‘That’s understandable. You don’t want every member of your family showing up asking for handouts, I suppose.’
I meant to say it in jokey way, but I fear it doesn’t come across that way.
Mr Clark juts his head toward the photo of the teenager. ‘He wouldn’t come asking me for anything if I was the last man alive.’
I’m confused.
He picks up the photo and places it in my hands.
‘Your son?’
He nods solemnly. This is clearly not a relationship he’s used to boasting about. ‘Julian Clark, my only son, is the new director. He’s moved back. Born singing and dancing, that fellow. No shortage of drama on or off the stage.’
The window rattles with the wind as Mr Clark offers me another biscuit.
‘I was very hard on him growing up and, well, he has a long memory. No time for me now, whether I was a millionaire or not. Not that I am a millionaire, mind you, I donated the lot to the hospital.’
I open my mouth, but he raises a hand.
‘And before you ask, no, I don’t want that in the paper, thank you very much.’
I laugh, but the real reason my mouth is hanging open is because Chaplin has just strutted in to the living room. He is dry, he is clean and is distinctly unsquashed by a tractor.
Mr Clark scoops him up with one hand and begins tickling him under the chin.
‘Ah, you’ve come to say hello and thank you, if you have any manners. I wasn’t home an hour and I heard purring on the step. Amazing creatures, extraordinarily loyal. All I had to do was open the door and, sure enough, it was like he’d never been away.’
I give Chaplin a little stroke. Delighted that he’s okay obviously, but as much as I’m going to miss him, really happy at the idea that him and Mr Clark will drink tea and biscuits together in front of the fire. I suspect Mr Clark needs Chaplin even more than I do.
I stand to leave. I shake Mr Clark’s hand and tell him I’ll drop by again for a cuppa when I’m passing if that’s okay.
But just before I go, I pick up the photograph of his smiling theatre-mad teenage son.
‘Sons and daughters,’ I say. ‘Amazing creatures, extraordinarily loyal. Sometimes all you have to do is open the door.’ And I make my way back across the field, stopping just before I reach home, to look up at the sky. Wondering where Christopher is now. Wondering how he is. Wondering if I will ever see him again.
Twenty-Eight
‘Hi Maxwell? It’s me Lily. Yes, she’s feeling a bit better… Well, she’s not really. She won’t ever say, but I know she’s driving herself crazy. So, if you could just tell me, whatever the truth is, we can take it, as long as we know. What’s the story with Suzy, the woman who sent all the messages to your phone?’
A pause. Then in a slow, strong, deep American voice, he answers me as if taking an oath in a court of law. ‘A client. Living in Canada. I’ve never even met her.’
This confirms my cyberstalk. There is a client testimonial on Maxwell’s professional website from a Suzy from Vancouver. And the photo matches her social media accounts, so as far as I can make out and without hooking him up to a polygraph, he’s telling the truth.
Thank God!
‘The thing is,’ I say. ‘Mum loves you. I can tell. She loves you and she’s miserable without you and she’s beating herself up for wrecking everything and flying off the handle and not trusting you, even though she knows deep down that she can trust you… Old habits die hard, I guess. She’s embarrassed. And heartbroken. And so, so mad at herself. She thinks it’s too late.’
‘Did she say that? Did she say that she loved me?’
‘Yes. More than once. She says it every day. I even heard her say it in her sleep.’
‘You know, she’s never told me that. That’s an awesome step for Marilyn. It’s wonderful. It changes everything. I think it means she’s ready.’
‘Ready for what?’ I ask.
‘To try again! You know that’s all love is, two imperfect people who refuse to give up on one another. And I’m not giving up on your mother. And it sounds like you’re not giving up on her either.’
‘So it’s not too late? For you two?’
‘Of course it’s not too late. It’s never too late to do the right thing. Never! I’m coming over there. Let her know I’m on my way. Tell her she’s made me the happiest man in the world!’
I tell him exactly where he can find us and cross my heart that he means what he says. That he really does believe that him and my mum are the right thing. That they don’t give up on each other. I’ve done what I can. Now it’s over to them to bridge all the distances between them. But it sounds like they’ve already started. And I hope with all my heart that my mother finally gets the happy ending she deserves.
Twenty-Nine
‘Morning, everyone! Nice to have you back with us, Lily!’ Mark struts in, both hands waving in the air.
Jasmine closes a call and says. ‘Lily, I need the details for the final bucket list feature. We’ve got to make it quick as I’ve got a bridal fitting at three. It’s really happening!’
Amy clenches her fists with excitement. ‘I can’t believe it’s this close, just over a month to go. I’m so excited!’
‘Right, let’s get our schedules sorted and free up some time for Dylan and Jasmine to get themselves ready for their big day.’
I open my desk drawer and take out the two tickets I bought from Mary: front-row seats for the first night of Midsummer Night’s Dream. ‘Amy, can you cover the play at the theatre? It starts at 7 p.m., and I believe it’s sold out. Double spread, as many local faces as possible in the pictures, they’ve worked really hard, so let’s support them one hundred per cent.’ I hand the tickets to her. ‘You’ll have company, a friend of mine wants to come too, so can you pick him up at 6.30?’ I hand her the scrap piece of paper that I received from Mr Clark way back in the hospital with his address and phone number on it. ‘If you get there early, you can have a little cuddle with Chaplin too.’
Amy gives me a thumbs up. We sort through the rest of the tasks for the week; interviews, adverts, promotions, all the usual. This team runs like a finely tuned machine now, everyone knows what to do, when to do it by and how we like it done.
Except for me.
I have one last feature to write for Buckley’s Bucket List. And I can’t think of anything. I’ve drawn a complete blank, even though we’ve brainstormed here in the office and put it out to the public under the hashtag #fillmybucketlist. Which makes fascinating reading. Who knew so many people in Newbridge harboured so many bucket list dreams? The breadth and quirkiness is staggering. Who knew Denise from the bar wants to take a hot air balloon over a Greek island, go on an Icelandic boat trip to see the Northern lights and learn to dance salsa? Who knew that John Boy from the skydiving centre wants to wing-walk. And go into space. Maybe wing-walk in space. And overcome his fear of spiders. And then there’s my own mother! She longs to produce her own album independently with full artistic freedom, to visit the sloth sanctuary in Costa Rica and to learn to make Granny’s lemon tartlets. Properly.
I smile as I open the Tupperware she sent me in with this morning. Once she shared her list with me, she decided that there was no time like the present, grabbed her apron, made a huge mess before she even started baking, but hey, presto! I pop the last tart in my mouth, wincing slightly at the citrus tang. Still a little bit sharp, but she took a lot of convincing to add even half quantities of sugar and butter and follow the recipe! Believe me, that’s phenomenal progress for her. So not at all bad for a first attempt. I reckon this time next week, she’ll have cracked it. Maxwell should arrive in the next few days and there’s a distinct spring in her step. They’re like teenagers, facetiming each other at all hours, messaging I love you’s every five minutes. Her mood has lifted again and I realise how much it suits my mother to be in love.
But the contribution that really catches my attention is from a reader called Hannah. ‘There’s
only one thing I really want to do and that’s to make it up to a dear friend who I betrayed. I know she’ll never be able to forgive me as I will never forgive myself for doing what I did. But I want her to know how much I miss her.’
Tears stream down both my cheeks as I read and reread her words. Especially the last few lines. I can’t bear the idea of Hannah wasting her precious life beating herself up over what’s past. I think we both deserve to leave it behind and start afresh. I type into the comment box below her words and press ‘reply’.
‘Hannah, consider it done. My elbow healed nicely so thanks for taking care of me. Wishing you all the best in your future. Lx’
* * *
I twirl my pen in my fingers and stare down at the blank screen in front of me. Surely, after all these amazing suggestions, surely, after putting myself through three really tough bucket list challenges already, surely I can think of something authentic. No McArthur or Jennings steering for local or commercial angles. No Christopher pitching suggestions to hook in a new readership…
I drop my pen.
That’s my block right there.
No Christopher.
I miss him. I miss him here in the office, his energy, his creativity, his smile. I miss him everywhere.
Right now, everything should be fantastic. The Gazette is in full flow, my team are amazing. To be honest, Amy’s taken everything I’ve thrown at her and run with it. She could run this place as Editor in Chief. My relationship with mum is getting stronger every day, small steps, but I’m starting to see a time when we’ll be able to just sit together and chat like a ‘normal’ mother and daughter. Well, maybe not completely normal but a normal that fits us. Everything I wanted has come good. Except I’m not feeling it. And sitting here, in silence, stuck, working alone on something Christopher and I used to work on together only makes me feel one thing. The aching loss of him and all the empty spaces where he used to be, which will be forever void without him.
I even went to the Golden Wok by myself last night and ordered the satay. It was terrible, but it made me smile. And then my eyes welled up at the thought of him. When I got the bill, my lone fortune cookie read, ‘If you wish to see the best in others, show the best of yourself.’
Ah! And then it hits me.
Everything a bucket list is truly supposed to be. It’s not about an individual event. It’s not contained in a fleeting moment or single snapshot. It’s about bringing a change – changing the way you feel, changing your perspective. So, yes, each task itself is worthwhile, but the magic starts once it’s done. When you go back to your old life and say, hold up, wait a minute – I’m different now. I did something so far removed from what I thought I could do, that I’m going to do things differently from now on.
I pick up my pen and start scribbling in my notebook. The words flow so quickly that I can barely write fast enough.
This is it. I’ve got my bucket list item. I’ve got my final Buckley’s Bucket List article. And it’s not only a result of the changes in me, but it might even have the potential to change everything. Because I’ve lived keeping quiet, I’ve lived swallowing back my thoughts and ideas and keeping myself to myself. But look where that got me with Mum for so long. With Adam. With Hannah.
With Christopher.
Time for a change. I’m going in for the biggest exposure to date. The most terrifying item I can think of. But I’ve got to chance it, because it’s too great a risk to let it go.
Buckley’s Final Bucket List
No. 4 – The Big One!
I thought it was fitting that for my last feature, I attempt the hardest and most scary thing of all. To be upfront and honest about my feelings. Face up to the possibility of rejection. Go public and not be ashamed. So, this one is for everyone out there who’s been so hurt by someone, who’s thought, that’s it. I’ve had it. I’m never letting that happen again. For this bucket list task, I don’t even need to leave this seat at the Gazette’s offices. No parachutes, no muddy fields, no ghosts. Just me and this blank page. Here it goes.
In life, we are constantly losing people. One day somebody wakes up and they just don’t feel the same way, or maybe it’s you that feels you’ve grown apart from them. When we lose somebody, we tend to lose a piece of ourselves, but sometimes that piece is bigger than you expected it to be. Sometimes, someone you didn’t even realise you loved gets away from you, and it’s tragic and painful and that empty space they left never gets completely filled.
So, to the one who got away from me, this is to you.
It has been some time now since you left; not years or even months, but it feels like forever to me. Some days, I still expect you to walk in any second with coffees and a new big idea. But I know that you won’t and that leaves me so heartsick and flat. What I find the saddest about what happened between us is how nothing went wrong except my lingering fear that something would go wrong, that disaster was inevitable, that heartbreak was always around the next corner. We got along, made each other laugh, enjoyed the time we spent together. No big betrayal. No dramatic clash of morals. And when you decided to go your own way, I took it as a rejection, even though you asked me to come. Because I knew I couldn’t come too. I wasn’t ready to give you my whole heart and trust you with it. I didn’t think I would be able to love you, knowing that I might end up hurt again.
When I first met you I never expected to have you in my life the way I did. I never even realised I loved you until you were gone. But it’s funny how things work out sometimes and, then again, how they don’t work out at all. And it hurts me every day that we weren’t able to figure it out, that I only saw ways and reasons why we wouldn’t be able to stay together and continue to be as happy as we were. It especially hurts how nothing is the same, and it might never be again. Sometimes I don’t know what’s worse: knowing I lost you or knowing you’ll never come back.
I never want you to compromise your dreams and I understand that you had your reasons and you needed to do what you needed to do. I hope you understand that I had my reasons too. But I know now that my reasons came from fear, nothing more. I know now might be too late. I’m doing my best every day to be okay with that. To not blame or beat myself up. To try and take this experience and make me better. Braver. Bolder.
Because I wish I’d fought harder. I wish I hadn’t given up so quickly.
Losing you was hard – it still is. I didn’t just lose a piece of my happiness, but someone who became my best friend. You’re probably long gone from those feelings, and maybe you will live the rest of your life without ever thinking of me again. For all I know you’ll meet someone else that you love more than you could have ever loved me. I like to think that one day we’ll meet again and you’ll choose the worst thing on the menu from the worst restaurant in the world. And I’ll still have a wonderful time because I’ll be with you. If you can forgive me, you know where to find me. And this time, I’m ready.
Lily xx
Thirty
One Month Later
Mark twists the white rose in Dylan’s buttonhole. ‘How you feeling, buddy?’
‘On top of the world,’ Dylan says without an ounce of sarcasm. ‘Been waiting for this day since the moment I saw her.’
I look to Mark and see his bottom lip tremble.
Dylan smiles and wraps his arm around him. ‘Ah, man! Don’t start me off!’
Thanks to too many nights at The Black Boar, everyone’s invited – including my mother and Maxwell, who turned up as promised on our doorstep in his cut-off denims and cowboy boots and has officially moved in with us, which has been a delight. Denise the barmaid and Mary the cleaner are dolled up to the nines, both trying to out-do each other in the hat stakes. Mr Clark, a friend of Dylan’s father, gives me a wave. It turns out that the night Amy accompanied him to the theatre was a major turning point for him and his son; a gesture of pride and acceptance. Mr Clark gave Julian and his cast a standing ovation at the end of A Midsummer Night’s Dream and that marked th
e beginning of a new relationship for them both, a fresh start with a focus on their shared future. He looks ten years younger in his beautiful tailored blue suit, standing proudly by Julian and Luiz as they hand out the bubbly and welcome everyone on arrival. The whole town is here. Except of course the one I miss the most. It’s been a month now since I published my final feature and I’ve not heard anything from him. So I know I need to accept his decision. Accept that it wasn’t to be. Maybe I’ll forgive myself for that someday. But right now I still hurt for kicking myself.
However, the Gazette is a good news story. It continues to go from strength to strength and I can honestly say that I love being Editor in Chief of the fastest growing regional paper in the country. We’re up for a Community Champion Award at the end of this year based on our digital campaign to save the library from closure. We gathered in tens of thousands of signatures via an online petition in just a matter of days. The old Mayor backed off very quickly once he realised what we could do and how strong the voice was that we represented. He lost the election because of it and the lady who replaced him is marvellous; she’s lined our streets with flowers and benches and has plenty of exciting plans such as bringing back the Folk Festival and making it bigger and better than ever. A welcome breath of fresh air for Newbridge.
The bridal chorus begins, and I watch Jasmine walk up the aisle, her arm looped into her father’s. His eyes are wet with proud tears and she is beaming with happiness. And she really is the most beautiful bride I have ever seen. I don’t feel any of the angst I feared I would. I know now what I felt for Adam wasn’t true love and clearly what he felt for me wasn’t either. Mum was right to do what she did. She managed to protect me after all.
For Once In My Life: An absolutely perfect laugh-out-loud romantic comedy Page 24