by Kate Field
‘Where would be the fun in that?’ I replied. Because judging by the glimmer in Mrs Archer’s eyes, and the unusual colour in her cheeks – not to mention the way she latched onto Ethan’s arm for support – her ride upstairs had been more fun than she’d had in a long time. ‘Another conquest,’ I murmured. ‘You’re irrepressible. Is there a woman in the world you haven’t won over yet?’
‘Maybe.’ He grinned as Mrs Archer tugged him towards a bedroom. ‘But I’m working on it.’
I wondered who he had his eye on now. Could it be Daisy? I hadn’t heard how her plans to woo Ethan were progressing. There was no time to ask, as by the time we finished the tour, I had to dash off to the marquee to chair a panel discussion on whether Victorian writers had any relevance to today’s readers. The poor academic we’d drafted in to argue that Alice and her contemporaries were out of date and should be forgotten stood no chance against this crowd, and appeared so drained that I had to bring the food historian on early, to whet our appetite for lunch with her pictures of lavish feasts and samples of Victorian cooking.
I had hoped that Leo would try to speak to Mrs Archer over lunch, but Ethan claimed the chair I was saving, and when I saw the old lady smile for the first time, I couldn’t regret the substitution. Leo’s mood hadn’t noticeably improved since I’d arrived, even though the day was undoubtedly a success, and I’d sold lots of signed copies of the autobiography.
‘What’s wrong with Leo?’ I asked, when I wandered outside with my cup of tea, and found Clark lurking behind the marquee, reading the BBC news on his phone; clearly Leo hadn’t brainwashed him into adoring Alice Hornby yet. ‘This used to be his favourite day of the year, more than Christmas. Is he feeling ill?’
‘Not ill. Guilty, I think.’
‘Guilty?’ I’d forgotten Clark’s habit of frank speaking. ‘What about?’
‘You. Last year you organised this together. This year he hasn’t been around, so you’ve had to do it all yourself. You’ve even had to rope in Ethan.’
Organising this together was stretching the facts, but I let it go.
‘Is that why he’s in a bad mood? Because Ethan’s here? He’s an extra pair of hands, that’s all. I had a lot of boxes to bring.’
‘It’s not about Ethan. It’s the reminder that you don’t have anyone else to turn to. You’re on your own. Leo blames himself for that.’
It would be hard for him to blame anyone else.
‘So you’re saying he won’t be happy until I find someone else? I can’t help that. Moving on isn’t always an easy thing to do.’
I was thinking of my disastrous attempts to move on with Owen, but perhaps Clark assumed I was having a dig at Leo, as he studied me for a moment before answering.
‘Would it really be moving on?’ Clark spoke gently, but something in his tone burrowed into my head and fixed my attention. ‘Or letting yourself fall in love for the first time?’
I was about to object – I loved Leo, and Clark had no right to suggest otherwise – but the words faltered on my tongue. This was a bizarre conversation to be having with my husband’s fiancé, but perhaps it took an outsider to see the truth. I had always loved Leo, but I had never fallen in love with him, not in the way I had read about in countless books, Alice’s included. Was it as simple as that? Had I been looking at this all wrong? I had been afraid that by moving on I might lose something: the connection with Leo that had supported me for so many years. Should I be thinking instead of everything I might gain?
‘Tell me what it’s like,’ I said. ‘How does it feel to be in love?’
‘I can’t. It’s not something I feel, it’s something I am. You can’t describe how it feels to have blood running through your veins. It’s just there, a part of you, and you wouldn’t exist without it. For me, that’s what it’s like being with Leo.’
My relationship with Leo had never been like that. But I wanted it – I wanted the love that Clark experienced. I wanted someone who loved me just as I was: whether I cartwheeled naked or packed emergency winter kits; whether I agreed with them or argued over every detail; whether I was making food for old people or snapping for no reason at my mother.
‘How did you get so wise?’ I said.
‘Too many relationships that weren’t that sort of love.’ He winked. ‘But let’s not tell Leo about those.’
Bridie and Mrs Archer stayed longer than I expected, and didn’t leave until they’d enjoyed a substantial afternoon tea. They hadn’t mentioned the secret blue box all day, and so I accompanied them to their car, determined they wouldn’t get away without me probing.
‘Have you enjoyed the day?’ I asked, as we headed towards the drive, where they had been given special parking privileges.
‘It’s been interesting,’ Bridie said. From an Archer, I took that as high praise. I had seen how fascinated they had both been by the Victorian food, and the Alice souvenirs I had brought with me.
‘You can see how much we love Alice. We want to know everything about her. Would you consider showing me what other mementoes you have from Florrie?’ I decided to come straight out with it. ‘Will you tell me what’s in the blue box?’
They didn’t reply, and I thought I had pushed too soon and blown my chance. But as we reached their car, Mrs Archer leant forward in her chair.
‘Who was that fella?’
‘Which one?’
‘The one with the smile. Him that’s too handsome for his own good.’
‘Ethan?’ I didn’t know why his was the first name that popped into my head at Mrs Archer’s description; except that he did have a fairly memorable smile, one that could have melted both North and South Poles with one twitch of the lips. ‘He was with us on the tour of the house?’
‘Aye, that’s him. Know him well, do you?’
‘Yes. He’s Leo’s brother.’
Mrs Archer’s hand emerged from her blankets and grasped mine, her thin fingers closing over my skin like twisted roots clinging on to the earth. She studied my face, and obviously found something there, because she nodded her head twice.
‘Then happen you’ll understand.’ She nodded again. ‘I’ll think on it.’
It was as much as I could have hoped for, and as Ethan drove me home later, I was happy that the day had gone well; that despite the division in our personal life, Leo and I had still managed to put together a good day for the members of the Alice Hornby Society.
‘What?’ I asked, as from the corner of my eye I caught Ethan turn to look at me again. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘You were fantastic today.’
I let out an exasperated sigh.
‘Okay. Fantastically bad? Bossy? Annoying?’
‘Fantastically fantastic.’ He looked at the road again, but was smiling what Mrs Archer would call the smile. ‘I’ve never seen you at work. You know more about Victorian literature than I probably know about every subject put together. And even I began to get excited when you showed us Alice’s lace collar.’
I laughed, but I wasn’t modest enough to deny it. Of course I knew my subject: I had spent years researching it, with the guidance of one of the best teachers. Recognition was too rare for me not to grasp and cradle it when it came.
‘It was a good day,’ I said. I relaxed back into the passenger seat and stretched out my legs into the foot well, savouring the luxury of Ethan’s rented car.
‘You look happy.’
‘I think I am. No, I am. I discovered something today. I’m ready.’
‘Ready for what?’
‘To fall in love.’
Ethan looked at me for so long that the car behind us had to parp its horn twice before he noticed that the traffic lights had changed to green.
‘Who with?’ he asked, as he pulled away. ‘The teacher?’
‘Maybe.’ The car accelerated, jerking me forwards. ‘Maybe not. It might be with someone I know, or it might be with someone I meet in future. It might happen next week, or in ten years from now. Th
e point is, I want it. I’m looking forward to it.’
‘Really?’ He glanced my way. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Positive.’ I poked his arm as it came between us to change gears. ‘Don’t go shooting me down, wondering who would be mad enough to love me, okay? Be kind. This is exciting.’
He smiled, a smile so dazzling that I imagined I would still see the imprint of it if I closed my eyes.
‘It certainly is.’
Chapter 17
Our summer holiday didn’t start on an auspicious note. Thick grey clouds and a sharp wind gathered to wave off our little convoy: me, Ava, and Dotty in the lead, Mum and Audrey in the second car, and Daisy and Chloe bringing up the rear. Heavy rain started to fall before we had left Stoneybrook, and pursued us doggedly all the way down the motorway from Lancashire to Cornwall, until we pulled up outside the rental house.
Arriving here was always one of my favourite moments of the year. The house itself was gorgeous: a sprawling whitewashed cottage set on a quiet lane in Carbis Bay, a couple of miles from St Ives, not quite on the cliff edge but close enough that the sea was visible over the tops of trees and houses. We had met the owners years ago, and had negotiated a perfect arrangement whereby we rented the house for the summer, while they escaped the crowds and travelled. We were effectively house-sitting for them, and the mutual convenience was reflected in the price – five weeks here for less than we would have paid for two weeks abroad.
But the house represented more than a bargain. Something happened to us when we came here, something magical: away from home, and work, and school, we shook off our stresses, and grumbles, and disappointments, and became ourselves again. Leo smiled more; Jonas talked more; Ava moaned less, and I relaxed and felt more like my old self than at any other time. Less dull. Less beige.
But it could have hardly felt more different this year as I dashed up the path to the front door, knowing that this would be our last summer here, and that our last summer here as a proper family had already gone, slipping by without fuss or fanfare. The house looked the same, and as I stepped inside it smelt the same – of beeswax and fresh bread, with a lingering undertone of dog; but the magic was missing.
‘This place sucks even more in the rain,’ Ava said, dragging Dotty inside but conveniently leaving all the suitcases and bags for me to bring in. ‘Why can’t we go to Spain or somewhere hot like a normal family?’
She let go of Dotty’s lead, and Dotty scampered off round the house, searching for the owner’s dog that she could smell on the furniture. Excited barks came from upstairs; Dotty wasn’t allowed up there, as Ava well knew, but I bit my tongue. This holiday was as hard for her as me; probably worse, as I still loved her however badly she behaved, while Ava hated me however well I behaved.
‘Isn’t it marvellous to be back!’ Audrey followed us in, bringing a little dose of sunshine with her. ‘An all-girls holiday! Won’t we have fun! We should have a spa day if we can find one, and get rid of all those winter blues.’
It would take more than a facial and some nail varnish to buff away the blues I’d been through this winter, but I smiled and agreed. Ava was busy glaring at me as if there was only one thing she wanted to get rid of, and it was more Black than blue.
‘Where are we sleeping?’ she asked, an unmistakeable challenge in her voice.
‘I thought you and Chloe could share the room in the attic.’
‘Without a bathroom?’ She couldn’t have sounded more horrified if I’d offered them a room with no beds.
‘There’s one right at the bottom of the stairs.’
‘Which room are you in?’
‘The usual.’
‘But how is that fair? We’re the only ones sharing a room, so we need the biggest. You should have the small one as you’re on your own.’
Ava cocked her head to the side, and her eyes shimmered with a curious mix of excitement at her own insolence, and fear that she may have gone too far. Audrey squeezed my hand.
‘I don’t mind the top floor,’ she said. ‘I used to love sleeping under the eaves and hearing the rain dancing on the roof slates. It will make me feel quite young again.’
‘No, you can have your normal room.’ I smiled as brightly as I could manage. ‘Ava’s right. She and Chloe can have the master bedroom, at least until Leo and Clark come.’
Ava wandered away to claim her prize, no doubt disappointed that I hadn’t argued about it. I thought I heard a murmur of ‘little cow’ from Daisy’s direction, but when I turned her way, her lips were as still as if they were playing musical statues.
‘I couldn’t face another argument,’ I said, giving an explanation, though no one had asked for one.
‘Giving things up is all part and parcel of being a mother,’ Mum said. ‘You’re lucky it’s only a room.’
As opposed to a whole house, I supposed she meant, like she’d given up for me and Leo. Although, to be fair to her, she’d done it with extraordinary good grace, and hadn’t until this moment tainted the gift by making us feel guilty. Did she now think that with Leo gone, and the children likely to leave in the next few years, I didn’t need the big house anymore?
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, sounding snippy but unable to prevent it, ‘if you ever felt you had to give up anything for me.’
‘Like I said, mothers make sacrifices every day,’ she replied. ‘Some small, some big, and most of them unacknowledged. We show we care in a thousand ways, even if we can’t say it, or our children don’t want to listen.’
And with this bizarre speech, she patted me on the shoulder and went off to find her room.
No one wanted to cook after the long journey, so we strolled down to a hotel in Carbis Bay for dinner. We were a surprisingly merry little group as we drank our wine and watched the waves creep up and down the sand; Audrey and Daisy were rarely stuck for words, and even Mum relaxed enough to smile when Audrey teased her about having left her mystery man behind.
Audrey and Mum walked the girls home after the meal, leaving me and Daisy to finish the wine on our own.
‘I’ve often wondered how you could bear to go away with the parents,’ Daisy said, as we settled down in comfy chairs in a conservatory bar overlooking the beach. The beach was deserted except for a middle-aged couple who wandered hand in hand by the water’s edge, dodging the waves. ‘Now I see the benefit. Is this what you and Leo used to do? Hide out in the bar until the kids were asleep?’
‘No, we never did. Leo wasn’t keen on spending the night in a pub. He was happy to stay at home.’
‘Were you?’
‘I …’ It wasn’t something I’d thought about. It was the way things were. When we were together, we read or watched TV, talked about Alice or the children – what difference would it have made having those conversations in a bar rather than at home? But as I watched the couple on the beach, ten or fifteen years older than me and yet acting like teenagers as they laughed and raced away from unexpectedly fast waves, I wondered why Leo and I had never done that, and whether it might have made a difference if we had. Perhaps a change of scene and time alone would have broadened our conversation, made us talk about who we really were and what we wanted. Perhaps then Leo’s defection wouldn’t have been such a surprise.
‘When I fall in love,’ I began. Daisy laughed.
‘Will it be forever?’
‘I hope so. But it will also be like that.’ I waved my glass in the direction of the beach. The couple were now sitting on the sand, the man with his arm around the woman, her head resting on his shoulder. They weren’t talking, just being together.
‘Sweet, isn’t it?’ Daisy sighed. ‘I know we’re meant to be all feminist and say we can manage on our own, and we don’t need a man. But it’s rubbish. I don’t want to manage on my own. I want companionship like that. I want someone to put the bins out when it’s raining. I want someone to pour me a glass of wine when I’ve had a bad day. I want someone, you know?’
I nodded.
‘I can’t watch anything funny on television,’ I said. ‘I hate the sound of my own laughter echoing around the empty room.’ I divided the remains of the wine between our glasses, and clinked mine against Daisy’s. ‘Here’s to finding love and companionship.’
‘Love and companionship.’ She smiled. ‘Talking of which, did you say Ethan was in New York for a few days? When does he get back?’
I choked on my wine, and my chest burned as the alcohol trickled into my lungs.
‘Ethan?’ I repeated, when I recovered enough to gasp out a few words. ‘Are you serious about him?’
‘No harm trying, is there? We could see if we have anything in common. He might be glad of the company with you lot down here for the summer. You wouldn’t find it weird, would you?’
‘Weird?’ I echoed. ‘No. Why should I?’
‘Because he’s practically your brother. But that wouldn’t make it awkward, would it? You never know, if things went well, we could be sisters! And I see what you mean about Audrey. If mothers-in-law must exist, they should all be like her.’
I gazed out of the restaurant’s picture windows. The clouds that had threatened us all day had thinned at last, and the sky was painted with glorious bold streaks of yellow, pink, orange, and blue as the sun set beyond the headland towards St Ives. But the beauty of the sky was in stark contrast to the ugly thoughts in my head. Audrey was mine. I didn’t want to share her, even with Daisy. And as for Ethan … I closed my eyes and took a few long breaths to ease the sudden racing of my heart. I didn’t want to share him either.
Daisy could only stay with us for a week. Her boss, the MP, used the parliamentary summer recess to interfere in local issues, and needed all his staff on hand to identify and arrange photo shoots about causes that would look good on his website and newsletter, and that he would promptly forget come autumn. Chloe would remain in Cornwall for another two weeks until I could bring her home.
Daisy’s departure spoilt the dynamics of our group. Ava and Chloe were thick as thieves, getting up to all sorts that they shared on Instagram but not with me. Audrey and Mum were closer this summer than they had been in the past, as Audrey’s weak wrist still restricted what she could do, and Mum delighted in being a martyr and sacrificing her own plans to help Audrey, even when no help was required. So that left me, the odd one out, unwanted by the young pair and unwanting to tag along with the old one. I had never had so much free time on holiday – never had so much free time at all. Was this a foretaste of how my life was going to be in a few years’ time, when Jonas and Ava had both left home? One day of it was great; two days were tolerable; by the third day I was going out of my mind – so much so that as I lay in the garden, simmering in the glorious sunshine, my skin prickled and I could have sworn I was being watched, even though the others had all gone out.