‘Oh hell, sorry, I’m going to have to go. I’ve got an appointment.’ He stands up, drops a kiss on my head, which kind of slides down my face as I choose that moment to stand up.
‘I suppose I could try and drum up support? You know get some letters or something from people who want this?’
‘Worth a try, in fact I’d say definitely. Yep, brilliant idea. See, I knew you’d come up with something!’ He kisses me on my lips, properly this time. ‘This might be a wild idea, but …’ He hesitates.
‘What?’
‘Well, I was just thinking, book club?’
‘Sorry?’
He runs his fingers through his hair and looks a bit embarrassed. ‘Mum used to be in a book club, they met up every few weeks, had refreshments, coffee, cake, wine, whatever. Can’t you do that while you wait for planning permission? Book club members only? They pay a sub, that covers the cost of the drinks so you’re not actually running a café, you’re not selling the stuff? You could have more than one club on the go, one each week? And,’ he grins, ‘they all buy a copy of the book you’re reading as well!’
‘Wow, who knew you had brains as well as beauty?’
‘Cheeky girl.’ His smile broadens. ‘You think it’s got legs?’
‘Definitely.’ I grin back at him. ‘That’s brilliant, why didn’t I think of it?’
‘Well, I hate to say this, but I did used to come top in more tests than you at school!’
‘Rubbish!’ I swing for him, but he dodges, then grabs me round the waist and kisses me on the nose. ‘Hell, I really have to go. Look at the time!’
‘Come back soon?’
He winks, then grabs his jacket, and strides to the door. I like to watch him walk, he’s got this masterful, long stride. It looks good, though it’s bloody annoying if I’m trying to keep up with him whilst I’m wearing high heels. We’ve adopted a code for the different speed limits I need him to apply. So far we’ve got flats, flip-flop, heels and Oh my God slow down, these are new and they’re rubbing!
‘Off to Barcelona for that conference this afternoon. I’ll call you.’
‘As soon as you land!’ I’m turning into my mother, I like to know he’s got there safely.
He gives a thumbs up. ‘You can tell me your action plan.’
‘If I’ve got one.’
‘You’ll have one, don’t forget to include me in book club!’ He chuckles. I stare back, with what is probably a drippy smile on my face. There are deep dimples at the sides of his mouth, laughter lines fanning out from his gorgeous eyes and the kind of dark shadow on his chin that I love to run the tips of my fingers over.
His jacket is slung over his shoulder, and his shirt hugs his chest, the sleeves rolled up to show his tanned, softly muscled arms.
I like to look at him properly, before he goes.
Then he strides back and grabs me. ‘Have you any idea how hard it is to walk away when you’re looking at me like that?’ This time it’s the kind of kiss that normally leads to us ripping our clothes off.
His jacket is dropped on the floor, my hands slip into the waistband of his trousers, so I can feel his warm skin beneath my fingers as he threads his fingers into my hair, holds me still so that he can kiss my lips, my neck, my throat.
I honestly do not know what I had with Tim, or any of my boyfriends. But it wasn’t this. Oh yeah, I might have felt a bit horny after a few drinks, but this is on a whole different level. One kiss, one touch, and I desperately need to rip my clothes off so I can feel his skin against mine. So that I can taste him, so that I can feel his fingers wander over my body turning me into a squirming mess.
‘Ahem.’ Mrs Gray from the post office coughs. ‘I’ve brought those photos in of the sewage plant, like you asked for. I’ll go through to the back shall I?’
‘Er, yes please. Shit.’ I make wide eyes at Ollie, and whisper. ‘Didn’t hear her come in!’
‘Shit indeed.’ He grins. Naughtily. Which makes me clench my thighs and jiggle about in an attempt to dispel the rush of warmth I can feel in my nether regions.
He cups my face in his hands, his skin warm. The humour drifts from his face and his dark eyes are gazing at me intently. ‘I’ll miss you.’
‘I’ll miss you too.’
‘One thing I can’t work out, why did we waste all those years?’
‘Because I didn’t know Uncle Terence properly.’ I reply softly.
He frowns.
‘I’ll explain one day, aren’t you going to be late for your life-saving?’
I stand and watch him walk down the street. My fingers resting on my lips. I’m pretty sure my cheeks are burnished pink, and half my messy bun is actually just messy un-bun. But I don’t care.
Mrs Gray might though.
‘Well my dear, bit of a kerfuffle at the planning meeting, wasn’t there?’
‘Sorry?’ I pat my hair down, in the manner my mother would, and hope I don’t look flushed.
‘About your application? I mean, you know why they voted to object to your application, don’t you?’
‘Well, I don’t …’
‘It was that stupid woman at that new café on the corner of my road. I mean, nobody goes in there because she’s a miserable cow!’
‘Really, well I can see she might—’
‘You serving a cuppa here won’t make a blind bit of difference to her, she’s jealous you know! That’s what always does it with folk like her. Can’t bear to see somebody else being popular and successful. Mark my words, she’ll be gone by this time next year she will.’
‘She will?’
‘You can always apply for temporary change of use you know, by the time it’s run out she’ll have scarpered.’
‘I can?’
‘You can!’
‘Well I was thinking about asking for local support, seeing if anybody would mind writing to the council in support, do you think …’
‘Well I’m sure most people will be right behind you my dear. Terence wouldn’t have done anybody any harm, and I’m sure you wouldn’t either. Now, I wanted to talk to you about the change in allotment rules, but don’t you want to know about my sewage problem?’
‘Of course, I do, I’m dying to hear about your sewage. I’ll just grab a pen.’
11.30 a.m., 18 May
Up until now I’ve avoided using Uncle Terence’s big old antique desk at the back of the shop. He used to sit here to go through his accounts, to order new books, to put his feet up and chuckle over a new book he’d discovered, and it still feels like an invasion of his space to sit there. But Mrs Gray has ‘gone through to the back’ and sat in front of the desk, clearly expecting me to go round and sit opposite her just like Uncle T would have done.
So I do.
By the time she’s shown me all her photos of the sewage plant, talked to me about the new rules for the allotment and explained to me all about ‘temporary change of use’ I’m exhausted.
‘You should go to more council meetings my dear! Terence did, he was quite the one for objecting!’
‘Really?’
‘Oh yes, he kept a finger on the pulse. Just look in that top drawer, there.’ She points across the desk. I look down at the drawers on the right-hand side and hesitate. It seems wrong to go through Uncle T’s personal belongings, although I know Ollie or I’ll have to do it at some point.
‘Open it dear.’
‘But …’
‘What on earth are you expecting to find? That’s his council drawer, dear. The second one down. Go on, just look. There’s a buff manila folder in there with every meeting he went to.’
I give her a look. How does she know?
‘Well we went together!’ Remind me never to play poker. I swear I only thought that and didn’t actually say anything.
I open the drawer. Reluctantly. And take the folder out.
‘There, what did I tell you! Now you catch up on your reading with that dear, don’t you reporters go to the meetings any more?’
‘Well it’s not really my …’
‘You’ll find out more about who’s who and what they’re up to at those meetings than you will in a month of Sundays anywhere else. Now I better be going, you let me know if you want any more information, won’t you?’
I nod, slightly dumbly.
Out of the corner of my eye, when I took the folder from the drawer, I saw a hint of red that looked familiar.
I walk with her to the door. Promise she’ll be featuring in my column soon and go back to Uncle T’s seat behind the desk.
The drawer is still open, as I left it. And at the back, tucked away behind the ‘council matters’ are some letters, tied with red ribbon. Just like the one I found in the grandfather clock.
I’ve never read those letters. It seemed wrong, even though he’d given me permission. But now, I suddenly feel compelled to read them and these new ones. I want to look after them, burn them (as Terence suggested) if that seems the best thing to do. Along with the letter I found with the special editions before Terence died.
Or give them to the person they were intended for: Vera.
8 p.m., 18 May
‘Oh my God, Stanley!’ I reach blindly for another slice of pizza, and munch on it as I read the letters, being careful not to smear them with sticky fingers. ‘This is so sad.’ I wipe the back of my arm across my eyes, and sniff loudly.
The letters I found in the clock, are so wonderfully romantic they would make me blub even if Uncle T hadn’t been abandoned for another and left with a broken heart.
He had been totally infatuated with Vera. A love that started well before she married Charles, from the sound of it.
‘He says here that if he had only one breath left to take, he’d give it to her!’ Stanley licks my hand, and edges closer in an attempt to lick the pizza crust while I’m not concentrating. ‘Stop it.’ He sneezes, which puts me off completely, so I have to get a new slice out of the box. ‘I spend the night hours staring at your photograph, not daring to close my eyes and waste a single moment of time that could be spent gazing at you. No dream could be more beautiful than your image, my darling.’ I turn the sheet over. ‘And listen to this, I sit by the stream and the tinkling of water is nowhere as sweet as your laughter, if I could capture your voice and hold it close to my heart forever I would feel complete.’ Infatuation is too small a word. The word passion barely touches on what Uncle Terence felt.
Normally I totally miss Ollie if he’s not here, but tonight I wanted to be on my own, just until I know what’s in the letters. And I’m so pleased I am. This is all a bit mind blowing for me, so how is Ollie going to feel about it? Suspecting his Uncle fancied his mum ‘a bit’ and reading this are two totally different things. Are they better burned, scattered where we scattered his ashes, so that he might be reunited with his words in death and nobody will be hurt?
I can’t help it. I carry on reading.
Terence had remarked on every outfit she wore, her hair, her skin, her laugh, the gentle warmth of her fingers. The dimples he adored, her slim shoulders that he longed to kiss.
There were letters that commented on her bloom in pregnancy, the way her eyes were alight with happiness and the pride she took as she cradled her bump.
There were photographs that he’d taken, where he seemed to have transferred his love to the camera so that she was captured in perfection.
The sadness and poignancy of loss ripped through the one he’d written to congratulate her on her engagement, his pain clear when he told her what a beautiful bride she had made. So this was the version he’d thought was acceptable – but he’d hidden the even more true-to-his-heart one amongst his special editions.
I could picture him writing these letters, his hand trembling, his heart broken, can imagine him folding them up carefully then re-writing a version that would be acceptable to Charles if he ever saw them.
One confuses me a bit.
‘I saw the look in your eyes when you glanced my way,’ he said in one, ‘and the yearning had gone, leaving behind only remorse and guilt. One mistake, my darling, one mistake, but not one we should ever regret as it has always brought happiness to you. The pain and loss has all been mine to bear, and bear it stoically I will.’
I put it to one side and untie the bundle I’ve found today in the desk.
It’s obvious immediately that these are more recent. The envelopes look new, in fact there is a date on the top one, which was written shortly before his death, just before his final Christmas Eve party. Which is a bit shocking, I’d never for one moment have thought they were carrying on a secret affair, I thought this was all in the past, before Vera married.
And then I spot one envelope bears Terence’s name. All the others had been blank, never addressed, never intended to be sent. I spread out the ones from the desk.
Terence’s name is on several.
I stare at the first one I’d picked up for a long moment before slipping the letter out.
The handwriting is different. ‘I agree, my darling. The time is right, it would be unfair to put this off forever. It has been on my mind for some time, he needs to know.’
I hold the letter up, hardly believing my eyes, the letter is not from Terence. It is from Vera.
I spread a handful of the letters out, they’re all in the same handwriting. All from Vera.
‘My darling Terence, Charles and I are in agreement. It would be wrong for us to tell him without you being there, but equally wrong for you to break the news alone. We propose that we all start the year with a clear slate. I have checked with Oliver, and he is not on call on New Years Day, so this would seem the perfect opportunity. Do you agree? A quiet evening at our house, just the four of us?’
My heart is pounding as I put the letter down with shaky fingers. What is going on? Was Vera about to leave Charles, and run off with Terence? But why would they only tell Ollie, why would his brother and sister not be invited as well?
There is one more letter.
One unaddressed envelope.
I take the single sheet of paper out.
‘My darling Ollie, of all the letters I have written, all the words that I have spoken to you. These have to be the hardest. How to explain to a son why you kept his parentage secret for so many years? How does one justify a secret like mine, like ours?
You have been my greatest triumph Oliver, the highlight of my life, the peak of my achievements. I have glowed with parental pride as you have flourished, and hated that your mother and I agreed not to tell you our secret earlier. I love your mother, I love your father – my brother, and I love you, my dear boy. Sometimes love is complicated. I hope you can forgive me my secret, I hope we can get to know each other better in the time I have left.
Charles has given you a far better upbringing than I ever could have. He is the stable, safe, reliable representation of our genes, that I am not. But I hope I have been a good Uncle, a good friend, and that you will allow me to be more.’
I drop the sheet of paper as though it is alight.
Terence was Ollie’s father? Terence was going to tell him the day he died?
Oh. My. God.
I lean back and stare at the ceiling.
Buggering hell. What on earth do I tell Ollie? But more to the point, how? When? He was upset enough to find out that Uncle T was madly in love with Vera, how is he going to feel when he finds out they had taken the ‘un’ out of unrequited love for at least a short time?
11.30 p.m., 18 May
The ring of the phone makes me jump guiltily.
‘How did you get on with Mrs Gray and her sewage?’ Ollie chuckles.
‘Fine, er great.’ I must not mention the letters. I must NOT. I have to see him face to face. Or talk to Vera first.
‘You okay? You sound a bit strained?’
‘Tired. You’ve no idea how much that woman knows about sewage!’ I say brightly. ‘And council meetings.’
‘Oh, she knows about council meetings?’
/>
‘And appeals. She told me who’s put in the objection and she told me all about Uncle T going to the meetings, he’s got a file full of details in his, er, desk. She forced me to look.’
‘Oh, right. Fascinating stuff, yet another little fact we didn’t know about him! Full of them, wasn’t he?’
‘Full of what?’
‘Secrets, stuff we didn’t know about.’
I choke, have a splutter. ‘Oh, I’m sure not really, well, yes maybe.’ I’m not doing very well on the not being honest front.
‘Are you sure you’re okay, Daisy?’ He sounds worried. ‘I can try and come home a bit earlier, if you like?’
‘Oh no, no. I’m fine Ol, really. Just knackered I suppose, and rooting through Terence’s desk was a bit …’ I leave that to hang in the air.
‘Oh, Dais.’ The warmth of his tone makes me feel even guiltier. I close my eyes. ‘Are you sure you’re not overdoing it?’
‘I’m fine.’
‘I’ll be home as soon as I can, day after tomorrow.’
‘Good.’
‘I’ll call you tomorrow, get a good night’s sleep, eh?’
‘I will. And I’m going to put together a poster to promote our new book clubs!’
‘You’re so lucky having a man like me to make suggestions like that!’
‘I am. Very lucky.’ I think my words get lost in his laughter.
‘Night, Daisy. Sleep tight, talk to you tomorrow.’
‘Night Ollie. Stanley says goodnight too.’
I’m not sure I can keep this up even one more day. I need to talk to Vera tomorrow, or at least tell Ollie we need to talk.
This is horrible.
Chapter 26
9 p.m., 19 May
I have made a decision. I’ve done very little but think about Ollie and Uncle Terence and the need to have a plan since last night but standing here in the shower I have come to a conclusion.
Four Christmases and a Secret Page 27