A Place To Call Home (Willowbury)

by Fay Keenan

  Certain numbers of his colleagues had not fared so well at the hands of social media, though. He still felt a pang of sympathy for one former party leader, whose apology for a poor policy decision had been memed, autotuned and posted on YouTube for all to see. It was an occupational hazard these days.

  Wandering back into his office, he picked up the paper file that Rachel had left him to take a closer look. Leafing through the press cuttings, the leaflets and the copies of letters that she’d sent to Hugo Fitzgerald and other MPs, it was clear she didn’t just have a mother’s knowledge about her son’s condition; she, by necessity, had become a bit of an expert on drug funding, policy and procedure. She could probably teach him a thing or two.

  Sitting down at his desk to read, he became engrossed in the file, and was only distracted by his email notification ping some time later. Helen had collected as much information as she could, including links to the most relevant debates in Parliament. Hansard, which was the official record of debates of the UK Parliament, had an open-access digital archive stretching back a hundred years, making searching it for incidences where the issue had been raised in the House an easy matter. Charlie was shocked to see that the funding of the new drug had been raised numerous times over the years. Cystic fibrosis was a condition that affected seventy thousand patients worldwide, ten thousand in the United Kingdom alone, and one which seemed in desperate need of more publicity, understanding and, most of all, effective treatment. Given the inevitable stints in hospital that patients had to endure, anything that prevented costs escalating in that way had to be a bonus, surely?

  A number of MPs had taken up the cause, according to the records of debate in Hansard, but Rachel was right, it had stalled over the past year or so. Could he – should he – take it on? It was at times like these he wished he’d been in the House a little longer. While he was a nodding acquaintance to some of the more local MPs, the job was often an isolating one, and he hadn’t yet formed an effective network in London. The party helped, of course, but even within that, there were always shifting loyalties and alliances. Someone who supported you one week could change their mind the next. It was like being in a huge class, back at school, at times, and Charlie was acutely aware that as a rookie MP, in his first term of office, he was vulnerable, even with a so-called safe majority in his constituency.

  But wasn’t it his duty to put his constituents first? Surely, that should override all other concerns. And Rachel was a voter, after all. Jotting down a couple of things to check out, he then glanced at his iCal diary and, with a jolt of pleasure, realised he had a free couple of hours. He should be cracking on with some more paperwork, but since it was such a glorious day, he decided to get out and stretch his legs. He knew that free time was precious, as constituency work and work in the House could get extremely intense, especially in the run-up to the summer recess. Time where he could just get out and soak up the atmosphere of his new home would be scarce, so he was determined to make the most of his free time.

  As he wandered out of his office, he called to Helen. ‘I’m off for an early lunch. I’ll be back in a bit.’

  ‘Okey-dokey,’ Helen said, not glancing up from her computer. ‘Have you got your phone on you in case I need to get hold of you urgently?’

  ‘Yup,’ Charlie replied.

  Helen might be a lot younger than him, but she still sounded like his mother at times. It was only fair that she reminded him, though. He’d already left his phone in Jack Winter’s coffee shop on the High Street once, and been roundly bollocked by Tom Fielding for it. Although it was fingerprint-locked, he used it to check his emails, and so there was a fair bit of sensitive material on there. Things must have been simpler back in the old days, he thought, when all you had to worry about was the paper contents of your briefcase or ministerial red box and documents actually crinkled when you folded them, instead of flying off into the ether electronically.

  Walking along Willowbury High Street, though, almost timeless in its abundance of weird and wonderful shop fronts, Charlie felt as though he had, at least, come to the right place to live. There was definitely something in the air, and not just the medicinal herbs.

  14

  ‘You know when you say something in the heat of the moment and then spend the next fifteen hours regretting it?’ Holly said as she passed Rachel a glass of wine from the bottle she’d brought over to her sister’s house that evening.

  ‘Not really,’ Rachel teased. ‘Since Callum and I got divorced my only real conversation is with Harry most of the time, and he’s pretty immune to me putting my foot in it!’

  ‘Fair enough,’ Holly replied. ‘But, your lack of actual adult conversation aside, I’m sure you must sort of know what I’m saying.’

  ‘What have you done?’ Rachel raised an eyebrow. ‘I thought you’d managed to curb your foot-in-mouth tendencies since you became a respectable business owner?’

  ‘Most of the time, yes, but these were, er, slightly unusual circumstances.’

  ‘Are you talking about Charlie Thorpe and his lack of trousers by any chance?’

  Holly laughed, in spite of herself. ‘How did you guess?’

  ‘So, what have you said to him?’

  Holly shook her head. ‘Something really stupid.’

  ‘Spill.’

  ‘I might have, er, invited him to Sunday lunch at Mum and Dad’s place this weekend.’

  Rachel nearly spat her wine out in amusement. ‘You did what? How bloody square are you?’ She put her wine glass down on the coffee table in front of her, since it was dangerously close to spilling. ‘I mean, ask him out for a drink or a coffee, or even a walk up Willowbury Hill, but to Mum and Dad’s for lunch?’

  ‘I know.’ Holly felt her face start to burn. ‘Maybe it’s because, for some reason, he makes me feel as though I’m that nineteen-year-old kid again, but it just came out. And now we’ve both got to sit around the table on Sunday with Mum and Dad, and you and Harry, of course, and make polite conversation after he fell on top of me in his pants.’

  ‘Well, when you put it like that…’ Rachel collapsed into giggles back into the cushions of her sofa. ‘And he actually said yes?’

  ‘Yup,’ Holly groaned. ‘Do you think I should call him and cancel it?’

  ‘Wouldn’t be very polite of you,’ Rachel said reasonably. ‘And the fact that he’s agreed to it suggests he wants to come. Unless, of course, he looked too terrified to say no?’

  ‘It was after I’d given him a back massage, so he might not have been in his right mind,’ Holly sipped her wine and tried to quell the butterflies in her stomach. ‘Perhaps he’ll do us a favour and cry off when he’s come to his senses.’

  ‘Or perhaps you’ll have to suck it up and just make sure you ply him with enough booze round Mum and Dad’s dinner table that he forgets what a closet nerd you are!’

  ‘Thanks for the moral support, sis,’ Holly replied. ‘And remember, not a word about the photo-in-the-suitcase business, or you’ll be wearing the trifle rather than eating it.’

  ‘I’ll be the soul of discretion,’ Rachel said. ‘But don’t you think it’s about time you told him, just to get it out in the open?’

  ‘Probably,’ agreed Holly, ‘but it just seems so random. I mean, we’ve chatted a lot, but I still haven’t found the right time to mention it. It’s hardly like, when he’s on my massage table, I can just casually drop it into conversation, is it? “Oh, by the way, it seems like you clearly don’t remember one night fifteen years ago when we had a bit of a kiss and you held my hand.”’ She shook her head in exasperation. ‘Maybe I’m overthinking it.’

  ‘You think?’ Rachel rolled her eyes. ‘But I promise I won’t say anything. Better remind Mum not to, as well, though. You know what she’s like after a glass of wine!’

  ‘I threatened to burn the whole case if she said anything,’ Holly replied. ‘And I would, too.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ There was a pause as the two sisters sipped their w
ine. It had been a busy week for them both. Rachel had enrolled Harry into the local nursery school, and she was preparing herself for handing over his care to them for sixteen hours a week. ‘How did Harry get on at his orientation morning at nursery?’

  ‘Really well,’ Rachel replied. ‘He loved the staff, and all the new toys were definitely a good reason to go back, he said.’

  ‘Sounds encouraging,’ Holly said carefully. She knew that, underneath her quiet, capable and calm facade, Rachel was likely to be more than a bit nervous about handing over Harry to anyone else, if only for a short time each week. ‘And you’re OK with it?’

  Rachel paused. ‘Yes, I think so.’ She sighed. ‘I know I should be preparing myself to take a step back, with him starting school this year, but it’s been just me and Harry for so long, since Callum and I went our separate ways, that I’m struggling to let go of the reins. And there’s the risks of illness and infection, of course.’

  ‘The nursery’s got a great reputation,’ Holly said. ‘And they’re small enough to be able to give him all of the support he needs. I’m sure he’ll be fine.’

  ‘Oh, so am I, really,’ Rachel said. ‘It’s just that I worry about him picking up a bug. I mean, I know all kids do, but it puts him back for days, if not weeks, at a time.’

  Holly’s heart ached for Rachel. As Harry’s aunt, she knew to a certain extent how tricky managing his condition could be, but it was Rachel who coped, largely alone, with the day-to-day issues. And Rachel who had to contend with the fact that her beloved son could gain valuable years of his life if given access to the next generation of medications. In the three years since Harry had come into her life, she’d become almost as much as an expert on cystic fibrosis as Rachel had, but it still frustrated and saddened her that the government couldn’t come to an agreement about the funding of the new drugs.

  ‘But today I did get to see your Sunday lunch guest in his official capacity,’ Rachel continued. ‘I thought I’d book an appointment since Harry had his session at nursery, and I’ve given him all of the information to look at, so who knows?’

  ‘I hope he can help,’ Holly said carefully. As an MP, she still couldn’t quite trust that Charlie would help, but from what she was beginning to get to know about him as a person, he seemed sincere in his desire to change things and engage with his constituents. ‘Let me know what happens.’

  ‘Oh, I will,’ Rachel said. ‘And you keep me posted, too. I can’t wait to hear how he reacts when you do eventually come clean to him about your scandalous past!’

  Holly picked up the cushion that was in her lap and chucked it at her sister. ‘Scandalous, my arse! You were just taking the piss about how boring and square I still am.’

  ‘Even so, I bet he’ll be surprised,’ Rachel said. ‘And you might end up underneath him for non-mouse related reasons, if you play your cards right!’

  Holly snorted. ‘One step at a time. Besides, who says I want that to happen?’

  ‘Really?’ Rachel raised an eyebrow. ‘I think you and I have both been single for entirely too long, and I’m pretty convinced that, if he’s said yes to Sunday lunch with our folks, he must be keen on you. You could do worse, you know.’

  ‘I’m perfectly happy as I am, thanks,’ Holly said primly, although, even as she said it, she thought back to the flapping butterflies she’d experienced when Charlie had landed on top of her. And perhaps if she managed Sunday lunch without a hitch, she’d be a little more relaxed the next time he came in for a massage. Finishing her wine glass, she stood up. ‘I’d better go. Weekends have been busy in the shop since the weather got warmer, so I’ll have to open up on time tomorrow.’

  ‘See you on Sunday, if not before,’ Rachel said, rising and seeing her to the door. ‘And don’t forget to include an aphrodisiac or two on the Sunday lunch menu if you really want to get Charlie’s trousers off again! I’m sure you’ve got a few in the jars in the shop.’

  ‘No comment.’ Holly grinned as she left. Her sister, when she allowed herself to let go of some of her ever-present worries about Harry, really was incorrigible.

  15

  Charlie wasn’t quite sure what he’d imagined when he’d thought about Holly’s parents, but something along the lines of Meet the Fockers had sprung to mind pretty soon after he’d met Holly. Surely someone with her passionate belief in all things alternative, spiritual and green could only have sprung from the loins of two hippies, probably full of sixties zeal for free love, peace and the odd spliff?

  It came as quite a surprise, then, and not a little relief, that when he came face to face with Mr and Mrs Renton for Sunday lunch, they were conventionally dressed, lived in a spacious four-bedroom bungalow in the suburbs of Willowbury and there wasn’t a dreamcatcher in sight at any of their large, double-glazed windows. He was doubly relieved that he hadn’t brought along a bottle of Monk’s Mead from the independent alcohol retailer on the High Street but had opted instead for a regular bottle of Sancerre, albeit an organic one, just to be on the safe side.

  ‘So, how are you finding Willowbury life?’ Vivian Renton asked as she handed him a glass of lager, cool from the fridge in the spacious kitchen.

  ‘It’s been interesting so far,’ Charlie replied, smiling. ‘But in a lot of good ways, of course,’ he added hastily.

  Vivian smiled back. ‘Don’t worry – we’re incomers to the town ourselves, in a way. We lived closer to Bristol before we moved down here, which is where the girls grew up, but when Harry was diagnosed with his condition we wanted to be more on the doorstep.’

  Charlie felt a lurch of sympathy. Vivian was a relatively young grandmother; did she fear outliving her much adored grandson?

  ‘Holly decided to come back from working in Manchester at around the same time, so she’s not exactly a native to these parts, either,’ Vivian continued. ‘So it’s nice to all be in one place together.’

  ‘Holly seems so at home here,’ Charlie replied. ‘I mean, with the shop and everything. I just assumed she’d lived here for ages.’

  ‘A town like Willowbury is a welcoming place,’ Vivian replied kindly. ‘Before you know it, you’re so settled you can’t ever imagine living anywhere else.’

  ‘I’m sure that’s just the weed in the air, Mum!’ Holly teased as she came through to the kitchen. ‘I know I probably shouldn’t say it in front of you, Charlie, but quite a few of the town’s residents swear by its medicinal properties!’

  ‘I’m sure,’ Charlie replied wryly. He was relieved he hadn’t been imagining it when he’d smelt it last week; although he was intending to turn a blind eye as much as he could. There were bigger battles to fight in Willowbury than a few middle-aged dope smokers.

  He took a sip of his beer and glanced around the neat, tidy, cream-coloured kitchen. Charlie was amused to see that there was a child’s paintings on the fridge, presumably created by Harry, and some adorable photographic fridge magnets of the two now grown-up sisters. He couldn’t imagine his own parents displaying photos and memories on the fridge, or even thinking to make magnets out of them. They were much more the official-school-photos-in-brass-frames-on-side-tables types. Continuing to peruse the fridge, he was brought up short by a picture of Holly in her mid-teens, hair a reddish blonde, certainly a lighter colour than it was now, cut in a very sensible late-nineties style. She was wearing a long, button-down summer dress in a ditsy blue floral pattern that subtly complimented her creamy white skin and serious Bristol-blue eyes. She was smiling rather guardedly at the camera, and didn’t seem to have the self-confidence she had all these years later. As he stared at the photo, lost in his own world for a moment, that prickle of recognition caught at the back of his mind once again; why did she look so familiar?

  ‘Earth to Charlie,’ the Holly of today, with longer, darker red hair cascading over her shoulders and a look of amusement on her face, chimed into his thoughts, and he started slightly, realising he’d been spending entirely too long staring at the fridge. Her hand, pla
ced lightly on the crook of his arm, just on the bare skin underneath the sleeve of his T-shirt, sent a shock of electricity through him. It was a playful gesture, but Holly’s eyes widened a little as they met his gaze, which snapped him back to reality. Why did he feel as though they were on the cusp of something?

  ‘You’ve changed a lot since that photo was taken,’ Charlie injected a note of lightness into his tone to hide how jolted he was by her touch.

  Did he imagine it, or did Holly’s face colour slightly at his comment?

  ‘A lot can change in fifteen years!’ Holly replied, seemingly equally lightly. ‘Come on, the first course is already on the table.’

  She still had her hand on Charlie’s arm, and as he turned to follow her, his heart skipped several beats as her hand slipped down his arm to nestle in his own. He felt a rush of blood to his head, and other regions, and mentally told himself to get a grip. It was almost as if he was a teenager again, reacting so strongly to the slightest of physical stimuli. It took all of his self-control not to pull her to him and kiss her.

  Lunch passed amiably, with Charlie answering the questions from Holly’s parents politely and with a rather adorable dose of humour that Holly found herself beginning to really like. After the dishes had been cleared away, with Charlie helping her parents and on his best behaviour, they sat round the dinner table finishing off the wine. Unnerved as she was by Charlie’s sudden interest in the old photos on the fridge, the fact he hadn’t identified their previous connection came as a relief. After all, the past was the past. She’d learned that there was no point in looking back, in thinking of what might have been. When all was said and done, it was more important to be present in the moment, to take every day as it came.