Chances

by Kate Field

  ‘What are you up to, more to the point?’ Gran said. ‘What’s all this about your Paddy having an injury? You didn’t do it to him, did you? And why is he at your house?’

  ‘Of course I didn’t do it! He had an accident on the walk. Didn’t the source of your gossip tell you that?’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t look past the headline and the photo. Mrs Pike was too busy crowing that she knew something I didn’t. You could …’

  ‘Hang on,’ I interrupted. I glanced towards Jo’s door and escaped to the corridor where I didn’t need to whisper. ‘What headline and photo?’

  ‘The photo of Paddy in your front room. You should have tidied first. There were two dirty mugs and a plate on the coffee table. You don’t want folk thinking you’re a slattern.’

  ‘But Gran,’ I said, speaking slowly, as I was beginning to think there might be something wrong with her after all. She wasn’t making any sense. ‘I haven’t taken any photos of Paddy at my house, so you can’t have seen one.’

  ‘I’m not doolally yet, thank you. Look on that computer of yours if you don’t believe me. The whole world has seen it, not just me. I want the full story on Sunday!’

  And with that she was gone, leaving me completely bewildered. I wandered back to my desk and typed Paddy’s name into the internet search engine. The first result was for his Wikipedia entry – he was on Wikipedia! I tried not to be too impressed and instead clicked on the second result, for an article in today’s online edition of a tabloid newspaper.

  It was only a brief story, puffed out with regurgitated details of Paddy’s previous TV appearances – more than I had realised, and a curious mix of serious shows and celebrity trash. The article mentioned that he had been injured in a ‘heroic rescue’ involving a small child – the balloon didn’t get a look-in – while helping to raise money for a nursing home on behalf of an old family friend. And there was a picture of Paddy, lolling on my sofa with a brave smile on his bruised face and a huge bandage wrapped round his leg. I knew for a fact he hadn’t worn that bandage in my presence this week, so it must have been an embellishment for the photograph. Talk about fake news! I couldn’t believe he’d had the shame to go through with it, or that the newspaper had even published the story. Who was interested in this rubbish?

  On closer inspection, I discovered that quite a few people were interested, judging by almost a hundred comments at the bottom of the page. They were mainly nauseating messages from adoring fans, commending his apparent bravery and offering some eye-watering remedies to help him recover, although one comment made me laugh: it told him to man up, cut his hair and stop being a ‘big girl’s blouse’.

  I flicked back through the article, blood boiling. ‘Old family friend’ – I hoped that didn’t mean me. Never mind the old, my feelings for Paddy were far from friendly. How dared he invite the press into my home and put my shabby furniture online for all the world to see? How vain must he be, how desperate for publicity, that he would use any misfortune to further his own career? While I had been rushing through my work, making time to check on him in my lunch break, had he been sneakily plotting and using my home for his own ends? What next – a full-page spread in Hello? I couldn’t believe that I’d softened towards him this week, and even been glad of his company; he was clearly the same hollow man I had always thought him.

  The usual Friday night happiness didn’t even register as I stormed out of school at the end of the day and drove home at record speed. I said goodbye to Tina, slammed through my front door and marched into the kitchen, where I found Paddy busy cleaning the hob.

  Far from being impressed, the sight increased my fury. Was he suggesting I was a slattern too?

  ‘Are you sure you’re well enough for that?’ I asked, talking over his question about how my day had been. ‘I see you’ve been able to take your bandage off now. Are you sure it’s not too soon? I’m surprised you didn’t go the whole hog and apply a plaster cast.’

  ‘It’s not as easy to buy one of those in the chemist.’ Paddy laughed, but the smile faded quickly as he looked at me. ‘What’s wrong? Has that Blair woman had a go at you again? Do you want me to go in there and sort her out for you?’

  ‘No! It’s nothing to do with school. My day was going perfectly well until I saw a photograph of my living room on the internet!’

  ‘Ah. It was the dirty plate, wasn’t it? I should have spotted it. Sorry. But give me some brownie points, I’ve tried to make amends by tidying up and cleaning the kitchen since then, even in my poor injured state …’

  I glared at him. He really wasn’t getting it. He really was so entirely self-absorbed that he couldn’t think of anyone else at all. Did he expect me to be pleased with him?

  ‘It has nothing to do with the plate! It’s about you inviting strangers into my home without even having the courtesy to tell me, let alone ask. It’s about the fact that you’re using Gran and The Chestnuts to make yourself look good, and no doubt to try to get a role on some other shoddy TV show to earn more money that you probably don’t even need …’

  ‘Not a shoddy TV show.’ Paddy’s voice was hard, and his eyes were flat, no hint of their usual twinkle. ‘My agent phoned earlier. I’ve been offered a guest appearance on a BBC comedy panel show. And yes, it’s decent money for cracking a few jokes and smiling into the cameras. Why would I turn that down?’

  He was serious. What had happened to him? What had happened to that boy I had loved – the boy who had looked after me the day I had been attacked, who had tidied away my shopping and wiped away my tears? He hadn’t cared about money or taken himself too seriously. He had been kind, passionate and had cared about others – at first, at least. And it suddenly occurred to me that I didn’t know this man in front of me. I had accused Paddy of inviting strangers into my home, but I was the one who had allowed a stranger to stay.

  ‘You really are a hollow figure of a man, aren’t you?’ I said. ‘Every tear I shed over you was a waste. I should have celebrated my lucky escape.’

  I walked out and went upstairs to get changed. I wasn’t furious with him any longer – he wasn’t worth the energy. But I was furious with myself. I’d known what he was like, how little substance there was to him. No one knew that better than I did. So what had I been doing these last few days, looking after him and treating him like a decent human being? Enjoying his company, whispered a mischievous voice in my head. How had I let him fool me again?

  I had taken off my blouse and was looking for a T-shirt to wear for a run when I heard quick footsteps on the stairs.

  Paddy’s voice called out, ‘Eve, let me explain …’ and then there was a cry of pain, a couple of thumps and silence. I rushed out of my room. Paddy was lying on the stairs, clutching his leg. I ran down to him.

  ‘What have you done now? Has it popped again?’

  ‘No, but jeez, it hurts like it did at the start.’

  ‘What were you thinking, running up the stairs like that?’

  ‘I was thinking that I didn’t want to leave without trying to explain. Not this time. Believe it or not, I have grown up in the last seventeen years.’

  I didn’t have an answer to that. He was the one on the floor, but I was the one who felt wrong-footed.

  ‘Wait there,’ I said – needlessly, on reflection – and squeezed past him down the stairs. I returned with the crutches he had abandoned a couple of days ago. With some heaving on my part and some cursing on his, we managed to get him back on his feet.

  ‘You’ve put on weight. You didn’t used to be this heavy,’ I said, catching my breath.

  ‘I’d prefer to call it muscle. Not such a hollow figure, am I?’

  ‘Not physically.’

  He worked his way back downstairs and I followed until he was settled on the sofa again.

  ‘You probably just overdid it,’ I said. ‘Rest now and it might be fine in the morning.’

  ‘I hope so.’ So did I. He might be desperate to go on his date, but I was equally de
sperate for him to leave so that life could go back to normal – the familiar life-without-Paddy that I had adapted to over the years.

  He looked at me as I hovered by the door. I wondered whether I could still escape for a run if he was in pain again. ‘Don’t think I’m not enjoying the view, but feel free to put more clothes on before you tell me off for looking where I shouldn’t.’ He grinned. ‘You didn’t wear underwear like that in my day. Your man must be something special.’

  I didn’t bother covering myself up. What was the point? He had seen it all before, more times than I could count, although I was considerably more toned now – but then, I’d never had the joy of a child of my own, to sag and stretch everything out of shape. And the underwear wasn’t for Rich, though he certainly appreciated it. It was for me – my one indulgence, a secret reminder that somewhere, deep down, I was still me: an independent woman, not a stand-in mother, forgotten aunt, ungrateful daughter or abandoned lover.

  ‘I didn’t let strangers in your house, for the record,’ Paddy said, as I turned away. ‘It was only Jamie.’

  ‘Jamie?’ I came back into the room.

  ‘Tina’s lad. From across the road.’

  ‘Why was he here?’

  ‘He came round for a chat while you were at work. He’s interested in the media, and the newspapers and all that kind of thing.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So I let him make up a story and take a photo, and gave him a contact name at the newspaper …’ Paddy shrugged. ‘The bandage was his idea. I couldn’t see any harm in it. I didn’t think it would actually make it online. Must have been a quiet news day, you know?’

  Was it true? Had he been doing a favour for Jamie, not grasping for publicity for himself? I didn’t know. He could say one thing – look totally innocent – but behave in a different way entirely, as I well knew. How could I ever trust him again?

  ‘I get why you don’t want to talk about the past,’ Paddy said, when I hesitated in the doorway. ‘But don’t judge me on it, okay? I’m not that boy any more.’

  I nodded, but I still wasn’t sure whether to believe him, or what to think if I did. So I took my usual course, and went for a run, climbing the hills around Inglebridge until I was too exhausted to think at all.

  Chapter 15

  Paddy hobbled into the kitchen the next morning, carrying his bag but wearing the grim face of a man who knew his hopes of a hot date were about to go pop as surely as his muscle had done a few days before.

  ‘You’re not fit to drive, are you?’ I asked, flicking the kettle to make him a cup of tea.

  ‘I can try.’

  I watched him wince as he sat down at the table.

  ‘Is your car an automatic?’

  ‘No.’ He winced again as he tried to move his leg, as if changing gears. He put his head in his hands. ‘I’ve really screwed this up. I overdid it yesterday. I’m such an idiot.’

  His reaction seemed extreme. It must have been quite some date he had lined up. But surely, if he was as attractive as people gave him credit for, the woman he was due to meet would be happy to wait? I didn’t make the point. It could hardly have been less of my business. I concentrated on making his breakfast instead, wholemeal toast slathered with the butter he had included with the supermarket delivery. Gran would have been proud of him.

  I carried his plate over to the table. He looked up.

  ‘Eve, I don’t suppose you would …’

  ‘Absolutely not! Seriously? You expect me to drive you home, so you can meet your date? I’m not your pimp, Paddy!’

  He toyed with the toast on his plate and I backed away to the sink. He was unbelievable! Thinking only of himself again, albeit his carnal rather than financial desires this time. Why would he think …

  ‘It’s not that sort of date.’ I turned, because there was something in his voice, an odd reluctance that caught my attention. ‘It’s my mam. It’s her birthday today.’

  ‘Is it a special one?’ I remembered as soon as he said it that Alison Friel’s birthday had been sometime in spring, so perhaps he wasn’t making this up. I couldn’t remember how old she was. Could she be seventy? ‘Is she having a party?’

  ‘No. Not special and no party. But I told her I’d be there.’

  ‘But she lives in London,’ I said. ‘You can’t expect me to drive you all the way down there.’

  ‘They’re not in London. Mam and Dad have moved to Yorkshire. Near Ripon.’

  Ripon? That’s where he’d said that he lived too. They had always been a close-knit family, so it shouldn’t surprise me that they all lived near to each other, but Ripon was an unexpected choice. Paddy’s mum had been born in Yorkshire, but the family had seemed settled in London when I knew them, and Paddy’s life was down there. Not just his celebrity life; according to Wikipedia, he owned an archaeology consultancy business in the south-east of the country.

  Paddy was picking at his toast, not meeting my eye.

  ‘Your mum will understand why you can’t make it, when you explain the circumstances, won’t she?’ I asked. ‘Won’t a phone call do?’

  ‘No. Ah, it’s complicated, Eve.’ He looked up at me, but I almost wished he hadn’t when I saw the bleakness in his eyes. ‘She’s not so good. I said I’d be there, and I don’t want to let her down.’

  Was I a fool? Maybe. Half an hour later we were in my car, following the road that wound through the valleys of north Lancashire and across to Yorkshire. It was a glorious late spring day, and the sun saturated the countryside with warmth, enhancing the rich green shades of the fields around us and making the new leaves sparkle on the trees. Paddy was silent, but I didn’t mind. It wasn’t a bad way to spend my Saturday, enjoying all this lush beauty; in fact, it was good to get out, invigorating to see somewhere different for a change. The sunshine felt like a foretaste of summer and seemed to offer hope, and the promise of good things ahead. Despite the company, I felt relaxed and happier than I would ever have imagined in Paddy’s presence.

  Eventually, Paddy directed me off the main road and towards a village on the outskirts of Ripon, until we pulled up outside a large, detached bungalow on a quiet country lane.

  ‘When did your parents move here?’ I asked, as I switched off the engine. I looked around: there were only two other properties in sight, and the views in every direction were tremendous. It was a far cry from the busy London street where Paddy’s parents had lived when I had known them.

  ‘A couple of years ago. Mam wanted to come back home to Yorkshire.’

  He unfastened his seat belt and hesitated.

  ‘Is there a café in the village?’ I asked. ‘I could wait there until you’re ready.’

  ‘No, you’d better come in. She’d never forgive me if I didn’t offer you a cup of tea.’

  He smiled, but there was an unexplained quality of sadness to it. I accompanied him up the drive, past a huge people-carrier parked under a car port, and along a covered path to the front door. A ramp led up to a double-width front door. I looked at Paddy for an explanation, but he didn’t offer one. He rang the doorbell and pushed open the front door without waiting for a reply.

  ‘Dad? Mam? It’s Paddy!’

  I followed him into a hallway with three wide arches leading off to other rooms, but no doors. A man emerged through one of the arches and it took me a moment to recognise Paddy’s dad, Ray. His smile was as warm as ever, but in everything else he had shrunk and aged beyond what I would have expected.

  ‘Hi, Dad.’ Paddy bent and embraced his father. They had been of similar build, when Paddy was a teenager; now Paddy dwarfed him. He stepped back and gestured towards me. ‘You remember Eve?’

  ‘Of course. You don’t look a day older.’ Ray took my hand in both of his and squeezed it. ‘Good of you to look after Paddy like this. How’s the leg?’

  ‘Yeah, getting better. Just a minor sprain.’ Paddy glanced at me and I understood the silent appeal: no mentioning that he’d been in pain. ‘How’s Mam?’
/>
  ‘Having a good day. Come in, the pair of you.’

  Ray led the way through the arch to the left and into a bright living room with huge picture windows overlooking the garden and fields beyond. But I couldn’t concentrate on the view. Paddy’s mum, Alison, sat in front of the window in a large wheelchair. If I’d thought Ray had shrunk, it was nothing compared to Alison. Her face was gaunt, and she looked the ‘hollow figure’ that I had accused Paddy of being. But her smile was as warm as it had ever been as she caught sight of Paddy.

  ‘How are you, love?’ she asked, holding out her right hand to Paddy. He took it and bent down to kiss her cheeks, resting his head briefly against hers. My heart ached at the gesture: he had always adored his mum. ‘And don’t think of trying to kid me. I saw the pain on your face when you walked in, though you tried to hide it.’

  I’d noticed it too: he had been trying not to limp. He perched on the arm of the sofa at Alison’s side.

  ‘It’s something and nothing,’ he said. ‘No need to worry. I’d be recovered by now if I hadn’t overdone it yesterday.’

  ‘Running around after the girls, like usual, I expect …’ Alison laughed but it turned into a cough and Paddy sprang up to help wipe her mouth. ‘I hope you’re not giving Eve the run-around again.’

  I didn’t think she’d noticed me, but I came forward and took her outstretched hand. Her grip was weak, but she held on to me.

  ‘You’ve not changed a bit,’ she said. ‘Not like the rest of us.’

  ‘But I’m older and wiser,’ I replied, ‘and no one gives me the run-around any more.’

  ‘Well, I’m right glad to hear that.’ She smiled and squeezed my hand, and her eyes twinkled in the way that Paddy’s did. ‘I’m glad to see you again, love. It’s been too long. How’s that little girl of yours?’

  ‘Not so little. Look.’ I took out my phone and showed Alison the picture of Caitlyn on my lock screen. ‘She’s working in Paris now, as an au pair. She loves it over there.’

  ‘She’s a beauty,’ Alison said. Paddy was peering over her shoulder at my phone. ‘Make yourself useful, Paddy, and put the kettle on. And there’s cake in the tin on the counter. Your dad’s soft, thinks I need a birthday cake at my age …’