Worth Waiting For: A heart-warming and feel-good romantic comedy

by Tilly Tennant

  She glanced around, desperately trying to take her mind off the fact that her aunt’s body lay in a box just feet away. Only a small number of Hazel’s friends had managed to make it to the burial site. Ellie supposed that was to be expected – it was a long drive and Hazel must have realised that when she planned it. Perhaps she didn’t think it would matter who came in the end, only that her final resting place was perfect. Other than that, Hazel’s ex-husband had made the effort along with his mother, which filled Ellie with a great deal of new-found respect for him.

  There was also a sprinkling of distant relatives whom Ellie only ever bumped into at weddings and funerals. Later they’d chat, swap phone numbers, vow to keep in touch – empty promises that would be forgotten until the next family gathering when they’d make them all over again. Kasumi had only met Hazel a couple of times and Jethro never had, but they had both offered to come to the funeral. In the end, Ellie had reassured her friends that their gesture was appreciated but not necessary.

  The vicar gave the usual funeral speeches and made some comments about the lovely setting. Ellie tried not to pay too much attention so that no single word, or even the merest nuance, could set off her tears. Instead, she focused on the buds on the trees, on the coloured dots of new spring flowers barely showing above ground, on the birds busy above them, on how life continued in the face of death. Before she knew it, the speech was over and Hazel was being lowered into the ground.

  Miranda’s hand was still firmly in Frank’s grasp as they made their way back to the lodge. He reached for Ellie’s at the other side of him, and the three of them walked back together, united as a family for the first time in months.

  Miranda had given the envelope to Ellie shortly after they had returned to Millrise from the funeral. She had taken it without comment and left her mum and dad alone together at Miranda’s house in the hope that they would build on the ceasefire they seemed to have achieved that day. On the front of the envelope Ellie’s name was written in Hazel’s looping handwriting. Ellie had looked at it at least five times that evening without opening it. Somehow, it never seemed to be quite the right moment. It was almost as if it was something private, the last something of Hazel that Ellie shouldn’t see. Too personal to be seen by anyone who might call, it lay now on the dressing table in her bedroom. As Ellie changed into her pyjamas just before midnight, it caught her eye again, a perfectly unremarkable white envelope that anyone could buy from any supermarket. But inside it, the thoughts of a dead woman waited.

  Ellie perched on the edge of her bed and reached for it. She rubbed her side thoughtfully as she read her name again. The pain in her ribs had subsided but she had developed a strange habit of soothing them anyway. With a deep breath, she slid a thumb under the flap and opened the letter.

  Dear Ellie

  If you’re reading this then I’m dead. That’s a suitably Hollywood beginning, isn’t it? There are so many things I have wanted to say to you in the past few months but I knew that you wouldn’t want to hear them. Lots of them are boring old legal things that the solicitor will talk to you about. The other things are far more important.

  The first is that you must let your mum and dad make their own way. You can’t be responsible for them all your life. But I think you already know that.

  The second is choose happiness over duty. It links in with number one, I suppose, but with a bit more emphasis. You may believe that you have to put everyone else first, or that you should sacrifice your feelings for the sake of what’s proper or right. Those are admirable sentiments, but life is short and happiness fleeting. Choose to be happy, Ellie, in whatever path life offers you. Listen to your heart and follow it. You might find you’ve been led up a blind alley, but you might discover paradise.

  Number three: always look forward, never back. Remember the pillars of salt? Look forward and don’t cry over mistakes that can’t be changed.

  The last one (and I hope I don’t think of any more after I’m dead or that might get a bit tricky) is don’t take my life as a template for yours. I’ve seen the way you shy away from love. It doesn’t always go wrong, you know, just because it did for me. Besides, I’ve had time to make my peace with John now and I wish him a blissful life with his boy. Bitterness is not going to bring me back and it’s one hell of a burden to die with. Take a chance. What have you got to lose?

  Don’t cry for me. Time will dull the pain of loss, as it does for every loss. Remember me, but don’t cry. You are the daughter I never had, and exactly like the one I always longed for. Show the world what you’re made of and do my memory proud.

  I leave my love lingering in every shadow for you, so you need never be afraid of the dark.

  Be good, be strong, be glorious.

  Hazel. Xxx

  Ellie read the letter three more times before she folded it carefully and tucked it back into the envelope. Was that how Hazel had seen her – as someone who treated life with too much caution, someone crippled by duty and regrets, someone who was afraid of the shadows? Ellie already knew that her aunt had left a great deal of money to her, at Miranda’s insistence that she herself wanted none of it and would rather see it go to Ellie. When Miranda had told Ellie of this, the fact had hardly registered. It wasn’t that Ellie didn’t care or was ungrateful, but it hardly seemed a gift at all when all things were considered. Ellie flipped the envelope and traced a finger over the indents the pen had left beneath her name. Why had Hazel felt the need to write this letter? Had she written something similar for Ellie’s mum? If so, Miranda hadn’t mentioned it. Perhaps, if one did exist, she never would.

  A week later, Ellie returned to her office at the Echo. Like most people, she had often joked that if she won the lottery she would take great and immediate pleasure in flouncing off from her desk in a blaze of glory and chartering the nearest helicopter, never to return. The reality of not being at work during the week was very different, however, and Ellie found that she craved the stimulation and excitement her job offered. Vernon had, in fact, phoned her personally and told her to take as long as she needed at home to recover both physically from the accident and emotionally from her aunt’s death, but Ellie felt certain that the best thing to heal both those scars was to immerse herself in her work. She had reassured him that she felt perfectly well and reminded him that she was hardly training for the SAS, and couldn’t see that driving out to talk to old ladies about their bingo winnings was going to stretch her either physically or mentally. Vernon had seemed happy with that and Ellie suspected that despite the concerns he had voiced, he was happy to have his newest recruit back again too.

  The first Monday morning back in had passed pleasantly enough. Lots of colleagues popped into her office, or caught her on the stairs or in the communal kitchen to ask how she was and to express their pleasure to see her back at work. She had a page full of satisfying, if slightly uninspired leads, but she was hopeful that from the list something a little more intriguing would present itself. Ange had brought cakes in to celebrate Ellie’s return, which she, Ellie and Vernon had gorged themselves on during coffee break. Patrick (whose cake-radar had obviously been switched on to full power) had turned up, seemingly from nowhere, like some gangly grey-haired locust and polished off the remainder in such an impressive manner that his hand-to-mouth movements had been a veritable blur. All in all, everything was reassuringly normal.

  It was just as she was thinking that life really was back on an even keel that Rosie on main reception, who usually screened all Ellie’s calls, decided to put one straight through to the office.

  ‘Hello… is that Ellie?’

  Ellie almost dropped the phone. He must have heard the sharp intake of breath as she paused, taken by surprise.

  ‘Ben?’ She wanted to add: what the hell are you phoning me for? But nothing else would come out.

  ‘I know you’re probably busy. I just wondered if you could spare some time to see me.’

  ‘I am pretty snowed under. Ange is free this
morning… or maybe someone from the features team –’

  ‘No,’ Ben cut in. ‘It’s not about a story. Can you meet me?’

  ‘You could come to reception here…’ Ellie began carefully. Neutral ground would probably be a good thing and she wasn’t sure she trusted herself to act professionally away from the Echo.

  ‘No,’ Ben said again. ‘Could you meet me after work?’

  Ellie hesitated. She glanced around the office. Vernon had his head in the morning’s edition of the paper and Ange was on another call.

  ‘What’s it about?’

  ‘I can’t tell you now, it’s too complicated.’

  ‘I’m really busy. It’s my first day back in, you know, and I seem to have leads coming from everywhere, not to mention all the unanswered emails and general odds and ends…’ Ellie was aware that she was babbling but couldn’t seem to stop.

  ‘I know. And I wouldn’t ask unless it was important.’

  Ellie chewed her lip for a moment. ‘OK,’ she said finally, mentally smacking herself for not being stronger-willed and letting curiosity get the better of her. ‘Where?’

  ‘Can you come to The Horseshoes?’

  ‘The pub on Blackshore Lane?’

  ‘Yeah. Would that be OK?’

  ‘I won’t finish work until after six.’

  ‘That’s OK. About half past?’

  ‘OK.’ She paused again. There was another question. He had not volunteered the information so maybe he didn’t think it was important. Perhaps it wasn’t. But she found herself asking it anyway. ‘Is Gemma coming?’

  His pause held even more weight than hers. ‘No,’ he replied finally. ‘It’s just me.’

  The Horseshoes had once been a typical example of what Ellie referred to as an ‘old man’s pub,’ complete with nicotine-stained ceilings, dark wooden furniture sticky with the spilt drinks of ages past, and lamps dotted around the walls giving off a dirty glow. A few years ago it had been bought for a bargain price by a local music promoter. It retained the essence of the pub it once was – the old furniture was still in place and the jovial, low-key atmosphere remained – but now it had been thoroughly cleaned and decorated, modernised by adding touches of cutting edge art, an impressive sound system and a stage for music and comedy gigs. Ellie had been in once or twice with Kasumi to see local bands, but since her friend had moved to London there hadn’t been a lot of time or the right company for her to venture in again.

  Ben was standing by the bar when Ellie arrived. It was very early by pub standards and apart from two women whose table was surrounded by shopping bags and a few bar staff the place was empty. He gave an awkward smile as he saw Ellie approach. Straightaway she could see he wasn’t the relaxed Ben she knew – he was taut, anxious… almost afraid.

  ‘I wasn’t sure you’d come,’ Ben said.

  ‘Why wouldn’t I? I said I would.’

  ‘I know. I just thought you might get called to a story or something.’

  ‘The news in Millrise isn’t usually that pressing,’ Ellie said, trying to put him at ease.

  It seemed to work as his expression relaxed slightly. But then he frowned again. ‘Last time I saw you… when I came to the hospital…’

  ‘I wasn’t feeling my best. I had just been knocked down by a car.’

  His head bobbed in a tiny nod. ‘Yeah… I just wondered… Well, I went to the offices to see if I could get your phone number at home. I wanted to see if you were OK. They wouldn’t give it to me, of course – not that I thought they would, but I wanted to try anyway. Then I saw your photographer…’

  ‘Patrick?’

  ‘Yeah. I asked him if he’d take a message to you. I just wanted to talk to you for five minutes, clear the air – y’know? But he said it wasn’t a good time.’

  Ellie mulled this information over for a brief moment. Patrick had said nothing to her about seeing Ben or him wanting to get a message to her. She guessed he had been trying, in his own misguided way, to protect her. She also guessed that Ben’s version of his conversation with Patrick was a diplomatically edited one; it was far more likely he had told Ben to piss off. Whatever Patrick’s motives for keeping the episode from her, she would have to discuss it with him when she saw him again.

  She glanced towards the bar to see a skinny young man hovering nearby, clearly waiting to see if they needed service. ‘Perhaps we should get a drink and sit somewhere quiet?’

  ‘Yeah… of course.’ He turned and motioned to the youth behind the bar.

  ‘What can I get you?’ the barman asked.

  ‘I’ll have a coke,’ Ellie said.

  ‘Coke for me too,’ Ben added. He pulled a crumpled five pound note from his pocket.

  ‘I’ll get them,’ Ellie said.

  ‘I can at least get you one drink…’ Ben began to argue, but Ellie shook her head firmly.

  ‘Are you working right now?’

  Ben glanced at the barman, who seemed to be oblivious to their conversation as he spooned ice into their glasses. ‘Not right now…’ he said in a low voice. ‘You know, because I didn’t go in for ages the boss said he needed to cover my shifts but –’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Ellie. ‘I’m not coming over all women’s lib, I just figure you have rent and stuff to pay with very little coming in.’

  ‘My guitar lessons are starting up again and this time I’ll be doing paid ones too. I can stretch to a couple of cokes,’ he replied, looking almost offended.

  ‘I know you can. But I’m getting these.’

  As the barman placed their drinks before them, Ellie whipped a note from her purse and thrust it at him before Ben could get a chance to argue.

  Ben collected both glasses and followed Ellie to a table in a snug enclosed by coloured glass. Somehow, the partition screening it from the rest of the pub made it seem more private.

  ‘I haven’t been in here for ages.’ Ellie shrugged her coat off as she scooted along the leather bench seat. Ben sat opposite and gave her a small smile.

  ‘Me neither, as it happens. I used to play a lot here with the band.’

  ‘What were they called?’

  He grinned, more like his old self for a moment. ‘Sherlock.’

  Ellie nodded slowly. ‘Sherlock… hmmm, well that’s…’

  ‘A terrible name!’ he laughed. ‘I know. It was Jamie’s idea. None of us could be bothered to argue with him.’

  ‘He’s the lead singer then?’

  ‘Yeah. How did you guess?’

  ‘Because lead singers always get what they want.’

  Ellie took a sip of her coke, letting her eyes wander beyond the confines of the snug for a moment. It seemed that whatever Ben had brought her here to talk about was causing him great concern, and the brief ease they had just shared was now replaced by anxiety and doubt again.

  ‘So… how’s it going with you and Gemma?’ Ellie didn’t want to talk about Gemma, but she felt the need to ignite some sort of conversation and wondered whether this would be the safe ground he needed to put him at ease again. Instead, he looked as though he had just been stung by a psychopathic wasp.

  ‘OK…’ he said carefully.

  Ellie took another sip of her drink and waited. Her job had taught her how to be patient when she was interviewing, give people space to think and choose their words. Eventually, she always found, the words did come and they were more honest for it.

  Finally, he dipped his gaze to his drink and spoke quietly. ‘What would you say if I told you that things aren’t quite how I hoped they would be?’

  ‘Between you two?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said without looking up. He sighed and rubbed a hand over his hair.

  ‘Is all the publicity bothering you?’

  ‘A bit. But there’s something else too.’

  Ellie waited silently again. He looked up and she gave her most encouraging smile.

  ‘When I was little,’ he continued, ‘my dad used to play Echo and the Bunnymen all the time. You kn
ow them, right?’

  ‘Yeah, an eighties band,’ Ellie replied, doing her best to hide the look of absolute mystification as to where this new conversational thread was going.

  ‘So I grew up loving them. I mean, I was obsessed. It was weird, of course, because none of my friends got it. But I loved them. I collected all their CDs, I kept a scrapbook with articles about them, my dad was made up that I was such a fan and brought me things like t-shirts all the time. I even learned to play guitar because I wanted to be just like Will Sergeant. It was so perfect and I thought they would always be my favourite, number one band. Especially when I lost my parents, because then the band was like a link between me and my dad, something to keep his memory fresh. But then I got older and I suppose I changed. One day I heard the Arctic Monkeys. My love for the Bunnymen was like a warm lamp that comforted me but this new thing was like an electric shock that jolted me into life. I never thought that any other band could move me like the Bunnymen did, and certainly not make me feel so much more alive.’

  He pulled his coke towards him and sloshed the ice around in the glass. When he didn’t speak for a moment, Ellie filled the silence.

  ‘I’m not sure I understand.’

  He sighed. ‘I’m not sure I do either. This probably isn’t the best analogy but I’m struggling to find another way to tell you.’

  ‘Tell me what?’

  ‘When I first met Gemma, I thought it would always be her. I couldn’t imagine how anyone could compare; she was my warm glow, a constant, someone who would always be a part of my life. But then maybe she changed, or maybe I grew up, but something did change. And she left me. I felt all at sea, like my anchor had been ripped up and I had been cast adrift. All I wanted was for things to go back to the way they had been. And I thought that getting her back was the most important thing in the world. But while I was busy with that something else happened: my Arctic Monkeys moment. Someone else suddenly turned up and rocked my world just when it was at its most shaky. And now everything is upside-down and I don’t know what is right anymore.’