watched it and sung along together with a big bowl of popcorn, which Mum used to make in the microwave, and then let her tip sprinkles all over it. This was before the diabetes, of course. And before Dad worked away all the time. Now Mum never wanted to watch Disney films. Perhaps if she did, then she’d chill out a bit and feel a whole lot happier, Holly surmised.
She thought of the Pinocchio song, going through the lyrics in her head. Pausing on the part about ‘anything your heart desires will come to you’. And she knew this was what her heart desired … to get Mum and Dad back together! And it was her birthday soon … and you were never too old to blow candles out and make a wish. She wondered if she could have the wish early and use it right now.
Holly looked down at the words and double-underlined them one more time. The Wish … Get Mum and Dad Back Together in Time for My Birthday.
Chapter Five (#ulink_b897331d-eb32-5a24-86bf-246e67bf218f)
‘You make me feel so young, you make me feel as though spring has sprung …’ Jude twirled her auburn curls up into a big bun and secured it with a hairband as she sang along heartily with Frank Sinatra on her Spotify playlist. She really was happy to be back in lovely Tindledale with Dad and her friends, relishing the earthiness and realness here, but she’d be lying if she said it hadn’t also come as a bit of a shock. Back down to earth with a bump after all the fakery and full-on fast lane of her life in LA … And she really missed her mum’s cousin, Maggie. They had spoken on the phone last night and she could tell that Maggie was putting on a brave face, being stoic and selfless in telling her she slept well at night knowing Tony was happy having his daughter back. Dad had called Maggie shortly after she’d got home, to thank her for everything she had done for Jude, and especially for bringing Mum’s memory alive. Also for the keepsake box that Maggie had entrusted Jude to give to him. The box had been her mum’s, and inside were notes and cards that Dad had given her when they’d first started courting. A pressed rose secreted between the pages of a pamphlet advertising the first dance he took her to in the old ballroom in Market Briar. Even a faded old photograph of them both cuddled together under a tree on the village green. It had near taken his breath away, he had said, when he saw it all.
Jude wandered across the shop and rearranged the scented candle display for the trillionth time. Business had been slow for the first week since she’d opened and she had spent most of her time either knitting yet another square to add to the pile waiting to be stitched together to make a blanket, as that was the extent of her knitting skills. Or moving cushions and candles from one side of the shop to the other. But, in contrast to the last few days’ weather, the sun was shining today, bathing the narrow, cobbled lanes and surrounding fields full of springy white lambs in a warm, golden glow. So the lovely villagers of Tindledale were either supping ice-cold beer in the Duck & Puddle pub garden, or on the village green paddling in the pond and not bothering themselves with shopping of any kind.
Just as Jude wondered if she’d made a mistake in opening the shop here, and maybe should have focused on selling antiques online, as that part of the business was thriving as it always had done, the phone rang.
‘Darling Antiques and Interiors,’ she answered cheerfully, practically falling on the phone, such was the novelty of it actually ringing during business hours. It often rang shortly after five when she had turned the sign on the door to CLOSED, but typically it was her dad, Tony, asking if she wanted a lift home, or Chrissie to see if she fancied a glass of Prosecco and a catch-up. Which reminded her, she wanted to call in on Chrissie later to see how things had gone with Sam. Chrissie had told her that he was coming back and that they were going to be seeing each other for the first time in ages. Jude wished she could understand where things had gone wrong between Chrissie and Sam. They had so much going for them. Of course, no marriage was perfect, and they were quite different people. Chrissie was much steadier than Sam, who Jude secretly thought was a bit of a dreamer; a carefree, creative, surfer type, if they’d lived near the sea. She could see him now in a pair of shades, sliders on his feet, a MacBook under his arm and lots of ideas. He was an accomplished architect, but had always been a bit unfocused. That was until the last few years when he’d really thrown himself into work, especially after Holly’s diabetes was diagnosed. Jude wondered if that was where the connection was? She couldn’t even begin to imagine how it must feel to have your thirteen-year-old daughter with a serious condition like diabetes; it was hardly surprising that it had put a strain on their marriage.
Jude let out a long breath and shook her head, as if to create a feeling of equilibrium once more.
‘What?’ A gruff male voice asked to open the conversation, bringing her back to the moment and the telephone call.
‘Pardon?’ she replied, taken aback.
‘Is that the antique shop?’ the man demanded in a London accent.
‘Yes.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Err, yes, quite sure,’ Jude confirmed, wondering if this was some kind of prank call.
‘But you just called me darling—’
‘No I didn’t.’
‘Yes, you did!’
‘Darling is my name and I sell antiques and … things for interiors such as—’
‘What kind of a name is that?’ the man cut in rudely. ‘Are you having me on?’ He sounded as if he might be laughing at her. Jude contemplated hanging up, but before she could decide, he added, ‘Can you come and see me? I might have some work for you.’
‘Depends,’ she said, not missing a beat.
‘Depends! What sort of way is that to talk to a potential customer?’
‘The sort of way that means … I don’t know who you are, or what work you would like me to do. So, until I have that information, I can’t decide if I want to come and see you.’
Silence followed. Jude caught sight of her face in the gilt-framed mirror on the wall near the little desk where the phone was and mouthed ‘idiot’ to herself. He might be cocky and rude and making fun of her name, but here was a potential customer. That’s what he had said, and she was being flippant. ‘Err, what I actually meant was,’ she quickly pulled back the conversation, ‘how can I help you?’
‘That’s better!’ And he actually laughed again. A big belly laugh this time. Jude hated him immediately. ‘So will you come or not?’ She looked again at her face, her cheeks all flushed and florid like two bruised tomatoes. How dared he? Who the hell did he think he was? And then, as if telepathically accessing her mind, he announced, ‘I’m Myles King. Rock legend! Will that do you?’
A short silence followed. ‘You’ve probably heard of me …’ More silence. Jude’s jaw dropped. There had been a rumour going around in the village. Her dad had told her last night over drinks in the pub that the megastar of the Noughties, albeit faded now, had bought the old Blackwood Farm Estate. Lord Lucan (not the infamous one who disappeared all those years ago, of course) and his wife, Marigold, had sold the estate and retired into the lodge house at the edge of the wildflower meadow, for a slower pace of life.
‘Can’t say I have,’ she said nonchalantly, unable to resist. Of course she’d heard of Myles King. Everyone had. And here he was on the end of her phone proclaiming to be a ‘potential customer’. But she’d seen it all before in LA. The obnoxious behaviour and oversized egos.
‘Where have you been then? Living in a cave?’ Myles chortled at his own joke. ‘Or, oh don’t tell me … you haven’t been banged up, have you? But then again, I thought they let you have radios and tellies in there for good behaviour.’
Jude exhaled, willing herself to get a grip. ‘Namaste. Namaste,’ she chanted over and over inside her head, as she been taught to do by her yoga teacher back in LA, for when dealing with unexpected ‘moments of heightened stress’. But, feeling like an utter arse, she promptly stopped, balling her free hand into a boxer’s fist instead, perfectly poised to land a right hook.
‘When would you like me to come and see you?’ She almost choked on the words, before adding, ‘Mr King,’ as sweetly as she could muster.
‘Now. See you in ten.’ And the line went dead. Jude stared at the receiver, just like they do in films when somebody hangs up unexpectedly, as she got her head around what had just happened. Is he for real? Talk about rude. And entitled. And pleased with himself. She’d never heard anything like it. And she had met some very high-maintenance characters in her time, travelling around the world working with exceedingly wealthy clients, some of whom seriously thought manners were just for the minions and not something that they needed to be bothered with at all.
But she had to admit that her curiosity had been well and truly piqued. Plus, she really couldn’t afford to pass by an opportunity to get her fledging business off the ground. So, she reluctantly blew out the fabulously fragranced candle, slipped her handbag over her shoulder and scooped Lulu off an armchair and into her arms.
After putting the Be Back Soon sign in place and locking the shop door behind her, she headed over to the Duck & Puddle pub to track down Tony. He was bound to be in there with his best mate, Barry, owner of the locksmith and hardware shop, with it being a Saturday afternoon. If she was lucky, he wouldn’t have started on his second pint, so would be in a position to give her a lift in his van down the lane to the Blackwood Farm Estate. But she knew she would need to be quick – Tony and Barry had been friends since school, in other words, donkeys’ years. So when they got going in the pub, there was no stopping them from reminiscing about the much-feted ‘good old days’, when nothing bad ever happened in Tindledale. Or so their respective memories seemed utterly convinced of. When, in actual reality, those days were most likely pretty much the same as – or similar to – how they were now. Tindledale was hardly a buzzing metropolis at the sharp edge of popular culture, always one step ahead of the current trends.
An hour later, and Jude had just got off the bus at the nearest stop to the entrance of the estate. Tony hadn’t been in the pub. ‘Got called away to sort out a potential leaky pipe over in the village hall,’ Cher, the pub landlady, had told Jude as she put his silver tankard back behind the bar for later. So, after trekking back across the village green, and past the paddlers by the duck pond, Jude had just missed the bus. On the hour every hour. She cursed herself for forgetting this important reality of growing up in the countryside, whilst marvelling at how some things never change, especially in the sleepy, rural idyll of Tindledale. She’d then had to wait for the next bus, all the while vowing to buy a car as soon as possible, which wouldn’t be any time soon, seeing as she had sunk all her cash into getting the shop up and running.
She gingerly went to push open the mildew-covered old wooden gates at the entrance to the estate, then thought better of it on seeing how dilapidated they were. The gate on the right-hand side was half hanging off the hinges. So she stepped through the little arched side entrance that was barely bigger than a Hobbit’s front door and went to put Lulu down on the soft grass. But the pampered pooch sniffed around disapprovingly, probably getting a whiff of the crusty, dried-up cowpats dotted around, and promptly went to scrabble her way back up Jude’s jean-clad legs in a bid not to get her carefully groomed paws dirty.
‘Oh, come on then, you spoilt madam,’ Jude laughed as she helped Lulu up and under her arm. ‘I’m going to have to get you one of those pet carriers if you keep on like this.’
‘What are you doing?’ A blowsy woman appeared from behind a hedge and stood squarely in front of Jude, making her jump. Lulu growled and bared her little teeth. Wearing a tweed skirt and a navy padded waistcoat, with a peacock print headscarf over a thatch of static grey hair, the woman struck a formidable pose. And with her ruddy complexion as she clasped a clipboard to her ample bosom, she looked as if she’d just stepped out of a Thelwell cartoon.
‘I’m here to see Myles,’ Jude smiled keenly as she batted a persistent bumblebee from her face.
‘What’s your name?’ the woman demanded, consulting her clipboard.
‘Jude Darling.’
A short silence ensued.
‘Are you sure?’ The Thelwell woman stared for a second, before frowning.
‘Err, yes. Quite sure.’ Jude sighed inwardly, wondering if Dad had a point after all. But back in LA nobody had ever batted an eyelid over her unusual surname, so she had kind of forgotten about it, to be honest. ‘So adorable. Quaint. And like totally British,’ is what they had said over there.
‘Well then, that’s a nice name. Very jolly.’ And the woman actually smiled, which momentarily threw Jude, given her sudden switch in temperament.
‘Oh, thank you.’
But the thaw was short-lived when the woman snapped, ‘Sorry, you’re not down here, I haven’t had any notification of your visit,’ and tapped the clipboard. ‘I can’t let you anywhere near the house if you haven’t been booked in. I’ll have to ask you to leave.’ The woman gestured with her hand for Jude to go back the way she had come, in through the Hobbit door.
‘But, Myles …’ Jude’s voice came out way too high, so she paused, swallowed, and then continued calmly, ‘Mr King just called me and asked me to come to see him. I’m a bit late. I was going to get my dad to give me a lift down here, but he couldn’t and then I missed the bus and … well, I’m here now.’
‘Hmm, sure he did,’ the woman smiled dismissively, reverting back to her frosty setting. ‘Come on now, my dear, you really do need to leave.’
‘It’s true!’ Jude folded her arms, irritated that she seemed to have wasted her time on quite frankly the rudest man she had ever spoken to. And no guesses as to who this woman was – his mother, no doubt, must be, given that she was just as rude. It was clearly a family trait.
‘My dear, if I had a penny for every time a girl like you had tried that one on just to get inside and up close to Mr King, then I certainly wouldn’t be standing here, dodging the cowpats, talking to you. Certainly not. I would be sipping a Dubonnet and gin cocktail on the deck of a yacht moored somewhere on the banks of an Italian hideaway. Good day to you!’ And the woman went to walk away. How bizarre. Jude stared after her, slack-jawed and furious. Then, after swiftly reuniting her chin with the rest of her face, she hoisted Lulu firmly under her arm and dashed after the woman, determined to salvage something from the trip. She had paid out for the bus fare, not to mention her time spent away from the shop, which could quite possibly have consequences for her fledgling business – like losing paying customers if she wasn’t there to actually serve them. Well, maybe … if she was really lucky, but that wasn’t the point. She had come here in good faith, and was damn well going to see Myles King, even if meant fighting this tedious woman right here in the garden.
‘Wait,’ Jude said, and the woman turned. ‘Please, check again. He really did call. I’m Jude Darling from Darling Antiques and Interiors in the village. My shop is in the High Street … Tindledale High Street.’ Jude tried to get a look at the clipboard, but it was no use, the woman was having none of it and immediately pulled a walkie-talkie from the pocket of her padded waistcoat. ‘Yes, please do call him, I’m sure Myles will be able to clear up this misunderstanding.’
Jude pressed her spare hand around Lulu’s little chest, inwardly cursing herself for forgetting to bring her shades or indeed slather herself in SPF cream as she always did back in LA. But she had forgotten how changeable the British weather could be and the sun was dazzling out here in the open grounds of the estate. Her fair, freckly complexion was already starting to warm up. And Lulu was panting over-dramatically, as if she was about to keel over from dehydration. Plus Jude could feel a dampness on the arm she had underneath Lulu’s bottom, which felt suspiciously like she had relieved herself. Oh no. That was all Jude needed. To turn up to her first potential commission with an incontinent dog in tow.
‘Security?’ the woman bellowed into the walkie-talkie and Jude’s heart sank. Not only had Myles King wasted her time, but she was now also about to be arrested, or whatever it was security personnel did to intruders on private estates.
‘OK. I’ll go,’ Jude conceded, plonking Lulu on the ground, and holding up the palms of her hands before trudging towards the Hobbit door. Then she stopped and turned, ‘But you can tell Myles King to expect an invoice for my time … which he has wasted!’ She nodded, pleased with herself for remaining professional, but then ruined it all by adding, ‘and the bus fare. Both ways!’ She cringed as she pointed a sweaty index finger at the woman, before quickly shoving it inside the pocket of her jeans to mask the ominous whiff of dog wee that was now permeating the air between them.
Jude had just stepped back out through the Hobbit door, when she bumped right into Sam.
‘Hey, Jude!’ Jude could immediately see, despite his face lighting up when he saw her, that he was tired, with dark circles under his eyes. He looked gaunt, as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. Which he did, of course, with his marriage in tatters. Chrissie said they had talked but it hadn’t gone that well. He’d accused her of seeing someone and that things had been tense. Jude wondered if she should say something to him about it. But what? She wasn’t sure if she should – not here, when he was coming to work – Chrissie had said he told her a few weeks ago that his next contract was back in Tindledale on the estate, but she had also told Jude that she would need to see it to believe it. And it was his personal business, after all. And what if it opened the floodgates? But they had known each other a long time and were friends. Maybe she could help; perhaps she could do something to try to repair their marriage. Mediate somehow. Anything to bring her dearest and oldest friends back together again.
‘Sam!’ Jude gave him an enormous hug, being careful to keep the damp patch on her arm from touching him, just in case. ‘It’s so good to see you. And I’m really pleased that you’re back. How are you?’ she asked, figuring positivity was best, and she certainly didn’t want Sam thinking she blamed him or was taking Chrissie’s side. No, she was here for both of them, Holly too. And would do whatever she could to see a once-happy family put back together again.
‘Not too bad, been better. But, it’s good to be back … to sort things out, with a bit of luck.’ He didn’t elaborate, but Jude knew exactly what he meant. Sam never had been one for long, emotional conversations, and now certainly wasn’t an appropriate moment to discuss things further in any case.
‘I know, Sam,’ Jude said softly, placing her hand on his arm. ‘But you’re home now.’
‘You’re right. And thanks, Jude. It’s great to have you here too. It’ll make a massive difference to Chrissie, and to Holly. You’re just what they need right now.’
‘Anytime.’ Jude looked at the grass, and then back up at Sam. ‘And you. We’re friends as well, remember.’
She loved Sam. With Chrissie being like the sister she never had, she had always seen Sam in a similar way, a bit like a brother. And so she cared about him too. Plus, she knew how good he was for Chrissie – they had been so happy together for a long time, before their marriage came apart at the seams. If she could help them stitch it back together again, then she would do it. Whatever it took.
‘Thanks.’ He nodded. They had known each other since primary school, and her dad, Tony, had been friends with Sam’s dad, Rob, before he died. Tony was still close to Rob’s mum, Dolly, and had always looked out for Sam, her grandson, sometimes stepping in for Rob when Dolly had thought a dad’s influence had been required over the years. Jude remembered when Sam had got roaring drunk in the Duck & Puddle pub on his eighteenth birthday, and had ended up nearly drowning in the village pond after larking about in a makeshift boat made out of an old dustbin. Dolly had called Tony in to have a proper chat with Sam about responsible drinking. And how not to make an absolute idiot of yourself in front of the whole village, who had turned out to see him staggering and gasping for air, as he battled the bin off his head and waded back to the pond’s bank, before collapsing on the grass and throwing up all over the place. So Jude felt it important to try to keep as much of an open mind as she could regarding Chrissie and Sam’s marriage difficulties. She’d been around long enough to know that there were always two sides to everything, plus nobody really ever knows what other people’s personal relationships are like.
Sam reached down to give Lulu a stroke. Surprisingly, she let him, and then even rewarded him with a quick lick on the back of his hand.
‘Ooh, she likes you. Lulu mostly growls at people, or simply ignores them.’ Jude rolled her eyes and shook her head in exasperation.
‘In that case, I’m flattered,’ Sam said with a small smile. ‘So, what are you doing here?’
‘Well, I had come to see Myles King, but …’ Jude lowered her voice in case the woman was still within earshot, ‘that battle-axe of a gatekeeper won’t let me in.’
‘Ahh, yes, so he called you then?’ He smiled and nodded.
‘He did! But how do you know?’
‘I recommended you. Dolly told me all about your new venture in the High Street, and Myles is looking for some help with furnishings, artwork, interiors stuff and suchlike, so … well, here you are.’
‘Ahh, thanks Sam. That’s really kind of you.’
‘You’re welcome. Always happy to help out a mate if I can. Talking of which, here … take these, you’re squinting.’ And Sam pulled a pair of shades from his breast pocket and went to hand them to her.
‘Oh, no, I can’t take your sunglasses,’ Jude said, thinking, typical Sam, generous as always, he’d give you the shirt off his back if you let him. Just a shame he didn’t equate his time as being as important as material things … Chrissie had often said that Sam loved spoiling her and Holly, but when it came to just turning up or being there, being present in the moment, which he invariably wasn’t, he didn’t seem to think that was such a big deal.
‘OK, if you’re sure.’ Sam reluctantly pushed the shades back inside his pocket. ‘So, how come she won’t let you in?’
‘Must think I’m a fangirl or a gold-digger.’ Jude shrugged, and Sam laughed.
‘Come on, I’ll sort it out.’ He motioned for Jude to step back though the Hobbit door.
‘I thought I’d told you to go!’ The woman practically pounced on Jude.
‘Sylvia.’ Sam swiftly took control. ‘This is Jude, from Darling Antiques and Interiors. I recommended her to Myles, and he called her this afternoon …’
‘It’s true, Sylvia. He did, just like I said.’ Jude sidestepped around Sam and grinned.
‘Hmm. Well, if no one gives me her name then I can’t let her in.’ Sylvia eyed Jude up and down, as if seeing her properly for the first time. She then turned back to Sam. ‘You do understand, don’t you, Sam? You see, it’s more than my job is worth … Myles is very fastidious about me apprehending …’ Sylvia coughed and stepped in a little closer before adding, ‘groupies!’ Jude inhaled sharply, thinking what a charmer Myles must be. Not.
‘I assure you I’m not a groupie. In fact, I’ve never hassled a pop star for a selfie in my entire life, thank you ver—’
‘Look, I’m sure this is just a misunderstanding,’ Sam cut in. ‘Why don’t you call Myles, or better still let’s go to the house and find him, and I’ll explain. I can introduce Jude properly then.’
‘Stay there.’ Sylvia whipped out the walkie-talkie again, pressed a button, and within a few seconds Myles was on the line and she had asked him about Jude.
‘Yes, that’s right. Bring her in.’ A short crackly silence followed.
‘Right you are.’ Sylvia snapped the button to end the call. After stowing the walkie-talkie back inside her pocket, she muttered, ‘He really is quite hopeless sometimes!’ before marching off towards the main house, her sturdy brown brogues snapping furiously through the crusty, cowpat-covered grass. Jude scooped up Lulu and scarpered after Sylvia, eager to get inside to take a look at the most obnoxious man on the planet.
Chapter Six (#ulink_c0dbabe4-47db-5c7f-842b-0c02c0b01101)
Sam threw his jacket onto the back seat of the car. It had been the first really warm day since he’d come home and he could feel summer in the breeze. It was nothing like the heat of Singapore, of course, but he’d always loved summertime in Tindledale when the village looked its best. He was looking forward to seeing the gardens in full bloom, the fields festooned with a rainbow of wild flowers, a nice cold pint in the pub garden, the kids queuing to get a 99 from the ice-cream van on the village green … he’d grown up with it all. And it felt really good to be back home.
But there was something missing today. Perhaps it was being with Myles on the Blackwood Estate – he was certainly an interesting guy, a bit out there perhaps, but Sam could sense that the man was lonely and directionless. He seemed to spend all his time rattling about in that big house by himself, surrounded by gadgets. And the thought had crossed Sam’s mind … what if he ended up like that too? After pondering for a moment, he shuddered, not wanting to explore the reality of a life like that.
Puffing out a big breath of air, as if to shift the thoughts of doom and gloom, Sam pulled out his phone and called Chrissie. They really needed to talk.
‘Hiya,’ she said on answering and, despite his anxiety, Sam smiled. She sounded upbeat and he had always loved the sound of her voice … soft and rich, comforting too, like a smooth spoonful of warm, runny honey.
‘Hey, Mrs Morgan,’ he replied, slipping into his old habit of calling her that; he simply couldn’t help it. She didn’t answer, but Sam was sure he could hear a smile somewhere in the silence between them.
‘Look. I’m sorry about the other night, Chrissie. I didn’t want us to get off on a bad footing.’ He meant it. He’d had time to think about things and he realised that whatever was going on in her life, he still needed to keep a cool head. He hoped he’d got things wrong about there being another man. Please let me be wrong, he had prayed. But deep down he still trusted her to be honest with him.
‘I know. And I didn’t either, Sam,’ she started. ‘But you can’t expect just to turn up and for things to be the way you want them to be.’ There was a short silence.
‘I understand,’ Sam trod carefully. ‘But I need to see you, just the two of us, let’s talk about things together – try to find a way through. We owe it to each other, surely.’ He was pushing his luck a bit there, knowing that she was likely to throw his prolonged absence back at him, but to his surprise she didn’t.
‘Just give me a bit of time, Sam. We can talk, but I’m not ready. My feelings feel muddled … seeing you again is … really hard.’ And there it was, a small chink of hope amidst the gloom. ‘Anyway, I need to focus on Holly right now … her health.’ Chrissie hesitated.
‘What’s happened? Is she OK?’ he felt the familiar shot of fear through his stomach.
‘I honestly don’t know, Sam … her bloods haven’t been great; her blood sugar is all over the place and she’s been having more tests.’ He could hear the tight anxiety in his wife’s voice.
‘But how long has this been going on? And why didn’t you tell me?’ he reacted accusingly, as a mask for his own anxiety.
‘It’s hardly something I could just blurt out in a long-distance phone call!’ Chrissie reacted right back. ‘Besides, you know how strained things have been. We’ve barely spoken to each other properly for so long now. And the last time you promised to call on Skype, I waited for over half an hour … and you know it wasn’t the first time you’ve let me down.’
Sam felt a hot anger itch its way into his own voice.
‘If Holly was ill, I’d have come straight home. You know that,’ he said.
‘No!’ Chrissie had raised her voice now. ‘No, I didn’t know that. I can’t rely on you any more and haven’t been able to for a long time.’
‘OK, fair enough. But you could have told me when I came to see you and Holly. Why didn’t you? Or were you in too much of a rush to go out?’
‘That’s not fair! I wasn’t in a rush. It’s like I said before, you can’t just turn up and …’ She paused, and Sam heard her take a deep breath, as if bracing herself for more conflict. But he didn’t want to fight. And he was beginning to wonder if calling had been a good idea. All he seemed to be doing was antagonising her further. ‘Anyway, it’s tricky to talk about in front of Holly,’ Chrissie cut into his thoughts. ‘You know how she is when it comes to the diabetes … it’s hardly her favourite topic of conversation.’
Sam fell silent, knowing that his anger was misplaced. It was his anger at Holly’s condition that was making him snappy. He’d always struggled with it … the sadness and frustration at his little girl getting such a raw deal and there being nothing he could do about it. He’d often wished that he could take the diabetes away and have it himself instead of her … he would gladly have done so without a moment’s hesitation.
He swallowed hard and tried again, keen to turn the phone call around.
‘I’m sorry, Chris, I’m not blaming you. I’m really not …’
‘Well, our feelings don’t matter right now.’ Her barriers had gone back up. ‘I just need to be on the ball for Holly.’
‘We do … we need to be on the ball, Chris,’ he reminded her.
‘I know what I meant,’ she retorted, sharply.
Sam felt the situation slipping away from him again. A familiar feeling of being at sea, where the tide dragged him out, his limbs flailing against the strong current as he desperately tried to swim back to the shore and onto steadier ground.
‘So what happens now?’ he asked, still battling the surging tide inside his head as he also tried to come up with a solution to fix everything.
‘I …’ Chrissie started, and then corrected herself, ‘We … just have to wait for the test results … And, in the meantime, we keep a close eye on Holly.’
*
‘There you go, love. Sit yourself up over here.’ Back at Dolly’s cottage, Sam settled into the cosy patchwork-covered armchair next to Beryl, aka the buttercup-yellow Aga, as Dolly handed him a cup of tea and a plate with a very large and delicious-looking homemade slice of Victoria sponge heaped upon it. ‘You look shattered. That’ll be all that tramping out and about through the sprawling grounds on the Blackwood Estate.’ She tutted and shook her head. ‘Never mind, you’ll get a bit of time off work soon enough for the annual May Fair on the bank holiday. That reminds me, will Chrissie and Holly be coming over this year for Holly’s birthday tea? Only, I didn’t want to assume … not with everything that has gone on. And I was wondering about Tony, well, and Jude too, now that she’s back home. I know he’s been coming to us for years on all the special occasions like Christmas, bank holidays and birthdays, what with him being on his own … and he was friends with your dad so it’s always been lovely having a bit of a reminisce over the years. But with Jude being Chrissie’s friend, it might be a bit awkward if she isn’t coming and …’ Dolly paused to ponder on the situation, creasing her forehead and fiddling with her silvery grey hair. ‘Maybe I’ll get in all the ingredients for a lovely afternoon tea in any case, and then at least we’ll be properly prepared whatever happens. Holly has been talking about wanting to do afternoon tea for ages … I think it’s quite the rage these days with the young girls. We could have scones with jam and cream, diabetic options of course! And sausage rolls, dainty sandwiches, mini-quiches – and she was showing me rainbow candyfloss on that YouTube film show too … but that might be full of sugar. Oh well, I’d best get planning …’ She stopped talking suddenly and gave her grandson’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. ‘Oh dear, I’m sorry son, I let myself get carried away without a second thought to how you might be feeling about the state of things between you and Chrissie …’
Sam took a gulp of the tea as a distraction. But it was no use; he couldn’t stop his left eyelid from twitching as he desperately willed the scratchiness in the back of his throat to bugger off. Jesus, what on earth was wrong with him? He felt like crying he was that miserable, which was unlike him. Usually he was pretty good at going with the flow, trusting that the good stuff will win out, but with Holly it was completely different. He didn’t think he would ever forget the diagnosis of Type 1 Diabetes. The feeling of ice in his stomach and the lurch in his chest as the doctor in the hospital delivered the devastating bombshell that would change Holly’s life forever.
He knew it was from his side of the family. Sam’s dad, Rob, had been diabetic, and that was why Holly had it – hereditary factors, the doctor had said. Their daughter would be insulin-dependent for the rest of her life. The doctor had talked on, the words barely registering in Sam’s mind, saying stuff like ‘developments in research are moving so fast’ and ‘there are now more efficient ways to manage the illness’. But all he could think of were the complications that could happen, the stress on her organs and the rest of her body, the things that could go wrong.
His father, Rob, had been a brilliant bloke, whom Sam had thought the world of, the best dad ever, but it still broke Sam’s heart that he had been taken too soon. Sam had been just a boy, younger than Holly was now, when his dad had died, and he had never really come to terms with losing him. He wished his dad was still around, so that he could turn to him now. Rob had always seemed to know the right thing to say.
And Rob had always been there. Sam certainly had no memory of his dad ever going away, not for a weekend, or even to a football match followed by a night in the pub with his mates; he wasn’t that type of bloke. Family first – that had been one of his mottos. So unlike his mother, Linda, who would give Cruella De Vil a run for her money. Yes, Sam’s dad had been the type of man who had done everything he could for his family. Wasn’t that what Sam had been trying to do: be the provider, the man who looked after his family? Just like Rob had.
And the look in Chrissie’s eyes when they got the news sitting there in the doctor’s office at the hospital. Blame. Written all over her face. She didn’t say anything, of course, but that was what she must have been feeling. She had still been unable to make eye contact with him when the doctor had sat back in his chair, made a steeple with his fingers and observed that, ‘An earlier diagnosis would have been advantageous.’
Sam knew, knew deep down, that he should have considered it a possibility earlier. He should have realised what was wrong as soon as Holly got ill – the tummy aches, the headaches, the getting up in the night to go to the loo, and then her being too tired to go to school the next day, being thirsty all the time. Until Holly experienced her first hypo, he had passed off her getting up in the night as messing around, assuming she was angling for a day off school to hang out down by the river in Violet Wood, just like he had done at her age. If he had been more vigilant, then maybe Chrissie wouldn’t have felt so let down.
If Sam had been on the ball, had involved himself more in Holly’s care, in the day-to-day minutiae of their family life, instead of burying his head in the sand and thinking mostly about himself and his work, then maybe he would have spotted it. Not maybe – yes, he would have spotted it. But he didn’t. He hadn’t been there when he should have been; hadn’t seen the warning signs, so that was his fault too.
‘Want to talk about it?’ Dolly asked gently, sinking down into the chair opposite him. Sam took a deep breath, sighed it out and stared into his tea as he pushed a big wedge of jammy sponge into his mouth. ‘Better out than in,’ she coaxed, in direct contrast to the sponge cake, which was very much better in than out, Sam mused miserably as he savoured the comforting sweetness. ‘Come on, let it all out, love – why didn’t you come back before now, you know … to sort things out?’
Sam put the mug and plate on the side before pushing a hand through his hair. ‘I wish I could explain it, Gran. But after Holly was diagnosed, I just felt like I was in the way. Chrissie seemed to have it all under control. I felt useless, a bit like a spare part, getting in the way and making it all worse, when it was all my … well, you know I’ve always been rubbish at that sort of thing.’
Dolly reached out a pale, age-weathered hand to him, her diamond engagement ring above her gold wedding band still glinting proudly as the early evening sun bounced off the kitchen table. ‘You must let go of this guilt, Sam. I know it’s still eating away at you. Life deals out these horrible things sometimes, but no one’s to blame. We just have to get on with it, and that’s that.’
‘That’s what I was trying to do, Gran, get on with it … keep working, keep going.’
‘Keep going? Or burying your head in the sand?’ Dolly topped his tea up from the big knitted-cosy-covered teapot, letting the question sink in.
Sam picked up the plate, took another bite of the cake and looked up at Dolly’s lined but still beautiful face. Dolly, who had been more of a proper mum to him than his own mother, Linda, ever had.
When his dad had died, Dolly had been stoic, forging ahead with the funeral arrangements for her only son, Rob. She had even looked after Sam and Patrick, full time, in the days following, when their mum, Linda, had taken herself off on a holiday to Spain, supposedly ‘to deal with it on her own’, or so she had said at the time. But how come Sam had found a pile of photographs in a shoebox some years later, of her sunbathing, smiling and sipping cocktails with a big group of people he didn’t even recognise?
Linda … the mother who’d barely batted an eyelid when he’d got into trouble at school for bunking off, who would rather sit at her kidney-shaped dressing table applying lipstick than make sure he and Patrick had breakfast before they went to school. Once their dad was gone, there had never been much food in the house and the last time Sam had pinched a bun from the baker’s basket outside the shop in the High Street, he’d very nearly been caught. If his brother Patrick hadn’t distracted the woman who worked in the bakery shop then he would have ended up at the police house on the far side of village green for sure.
After that, Sam had invariably bunked off school, figuring it was far easier than trying to concentrate with an aching, empty stomach … counting the hours until he could pass by his gran’s on the way home for his tea. A cheese doorstep sandwich, a big slice of chocolate or fruitcake and a packet of Smith’s crisps in front of his favourite television programme, Crackerjack. He and Pat would put off going home for as long as possible, knowing that their tea at Dolly’s was likely to be all they would get until after school the following day. He suspected that Dolly knew this too as she would often pack a sausage roll or two in their satchels – he was also vaguely aware of arguments on the phone after he and Pat had gone to bed and his mother’s raised voice exhorting Dolly to mind her own business. But now it was all muddled up in a miserable jumble of sad memories of his childhood years.
Meeting Chrissie was the first time he remembered being really happy since his father had died. And when they’d had Holly, he had a burning wish to make sure she would never feel the same as he had as a child: to have to go without meals, or to miss out on a full education because no one cared. Patrick had built a new life for himself as far away from his mother as he could get, in Australia. Too far for Linda, who had hardly ever been back to Tindledale since taking herself off to live in London. But what about Holly? She was going without now. Going without two parents pulling together.
‘Any chance of something stronger, Gran?’ Sam lifted his empty mug as he tried to process all his thoughts. Dolly gave him a look.
‘Come on now, Sam. Alcohol isn’t the answer. Tea was good enough for your dad at dinnertime and it will be good enough for you.’ Sam gave her a mock salute.
‘You’re the boss.’
Dolly batted him gently.
‘Now stop mucking about!’ she pretended to admonish. ‘And think about what you’re going to do to make things right with you and Chrissie? Marriage is a marvellous thing, but you need to work at it. Put the effort in,’ she added, glancing at her own engagement and wedding rings.
‘And I fully intend to do just that. I’m going to be here, Gran,’ he said with resolve. ‘I’m going to really be here for Chrissie and Holly. And I’m going to try and work it out myself, so I don’t mess it up again – if they’ll give me another chance.’
Dolly took the now empty mug from his hands before standing behind him and putting her arms around his back to hold him in a hug. Silence followed and Sam had to swallow hard a few times to stop his emotions from bubbling up and swirling his eyes with tears.
‘It will be OK,’ Dolly eventually said, very softly. ‘You’re home, for starters. That has to make things easier,’ she told him, echoing Jude’s sentiment from earlier. ‘You didn’t have a hope of talking to Chrissie properly from the other side of the world. It’s just not the same, son. A woman wants the closeness. To see your face in front of her in the room. Not on a screen, or just to hear your voice down a phone line.’
‘You know, Chrissie still won’t see me properly, just the two of us.’ Sam shook his head. ‘And I know she and Holly aren’t getting on. It’s such a mess.’
‘But you have to give her time. Remember what I said about not expecting too much too quickly. This situation between the two of you didn’t happen overnight, and it’s not going to be fixed overnight either. For what it’s worth, I know Chrissie does still love you.’
‘Do you really think so?’ Sam asked. ‘You’d tell me if she was seeing someone else, wouldn’t you?’
‘Why on earth would you say that?’ Dolly frowned.
‘I dunno. It’s just the other night when I saw her … well, she looked really great, dressed up and with perfume on. And the effort wasn’t intended for me. She kept looking at her watch and couldn’t wait to get rid of me. She was expecting someone. Someone she didn’t want me to see, I reckon.’
‘Don’t be daft.’
‘Why daft? I didn’t imagine it.’
‘Well, you know how people talk in the village. Not to be mean, I should add.’ Dolly patted her hair. ‘But we all tend to know everyone’s business, and I’m sure someone would have mentioned something to me. None of that matters anyway; you know that old adage, if something is worth fighting for …’ She inhaled sharply before letting a long breath of wisdom out as she moved her head from side to side. ‘You must stop feeling sorry for yourself and take action. Arrange a date with Chrissie properly. Have a look at what went wrong, and work out what you need to do – both of you; you’re in this together and you both need to be honest. And, in the meantime, Holly has a family who all love her and we’ll make sure she is OK while you two sort things out.’ Dolly smiled. ‘Your dad always used to say, “A father carries photos where his money used to be.” Family is what counts, Sam.’
Sam smiled, this had always been her way. Pragmatic with a no-nonsense approach.
They were interrupted by the old-fashioned bell jangling in the front porch.
‘You sit there, Gran, I know who this is.’ Sam bounded out to the doorway like an excited puppy and a few seconds later Holly was in the kitchen with an enormous grin on her face.
‘Hello sweetheart, this is a nice surprise.’ Dolly stood up and pulled her in for a big cuddle.
Sam was overjoyed to see his daughter and wrapped his arms around both Holly and his gran into a group hug. Holly yelped that she couldn’t breathe and as Sam pulled away he instinctively smoothed a hand over the top of her head as he always had.
‘Oh Dad, watch out,’ she laughed, checking her hair with her hands, ‘it took me ages to get it straight.’
‘Don’t be daft. Your hair is lovely just the way it’s meant to be,’ Sam said, then instantly wished he hadn’t when he saw the look on his daughter’s face. He coughed to clear his throat and changed the subject. ‘Fancy a drink?’ he motioned for her to sit down.
‘Yes please, Dad.’
‘Orange juice?’ he asked, without really thinking.
‘Um, no!’ Holly pulled a face at him. ‘Unless you want my levels to rocket through the roof. Dad, what are you like?’ she laughed.
‘Oops, sorry.’ Sam smarted, instantly remembering the early mistakes he had made, when he had inadvertently bought her a can of Coke at the May Fair once, without realising it wasn’t sugar-free. Chrissie had intervened just in time by swiping it from him as he handed it to their eleven-year-old daughter, whose face had lit up like a Christmas tree. Holly had still been getting to grips with managing her diabetes, and accepting that she couldn’t have the treats that she had been used to, so ended up crying and shouting at Chrissie for being mean and ‘ruining her whole day.’ Chrissie had got irritated with him for not concentrating properly, and the incident had put them all in a bad mood that afternoon. He realised now that it must have been hard for Chrissie … she was only trying to do her best by Holly. No wonder she had walked off in a huff when he had suggested she lighten up. Dolly was right … he had to look at what went wrong and work out how to fix it. He turned to Holly. ‘Milk or water, what would you prefer, love?’
‘Daaad, I’m not a five year old,’ Holly huffed, slipping her patent pink satchel off her shoulder and down onto the tiled floor. ‘I do know how to choose a drink all by myself.’
‘Your dad just cares, that’s all,’ Dolly appeased, giving Sam a sympathetic smile.
‘Sorry, Dad,’ Holly said, grinning sweetly, and then, ‘I’ll just have water, please.’
‘No worries, sweetheart. So, how are you? And how is Mum?’ Sam asked, and then quickly added, ‘Did she have a nice evening out after I came to see you?’
‘Mmm-hmm,’ Holly responded noncommittally, avoiding eye contact as she took the glass of water from Dolly. ‘Mum is good. She asked me to bring you these.’ Holly knelt down to her satchel and pulled out a lovely, gift-wrapped box covered in navy tissue with a red ribbon wrapped around.
‘Wow,’ Sam took the box, puzzled at this seeming change of heart. Chrissie sending gifts? What had brought this on? Sam felt confused, but tried to keep an open mind as he undid the ribbon and then unwrapped the tissue paper. ‘Very nice,’ he said, on seeing the logo on the box.
‘That’s right, salted caramel truffles, she went all the way to Market Briar to buy them specially,’ Holly said, nervously not drawing breath and wishing she’d bought that primer in Boots when she’d been there earlier – the one that is supposed to stop your face from going all red and blotchy.
‘Did she really?’ Sam’s heart lifted a little as this was quite a big olive branch. Expensive truffles were more Chrissie’s kind of thing than his. Not that he was complaining. He liked chocolate, but a bog-standard bar of Dairy Milk would have been just as welcome.
‘Yes, that’s right, Dad.’ Holly grinned, her heart swelling now as she got into the swing of things, figuring her fibs were for a good cause, after all. ‘She must have remembered when you bought them for her on Valentine’s Day that time,’ she eyed him, hoping he’d get it, ‘do you remember?’ He nodded. ‘So romantic,’ she added for good measure.
Sam smiled. Maybe Dolly was right, and there wasn’t another man. Maybe Chrissie was just meeting a friend after all, and actually did want to sort things out. And she had every right to be angry and disappointed with him after the way things had unravelled over the last year.
‘And she said that she’s really sorry for being so horrible to you.’ Holly drank some more of the water, before wiping her lips on the back of her hand. In for a penny, in for pound… that’s what Granny Dolly would say if she knew what I was trying to do right now. And she grinned some more, marvelling at how well her ‘Get Mum and Dad Back Together in Time for My Birthday’ plan was going. The wish was going to come true. At this rate Mum and Dad would be back together in no time at all!
‘Here.’ Dolly handed her a piece of kitchen roll and then turned to Sam. ‘Well, that’s very thoughtful. How about you drop Holly back home later and then you can thank Chrissie in person?’
‘Good idea,’ Sam nodded, suddenly feeling better than he had in ages.
Chapter Seven (#ulink_53b3ef56-f952-563d-ba8c-c734d7aca3cf)
On the Blackwood Farm Estate, Jude was fuming. After all the commotion outside, the officious Sylvia had insisted that she take off her muddy boots and leave them by the back door of the main house. And Lulu had been confined to a utility room where she could still be heard growling and yelping from somewhere over the other side of the house. Sam had gone home to make sure he was back in time to have tea with Holly, so Jude was on her own.
‘Myles, this is Jude Darling,’ Sylvia said as she ushered Jude into an enormous wood-panelled drawing room. ‘I didn’t have her name on my list, so if you could let me know next time,’ she added, rather pointedly Jude thought, before turning on her heel to leave (yes, she had been allowed to keep her brogues on, Jude noted).
Jude looked around. If Myles King was in this room, then he must be hiding, as she couldn’t see him. Sylvia must have made a mistake. Jude wasn’t sure what to do. Should she go after her? Or wait here? She knew what she’d love to do, and that would be to go and release Lulu from her makeshift prison cell, and then get the hell out of here. Fast.
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Alex Brown
The touching and emotional new novel from the No.1 bestselling author of The Secret of Orchard Cottage.Sam Morgan knows he messed up with his wife Chrissie and daughter Holly – he wasn’t there when they needed him most, but now he’ll do anything to put his family back together again. Until then, he's living in the picture-postcard village of Tindledale helping to renovate the Blackwood Farm Estate for its elusive new owner.Jude Darling is coming home for good this time. She's taking over the antique shop in Tindledale, the place where she grew up and she's going to make sure she's there for her friend, Chrissie, and Goddaughter, Holly. They certainly need her right now.As for Holly, there's only one thing she wants and it's not the sort of thing you can buy in a shop. She might be thirteen years old, but Holly still believes in wishes, and perhaps if she wishes hard enough, this one might come true…
Copyright (#udb3af770-d185-57cb-ac92-c3deca23ceb8)
HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
The News Building
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Publishers 2018
Copyright © Alexandra Brown 2018
Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2018
Cover illustration © Shutterstock.com (http://www.Shutterstock.com)
Alexandra Brown asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780008206697
Ebook Edition © May 2018 ISBN: 9780008206710
Version: 2018-08-17
Dedication (#udb3af770-d185-57cb-ac92-c3deca23ceb8)
For all of you, my magnificent readers,
with luck & love xxx
Epigraph (#udb3af770-d185-57cb-ac92-c3deca23ceb8)
‘If you want the rainbow, you gotta put up with the rain’
DOLLY PARTON
Contents
Cover (#ub37b4ae2-acd9-5997-9689-eef4313c6ddd)
Title Page (#ub5249c09-736b-5665-82b7-5e926983a65b)
Copyright
Dedication
Epigraph
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
The Wish Recipes (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Author
Keep Reading … (#litres_trial_promo)
Also by Alex Brown
About the Publisher
Prologue (#udb3af770-d185-57cb-ac92-c3deca23ceb8)
Tindledale 1976
As the hot evening air furled around their bare bodies hidden among the medley of wild flowers in the meadow, the two young lovers lingered for one last kiss before parting and hurriedly pulling their clothes back on.
‘We can’t carry on like this,’ the man murmured, catching a frond of the woman’s wavy blonde hair and twiddling it between his fingers. Nuzzling the side of her neck, he drew in the sweet, sultry scent of her new Blasé perfume, knowing that, no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t seem to resist her. And it had been this way since the very first time he had caught sight of her, when he’d started at the senior school in nearby Market Briar. Thirteen years old and pulsing with teenage boy hormones, he had fallen for her beguiling ways, the teasing, lingering looks, letting him think he was in with a chance, when all the while he never was. Not really. He knew that now. But that had made him want her all the more, so when she had eventually given him a kiss behind the old abandoned caravan in the Tindledale Station car park, he had thought he’d died and gone to heaven … and he had been kept dangling, trapped in the never-ending cycle of lust and loathing ever since. Simply unable to resist coming back for more whenever she wished.
‘Why not?’ she pouted and pulled her hair away from his fingers before pushing it back over her shoulders. After slipping her clogs on, she dashed over to the layby to retrieve a packet of Player’s cigarettes from the glove box of a coffee-coloured Ford Cortina.
‘You know why …’ he started, swiftly swiping the Afghan coat that they had been lying on out of the grass and going after her, vowing to call it a day. He lifted her wrist and traced his thumb over the big, shiny engagement ring on her finger. ‘You’re getting married.’
She snatched her hand away and flipped open the Zippo lighter, sucking on the cigarette until the tip sizzled and glowed flame red. ‘And you’re not! So stop worrying.’
She made a circle shape in the air with the cigarette before blowing a couple of smoke rings into his face. ‘We’re having fun, aren’t we?’ She handed him the cigarette and he managed a couple of puffs before she gestured to get it back.
‘Sure,’ he shrugged, slinging the coat onto the back seat of the car before pushing his hands deep into the pockets of his flared jeans. ‘But—’
‘No buts! Come on, why spoil the moment?’ They stood in silence, side by side, resting their backs against the car doors as they took in the view. Tindledale. The little village they had both grown up in. ‘Help me with this,’ she instructed, lifting her hair and indicating for him to fasten the buttons at the back of her floaty blouse. ‘I deserve a bit of fun. And you … my love,’ she paused and gave him a lingering look, ‘are far too nice. That’s your problem! Always has been,’ she laughed, almost mockingly.
And as the golden glow of the sun dipped down on the horizon, framing the fields full of strawberries, sheep, cows, apple, pear and plum trees, he knew that it was time to face the truth. She was about to marry someone else and he needed to tell her straight. He had to, because he couldn’t carry on feeling this way. It was wrong. And he needed to be free. Free to find someone else. Someone to love, properly, and not in secret, feeling brimful of shame and confusion.
Chapter One (#udb3af770-d185-57cb-ac92-c3deca23ceb8)
Present day
Sam Morgan pulled over into the muddy gap beside a five-bar gate that led into the fields behind Tindledale Station and switched off the engine of his tank-like old Land Rover. He undid his seat belt and tried to relax as he sat in silence, watching a plump robin perched on the gate, its stout crimson breast in stark contrast to the virginal white of the spring evening frost. Sam was sure he’d read somewhere, years ago, that robins signified ‘new beginnings’ … well, he sure hoped that was true. He wound down the window and inhaled, drinking in the surroundings, as if drawing strength from the familiarity of the sycamore trees that led down to the train track. The place where he had always come to think, right back from when he was just a young boy.
Peering into the rear-view mirror, he pushed a hand through his messy dark hair and then pulled his lower eyelids down to inspect his conker-brown eyes, which were bloodshot and dry after the ten-hour flight from Singapore. But it was going to be worth it – a new job, a year-long contract, which he hoped would be more than enough time to fix things. He would be right here, redeveloping the Blackwood Farm Estate. He’d have less responsibility than he was used to, but it meant being back home in Tindledale. And it would be the perfect opportunity to put everything right with his family. His daughter, Holly, would be fourteen soon. Her birthday was just around the corner, so he really wanted to do that … more than anything.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, making him jump. Since when did Tindledale have full mobile coverage?Things sure have changed since I was last home. He couldn’t believe it was almost a year. Why on earth had he left it so long? On seeing that it was Dolly, his gran, he pressed the button to take the call.
‘Hello Sam, love. How are you getting on?’ she asked, in her familiar country accent.
‘I’m almost home, Gran, shan’t be much longer.’ He glanced at the clock on the dashboard and quickly calculated that he’d arrived at the airport over three hours earlier, which was when he had called her to say that the plane had landed safely.
She had insisted he let her know immediately when he touched down. Dolly didn’t trust aeroplanes, having only ever been on one in her lifetime, and it had taken two attempts to land on the tiny holiday island of Mykonos before reaching terra firma. Dolly had never forgotten it, and had vowed to stay in the village ever since, or travel to faraway places only by coach. So it was the least he could do to put her mind at rest, especially as she and her second husband, Colin – a coach driver she had met on one of those trips to a faraway place – had kindly offered Sam their spare bedroom to stay in for the duration of his new contract, if need be. But it had taken ages to find the long-term parking place near the airport, and then even longer to defrost the lock on the driver’s door so he could actually get in to his car, which had been standing outside in all weathers since he’d last been home to Tindledale. And the parking bill had been astronomical, almost as much as the ancient old Land Rover was worth. But it served him right, Sam figured, he really should have come home sooner.
‘Oh well, that’s very good now,’ Dolly chuckled kindly. ‘We’re really looking forward to seeing you, son … I’ve got your favourite cottage pie with a cheesy mash topping keeping warm inside Beryl, all ready for your dinner when you get here.’
Sam grinned, fondly remembering the extended name of his gran’s buttercup-yellow Aga, Beryl the Peril, on account of her being quite temperamental, often needing a tweak to get going, making her perilously unreliable at times. One Christmas, when he was a boy, they had eaten their turkey dinner with all the trimmings at nine o’clock in the evening, thanks to Beryl conking out at the crucial moment. They’d had to take the tinfoil-covered turkey in its tray round to the neighbours next door to cook in their conventional oven. And Dolly had been devastated. Christmas dinner was always at one sharpish in her house, and quite a magnificent affair … except that year.
‘I can’t wait. Thanks, Gran.’ Sam smiled fondly, momentarily feeling like that twelve-year-old boy again and, given that he was pushing forty-two, there sure was a certain comfort in that.
‘Right you are. Cheerio, Sam,’ she said, and then added, ‘and don’t go haring off down those lanes. It’s been very wet this spring and then chilly in the evening, so they become coated in frost. Take your time, the pie will wait.’ And, after a big intake of breath, followed by an even bigger sigh, she was gone.
Using the elbow part of his jacket sleeve, Sam wiped away a circle of condensation from the windscreen, big enough to look out across the lush, undulating fields leading all the way down to the valley. The valley he knew like the back of his hand, having grown up right here. Number Three Keepers Cottages. A neat row of tiny two-up two-down converted old workers’ homes, situated at the top of the unmade lane near the orchards, and not far from the woods. Violet Wood, they used to call it, on account of all the purple flowers that covered the ground in springtime. Where he would play and fish for pike and trout on the banks of the stream with his younger brother, Patrick, and the rest of the boys from the village – Matt (he was the village farrier now) and his older brother, Jack. Not forgetting his good pal, Cooper (who now had the butcher’s shop in the High Street), plus a load of other kids who always turned up in the school summer holidays. It was idyllic. And a shame in a way that life couldn’t stay like that for always. Sam often wondered why it all had to be so complicated.
Talking of which … his thoughts turned away from the past, where he had avoided the implosion of his marriage rather than dealing with it and trying to do something, and to the reason he had finally returned to Tindledale after so long away. His wife, Chrissie. Well, his soon-to-be ex-wife, if she had meant what she said when they had spoken on the phone that time. ‘Right now, divorce feels like an inevitable eventuality for us, Sam,’ she had told him, frankly.
That conversation had been soon after he hadn’t made it back home for Christmas. There had been a last-minute near-catastrophe at work, when their largest investor had almost pulled out, and Sam and his team had spent anxious weeks trying to keep the project on track. He was the architectural engineer for a Pan-Asian company, building a prestigious chain of new hotels in Malaysia, Hong Kong and Singapore. He’d cancelled his long weekend home, and knew that both Chrissie and Holly had been devastated. Chrissie had told him it was the final straw the last time they had spoken on the phone.
‘If it was this one thing in isolation, Sam, then I might have been able to deal with it. But, on the back of everything else, I just can’t. It’s all the other weekends when you could have come home and didn’t, the phone calls you could have made and didn’t, and the five-minute Skype calls that we’ve had to make do with – or without – most of the time. It’s the culmination of everything …’
‘Chrissie, I’m honestly doing my best here. I just want this project to be a success and then it could set us up for the rest of our lives. It could really put me on the map and make a huge difference to all of us.’
‘And what about me? And our daughter? What is the point of all that success if we’re not together to share it? It’s meaningless. Empty and lonely.’ Sam could hear the frustration and anger in her voice and roused his own to meet hers.
‘I’m doing this for us – for you and for Holly, can’t you see that?’
‘No, Sam, that’s not what I see. All I can see is a sad young girl whose heart is broken because her daddy isn’t coming home for Christmas, and a permanently empty space next to mine in bed. The empty space where my husband used to be.’ He heard her voice crack.
‘Chrissie, please, it’s just going to be a few more months …’
‘I’m sorry, Sam, but I can’t take any more of this. As far as I’m concerned our marriage is over. Holly and I have been at the bottom of your priority list for too long and I’ve had enough.’
Since then, they’d communicated only via email. Sam had called and tried to talk to Chrissie on several occasions, but she had refused to speak to him. He couldn’t quite work out when the reality of it had hit home, but he thought it struck him hardest when a Facebook memory popped up on his timeline and he was confronted with the awful, stark reality that he hadn’t actually seen his daughter for almost a year. The picture had glared out at him accusingly. He, Chrissie and Holly, on top of the Sentosa Sky Tower in Singapore, with Holly pulling faces for her numerous selfies. He’d clicked through some more. He and Holly, their faces contorted in wild excitement on the Jurassic Park Rapids Adventure ride at Universal Studios, while Chrissie had a look of controlled terror. Then his beautiful daughter cuddling a baby elephant on a magical trip to an elephant sanctuary in nearby Malaysia. Sam had welled up with emotion on seeing Holly so absolutely enchanted – the look of pure joy in her eyes was too much to bear; he missed her and blamed himself for shattering her happiness, so had then gone out and got very, very drunk. The next morning, hungover but with more resolve than he had felt in ages, he had called the CEO of the company he worked for and handed in his notice.
The situation he was now in had unsettled him like nothing ever had before, prompting him to put the feelers out for a job closer to home. The truth was impossible to ignore. He and Chrissie had been drifting apart for a while, long before he ever went away to Singapore.
Sam had been working hard for years to build his reputation as an architect. He was never the cleverest at school, but he’d been a grafter – it had taken him three years of evening classes, and working all day as a labourer on a building site, to get the exams he had needed before eventually being able to pursue his dream of training to be an architect. Then, frequently working late into the night to qualify had paid off, and he had got a job in a large practice. Since then he’d steadily worked his way up over the years.
Ever since he was a boy, he’d loved building stuff, designing it from scratch and seeing it materialise, magnificent and strong, much like his marriage before the cracks set in. His father Rob had bought him his first Meccano set when he was still in short trousers, and the two of them would spend hours over it. Sam had thought that he and Chrissie were as tightly bolted together as his Meccano constructions, but last year, despite the smiles on Facebook, their Singapore trip had only highlighted the fractures that were becoming apparent …
*
‘Wow! This place is awesome!’ Holly had bounced down backwards on the king-sized bed in her dad’s Singapore apartment, pushing her legs and arms out wide into a star shape. ‘This bed is like a giant marshmallow! It’s so soft and squishy.’
‘Hey. Don’t get too comfortable, your bedroom is down the hall,’ Sam had laughed, going to scoop her up into a big bear hug.
‘But that’s not fair! How come the grown-ups get all the best bits for themselves?’
‘Well, you won’t be saying that when you see your bedroom. Let me show you.’ Sam’s apartment was on the twenty-fourth floor of one of the most iconic developments in the city, and the view from each room was stunning. Holly’s room had an inbuilt entertainment centre, which included Apple TV and a karaoke machine, her own en-suite shower room and a mini-fridge, well stocked with chilled water and sugar-free drinks on account of Holly being diabetic. Delighted, Holly had instantly whipped out her phone to ensure she captured every detail for her Instagram account, taking the time to select the perfect filters, before then telling him she needed to give herself an insulin injection.
‘Oh, right, of course. Want me to do anything?’ he’d offered.
Holly shook her head matter-of-factly. ‘Nope.’
‘OK, I’ll be outside with Mum.’ He leaned over and gave her a kiss on her head, as she pulled what she needed from her needle case. ‘Love you, darling.’
‘Love you too, Dad. This holiday is going to be so amazing!’
While Holly slept off her jetlag, Sam and Chrissie had reacquainted themselves with each other in the master bedroom. It had felt so good to have her in his arms again – they’d always been really into each other, and for Sam their lovemaking felt like the monsoon after a drought. They dozed lightly afterwards and Sam wrapped himself around his wife, burying his nose in her soft blonde hair, drawing in the familiar scent of her strawberry shampoo. Uncharacteristically, she had seemed a bit detached. He couldn’t put his finger on it but something wasn’t quite right.
‘Hey,’ he said gently. ‘What’s up?’
‘Nothing …’ She’d hesitated for a split second before answering.
‘You sure?’ He could tell when something was on her mind.
A beat of silence followed.
‘It’s just …’ she stalled. ‘This place … I wasn’t expecting anything like it. It’s incredible. I’m not surprised you haven’t come home.’
‘What do you mean?’ Sam asked, leaning up on one elbow. ‘This place is great, but that’s not the reason I haven’t …’
He stopped talking as Chrissie turned around to look up at him, her blue eyes scanning his face as if searching for the right words. ‘You’ve been here for three months and this is the first time we’ve seen you since you left. When we talked about you taking this job, you promised that you’d be home every six weeks. That’s what we agreed.’
‘I know, love, but things have been difficult to get off the ground. There’s been a lot of bureaucracy and trouble with getting the right contractors. We’ve been working around the clock to get everything up and running, there’s been lots of schmoozing and lobbying … and then there’s the time difference to factor in.’
‘While Holly and I sit at home watching TV and sharing a cake from Kitty’s Spotted Pig café in the village, wondering when you’re going to come home?’
‘But Chris, you know I’m doing it for us. A few more jobs like this could set us up for life.’ He moved his hand from her back and brought it round to the front, where it cupped her breast and his thumb played lightly with her nipple. He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. ‘Come on, let’s get rude again.’
Chrissie grinned, but took his hand with her own and moved it back to where it had come from.
‘Seriously Sam, promise me things won’t stay like this. Every job you’ve had over the last few years has taken you further away. First it was Frankfurt for six months, then Dubai for the best part of a year, but you came home far more often then. And now you are here in Singapore and we’re still back home in Tindledale, missing you like mad. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to stay away from us.’
‘How could you even think that?’ Sam shook his head.
Chrissie raised her eyes at him.
‘OK, I see what you are saying, but we’ve always known my work would take me away.’
‘You know, it’s been much harder since Holly’s diabetes diagnosis.’
‘Everything’s all right though, isn’t it?’ Sam checked right away.
‘Yes, as far as it can be, but it’s changed things. You feel further away and I feel less … I don’t know … it’s just getting harder without you at home.’
‘Hey,Chrissie, you’ve always been strong, you can cope with this,’ he said tenderly. ‘And I’m only ever a phone call away. No matter what the time difference is.’
‘Maybe,’ Chrissie faltered, her eyes welling up. ‘But I feel like your career is taking you away from me here, Sam.’ Chrissie touched her chest, in the place where her heart was. She wasn’t the overly sentimental type, but as he caressed away her worries, he felt her soft tears on his own cheeks and, like her words, their memory stayed with Sam for the rest of the holiday.
*
Sam wished now, more than anything, that he had listened to what Chrissie had said that day. She had always been the strong one of them, holding it all together while he built his career. He was solid in his own way, of course. He’d worked hard, given them a beautiful home, sent Holly to a fee-paying secondary school – though of course it had been Chrissie who’d put the effort in to get her through the entrance exams, especially as the exam had been around the same time as Holly’s diabetes diagnosis. They were a team, weren’t they? Each bringing their best points to the marriage and the whole being more than the sum of its parts. That’s what he’d always thought – until now.
They were still married, though, for better or worse … and that had to count for something. It was a starting point at least, and he wasn’t about to give up on everything they had together, even if it seemed that Chrissie might already have.
And Holly, he couldn’t wait to see her, having missed her so much. Skype calls were OK for keeping in touch, although nothing compared to the real thing, like a proper bear-hug cuddle followed by a tickling session until she begged him to stop. But he had a chance to change that now; he’d be able to see her properly and make up for all those moments that he had missed.
Sam sat back in the seat and allowed himself a moment of contemplation. Time to go over his plan to put everything right. He had thought of nothing else for months now. Ever since he had made the decision to come back for good, and broken the news to his boss. He’d had to work some notice and hand over to his deputy but he’d finally made the break. And it was spring now, a time for new beginnings, he thought optimistically.
Looking back over the last few years, he understood that he had got things badly wrong. He believed that he and Chrissie knew what their priorities were but he could see now – too late – that Holly’s diabetes diagnosis had changed so much more than just the blood sugar levels in his little girl’s body.
Chapter Two (#udb3af770-d185-57cb-ac92-c3deca23ceb8)
Jude Darling tucked Lulu, her grumpy old caramel-coloured cockapoo, under her arm, and inhaled the crisp, spring air infused with a glorious aroma of fresh paint. Smiling, she stared at the black timber-framed, white wattle-walled shop with tiny mullioned windows in the middle of Tindledale High Street. Home. After several years of travelling around the world, before settling in Los Angeles for a while, it now felt surreal – but at the same time ever so good – to be back.
‘So what do you think?’ Tony Darling asked. Jude turned, and with her free arm she gave her dad an enormous hug.
‘I love it, Dad. Really I do.’ She stood back on the pavement, her rumpus of red curls bouncing on her shoulders as she beamed up at the swirly gold lettering above the window. ‘Ooh, it’s perfect! Darling Antiques & Interiors. Has a certain ring to it, don’t you think?’
‘It sure does! Though sorry again for the silly surname you’ve been lumbered with … it’s the family curse.’ He rolled his eyes and shrugged before going to give Lulu’s curly head a stroke, but thought better of it when she growled and lifted her nose up into the air. ‘Well, excuse me,’ he laughed.
‘Sorry. She’s still sulking over this wet weather – you know what a diva she is; looking down her nose at these muddy puddles everywhere after the heat of the streets in Los Angeles.’ Jude adjusted Lulu’s little tartan coat. ‘And don’t be daft! It’s a brilliant surname. It’s our family’s name, and I love it, always have, you know that …’ she replied, nodding her head as if to punctuate the point.
‘Hmm, if you say so. But three guesses who’s doing the Mr Darling’s Magic Show gig again this year for the kids at the May Fair?’ Tony sighed.
‘Ahh, Dad, you love it really. You’re the real deal, a proper magic man … especially now you’re turning into a silver fox. Very distinguished for when you don the velvet Willy Wonka suit and whip a rabbit out of a top hat. And you’ll have a full white beard and barnet in no time, the way you’re going!’ Jude laughed, giving his salt-and-pepper hair a quick ruffle, and remembering as a child how she loved having a magician for a dad, or the ‘Magic Man’ as her school friends used to call him. And she never tired of telling new people she met along the way that her dad was a magician. That he could do proper tricks, like make a white dove fly out of her ear. Of course, years later she had worked out that it was all an illusion. But back then, when everyone in Tindledale and the surrounding villages loved Mr Darling’s Magic Show, it had made her feel special. Proud and safe … and God knows she had needed that after her mum had died. Nine years old she had been when she’d got home from school one day and found her lovely mummy, Sarah, slumped over the sofa, lifeless after suffering a fatal asthma attack. And that was how it became just the two of them, Tony and Jude Darling. A unit. An unstoppable team.
Tony had been a brilliant dad. Still was. And that was why Jude had come back home to Tindledale, after her wanderlust had petered out, much like her relationship with Scott, the American businessman she had dated for a year or so before he’d announced that he’d ‘rather not be exclusive any longer’. Fair enough. Jude hadn’t been that into him in any case; plus she had come to the conclusion that what had suited her in her twenties and thirties – fun with no ties – didn’t really cut it any more. No. But whilst she had never really been the ‘settling down’ type, she reckoned she’d be open now to the possibility of a proper committed relationship, with a mature man who would put the effort in. Not an immature guy clinging on to his youth, who only wanted to hook up when he was in town.
Plus Dad wasn’t getting any younger – not that sixty was old or anything these days, but still … there were never any guarantees in life, Jude knew that only too well, with losing her mum at such a young age. And she’d had enough of being away from her home, the place where she had grown up, and the place she loved, Tindledale. She had always planned on coming back here, but the urge to travel, as if to find out who she really was, had always been a driving factor. Growing up without her mum had been difficult at times, especially during her teenage years, when she had yearned to find a connection, a tangible way to know all about her mother, Sarah. To find out who she really was. The dreams and aspirations that were cruelly snatched from her at such a young age. Of course, Jude had never forgotten her mum, and the memories she had of their time together. But having been so young when it happened meant that the hazy snippets of events, feelings, even the scent of her mum’s favourite perfume on a treasured scarf had faded. So when Jude was in her twenties, and after a string of disastrous relationships had disillusioned her, she knew it was time to go for it. She travelled to LA to meet Maggie, her mum’s cousin, who lived there.
Maggie even looked like Sarah, and had similar mannerisms, but, better still, she remembered vividly growing up with Jude’s mum; the silly antics they got up to, the daft things Sarah had said and done. Maggie was able to give Jude a real insight into who Sarah really was. And another wonderful thing for Jude: Maggie was able to share how Sarah had felt about her only child. The love she had felt for Jude, and everything she had hoped she would grow up to be. This had given Jude a tremendous sense of peace, that tangible connection she had yearned for. To feel an affinity with her mum and to know she would have been proud of her. And Jude had wanted to harness that affinity and never let it go, so she had stayed in LA with Maggie, who had moved into Sarah’s maternal role with ease, giving Jude a comfort that she hadn’t had for so long. And, in doing so, Jude had also felt close to her mum.
LA had become Jude’s base, her haven if you like, and after travelling to as many enchanting places as she could afford to on her modest savings, she had then started the antiques and interiors business in order to properly pay her way. And this, in turn, plus loads of hard work, had taken her from Maggie’s little spare room in the condo to a plush, mink-colour-carpeted studio in one of LA’s most exclusive business districts.
It had been a wrench to leave that studio behind, but Jude had missed her family here too – Dad (though he’d come out to visit every year for at least four weeks), plus the three rambunctious golden retrievers called Betty, Bob and Barney that Lulu had hated on sight. But then Lulu was used to being the centre of attention, and certainly wasn’t going to share Jude’s affections with any other dogs, so had taken to growling if Jude so much as glanced at one of the retrievers. A properly pampered pooch, Lulu had been a welcome cute-puppy gift to Jude from one of her grateful LA clients, who bred pedigree cockapoos. Small enough to travel with Jude on her very own pet passport, Lulu was used to first-class treatment at all times, often perched, regally, on her lap during flights, or nestled inside a designer pet carrier, as was the norm in LA. It was no surprise, really, that Lulu was finding it tricky to acclimatise to her more modest living arrangements – with her bed in the corner of the kitchen alongside the other dogs.
Jude had also missed her best friend, Chrissie. She had missed her so much. And Chrissie really needed her right now. Jude still couldn’t get her head around the disaster that was her best friend’s marriage. Last time she had been home, about four years ago, Chrissie, Sam and Holly had been doing OK – they had been a happy family unit. And Chrissie and Sam had always been one of those couples you imagined were set to be together for ever. Like butter and crumpets. The two just go. And it was unthinkable to have one without the other. But somehow that had happened. And Jude was horrified at the situation because, if Chrissie and Sam’s relationship could fall apart, then what hope was there for everyone else still searching for their perfect match? That’s how solid they were, or had been. It was shocking. More so, as Jude hadn’t realised just how bad things had become – Chrissie had always had a tendency to batten down the hatches, make out that she was coping, that everything was fine, that she had it all under control, even when she didn’t; that was her way. But Chrissie really had glossed over the startling truth about the state of her marriage during the numerous phone calls and Skype calls they’d had together all the time Jude had been in LA. And her goddaughter, Holly, she needed Jude too. The whole family – Chrissie, Holly and Sam – had been having a tough time this last couple of years or so, and Jude wanted to do all that she could to support Chrissie, who was more like a sister than a best friend. It was the right thing to do. Chrissie had been there for Jude all those years ago when her mum had died, as well as ever since … and so now it was Jude’s turn to be here, close by, for her.
‘And I love you too,’ Tony smirked, shaking his head some more and cutting into Jude’s thoughts. ‘But less of the “old man” jokes please … if you really are planning on staying around for good.’
‘Yep, this is me, back home in Tindledale for good …’
‘Well, I sure hope so, love, because it’s not safe out there any more. Not with all the horrors going on around the world. You can’t switch the telly on these days without seeing some other awful incident unfold. No, it’s no good you gallivanting around the globe picking up all that junk …’ He gestured inside the shop, which was crammed full of unique artefacts from far-flung places.
‘Oh Dad, it’s not junk! Come on, let’s take a look inside.’ She looped her free arm through Tony’s and practically skipped him inside, she was so excited.
Inside, and after placing Lulu carefully on the rug, Jude wandered around, oohing and ahhing as she took in the gorgeous Farrow & Ball painted walls.
‘And, see, I was right about this one, Elephant’s Breath …’ She darted towards the main wall that ran the length of the back of the shop, her red curls flaring out behind her, and ran a hand lovingly over the smooth wall, ‘and with this one too, Calamine. The perfect match, don’t you think?’ She dashed over to the adjacent wall to stroke that surface too. Tony couldn’t help himself, and his sun-baked, brown crinkly face broke into a big smile, only just managing to stop short of actually laughing at the absurdity of the paint names. He was old school, and these new, fancy, fandangled colours bemused him.
‘Yep. Of course … it looks nice,’ he shrugged, before gathering up his brushes and tools to tidy away into his white work van parked outside the window.
‘Nice?’ Jude pretended to be put out. ‘Just nice, Dad. Oh, come on … you’ve done a brilliant job, used the exact hues that I asked for, and it looks amazing.’
‘Well, it’s grey and pink at the end of the day, love.’ And after placing his tool bag down on a nearby chair, he held out his hands, palms up, and laughed, ‘but if you want the flash stuff that costs an arm and a leg and has to be specially ordered off the internet, when the cheap stuff from the builders’ merchants down on the industrial estate would have done just as good a job, then who am I to argue?’
‘But it has to be right, Dad. It’s important to create the right ambience.’ Jude folded her arms and chewed the inside of her cheek as she scanned the shop once more. She’d put her heart and soul into this new venture, not to mention a tidy sum of money that she had saved up over the years for this exact moment. ‘And look …’ She carefully picked up an exquisite, multi-coloured glass Art Deco lamp. ‘This is an expensive antique. It was my job to scour the globe for special items for my clients. They’re very discerning you know.’ Jude gave her dad a playful punch on the arm.
‘Yeah, well they can “discern” or whatever with someone new now. I’m not letting you leave Tindledale again.’
‘There’s no chance of that. My “gallivanting” days, as you say,’ Jude paused to do silly quote signs in front of her dad, trying not to smile when he pulled a face and batted her away, ‘are well and truly over. I’ve gathered enough stock of my own now for the shop, and once the soft furnishings arrive in the next day or so for the interiors section, I’ll be having a grand opening.’
A short silence followed as father and daughter exchanged nods, with intermittent glances around the tiny but perfectly formed shop. ‘Well, maybe a not so grand opening,’ Jude shrugged and grinned gamely, knowing this wasn’t London’s Mayfair. No, Tindledale was a tiny village in the middle of nowhere, ‘but certainly a few friends round for an Aperol spritz or a flute of pink Prosecco and a scrumptious fondant fancy or three from Kitty’s café over there, that’s for sure.’
Jude pointed across the street towards The Spotted Pig Café & Tearoom, looking all cosy on the corner with the glow from the pretty little tea lights sparkling in the windows and the floral bunting buffeting in the breeze. On her return to Tindledale, she had been delighted to see the café still here, having fond memories of visiting after school with Chrissie to drink big mugs of hot chocolate and feast on slabs of Battenberg cake. This was back in the day, and long before Kitty took over; Kitty now lived with her daughter Teddie and boyfriend Mack in the adjoining cottage. So Jude had made a beeline across the road to introduce herself and see if the café had changed very much during her time away. She was delighted to see that it hadn’t.
Jude waved when Mack pulled up outside in his car and opened the boot to let two gorgeous dogs jump out – a beautiful, glossy black one-eyed Labrador and a lovely little cocker spaniel, the spitting image of that dog in The Lady and the Tramp film. Kitty’s daughter, Teddie, came bouncing out of the café to greet them, closely followed by Kitty, who took the dogs by their leads so that Mack could swing Teddie up into his arms for an enormous cuddle. Ahh, she smiled at the wonderful sight, a part of her musing on how nice it might be to have a family of her own.
Tindledale really was a wonderful little village, and she was proud to have grown up in such a picturesque place, but she was under no illusion that it might take the villagers a little while to warm to the idea of paying a fair price for an exquisite antique. They could be very provincial and quite unworldly at times, but more than made up for this with their warmth and generosity. She’d had a number of cards welcoming her back home and wishing her luck with her new venture – Mrs Pocket, parish council stalwart and Jude’s old headteacher at the village school years ago, had been the first to call in. Then Mrs Cherry, aka Brown Owl, from the 1st Tindledale pack that Jude had been a part of as a child, and then lovely Molly from the butcher’s a few doors along had popped in with one of her famous steak and ale pies. And Jude knew it would take time for things to really take off, but she had built up enough clients around the world to take care of the antiques side of the business in any case – she’d ship the items to them. And that’s why she had opted for soft furnishings too – cushions, curtains, door stops, blankets, throws, quilts, and some heavenly-scented candles and trinkets, so there would be something for everyone’s budget.
‘Good. And you can stick me down for a Bakewell tart and a pint of beer from the Duck and Puddle pub,’ Tony laughed. ‘None of this pink fizz for me at the party. Call it payment for the decorating.’ He placed his free arm around his daughter’s shoulders and pulled her in for a solid cuddle.
‘You’re on. But I’ll still be paying you the proper rate for all the work you’ve done, Dad. I have the money,’ Jude grinned, giving her dad a nudge in the side. ‘I’m not fifteen any more and on the scrounge.’
‘More’s the pity. Are you sure you’re going to be forty-one on your next birthday?’ Tony lifted his eyebrows. ‘Makes me feel properly old.’
‘Awww, well … at least you’ll have me here now to make your cocoa and tuck your tartan blanket in around your old weary knees, eh Dad?’ Jude laughed.
‘Oi, wotchit, cheeky! I’m not that old.’
‘Ahh, you know I’m only joking – sixty is the new forty these days,’ Jude laughed as Tony pulled a roll-up from behind his ear and popped it into the side of his mouth.
‘Come on; let’s go to that new Indian restaurant over by the village green. You can buy me a Balti with all the trimmings!’
Chapter Three (#udb3af770-d185-57cb-ac92-c3deca23ceb8)
Sam devoured Dolly’s delicious cottage pie in record time. Then, after a quick catch-up over a cup of tea with her and Colin (to be polite, but not wanting to wait another minute to see Chrissie and Holly), he had jumped back in his Land Rover. With Dolly’s words of, ‘Please don’t be expecting too much,’ and, ‘It’s going to take time for you and Chrissie to sort out your differences,’ still ringing in his ears, he had driven through the village, the spring bloom much in evidence as he drove past the villagers well-tended front gardens crammed full of buttery lemon daffodils. He was carrying a big bag of presents for Holly as he apprehensively pushed open the gate of The Forstal Farmhouse, a beautiful sixteenth-century, tile-hung cottage, set on the edge of farmland, which he and Chrissie had bought over ten years ago, after saving for ages to get the deposit together.
Holly had been a toddler, all fair wispy hair and big wide smiles, when they had first moved in, living in a caravan in the garden while they renovated the whole house. They had done most of the work themselves. Sam had designed and built the kitchen units from scratch, lovely soft scrubbed pine for the perfect country farmhouse kitchen. He had plastered the walls, painted, decorated, laid the carpet and the tiles, and had even waterproofed the crumbling old cellar to turn it into a cosy family room. A den, with a TV and a big comfy sofa for watching films and football at one end of the room, and a long table for all of Chrissie’s crafting paraphernalia at the other end. The room was also fitted with shelves for her sewing machines; she liked to collect the vintage Singer ones with the brown wooden curved covers and little carrying handles. Sam had even made a special cabinet to house her rolls of wallpaper and fabrics, beads, ribbons, and all kinds of colourful knickknacks that might one day come in handy to decorate a gift, or give their Christmas tree a unique style, perhaps. Chrissie was really thoughtful and generous like that. Sam had thought this was the perfect house for the both of them, Holly too – she had her play area with the replica dolls’ house that he had made for her fifth birthday, and the wooden rocking horse for her sixth. Everything had seemed happy and perfect back then.
Sam paused, smoothed back his unruly brown hair, using the moment to get himself together. A smile. Not flashy, or cocky. No, he didn’t want Chrissie to think he didn’t care about the state of their marriage that – quite frankly – was hanging together by a single thread. He wanted her to know that he now understood the impact of focusing on his job and not on his family. He had to get it right. And, if he did, then maybe, just maybe, she would be pleased that he was back to make an effort to try to sort it all out. To put things right. He’d explain about the new job. The big changes that he was planning. That was another thing she had said during that fateful phone conversation. She’d said it would take something really big to make a difference now. And she was absolutely right. But he was back now, even if he did feel like a guest, a stranger even, as he walked up the path, glimpsing the warm, welcoming lights through the lounge window, to the front door of the house that they had created together, as a family.
So many wonderful memories were wrapped up inside this house. Sam cast his mind back to their first Christmas here. Holly had been a toddler and the three of them had been really happy. On Christmas morning, he had let Holly open every single one of her Christmas presents first thing when she woke up, the two of them running downstairs and ripping open the carefully wrapped gifts under the tree. The entire living room was deluged in piles of wrapping paper and boxes of toys, games and treats. Holly had squealed in excitement and Sam had loved the chaotic fun of it. Chrissie had come downstairs in her dressing gown, perplexed and frowning at the anarchy unravelling in front of her. She’d told Sam off for letting Holly go nuts; now she didn’t know who any of the presents were from and it wasn’t instilling in their daughter the value that the people who had bought the presents placed on them.
‘It’s Christmas Day, you can’t take anything too seriously, love. And look how much fun Holly is having.’ The sight of Holly’s face, lit up in excitement, had allowed them to laugh it off, with chuckles of ‘it’s only once a year’. But with the benefit of hindsight, it was those polar approaches to parenting that highlighted the differences between them, foretelling the cracks in their relationship.
Sam went to retrieve his key from his jeans pocket, and stopped. He wasn’t even sure why he still carried the key to The Forstal Farmhouse around with him … it wasn’t his home any more, not now. Chrissie had also made that quite clear with a reticent, ‘Maybe it would be better if you stayed with Dolly the next time you come home’, a suggestion that was definitely not optional. Followed by something about not wanting to destabilise Holly, as she was used to it being just the two of them now. Sam felt a momentary flash of anger. Chrissie had always tried to drive home to him that he had needed to take his responsibilities seriously – once they’d had Holly – and wasn’t that what he’d been trying to do over the last few years; and now Chrissie wasn’t even going to let him come home? He took a deep breath and tried to calm down. No, Chrissie was right – he hadn’t listened when he should have. But all he wanted now was to see Holly. They were close. They always had been. He knew that Holly had missed him being there, just like he missed her, but surely he would have known if she was unhappy with him, wouldn’t she? Or if she was angry that he hadn’t been home in ages. They spoke all the time, on the phone, on FaceTime, and she’d always been her usual bouncy and happy self. But then Chrissie always did have a tendency to want to control situations. Not in a nasty way … it was just her natural coping mechanism after having experienced no control as a kid. Her childhood had been very chaotic, with her mum an alcoholic and dad seeking solace at the bookie’s until they died within a year of each other when Chrissie was in her twenties, shortly before she and Sam met.
Sam pushed his hand into his pocket again. Having the key there felt comforting, like a talisman of some kind, something to hold on to, something to give him hope that this house he had so lovingly restored for his family would be his home once more.
He pressed the bell on the centre of the black front door, and then it struck him, the door had been yellow before. A gorgeous sunshine yellow. A happy colour; that’s what Chrissie had called it when they had chosen the paint together in the hardware shop in the village. And he had loved every second of preparing and painting the front door for her … their happy home, together. And for some reason this made Sam catch his breath. He folded his arms, as if to warm his body, or was it to comfort himself? Either way, he needed to get a grip. He couldn’t dither here on the doorstop like some kind of idiot. No, he needed to get inside and sort things out.
He rang the bell.
Seconds later, although it felt like an eternity, the door opened.
‘Dad!’ Holly was standing in front of him, her face wreathed in a smile. Gone were the little girl bunches and gappy grin that he always pictured in his mind’s eye when he thought of his daughter, even though bunches hadn’t been a thing for a while now. Her shoulder-length bobbed hair had sophisticated-looking caramel and honey-blonde bits running through it, which accentuated the sparkly shimmer on her eyelids. Her gappy grin was now complemented by a brace on her teeth. Sam felt his forehead crease; the skirt, if you could call it that, was way too short. It was her usual tartan school skirt, but it barely covered her bottom. Surely that wasn’t the regulation uniform? How could she have grown up so fast? And how come he hadn’t noticed these changes during those FaceTime calls? It just went to show that nothing could beat a proper old-fashioned face-to-face conversation.
‘Hello, darling!’ Sam beamed, and Holly threw herself into his arms. He picked her up and swung her around, like he used to when she was little. ‘Ooof, steady on,’ he joked, pretending to be winded as she squeezed him tight.
‘Oh Dad, you’re not that ancient.’ Holly stepped back, giving his arm a playful punch. Sam was aware of Chrissie standing aside, allowing father and daughter their moment together.
‘Hi, Sam,’ Chrissie said. Sam caught his breath as they made eye contact. She looked amazing in a clingy black top and tight jeans. Her blonde hair was a little longer and wavier than it used to be, and she had lipstick on, something she rarely wore. And she smelt gorgeous, like honey and almonds. But it wasn’t her usual perfume. Sam instinctively wanted to reach out and touch her, but managed to resist. He and Chrissie had always been affectionate and touchy-feely with each other. To hover here, with her so close but just out of reach, was almost too much for him to bear.
Chrissie held his gaze and Sam noticed a slight flush on her cheeks, a sure sign that she was struggling to keep her emotions in check too. He took a step towards her, but an almost imperceptible shake of her head stopped him in his tracks. In her eyes, Sam could see resolve, but conflict too. Damn it, how had they got to this point? When he adored her. And he was sure that she … at the very least … still cared.
‘Come on, Dad, come in. I’ve got so much to show you.’ Holly quickly sidestepped around her mum, holding Sam by the arm. ‘You’ll never believe how good I am on the guitar now. Better than you, I bet.’ She laughed, but her smile faltered a little when Chrissie spoke.
‘Dad can’t stay for too long today, Holly. Perhaps you can have tea with him on Saturday at Granny Dolly’s house. Plus, you need to go and finish your homework now … it’s getting late and you have school tomorrow,’ Chrissie said, not looking Sam in the eye.
‘But it’s only Tuesday. I want to see him now. Saturday is like nearly a whole week away.’ Holly folded her arms.
Sam could see, despite feeling as if he’d been punched in the stomach, that this wasn’t the moment to challenge Chrissie’s decision and risk starting an argument.
‘Maybe it’s best if you do as Mum says. We’ll have loads of time together just as soon as Mum and I have had a good catch-up,’ he intervened, smiling and keen to keep his cool. ‘Here, these are for you,’ he said giving her the bag of knick-knacks that he’d picked up from the airport – keyrings, a cuddly toy, bath bombs, sticker book; there were no sweets, though: for Holly they were strictly rationed.
‘Oh, thanks, Dad!’ Holly grinned, taking the bag and peeping inside it before turning to Chrissie. ‘Mum, can I just show Dad my room, I want him to see the blanket I knitted.’
Chrissie eyed them both warily. ‘OK, Hol, but just ten minutes, you and Dad can have a proper catch-up at the weekend. I’ll be in the kitchen, Sam, if you want a quick chat before you go.’
Ten minutes later, and Sam was sitting on the chair beside Holly’s desk. She had hurriedly told him absolutely everything that had happened in her life since they had last spoken on the phone. Plus, proudly shown him the blanket which had taken her two weeks to knit. It was a mixture of pansy colours – purple, pink, blue, yellow and white squares all sewn together.
‘This is amazing,’ Sam said, holding up the blanket and keen to show an interest in his daughter’s new hobby, but then inadvertently spoiled the compliment by adding, ‘did you knit it all by yourself?’
‘Of course I did, Dad. I’m not a baby,’ she told him, rolling her eyes dramatically. ‘I learnt how to knit on YouTube. It’s really cool.’ She took the blanket from him and carefully positioned it over the duvet across the bottom of her bed.
‘I see.’ Sam nodded. ‘So it’s not all gangsters demonstrating dodgy dance moves and people telling you what stuff to buy on there, then?’
‘Oh Dad, you’re so lame sometimes,’ Holly laughed, shaking her head at him. ‘But, it is brilliant to have you home.’
‘It’s brilliant to be home,’ he smiled and stood up. ‘But I’m going to pop down and chat to Mum now.’
‘But what about the guitar? I want to show you how good I am?’
‘I know, darling. How about we get the guitar out at Granny Dolly’s when you come over?’ Sam appeased, but thought the whole situation just felt so wrong. And none of it was fair on Holly. She was still just a kid … even if she was dressed up like Taylor Swift.
‘OK.’ Holly sat down on the bed, looking resigned, but just as he bent to give her a kiss goodbye she asked, ‘Everything is going to be all right … isn’t it, Dad?’ And in that moment, she was the little girl with the bunches. The image he always held in his head from when she was about six years old and everything was happy and good. And long before his marriage had started to crack. He hesitated before answering, unsure if Chrissie had explained anything to her.
‘It’s complicated, Holly.’
‘But you will make it right, won’t you, Dad. You’ll sort it out with Mum?’
Sam saw the heartache in his daughter’s eyes and felt a swirl of emotion. ‘I’m going to do everything I can, I promise you.’ Holly gave him a smile, reassured. And he wished he felt as confident as he sounded.
Heading downstairs, Sam sneaked a glance at the master bedroom as he passed by, briefly pausing to take in the familiar soft grey walls with the original black wooden beams and shabby chic furniture that Chrissie had sourced from various country fairs, and then lovingly restored. The handmade crushed velvet curtains. A stack of books on her bedside cabinet, her intoxicating perfume punctuating the air. The neatly arranged hand-crochet-covered cushions on their enormous bed. The bed that he and his wife should be in together.
Sam found Chrissie in the kitchen, standing against the red Aga. She handed him a mug of hot black coffee. ‘Strong and sweet. The way you like it,’ she said, tilting her head to one side.
‘Thanks.’ As he took it, his fingers brushed hers and an electric spark shot up his arm. ‘Strong and sweet … just like you.’ He eyed her over his coffee mug, trying to be playful, but on seeing the look she gave him, a knot of doubt crept in. Did she think he was being patronising? It was hard to be sure. There was a time when he could read her like a book, but not now, it seemed … and that just compounded his feelings about this whole situation. It was almost as if they were two strangers.
‘Hmm, it’s a good job I am strong, Sam. Seeing as I’ve had to manage on my own for the last few years.’ He smarted. Chrissie had gone straight for the jugular.
After gulping down a mouthful of the coffee, he replied.
‘Look … Chris,’ he started, ‘I know that I haven’t got things right. I realise now that I should have seen that you needed me here, but you’ve always been so … capable. And self-sufficient.’
‘Self-sufficient?’ Chrissie’s voice rose an octave. Her cobalt eyes flashed as she quirked an eyebrow. And the uncertainty Sam had felt earlier vanished in an instance – he knew exactly what she was thinking now; her hackles were well and truly up. ‘Is that how it works then? I’m the self-sufficient one, just getting on with it all, while you’re the one who travels around the globe, having only yourself to think about? Like, what gourmet meal you’re going to choose from the restaurant in your luxury hotel-apartment complex, or what film you might enjoy as you kick back and relax on the super-king bed the maid has made for you? While, meanwhile, I look after our daughter – make sure she keeps on top of her diabetes, her homework, friendships, guitar lessons, gymnastics, packed lunches, school uniform, cake sales, netball matches, sleepovers … and all the rest of it.’ Sam watched as Chrissie counted off the list of tasks on her fingers. ‘And I make sure all the bills are paid, the house is kept running, the garden is tidy, the bins are emptied, the hedge is trimmed, the lane isn’t littered with leaves, the monthly parish magazine is paid for, the village charity collections are contributed to, the May Fair cakes are baked, the summer school show costume is made. Honestly, the list is endless! And I do it all. I keep everything going!’ Her voice cracked. ‘But who’s keeping me going?’
Sam immediately wished he could go back out to his car and start this all over again. This wasn’t what he’d had in mind at all. Of course, he knew that Chrissie was going to be hostile, that was her way … their fight pattern, if you like. Whenever they had fallen out in the past, had an argument, she would be super-cool with him afterwards, and as soon as he’d calmed down and invariably realised what an arse he was being, he’d apologise. They’d talk it out, do something nice for each other, and they’d make up. That was the way it was. His dad, Rob, had shown him long ago that it was best to back down and be the appeaser – ‘happy wife, happy life’; that’s what Rob had always said. Sam remembered it clearly – Dad invariably in the back garden, his favourite domain, snipping some roses to take into the house for his mum, Linda, even though she’d been scolding him only moments earlier for not having done something or another exactly the way she liked it. But Rob never seemed to hold a grudge and always let it wash over him. Maybe that was the key to happiness, Sam had surmised, but he wasn’t sure he managed it as well as his dad had. He and Chrissie had different ways of doing things – it wasn’t always possible to keep the peace and maintain a state of continuous calm.
But Sam had tried hard, always apologising, even if he felt he was in the right – Chrissie could be very black and white, not always able to see things from the other person’s perspective. So he’d pull Chrissie in close for a nice cuddle on the sofa, followed by making love as soon as Holly was asleep, and they would wedge the laundry basket behind their bedroom door so she couldn’t barge in unannounced, as had happened one time when she was about three years old. Thankfully, she had still been young enough for them to pass off Chrissie bobbing up and down astride him, naked, as ‘mummy dancing’. And they had giggled silently together like a pair of silly teenagers for ages over that afterwards, whenever Holly had asked to see ‘mummy dancing’ again.
Sam put the coffee mug on the kitchen counter and dropped his hands down by his sides, his heart sinking at the sadness of the current situation. He and Chrissie at loggerheads, no mummy dancing on the immediate horizon and their daughter upstairs bravely hiding her heartache. The feeling was quickly followed by an even greater determination to fix things.
‘Please, Chrissie, I don’t want to fight. Can we talk, properly? I’m back for goo—’
‘It’s too late for that,’ she said quickly, as if instantly throwing up a brick wall to protect herself. Sam wasn’t sure if she even really believed the words herself; it was as if she was saying them on autopilot, without conviction, just to keep him at a distance … or maybe that was just wishful thinking on his part. ‘Besides, now isn’t a good time …’ Chrissie’s eyes flicked to the watch on her left wrist.
‘But I’ve just got back. I thought we could try and have some time together …’
‘There have been plenty of opportunities for us to have some time together over the last year. But you didn’t take those chances, Sam.’
‘But I’d like to now … if you’ll let me?’ Sam tried.
They stood in silence momentarily, until Chrissie took a big breath, exhaled and then added, ‘I honestly don’t think there are any chances left.’ She fixed her gaze on the kitchen floor tiles.
‘Come on, Chris, that isn’t fair. You know as well as I do that this job was 24/7. I was doing it for us. It was what we agreed.’
There was sadness in Chrissie’s eyes now, as well as the anger, and her voice was more gentle as she spoke this time. ‘No, Sam, I never agreed not to see you for months and months on end, and that isn’t what you thought either. Why did you stay away so long? Why didn’t you come back months ago when you knew I’d taken as much as I could? I still don’t understand, and you gave me the impossible job of explaining it to Holly.’
Sam scraped his hands through his hair. Trying to find the right words. She was right; he knew that he was avoiding something, but he wasn’t sure he could even explain it to himself, let alone Chrissie.
‘Well?’ Her eyes were full of questions. Ones he couldn’t answer.
‘I don’t know.’ They stared at each other. ‘I just don’t know the answer, Chrissie, but I’m trying to work it out – I want to work it out, you know how much you and Holly mean to me, don’t you – how much I—’
But before he could tell Chrissie how much he loved her and Holly, how he desperately wanted to sort things out, she stepped towards him and placed the tips of her fingers over his mouth. ‘Don’t say it,’ she whispered. ‘Please. I can’t bear it. You need to go back to Dolly’s house now.’
Sam could feel the situation slipping away from him. He reached out to Chrissie but she gently pushed him away.
‘Please don’t send me away, Chris. You know how good we can be together,’ he said, the desperation in his voice impossible to hide.
‘I used to, Sam.’ More silence followed. ‘But now …’ She paused and briefly closed her eyes before carrying on, ‘I’m not so sure.’ Silence swung in the air between them like an enormous pendulum pushing them further and further apart. ‘It’s time to go,’ Chrissie continued. ‘Maybe you should take some time to really work out why you didn’t come home until now.’ She looked away. ‘Because I’m not sure about anything any more.’
As Chrissie followed Sam towards the front door, both of them turned on seeing Holly standing on the stairs. They looked at each other, united briefly in concern in case their daughter had overheard the conversation.
‘I don’t want Dad to go!’ Holly stated, her voice a mixture of petulance and fear.
‘Dad has to go now, Holly. You’ve got your homework to finish.’
‘But that’s not fair. Dad has just come back and I got hardly any time at all with him.’
‘Holly, will you please do as you’ve been asked?’ Chrissie said tightly, fiddling with the crystal drop necklace that he and Holly had chosen together for her fortieth birthday. At least she was still wearing it – that was something, Sam thought, resisting the urge to play peacemaker; he didn’t want to undermine Chrissie. He knew how much she hated that, trying to remember all the rules around bedtime or screen time; he’d always been useless at keeping on top of all the boundaries. But before either he or Chrissie could play their next move, Holly suddenly exploded.
‘Fine! But I HATE you!’ And then, after glaring at Chrissie, she shot back up the stairs to her bedroom, two at a time, and slammed the door, making the mini-chandelier hall light jangle precariously above them. Sam instinctively stepped towards the foot of the stairs and called after her.
‘Come back here and apologise, you mustn’t talk to Mum like that—’
‘Just leave her, Sam.’ Chrissie indicated with her head after Holly, before turning to look him in the eye. ‘She doesn’t mean it … Besides, there’s been a lot of that lately. I’m hoping it’s just a phase and she’ll grow out of it.’
‘But she shouldn’t say stuff like that to you. Or slam doors.’
‘True.’ Chrissie lifted her left shoulder. ‘Maybe not. And having you around to tell her so every now and again might have been quite helpful, don’t you think?’
Sam knew that Chrissie had a point. He hadn’t been around to do his proper share of parenting. And, on top of everything else, this tension between her and Holly was another worrying development.
‘Look, I’m sorry but I really need to get on …’ Chrissie glanced at her watch.
‘Err … OK,’ Sam said, baffled by her distraction now. ‘But we really need to spend some proper time together – tomorrow, the day after, any time,’ he urged, keen to have a plan, however tentative …
‘Yes … we’ll sort something out,’ Chrissie said, quickly glancing at her watch again. Why does she keep doing that? And why does she look so edgy now? Sam followed her line of sight and saw her staring at the door.
And then a weird feeling shrouded him. He inhaled sharply. And then the proverbial penny dropped. He got it.
‘Are you expecting someone?’ he asked, turning to go. Chrissie nodded quickly, as if keen all of a sudden to get rid of him as swiftly as possible. She even darted around him to pull open the front door, standing by it to make it absolutely clear that his time was up. Sam went to leave and then something inside him – a feeling, a hunch in the pit of his stomach, he wasn’t sure, he couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but whatever it was made him stop, abruptly.
Of course! The perfume, the lipstick, the new hairdo.
‘Is it a bloke?’
Sam’s heart lurched as he stared at her, willing the pulse in the side of his neck to stop flicking like an overcharged piston. But it was all too much to take in.
His wife?
Another man?
‘Is that really any of your business?’ Chrissie’s face was hard to read, but Sam could feel a jumpy anger rising inside him, making his own face smart.
‘Are you seeing someone else?’ As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he hated how pathetic and whiny he sounded. He had to pull it back. Chrissie was never going to give him a second chance if he carried on like some kind of possessive teenage boy. But Sam often felt as if he was muddling through when it came to women and properly understanding them. His mother had always been the boss in their house when he’d been growing up, and sometimes unreasonably so. Yes, his dad had always been the peacemaker, but he had also pandered to her too, almost as if he was overly grateful to be her husband and would do whatever it took to keep her. As if he was punching above his weight. But Chrissie wasn’t like his mum at all.
‘I can’t believe you have the nerve to ask me that question,’ Chrissie said, clearly annoyed now too … but she hadn’t denied it.
Sam suddenly felt a strong urge to run, a feeling he always had when things were going badly. ‘Look, I’ve gotta go. But we really need to talk.’ He backed away before turning on his heel and setting off down the path towards his car.
Chrissie called something after him. But Sam couldn’t really hear any more. He had to get away. Suddenly, he felt like a teenage boy again, out of his depth, making it up as he went along, trying to get it right.
Sam reached his car and, after quickly diving in and pulling the door closed, he sat for a second before letting his emotions spill over. His heart was pounding with panic and anger and fear and sadness … Chrissie with another man. It didn’t bloody bear thinking about. He loved her. And he was almost certain that she still loved him.
Or maybe not.
Maybe she had moved on already.
After willing himself to get a grip, he managed to shove from his mind the thunderous thoughts of hunting the other man down and ripping his arms off. It could happen, the mood he was in now. But Sam wasn’t a violent man, never had been. So he clenched his jaw and drove away, heading back to the five-bar gate that led to the fields behind the station. He knew where he was there. It was his spot, ever since he’d been old enough to cycle to it as a kid.
As he sat there, he tried to figure out how things had gone so catastrophically wrong between him and Chrissie, but the answers wouldn’t come. He had thought things were bad before he came home, but he now realised … they were much, much worse than he could ever have imagined.
Chapter Four (#udb3af770-d185-57cb-ac92-c3deca23ceb8)
Holly Morgan swept the bedroom curtain aside and looked out down to the path. She pressed her hand to the window, wishing she could bang on the glass or, better still, push the window wide open and shout out after Dad. Beg him to come back. But the window was double-glazed and locked, plus he was gone and inside his car before she had a chance to do anything. She thought about going after him, but it was pitch black outside in the lane and across the fields. And Mum would only go mental if she caught her sneaking out instead of doing her homework. She felt her eyes fill with tears as she whispered, ‘I still love you, Dad. And I know Mum does, deep down in her heart. She does, I’m sure of it – why else has she been really moody since you went away? Please come back and fix it. Tell Mum you love her, that you really do … and then we can all be happy.’
After lifting her headphones from her head and scrubbing her face dry with the paw of a big white teddy bear, Holly lay down on her bed and stared at the ceiling, counting the numerous luminous rainbow and unicorn stickers, as she came up with a plan. If her parents were going to behave like children, then it was going to be down to her to be the mature one, the sensible grown-up around here. She wasn’t a kid any more. She was a teenager. Thirteen years old, and that was practically an adult. She’d be able to drive a car in a few years’ time. So she was pretty sure she could navigate her parents’ marriage onto steadier ground.
Yes, her mind was made up. Holly leapt up off her bed and rummaged around in her desk drawer for a new pad. She had loads of half-used pads, mainly with stories in, she liked making up stories … usually about animals – she loved animals, or girls going on adventures to exotic, faraway places like the moon, or Hawaii, or even Antarctica. And sometimes she wrote magical, mythical stories about a magic unicorn called Lily. But this called for a brand-new pad. She retrieved a pen from her fluffy pencil case – a Finding Dory one with a big blue feather on the end – hmm, it was a bit babyish, but it would have to do under the circumstances, as there really was no time to waste.
It would be her birthday soon, and there was no way she was going to let it be ruined because they couldn’t all be together at Granny Dolly’s house like they always were every year. It was tradition. And it would be no fun at all if she was stuck at home with just Mum on her own, moaning about everything and bossing her around all the time like she had been ever since Dad first went away. And Mum had been in a bad mood ever since Dad had missed her forty-first birthday. And it wasn’t like Dad did it on purpose … not coming home like he had promised. He couldn’t help there being a last-minute emergency at work. Dad had explained it all, and he was so sorry, Holly could see for herself how upset he’d felt when she’d FaceTimed him. And also he had sent Mum the biggest bunch of flowers to make up for it. But Mum hadn’t been the same since. Holly had overheard her on the phone to Auntie Jude, saying, ‘he knew things were bad and he still didn’t come back, not even for my birthday. I feel so let down, yet again.’
Ever since it had all gone wrong with Dad, Mum had been a nightmare to live with, and she didn’t even try to remember Holly’s feelings before saying mean stuff to Dad and upsetting him. I bet that’s what she did just now. Ruined it all … And Mum should also remember who pays for everything. If it wasn’t for Dad, they’d have nothing, Holly surmised, glancing at the new iPhone in her hand, which Dad had sent her, and she absolutely loved. She had customised it with pink crystals. Then there was the computer on her desk, the TV/DVD player, iPad, laptop, and all her lovely shoes lined up by the wall near her wardrobe that Mum had bought for her … using Dad’s money. Exactly.
Holly opened the pad.
Get Mum and Dad Back Together in Time for My Birthday.
On the fifth of June.
She wrote the words at the top of the second page (she never used the first page, not ever, because it just ruined the whole pad) underlined the date and flipped the feather against the side of her nose as she thought about what to write next. Yes! Good idea.
Granny Dolly and Aunty Jude. Holly wrote down their names and underlined them. They’re bound to help me. Dad is her grandson, after all. And Aunty Jude, not that she’s my real aunty, but she’s Mum’s best friend and was a bridesmaid at their wedding, so the last thing she will want is for them to split up properly. I know that for a fact as I heard Mum telling her on the phone about Dad coming home, but staying at Granny Dolly’s house instead of coming here, and Aunty Jude had said it was such a shame. Mum had the phone on hands-free in the kitchen cos she was making some jam and it had just reached the ‘crucial bit’, she had said, where she daren’t leave the saucepan unattended or it would boil over.
Holly numbered the lines one to ten down the left-hand side of the page, figuring if she could come up with ten things that she could do to get her parents back together in time for her birthday, then that would be a brilliant start.
Send Mum a bunch of flowers. BUT write on the card that they are from Dad!
Send Dad some flowers. BUT write on the card that they are from Mum!
Holly wasn’t sure about number two. Dad wasn’t really the ‘getting flowers delivered’ to him type of man. No, she had better come up with something else. Beer. Or brandy – Dad likes ‘three fingers full’, as Granny Dolly always says on special occasions when she pours from the decanter on the sideboard into a tumbler. But Holly knew that would be hard to get. Even if she tried the supermarket on the industrial estate, they were bound to see she was too young to buy alcohol. She tried really hard to think of more ideas. A bag of wine gums … hmm, not much of a present. Socks … boring. Phone case. A good leather one would cost a lot. And it had to look like it had come from Mum. But she wouldn’t buy Dad a new phone case after the way she just was with him.
A few seconds later, Holly had it. Chocolates! Yes, Dad seemed to love those sea-salt truffles from the sweet shop in town, the one in the square in the centre of Market Briar. She remembered how he had eaten nearly all of them in the box he bought for Mum on Valentine’s Day about two years ago, the last time he had been properly home. Mum had teased him about it and they had laughed together, saying that he really wanted the chocolates for himself and that’s why he had bought them for her. But that was when Mum was still being nice to him. Yes, it was the perfect present. And Dad might even think that Mum was thinking about that Valentine’s Day and wanted to get back with him, so it would be a romantic thing too. Brilliant. Holly would buy some on Saturday when she went there on the bus with her best friend, Katie Ferguson. She could wrap them up and take them to Granny Dolly’s house to give to Dad and pretend that Mum had sent them. To say sorry for being so horrible earlier on and sending him away. How evil is that?
And then Holly wondered if she should bother sending flowers to Mum from Dad. She wasn’t sure Mum deserved them, after the way she had carried on … And she must have said something really nasty to Dad before he left to make him nearly run down the path to get away from her. Holly wished she hadn’t been watching a Zoella make-up tutorial on YouTube with her headphones on, because she’d been so angry with Mum. Maybe, if she’d been paying attention, listening on the landing or something, then she would have heard what had happened and could have done something to stop it all.
But it wasn’t too late, she was convinced of that. And first thing tomorrow she was going to put her ‘Get Mum and Dad Back Together in Time for My Birthday’ plan into action. Obviously she’d have to come up with some more ideas, too, because just sending flowers and chocolates was a bit of a rubbish plan. But Aunty Jude was bound to have some really cool ideas … she used to live in LA. And everyone knows that LA is the coolest place on earth. Apart from Disneyland, that’s super-cool too. Holly hadn’t been to either place; in fact, apart from visiting her dad in Singapore and Malaysia last year, there were so many places she still hadn’t been to. But she’d Google-Earthed loads of towns all over the world and none of them was as nice as Singapore … in fact, if Mum didn’t stop being so angry at her all the time, then that could be her back-up plan. Go and live in Singapore with Dad. It had to be better than being here on her own with Mum in a rubbish mood all the time.
Holly looked at the page again and underlined the words ‘Get Mum and Dad Back Together in Time for My Birthday’. That was her wish! Even though she was thirteen years old now and knew deep down that wishes probably weren’t actually a real thing … she still believed in them sometimes. Surely, if you wished hard enough, anything was possible? She had already wished for ages that Dad would come back home, and here he was! So, it could happen. It was just positive thinking and all that. They had a lesson about it at school. In Personal, Social and Health Education. Or PSHE as everyone said. All about mindfulness and the power of thought and focus. And Pinocchio was still one of her favourite Disney films. Especially the bit at the end with the ‘When You Wish Upon a Star’ song … she loved singing along to it. She remembered the first time she saw the film, on the sofa snuggled up in between Mum and Dad. They had watched it and sung along together with a big bowl of popcorn, which Mum used to make in the microwave, and then let her tip sprinkles all over it. This was before the diabetes, of course. And before Dad worked away all the time. Now Mum never wanted to watch Disney films. Perhaps if she did, then she’d chill out a bit and feel a whole lot happier, Holly surmised.
She thought of the Pinocchio song, going through the lyrics in her head. Pausing on the part about ‘anything your heart desires will come to you’. And she knew this was what her heart desired … to get Mum and Dad back together! And it was her birthday soon … and you were never too old to blow candles out and make a wish. She wondered if she could have the wish early and use it right now.
Holly looked down at the words and double-underlined them one more time. The Wish … Get Mum and Dad Back Together in Time for My Birthday.
Chapter Five (#ulink_b897331d-eb32-5a24-86bf-246e67bf218f)
‘You make me feel so young, you make me feel as though spring has sprung …’ Jude twirled her auburn curls up into a big bun and secured it with a hairband as she sang along heartily with Frank Sinatra on her Spotify playlist. She really was happy to be back in lovely Tindledale with Dad and her friends, relishing the earthiness and realness here, but she’d be lying if she said it hadn’t also come as a bit of a shock. Back down to earth with a bump after all the fakery and full-on fast lane of her life in LA … And she really missed her mum’s cousin, Maggie. They had spoken on the phone last night and she could tell that Maggie was putting on a brave face, being stoic and selfless in telling her she slept well at night knowing Tony was happy having his daughter back. Dad had called Maggie shortly after she’d got home, to thank her for everything she had done for Jude, and especially for bringing Mum’s memory alive. Also for the keepsake box that Maggie had entrusted Jude to give to him. The box had been her mum’s, and inside were notes and cards that Dad had given her when they’d first started courting. A pressed rose secreted between the pages of a pamphlet advertising the first dance he took her to in the old ballroom in Market Briar. Even a faded old photograph of them both cuddled together under a tree on the village green. It had near taken his breath away, he had said, when he saw it all.
Jude wandered across the shop and rearranged the scented candle display for the trillionth time. Business had been slow for the first week since she’d opened and she had spent most of her time either knitting yet another square to add to the pile waiting to be stitched together to make a blanket, as that was the extent of her knitting skills. Or moving cushions and candles from one side of the shop to the other. But, in contrast to the last few days’ weather, the sun was shining today, bathing the narrow, cobbled lanes and surrounding fields full of springy white lambs in a warm, golden glow. So the lovely villagers of Tindledale were either supping ice-cold beer in the Duck & Puddle pub garden, or on the village green paddling in the pond and not bothering themselves with shopping of any kind.
Just as Jude wondered if she’d made a mistake in opening the shop here, and maybe should have focused on selling antiques online, as that part of the business was thriving as it always had done, the phone rang.
‘Darling Antiques and Interiors,’ she answered cheerfully, practically falling on the phone, such was the novelty of it actually ringing during business hours. It often rang shortly after five when she had turned the sign on the door to CLOSED, but typically it was her dad, Tony, asking if she wanted a lift home, or Chrissie to see if she fancied a glass of Prosecco and a catch-up. Which reminded her, she wanted to call in on Chrissie later to see how things had gone with Sam. Chrissie had told her that he was coming back and that they were going to be seeing each other for the first time in ages. Jude wished she could understand where things had gone wrong between Chrissie and Sam. They had so much going for them. Of course, no marriage was perfect, and they were quite different people. Chrissie was much steadier than Sam, who Jude secretly thought was a bit of a dreamer; a carefree, creative, surfer type, if they’d lived near the sea. She could see him now in a pair of shades, sliders on his feet, a MacBook under his arm and lots of ideas. He was an accomplished architect, but had always been a bit unfocused. That was until the last few years when he’d really thrown himself into work, especially after Holly’s diabetes was diagnosed. Jude wondered if that was where the connection was? She couldn’t even begin to imagine how it must feel to have your thirteen-year-old daughter with a serious condition like diabetes; it was hardly surprising that it had put a strain on their marriage.
Jude let out a long breath and shook her head, as if to create a feeling of equilibrium once more.
‘What?’ A gruff male voice asked to open the conversation, bringing her back to the moment and the telephone call.
‘Pardon?’ she replied, taken aback.
‘Is that the antique shop?’ the man demanded in a London accent.
‘Yes.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Err, yes, quite sure,’ Jude confirmed, wondering if this was some kind of prank call.
‘But you just called me darling—’
‘No I didn’t.’
‘Yes, you did!’
‘Darling is my name and I sell antiques and … things for interiors such as—’
‘What kind of a name is that?’ the man cut in rudely. ‘Are you having me on?’ He sounded as if he might be laughing at her. Jude contemplated hanging up, but before she could decide, he added, ‘Can you come and see me? I might have some work for you.’
‘Depends,’ she said, not missing a beat.
‘Depends! What sort of way is that to talk to a potential customer?’
‘The sort of way that means … I don’t know who you are, or what work you would like me to do. So, until I have that information, I can’t decide if I want to come and see you.’
Silence followed. Jude caught sight of her face in the gilt-framed mirror on the wall near the little desk where the phone was and mouthed ‘idiot’ to herself. He might be cocky and rude and making fun of her name, but here was a potential customer. That’s what he had said, and she was being flippant. ‘Err, what I actually meant was,’ she quickly pulled back the conversation, ‘how can I help you?’
‘That’s better!’ And he actually laughed again. A big belly laugh this time. Jude hated him immediately. ‘So will you come or not?’ She looked again at her face, her cheeks all flushed and florid like two bruised tomatoes. How dared he? Who the hell did he think he was? And then, as if telepathically accessing her mind, he announced, ‘I’m Myles King. Rock legend! Will that do you?’
A short silence followed. ‘You’ve probably heard of me …’ More silence. Jude’s jaw dropped. There had been a rumour going around in the village. Her dad had told her last night over drinks in the pub that the megastar of the Noughties, albeit faded now, had bought the old Blackwood Farm Estate. Lord Lucan (not the infamous one who disappeared all those years ago, of course) and his wife, Marigold, had sold the estate and retired into the lodge house at the edge of the wildflower meadow, for a slower pace of life.
‘Can’t say I have,’ she said nonchalantly, unable to resist. Of course she’d heard of Myles King. Everyone had. And here he was on the end of her phone proclaiming to be a ‘potential customer’. But she’d seen it all before in LA. The obnoxious behaviour and oversized egos.
‘Where have you been then? Living in a cave?’ Myles chortled at his own joke. ‘Or, oh don’t tell me … you haven’t been banged up, have you? But then again, I thought they let you have radios and tellies in there for good behaviour.’
Jude exhaled, willing herself to get a grip. ‘Namaste. Namaste,’ she chanted over and over inside her head, as she been taught to do by her yoga teacher back in LA, for when dealing with unexpected ‘moments of heightened stress’. But, feeling like an utter arse, she promptly stopped, balling her free hand into a boxer’s fist instead, perfectly poised to land a right hook.
‘When would you like me to come and see you?’ She almost choked on the words, before adding, ‘Mr King,’ as sweetly as she could muster.
‘Now. See you in ten.’ And the line went dead. Jude stared at the receiver, just like they do in films when somebody hangs up unexpectedly, as she got her head around what had just happened. Is he for real? Talk about rude. And entitled. And pleased with himself. She’d never heard anything like it. And she had met some very high-maintenance characters in her time, travelling around the world working with exceedingly wealthy clients, some of whom seriously thought manners were just for the minions and not something that they needed to be bothered with at all.
But she had to admit that her curiosity had been well and truly piqued. Plus, she really couldn’t afford to pass by an opportunity to get her fledging business off the ground. So, she reluctantly blew out the fabulously fragranced candle, slipped her handbag over her shoulder and scooped Lulu off an armchair and into her arms.
After putting the Be Back Soon sign in place and locking the shop door behind her, she headed over to the Duck & Puddle pub to track down Tony. He was bound to be in there with his best mate, Barry, owner of the locksmith and hardware shop, with it being a Saturday afternoon. If she was lucky, he wouldn’t have started on his second pint, so would be in a position to give her a lift in his van down the lane to the Blackwood Farm Estate. But she knew she would need to be quick – Tony and Barry had been friends since school, in other words, donkeys’ years. So when they got going in the pub, there was no stopping them from reminiscing about the much-feted ‘good old days’, when nothing bad ever happened in Tindledale. Or so their respective memories seemed utterly convinced of. When, in actual reality, those days were most likely pretty much the same as – or similar to – how they were now. Tindledale was hardly a buzzing metropolis at the sharp edge of popular culture, always one step ahead of the current trends.
An hour later, and Jude had just got off the bus at the nearest stop to the entrance of the estate. Tony hadn’t been in the pub. ‘Got called away to sort out a potential leaky pipe over in the village hall,’ Cher, the pub landlady, had told Jude as she put his silver tankard back behind the bar for later. So, after trekking back across the village green, and past the paddlers by the duck pond, Jude had just missed the bus. On the hour every hour. She cursed herself for forgetting this important reality of growing up in the countryside, whilst marvelling at how some things never change, especially in the sleepy, rural idyll of Tindledale. She’d then had to wait for the next bus, all the while vowing to buy a car as soon as possible, which wouldn’t be any time soon, seeing as she had sunk all her cash into getting the shop up and running.
She gingerly went to push open the mildew-covered old wooden gates at the entrance to the estate, then thought better of it on seeing how dilapidated they were. The gate on the right-hand side was half hanging off the hinges. So she stepped through the little arched side entrance that was barely bigger than a Hobbit’s front door and went to put Lulu down on the soft grass. But the pampered pooch sniffed around disapprovingly, probably getting a whiff of the crusty, dried-up cowpats dotted around, and promptly went to scrabble her way back up Jude’s jean-clad legs in a bid not to get her carefully groomed paws dirty.
‘Oh, come on then, you spoilt madam,’ Jude laughed as she helped Lulu up and under her arm. ‘I’m going to have to get you one of those pet carriers if you keep on like this.’
‘What are you doing?’ A blowsy woman appeared from behind a hedge and stood squarely in front of Jude, making her jump. Lulu growled and bared her little teeth. Wearing a tweed skirt and a navy padded waistcoat, with a peacock print headscarf over a thatch of static grey hair, the woman struck a formidable pose. And with her ruddy complexion as she clasped a clipboard to her ample bosom, she looked as if she’d just stepped out of a Thelwell cartoon.
‘I’m here to see Myles,’ Jude smiled keenly as she batted a persistent bumblebee from her face.
‘What’s your name?’ the woman demanded, consulting her clipboard.
‘Jude Darling.’
A short silence ensued.
‘Are you sure?’ The Thelwell woman stared for a second, before frowning.
‘Err, yes. Quite sure.’ Jude sighed inwardly, wondering if Dad had a point after all. But back in LA nobody had ever batted an eyelid over her unusual surname, so she had kind of forgotten about it, to be honest. ‘So adorable. Quaint. And like totally British,’ is what they had said over there.
‘Well then, that’s a nice name. Very jolly.’ And the woman actually smiled, which momentarily threw Jude, given her sudden switch in temperament.
‘Oh, thank you.’
But the thaw was short-lived when the woman snapped, ‘Sorry, you’re not down here, I haven’t had any notification of your visit,’ and tapped the clipboard. ‘I can’t let you anywhere near the house if you haven’t been booked in. I’ll have to ask you to leave.’ The woman gestured with her hand for Jude to go back the way she had come, in through the Hobbit door.
‘But, Myles …’ Jude’s voice came out way too high, so she paused, swallowed, and then continued calmly, ‘Mr King just called me and asked me to come to see him. I’m a bit late. I was going to get my dad to give me a lift down here, but he couldn’t and then I missed the bus and … well, I’m here now.’
‘Hmm, sure he did,’ the woman smiled dismissively, reverting back to her frosty setting. ‘Come on now, my dear, you really do need to leave.’
‘It’s true!’ Jude folded her arms, irritated that she seemed to have wasted her time on quite frankly the rudest man she had ever spoken to. And no guesses as to who this woman was – his mother, no doubt, must be, given that she was just as rude. It was clearly a family trait.
‘My dear, if I had a penny for every time a girl like you had tried that one on just to get inside and up close to Mr King, then I certainly wouldn’t be standing here, dodging the cowpats, talking to you. Certainly not. I would be sipping a Dubonnet and gin cocktail on the deck of a yacht moored somewhere on the banks of an Italian hideaway. Good day to you!’ And the woman went to walk away. How bizarre. Jude stared after her, slack-jawed and furious. Then, after swiftly reuniting her chin with the rest of her face, she hoisted Lulu firmly under her arm and dashed after the woman, determined to salvage something from the trip. She had paid out for the bus fare, not to mention her time spent away from the shop, which could quite possibly have consequences for her fledgling business – like losing paying customers if she wasn’t there to actually serve them. Well, maybe … if she was really lucky, but that wasn’t the point. She had come here in good faith, and was damn well going to see Myles King, even if meant fighting this tedious woman right here in the garden.
‘Wait,’ Jude said, and the woman turned. ‘Please, check again. He really did call. I’m Jude Darling from Darling Antiques and Interiors in the village. My shop is in the High Street … Tindledale High Street.’ Jude tried to get a look at the clipboard, but it was no use, the woman was having none of it and immediately pulled a walkie-talkie from the pocket of her padded waistcoat. ‘Yes, please do call him, I’m sure Myles will be able to clear up this misunderstanding.’
Jude pressed her spare hand around Lulu’s little chest, inwardly cursing herself for forgetting to bring her shades or indeed slather herself in SPF cream as she always did back in LA. But she had forgotten how changeable the British weather could be and the sun was dazzling out here in the open grounds of the estate. Her fair, freckly complexion was already starting to warm up. And Lulu was panting over-dramatically, as if she was about to keel over from dehydration. Plus Jude could feel a dampness on the arm she had underneath Lulu’s bottom, which felt suspiciously like she had relieved herself. Oh no. That was all Jude needed. To turn up to her first potential commission with an incontinent dog in tow.
‘Security?’ the woman bellowed into the walkie-talkie and Jude’s heart sank. Not only had Myles King wasted her time, but she was now also about to be arrested, or whatever it was security personnel did to intruders on private estates.
‘OK. I’ll go,’ Jude conceded, plonking Lulu on the ground, and holding up the palms of her hands before trudging towards the Hobbit door. Then she stopped and turned, ‘But you can tell Myles King to expect an invoice for my time … which he has wasted!’ She nodded, pleased with herself for remaining professional, but then ruined it all by adding, ‘and the bus fare. Both ways!’ She cringed as she pointed a sweaty index finger at the woman, before quickly shoving it inside the pocket of her jeans to mask the ominous whiff of dog wee that was now permeating the air between them.
Jude had just stepped back out through the Hobbit door, when she bumped right into Sam.
‘Hey, Jude!’ Jude could immediately see, despite his face lighting up when he saw her, that he was tired, with dark circles under his eyes. He looked gaunt, as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. Which he did, of course, with his marriage in tatters. Chrissie said they had talked but it hadn’t gone that well. He’d accused her of seeing someone and that things had been tense. Jude wondered if she should say something to him about it. But what? She wasn’t sure if she should – not here, when he was coming to work – Chrissie had said he told her a few weeks ago that his next contract was back in Tindledale on the estate, but she had also told Jude that she would need to see it to believe it. And it was his personal business, after all. And what if it opened the floodgates? But they had known each other a long time and were friends. Maybe she could help; perhaps she could do something to try to repair their marriage. Mediate somehow. Anything to bring her dearest and oldest friends back together again.
‘Sam!’ Jude gave him an enormous hug, being careful to keep the damp patch on her arm from touching him, just in case. ‘It’s so good to see you. And I’m really pleased that you’re back. How are you?’ she asked, figuring positivity was best, and she certainly didn’t want Sam thinking she blamed him or was taking Chrissie’s side. No, she was here for both of them, Holly too. And would do whatever she could to see a once-happy family put back together again.
‘Not too bad, been better. But, it’s good to be back … to sort things out, with a bit of luck.’ He didn’t elaborate, but Jude knew exactly what he meant. Sam never had been one for long, emotional conversations, and now certainly wasn’t an appropriate moment to discuss things further in any case.
‘I know, Sam,’ Jude said softly, placing her hand on his arm. ‘But you’re home now.’
‘You’re right. And thanks, Jude. It’s great to have you here too. It’ll make a massive difference to Chrissie, and to Holly. You’re just what they need right now.’
‘Anytime.’ Jude looked at the grass, and then back up at Sam. ‘And you. We’re friends as well, remember.’
She loved Sam. With Chrissie being like the sister she never had, she had always seen Sam in a similar way, a bit like a brother. And so she cared about him too. Plus, she knew how good he was for Chrissie – they had been so happy together for a long time, before their marriage came apart at the seams. If she could help them stitch it back together again, then she would do it. Whatever it took.
‘Thanks.’ He nodded. They had known each other since primary school, and her dad, Tony, had been friends with Sam’s dad, Rob, before he died. Tony was still close to Rob’s mum, Dolly, and had always looked out for Sam, her grandson, sometimes stepping in for Rob when Dolly had thought a dad’s influence had been required over the years. Jude remembered when Sam had got roaring drunk in the Duck & Puddle pub on his eighteenth birthday, and had ended up nearly drowning in the village pond after larking about in a makeshift boat made out of an old dustbin. Dolly had called Tony in to have a proper chat with Sam about responsible drinking. And how not to make an absolute idiot of yourself in front of the whole village, who had turned out to see him staggering and gasping for air, as he battled the bin off his head and waded back to the pond’s bank, before collapsing on the grass and throwing up all over the place. So Jude felt it important to try to keep as much of an open mind as she could regarding Chrissie and Sam’s marriage difficulties. She’d been around long enough to know that there were always two sides to everything, plus nobody really ever knows what other people’s personal relationships are like.
Sam reached down to give Lulu a stroke. Surprisingly, she let him, and then even rewarded him with a quick lick on the back of his hand.
‘Ooh, she likes you. Lulu mostly growls at people, or simply ignores them.’ Jude rolled her eyes and shook her head in exasperation.
‘In that case, I’m flattered,’ Sam said with a small smile. ‘So, what are you doing here?’
‘Well, I had come to see Myles King, but …’ Jude lowered her voice in case the woman was still within earshot, ‘that battle-axe of a gatekeeper won’t let me in.’
‘Ahh, yes, so he called you then?’ He smiled and nodded.
‘He did! But how do you know?’
‘I recommended you. Dolly told me all about your new venture in the High Street, and Myles is looking for some help with furnishings, artwork, interiors stuff and suchlike, so … well, here you are.’
‘Ahh, thanks Sam. That’s really kind of you.’
‘You’re welcome. Always happy to help out a mate if I can. Talking of which, here … take these, you’re squinting.’ And Sam pulled a pair of shades from his breast pocket and went to hand them to her.
‘Oh, no, I can’t take your sunglasses,’ Jude said, thinking, typical Sam, generous as always, he’d give you the shirt off his back if you let him. Just a shame he didn’t equate his time as being as important as material things … Chrissie had often said that Sam loved spoiling her and Holly, but when it came to just turning up or being there, being present in the moment, which he invariably wasn’t, he didn’t seem to think that was such a big deal.
‘OK, if you’re sure.’ Sam reluctantly pushed the shades back inside his pocket. ‘So, how come she won’t let you in?’
‘Must think I’m a fangirl or a gold-digger.’ Jude shrugged, and Sam laughed.
‘Come on, I’ll sort it out.’ He motioned for Jude to step back though the Hobbit door.
‘I thought I’d told you to go!’ The woman practically pounced on Jude.
‘Sylvia.’ Sam swiftly took control. ‘This is Jude, from Darling Antiques and Interiors. I recommended her to Myles, and he called her this afternoon …’
‘It’s true, Sylvia. He did, just like I said.’ Jude sidestepped around Sam and grinned.
‘Hmm. Well, if no one gives me her name then I can’t let her in.’ Sylvia eyed Jude up and down, as if seeing her properly for the first time. She then turned back to Sam. ‘You do understand, don’t you, Sam? You see, it’s more than my job is worth … Myles is very fastidious about me apprehending …’ Sylvia coughed and stepped in a little closer before adding, ‘groupies!’ Jude inhaled sharply, thinking what a charmer Myles must be. Not.
‘I assure you I’m not a groupie. In fact, I’ve never hassled a pop star for a selfie in my entire life, thank you ver—’
‘Look, I’m sure this is just a misunderstanding,’ Sam cut in. ‘Why don’t you call Myles, or better still let’s go to the house and find him, and I’ll explain. I can introduce Jude properly then.’
‘Stay there.’ Sylvia whipped out the walkie-talkie again, pressed a button, and within a few seconds Myles was on the line and she had asked him about Jude.
‘Yes, that’s right. Bring her in.’ A short crackly silence followed.
‘Right you are.’ Sylvia snapped the button to end the call. After stowing the walkie-talkie back inside her pocket, she muttered, ‘He really is quite hopeless sometimes!’ before marching off towards the main house, her sturdy brown brogues snapping furiously through the crusty, cowpat-covered grass. Jude scooped up Lulu and scarpered after Sylvia, eager to get inside to take a look at the most obnoxious man on the planet.
Chapter Six (#ulink_c0dbabe4-47db-5c7f-842b-0c02c0b01101)
Sam threw his jacket onto the back seat of the car. It had been the first really warm day since he’d come home and he could feel summer in the breeze. It was nothing like the heat of Singapore, of course, but he’d always loved summertime in Tindledale when the village looked its best. He was looking forward to seeing the gardens in full bloom, the fields festooned with a rainbow of wild flowers, a nice cold pint in the pub garden, the kids queuing to get a 99 from the ice-cream van on the village green … he’d grown up with it all. And it felt really good to be back home.
But there was something missing today. Perhaps it was being with Myles on the Blackwood Estate – he was certainly an interesting guy, a bit out there perhaps, but Sam could sense that the man was lonely and directionless. He seemed to spend all his time rattling about in that big house by himself, surrounded by gadgets. And the thought had crossed Sam’s mind … what if he ended up like that too? After pondering for a moment, he shuddered, not wanting to explore the reality of a life like that.
Puffing out a big breath of air, as if to shift the thoughts of doom and gloom, Sam pulled out his phone and called Chrissie. They really needed to talk.
‘Hiya,’ she said on answering and, despite his anxiety, Sam smiled. She sounded upbeat and he had always loved the sound of her voice … soft and rich, comforting too, like a smooth spoonful of warm, runny honey.
‘Hey, Mrs Morgan,’ he replied, slipping into his old habit of calling her that; he simply couldn’t help it. She didn’t answer, but Sam was sure he could hear a smile somewhere in the silence between them.
‘Look. I’m sorry about the other night, Chrissie. I didn’t want us to get off on a bad footing.’ He meant it. He’d had time to think about things and he realised that whatever was going on in her life, he still needed to keep a cool head. He hoped he’d got things wrong about there being another man. Please let me be wrong, he had prayed. But deep down he still trusted her to be honest with him.
‘I know. And I didn’t either, Sam,’ she started. ‘But you can’t expect just to turn up and for things to be the way you want them to be.’ There was a short silence.
‘I understand,’ Sam trod carefully. ‘But I need to see you, just the two of us, let’s talk about things together – try to find a way through. We owe it to each other, surely.’ He was pushing his luck a bit there, knowing that she was likely to throw his prolonged absence back at him, but to his surprise she didn’t.
‘Just give me a bit of time, Sam. We can talk, but I’m not ready. My feelings feel muddled … seeing you again is … really hard.’ And there it was, a small chink of hope amidst the gloom. ‘Anyway, I need to focus on Holly right now … her health.’ Chrissie hesitated.
‘What’s happened? Is she OK?’ he felt the familiar shot of fear through his stomach.
‘I honestly don’t know, Sam … her bloods haven’t been great; her blood sugar is all over the place and she’s been having more tests.’ He could hear the tight anxiety in his wife’s voice.
‘But how long has this been going on? And why didn’t you tell me?’ he reacted accusingly, as a mask for his own anxiety.
‘It’s hardly something I could just blurt out in a long-distance phone call!’ Chrissie reacted right back. ‘Besides, you know how strained things have been. We’ve barely spoken to each other properly for so long now. And the last time you promised to call on Skype, I waited for over half an hour … and you know it wasn’t the first time you’ve let me down.’
Sam felt a hot anger itch its way into his own voice.
‘If Holly was ill, I’d have come straight home. You know that,’ he said.
‘No!’ Chrissie had raised her voice now. ‘No, I didn’t know that. I can’t rely on you any more and haven’t been able to for a long time.’
‘OK, fair enough. But you could have told me when I came to see you and Holly. Why didn’t you? Or were you in too much of a rush to go out?’
‘That’s not fair! I wasn’t in a rush. It’s like I said before, you can’t just turn up and …’ She paused, and Sam heard her take a deep breath, as if bracing herself for more conflict. But he didn’t want to fight. And he was beginning to wonder if calling had been a good idea. All he seemed to be doing was antagonising her further. ‘Anyway, it’s tricky to talk about in front of Holly,’ Chrissie cut into his thoughts. ‘You know how she is when it comes to the diabetes … it’s hardly her favourite topic of conversation.’
Sam fell silent, knowing that his anger was misplaced. It was his anger at Holly’s condition that was making him snappy. He’d always struggled with it … the sadness and frustration at his little girl getting such a raw deal and there being nothing he could do about it. He’d often wished that he could take the diabetes away and have it himself instead of her … he would gladly have done so without a moment’s hesitation.
He swallowed hard and tried again, keen to turn the phone call around.
‘I’m sorry, Chris, I’m not blaming you. I’m really not …’
‘Well, our feelings don’t matter right now.’ Her barriers had gone back up. ‘I just need to be on the ball for Holly.’
‘We do … we need to be on the ball, Chris,’ he reminded her.
‘I know what I meant,’ she retorted, sharply.
Sam felt the situation slipping away from him again. A familiar feeling of being at sea, where the tide dragged him out, his limbs flailing against the strong current as he desperately tried to swim back to the shore and onto steadier ground.
‘So what happens now?’ he asked, still battling the surging tide inside his head as he also tried to come up with a solution to fix everything.
‘I …’ Chrissie started, and then corrected herself, ‘We … just have to wait for the test results … And, in the meantime, we keep a close eye on Holly.’
*
‘There you go, love. Sit yourself up over here.’ Back at Dolly’s cottage, Sam settled into the cosy patchwork-covered armchair next to Beryl, aka the buttercup-yellow Aga, as Dolly handed him a cup of tea and a plate with a very large and delicious-looking homemade slice of Victoria sponge heaped upon it. ‘You look shattered. That’ll be all that tramping out and about through the sprawling grounds on the Blackwood Estate.’ She tutted and shook her head. ‘Never mind, you’ll get a bit of time off work soon enough for the annual May Fair on the bank holiday. That reminds me, will Chrissie and Holly be coming over this year for Holly’s birthday tea? Only, I didn’t want to assume … not with everything that has gone on. And I was wondering about Tony, well, and Jude too, now that she’s back home. I know he’s been coming to us for years on all the special occasions like Christmas, bank holidays and birthdays, what with him being on his own … and he was friends with your dad so it’s always been lovely having a bit of a reminisce over the years. But with Jude being Chrissie’s friend, it might be a bit awkward if she isn’t coming and …’ Dolly paused to ponder on the situation, creasing her forehead and fiddling with her silvery grey hair. ‘Maybe I’ll get in all the ingredients for a lovely afternoon tea in any case, and then at least we’ll be properly prepared whatever happens. Holly has been talking about wanting to do afternoon tea for ages … I think it’s quite the rage these days with the young girls. We could have scones with jam and cream, diabetic options of course! And sausage rolls, dainty sandwiches, mini-quiches – and she was showing me rainbow candyfloss on that YouTube film show too … but that might be full of sugar. Oh well, I’d best get planning …’ She stopped talking suddenly and gave her grandson’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. ‘Oh dear, I’m sorry son, I let myself get carried away without a second thought to how you might be feeling about the state of things between you and Chrissie …’
Sam took a gulp of the tea as a distraction. But it was no use; he couldn’t stop his left eyelid from twitching as he desperately willed the scratchiness in the back of his throat to bugger off. Jesus, what on earth was wrong with him? He felt like crying he was that miserable, which was unlike him. Usually he was pretty good at going with the flow, trusting that the good stuff will win out, but with Holly it was completely different. He didn’t think he would ever forget the diagnosis of Type 1 Diabetes. The feeling of ice in his stomach and the lurch in his chest as the doctor in the hospital delivered the devastating bombshell that would change Holly’s life forever.
He knew it was from his side of the family. Sam’s dad, Rob, had been diabetic, and that was why Holly had it – hereditary factors, the doctor had said. Their daughter would be insulin-dependent for the rest of her life. The doctor had talked on, the words barely registering in Sam’s mind, saying stuff like ‘developments in research are moving so fast’ and ‘there are now more efficient ways to manage the illness’. But all he could think of were the complications that could happen, the stress on her organs and the rest of her body, the things that could go wrong.
His father, Rob, had been a brilliant bloke, whom Sam had thought the world of, the best dad ever, but it still broke Sam’s heart that he had been taken too soon. Sam had been just a boy, younger than Holly was now, when his dad had died, and he had never really come to terms with losing him. He wished his dad was still around, so that he could turn to him now. Rob had always seemed to know the right thing to say.
And Rob had always been there. Sam certainly had no memory of his dad ever going away, not for a weekend, or even to a football match followed by a night in the pub with his mates; he wasn’t that type of bloke. Family first – that had been one of his mottos. So unlike his mother, Linda, who would give Cruella De Vil a run for her money. Yes, Sam’s dad had been the type of man who had done everything he could for his family. Wasn’t that what Sam had been trying to do: be the provider, the man who looked after his family? Just like Rob had.
And the look in Chrissie’s eyes when they got the news sitting there in the doctor’s office at the hospital. Blame. Written all over her face. She didn’t say anything, of course, but that was what she must have been feeling. She had still been unable to make eye contact with him when the doctor had sat back in his chair, made a steeple with his fingers and observed that, ‘An earlier diagnosis would have been advantageous.’
Sam knew, knew deep down, that he should have considered it a possibility earlier. He should have realised what was wrong as soon as Holly got ill – the tummy aches, the headaches, the getting up in the night to go to the loo, and then her being too tired to go to school the next day, being thirsty all the time. Until Holly experienced her first hypo, he had passed off her getting up in the night as messing around, assuming she was angling for a day off school to hang out down by the river in Violet Wood, just like he had done at her age. If he had been more vigilant, then maybe Chrissie wouldn’t have felt so let down.
If Sam had been on the ball, had involved himself more in Holly’s care, in the day-to-day minutiae of their family life, instead of burying his head in the sand and thinking mostly about himself and his work, then maybe he would have spotted it. Not maybe – yes, he would have spotted it. But he didn’t. He hadn’t been there when he should have been; hadn’t seen the warning signs, so that was his fault too.
‘Want to talk about it?’ Dolly asked gently, sinking down into the chair opposite him. Sam took a deep breath, sighed it out and stared into his tea as he pushed a big wedge of jammy sponge into his mouth. ‘Better out than in,’ she coaxed, in direct contrast to the sponge cake, which was very much better in than out, Sam mused miserably as he savoured the comforting sweetness. ‘Come on, let it all out, love – why didn’t you come back before now, you know … to sort things out?’
Sam put the mug and plate on the side before pushing a hand through his hair. ‘I wish I could explain it, Gran. But after Holly was diagnosed, I just felt like I was in the way. Chrissie seemed to have it all under control. I felt useless, a bit like a spare part, getting in the way and making it all worse, when it was all my … well, you know I’ve always been rubbish at that sort of thing.’
Dolly reached out a pale, age-weathered hand to him, her diamond engagement ring above her gold wedding band still glinting proudly as the early evening sun bounced off the kitchen table. ‘You must let go of this guilt, Sam. I know it’s still eating away at you. Life deals out these horrible things sometimes, but no one’s to blame. We just have to get on with it, and that’s that.’
‘That’s what I was trying to do, Gran, get on with it … keep working, keep going.’
‘Keep going? Or burying your head in the sand?’ Dolly topped his tea up from the big knitted-cosy-covered teapot, letting the question sink in.
Sam picked up the plate, took another bite of the cake and looked up at Dolly’s lined but still beautiful face. Dolly, who had been more of a proper mum to him than his own mother, Linda, ever had.
When his dad had died, Dolly had been stoic, forging ahead with the funeral arrangements for her only son, Rob. She had even looked after Sam and Patrick, full time, in the days following, when their mum, Linda, had taken herself off on a holiday to Spain, supposedly ‘to deal with it on her own’, or so she had said at the time. But how come Sam had found a pile of photographs in a shoebox some years later, of her sunbathing, smiling and sipping cocktails with a big group of people he didn’t even recognise?
Linda … the mother who’d barely batted an eyelid when he’d got into trouble at school for bunking off, who would rather sit at her kidney-shaped dressing table applying lipstick than make sure he and Patrick had breakfast before they went to school. Once their dad was gone, there had never been much food in the house and the last time Sam had pinched a bun from the baker’s basket outside the shop in the High Street, he’d very nearly been caught. If his brother Patrick hadn’t distracted the woman who worked in the bakery shop then he would have ended up at the police house on the far side of village green for sure.
After that, Sam had invariably bunked off school, figuring it was far easier than trying to concentrate with an aching, empty stomach … counting the hours until he could pass by his gran’s on the way home for his tea. A cheese doorstep sandwich, a big slice of chocolate or fruitcake and a packet of Smith’s crisps in front of his favourite television programme, Crackerjack. He and Pat would put off going home for as long as possible, knowing that their tea at Dolly’s was likely to be all they would get until after school the following day. He suspected that Dolly knew this too as she would often pack a sausage roll or two in their satchels – he was also vaguely aware of arguments on the phone after he and Pat had gone to bed and his mother’s raised voice exhorting Dolly to mind her own business. But now it was all muddled up in a miserable jumble of sad memories of his childhood years.
Meeting Chrissie was the first time he remembered being really happy since his father had died. And when they’d had Holly, he had a burning wish to make sure she would never feel the same as he had as a child: to have to go without meals, or to miss out on a full education because no one cared. Patrick had built a new life for himself as far away from his mother as he could get, in Australia. Too far for Linda, who had hardly ever been back to Tindledale since taking herself off to live in London. But what about Holly? She was going without now. Going without two parents pulling together.
‘Any chance of something stronger, Gran?’ Sam lifted his empty mug as he tried to process all his thoughts. Dolly gave him a look.
‘Come on now, Sam. Alcohol isn’t the answer. Tea was good enough for your dad at dinnertime and it will be good enough for you.’ Sam gave her a mock salute.
‘You’re the boss.’
Dolly batted him gently.
‘Now stop mucking about!’ she pretended to admonish. ‘And think about what you’re going to do to make things right with you and Chrissie? Marriage is a marvellous thing, but you need to work at it. Put the effort in,’ she added, glancing at her own engagement and wedding rings.
‘And I fully intend to do just that. I’m going to be here, Gran,’ he said with resolve. ‘I’m going to really be here for Chrissie and Holly. And I’m going to try and work it out myself, so I don’t mess it up again – if they’ll give me another chance.’
Dolly took the now empty mug from his hands before standing behind him and putting her arms around his back to hold him in a hug. Silence followed and Sam had to swallow hard a few times to stop his emotions from bubbling up and swirling his eyes with tears.
‘It will be OK,’ Dolly eventually said, very softly. ‘You’re home, for starters. That has to make things easier,’ she told him, echoing Jude’s sentiment from earlier. ‘You didn’t have a hope of talking to Chrissie properly from the other side of the world. It’s just not the same, son. A woman wants the closeness. To see your face in front of her in the room. Not on a screen, or just to hear your voice down a phone line.’
‘You know, Chrissie still won’t see me properly, just the two of us.’ Sam shook his head. ‘And I know she and Holly aren’t getting on. It’s such a mess.’
‘But you have to give her time. Remember what I said about not expecting too much too quickly. This situation between the two of you didn’t happen overnight, and it’s not going to be fixed overnight either. For what it’s worth, I know Chrissie does still love you.’
‘Do you really think so?’ Sam asked. ‘You’d tell me if she was seeing someone else, wouldn’t you?’
‘Why on earth would you say that?’ Dolly frowned.
‘I dunno. It’s just the other night when I saw her … well, she looked really great, dressed up and with perfume on. And the effort wasn’t intended for me. She kept looking at her watch and couldn’t wait to get rid of me. She was expecting someone. Someone she didn’t want me to see, I reckon.’
‘Don’t be daft.’
‘Why daft? I didn’t imagine it.’
‘Well, you know how people talk in the village. Not to be mean, I should add.’ Dolly patted her hair. ‘But we all tend to know everyone’s business, and I’m sure someone would have mentioned something to me. None of that matters anyway; you know that old adage, if something is worth fighting for …’ She inhaled sharply before letting a long breath of wisdom out as she moved her head from side to side. ‘You must stop feeling sorry for yourself and take action. Arrange a date with Chrissie properly. Have a look at what went wrong, and work out what you need to do – both of you; you’re in this together and you both need to be honest. And, in the meantime, Holly has a family who all love her and we’ll make sure she is OK while you two sort things out.’ Dolly smiled. ‘Your dad always used to say, “A father carries photos where his money used to be.” Family is what counts, Sam.’
Sam smiled, this had always been her way. Pragmatic with a no-nonsense approach.
They were interrupted by the old-fashioned bell jangling in the front porch.
‘You sit there, Gran, I know who this is.’ Sam bounded out to the doorway like an excited puppy and a few seconds later Holly was in the kitchen with an enormous grin on her face.
‘Hello sweetheart, this is a nice surprise.’ Dolly stood up and pulled her in for a big cuddle.
Sam was overjoyed to see his daughter and wrapped his arms around both Holly and his gran into a group hug. Holly yelped that she couldn’t breathe and as Sam pulled away he instinctively smoothed a hand over the top of her head as he always had.
‘Oh Dad, watch out,’ she laughed, checking her hair with her hands, ‘it took me ages to get it straight.’
‘Don’t be daft. Your hair is lovely just the way it’s meant to be,’ Sam said, then instantly wished he hadn’t when he saw the look on his daughter’s face. He coughed to clear his throat and changed the subject. ‘Fancy a drink?’ he motioned for her to sit down.
‘Yes please, Dad.’
‘Orange juice?’ he asked, without really thinking.
‘Um, no!’ Holly pulled a face at him. ‘Unless you want my levels to rocket through the roof. Dad, what are you like?’ she laughed.
‘Oops, sorry.’ Sam smarted, instantly remembering the early mistakes he had made, when he had inadvertently bought her a can of Coke at the May Fair once, without realising it wasn’t sugar-free. Chrissie had intervened just in time by swiping it from him as he handed it to their eleven-year-old daughter, whose face had lit up like a Christmas tree. Holly had still been getting to grips with managing her diabetes, and accepting that she couldn’t have the treats that she had been used to, so ended up crying and shouting at Chrissie for being mean and ‘ruining her whole day.’ Chrissie had got irritated with him for not concentrating properly, and the incident had put them all in a bad mood that afternoon. He realised now that it must have been hard for Chrissie … she was only trying to do her best by Holly. No wonder she had walked off in a huff when he had suggested she lighten up. Dolly was right … he had to look at what went wrong and work out how to fix it. He turned to Holly. ‘Milk or water, what would you prefer, love?’
‘Daaad, I’m not a five year old,’ Holly huffed, slipping her patent pink satchel off her shoulder and down onto the tiled floor. ‘I do know how to choose a drink all by myself.’
‘Your dad just cares, that’s all,’ Dolly appeased, giving Sam a sympathetic smile.
‘Sorry, Dad,’ Holly said, grinning sweetly, and then, ‘I’ll just have water, please.’
‘No worries, sweetheart. So, how are you? And how is Mum?’ Sam asked, and then quickly added, ‘Did she have a nice evening out after I came to see you?’
‘Mmm-hmm,’ Holly responded noncommittally, avoiding eye contact as she took the glass of water from Dolly. ‘Mum is good. She asked me to bring you these.’ Holly knelt down to her satchel and pulled out a lovely, gift-wrapped box covered in navy tissue with a red ribbon wrapped around.
‘Wow,’ Sam took the box, puzzled at this seeming change of heart. Chrissie sending gifts? What had brought this on? Sam felt confused, but tried to keep an open mind as he undid the ribbon and then unwrapped the tissue paper. ‘Very nice,’ he said, on seeing the logo on the box.
‘That’s right, salted caramel truffles, she went all the way to Market Briar to buy them specially,’ Holly said, nervously not drawing breath and wishing she’d bought that primer in Boots when she’d been there earlier – the one that is supposed to stop your face from going all red and blotchy.
‘Did she really?’ Sam’s heart lifted a little as this was quite a big olive branch. Expensive truffles were more Chrissie’s kind of thing than his. Not that he was complaining. He liked chocolate, but a bog-standard bar of Dairy Milk would have been just as welcome.
‘Yes, that’s right, Dad.’ Holly grinned, her heart swelling now as she got into the swing of things, figuring her fibs were for a good cause, after all. ‘She must have remembered when you bought them for her on Valentine’s Day that time,’ she eyed him, hoping he’d get it, ‘do you remember?’ He nodded. ‘So romantic,’ she added for good measure.
Sam smiled. Maybe Dolly was right, and there wasn’t another man. Maybe Chrissie was just meeting a friend after all, and actually did want to sort things out. And she had every right to be angry and disappointed with him after the way things had unravelled over the last year.
‘And she said that she’s really sorry for being so horrible to you.’ Holly drank some more of the water, before wiping her lips on the back of her hand. In for a penny, in for pound… that’s what Granny Dolly would say if she knew what I was trying to do right now. And she grinned some more, marvelling at how well her ‘Get Mum and Dad Back Together in Time for My Birthday’ plan was going. The wish was going to come true. At this rate Mum and Dad would be back together in no time at all!
‘Here.’ Dolly handed her a piece of kitchen roll and then turned to Sam. ‘Well, that’s very thoughtful. How about you drop Holly back home later and then you can thank Chrissie in person?’
‘Good idea,’ Sam nodded, suddenly feeling better than he had in ages.
Chapter Seven (#ulink_53b3ef56-f952-563d-ba8c-c734d7aca3cf)
On the Blackwood Farm Estate, Jude was fuming. After all the commotion outside, the officious Sylvia had insisted that she take off her muddy boots and leave them by the back door of the main house. And Lulu had been confined to a utility room where she could still be heard growling and yelping from somewhere over the other side of the house. Sam had gone home to make sure he was back in time to have tea with Holly, so Jude was on her own.
‘Myles, this is Jude Darling,’ Sylvia said as she ushered Jude into an enormous wood-panelled drawing room. ‘I didn’t have her name on my list, so if you could let me know next time,’ she added, rather pointedly Jude thought, before turning on her heel to leave (yes, she had been allowed to keep her brogues on, Jude noted).
Jude looked around. If Myles King was in this room, then he must be hiding, as she couldn’t see him. Sylvia must have made a mistake. Jude wasn’t sure what to do. Should she go after her? Or wait here? She knew what she’d love to do, and that would be to go and release Lulu from her makeshift prison cell, and then get the hell out of here. Fast.
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Alex Brown
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современная зарубежная литература
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 28.04.2024
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О книге: The touching and emotional new novel from the No.1 bestselling author of The Secret of Orchard Cottage.Sam Morgan knows he messed up with his wife Chrissie and daughter Holly – he wasn’t there when they needed him most, but now he’ll do anything to put his family back together again. Until then, he′s living in the picture-postcard village of Tindledale helping to renovate the Blackwood Farm Estate for its elusive new owner.Jude Darling is coming home for good this time. She′s taking over the antique shop in Tindledale, the place where she grew up and she′s going to make sure she′s there for her friend, Chrissie, and Goddaughter, Holly. They certainly need her right now.As for Holly, there′s only one thing she wants and it′s not the sort of thing you can buy in a shop. She might be thirteen years old, but Holly still believes in wishes, and perhaps if she wishes hard enough, this one might come true…