I shook off his arm and took two steps towards the bar. The pub was divided into
sections, creating cosy rooms for a more intimate atmosphere, so it was only now that I could
see what Paddy had presumably seen over my shoulder. Tucked away in a corner, at a table for
two that was spread with the remains of lunch, sat Rich and a young blonde woman scarcely
older than Caitlyn. If I was in any doubt about the nature of their relationship, Rich clarified it
when he leant over and kissed her, drawing her closer with his hand on the back of her head.
I recoiled. What a gullible fool I was. When Rich had told me he was spending the
weekend with the children, I’d assumed he’d meant his own …
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Paddy put his hand on my shoulder, just as Rich disengaged his lips and looked up. He
froze, then started to stand, knocking cutlery to the floor. While he bent to pick it up, Paddy
grabbed my hand and dragged me out of the pub.
We drove home in silence. My head was too crammed with thoughts about the day to
make conversation; all that I had learnt, all that had been revealed. All that had changed. Alison,
Paddy, Rich … But as I drove back along the country lanes, instead of Rich’s betrayal, my
uppermost thought was how, despite his own hard day, Paddy’s instinctive reaction had still
been to protect me, just as he had done when our relationship started all those years ago.
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CHAPTER 16
It was inevitable that Paddy would come with me to The Chestnuts to visit Gran the next day.
He followed me out of the house without us even discussing it, and I couldn’t say no, even if
I’d been tempted to. Not even a bumper tin of all-butter shortbread could beat an appearance
from Paddy Friel in Gran’s eyes.
We hadn’t spoken about the events of Saturday, but it had been a comfortable silence;
it felt like we were respecting each other’s privacy rather than choosing to avoid awkward
conversations. I didn’t want to upset Paddy by pressing him to talk more about his mum, and
although the situations hardly compared, I sensed that he was keeping silent about Rich for the
same reason. Did he need to? Was I upset? Not enough. I knew what heartbreak felt like and it
wasn’t this. This felt more like a paper cut: a quick sting and then all but forgotten. What a sad
reflection that was on a relationship I had hung on to for the last two years.
Gran’s eyes lit up as soon as she saw Paddy walk into the conservatory. I was clearly
relegated to third place behind him and the shortbread. Gran wasted no time in pressing her
emergency button to call for attention. The carer did a double take when she rushed in and
found Paddy sprawled in the chair at Gran’s side.
‘See!’ Gran said, before the carer could utter a word. ‘It’s a real emergency. We have
a celebrity here. We need proper china for our tea today, not those stained old mugs. And you
should let everyone know there’s someone here off the telly. They can sleep after he’s gone.’
She grinned. ‘I can’t wait to see Mrs Pike’s face! This beats her nephew being on Pointless.’
I pulled up another chair and settled down on Gran’s other side.
‘So you’re still here?’ she said, passing the box of biscuits to Paddy to open. ‘There’s
a turn-up for the books. There was a time when you made a habit of leaving, not sticking
around.’
‘Gran!’ I tried to shut her up, but Paddy only smiled.
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‘Oh, he doesn’t mind me,’ Gran said. ‘I mean no harm. Where are you living now,
Paddy? Some swanky place in London, is it? One of those million-pound houses on celebrity
row? You must have a bob or two to be able to afford to stay at the Fairlie.’
‘The production company paid for that. No, I’m renting a flat in Ripon at the moment.
Not a celebrity to be seen, thank heaven.’
‘Renting?’ Gran repeated, pulling a face. ‘You should have put down roots by your age.
I hope you’re not eyeing up our Eve’s assets … not the financial ones, any road …’
She nudged his arm and cackled with such glee that it was impossible not to join in,
even when Paddy surprised me by looking my way and giving a lazy wink. Shortly afterwards,
the room started to fill as the other residents of The Chestnuts shuffled in, and Paddy wandered
round with infinite patience, chatting, listening and occasionally throwing his head back and
roaring with laughter in exactly the same way he used to do. He focused his attention on the
old people, milking his celebrity on this occasion, but for their benefit not his. He held hands,
kissed cheeks, sat quietly and talked, with no one left out and nothing beneath his notice. Before
Saturday, I might have assumed it was all a sham and condemned him. Now I knew it was a
sham, to conceal his own terrible sorrow, and I admired him. It was a remarkable performance.
‘Not lost any of his charm, has he?’ Gran said, as we sipped our tea and watched him
work the room.
‘No.’
‘Ooh, are you softening towards him again?’
‘Maybe. But don’t get carried away,’ I said, when I could see from Gran’s face that she
was reading much more than I had intended into that one word. ‘There’s no need to be
borrowing another of Mrs Pike’s hats.’
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‘I wouldn’t borrow.’ Gran sounded outraged. ‘The grandmother of the bride deserves a
new hat. And if the day ever came when you were marrying Paddy Friel, I’d go the whole hog
and have a new dress and new shoes too.’
‘You’re incorrigible!’ I said, laughing.
‘I do my best.’
Gabby, the manager of The Chestnuts, rushed out of her office as Paddy and I were
leaving. I feared another complaint about Gran, but it was Paddy she wanted, not me.
‘I wanted to thank you,’ she said, blushing scarlet when Paddy smiled at her. ‘Since
that article appeared online last week, donations have poured in. A dealership has made us an
offer on a minibus. We can afford a new one and still have cash to spare. You’ve worked
wonders!’
‘Ah, you’re too kind,’ Paddy said. ‘Eve deserves all the credit. None of it would have
happened without her.’
Now he was being too kind. I’d seen the state of the fundraising before Paddy’s article
had appeared in the paper. We’d done well, far better than I’d ever dreamt when I first came
up with the sponsored walk idea, but had still been short for buying a second-hand minibus, let
alone a new one.
‘That’s fantastic news!’ I said to Gabby. ‘If the public are so interested in the story,
why don’t we run a competition to find a name for the new minibus? Perhaps Paddy can come
back to officially launch it.’
‘Like the royal family do with ships?’ she asked. ‘Smashing the bottle of champagne?’
‘Exactly. We could invite the press along to cover the event. It would be great publicity
and might keep the donations coming in for a bit longer.’
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Gabby agreed, delighted with the idea, but I hadn’t done it for h
er, or even for The
Chestnuts. It was for Paddy and maybe, if things worked out well, for Alison, and his quiet
‘thanks’ as we left the care home told me he’d understood.
*
There was an unfamiliar car parked outside my house when I arrived home on Tuesday
morning. It was the first proper day of the half-term break, after the Bank Holiday, but I’d been
up and about early with a visit to the dentist and a trip to the supermarket, leaving Paddy to
fend for himself for a while. I let myself into the house, pausing in the hall to listen out for
voices. But there were no voices – only the sound of music from the radio, drifting from the
kitchen, and the sight of a bag at the foot of the stairs. Paddy’s bag, so that could only mean
one thing. He must be leaving. And wasn’t I glad? Hadn’t I been wanting to have the house to
myself again? My answer to those questions wasn’t quite as clear-cut as I would have expected.
I carried my shopping bags through to the kitchen. There were more than usual: I had
bought provisions for two. Paddy was in there, arranging some flowers in a vase.
‘Caught red-handed,’ he said, with a smile as I walked in. ‘I ought to say green-fingered,
but I suspect it’s not an impressive display, is it?’
It impressed me: a dozen large-headed white roses mingled with vibrant lilac freesias,
and the whole bouquet was surrounded by silvery eucalyptus leaves. It was a simple but elegant
arrangement: the sort of thing that must have come from a proper florist, not the local garage
forecourt.
‘From one of your many admirers?’ I asked Paddy.
‘They’re for you. Not from an admirer,’ he added quickly. ‘From me.’ He laughed and
brushed his hair back from his face. ‘That didn’t come out as I intended … They’re a thank
you. For putting me up for the last week – or should that be for putting up with me?’
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‘Definitely the latter,’ I said, going over to examine the flowers. I closed my eyes and
inhaled the scent, taking the moment to let my feelings settle. No one had bought me flowers
for years, not since … Paddy. Paddy had been the last person to buy me flowers, but then it
had been a token of love, not thanks. So many years had passed, layers of new memories
building on top of each other all the time, but the foundation of them all was Paddy. Would it
always be this way? I opened my eyes, saw him watching me, and smiled.
‘They’re gorgeous. Thank you.’ I stepped back. ‘You’re going today? Are you fit to
drive?’
‘I drove the car here. There was a twinge or two, but nothing I can’t bear.’
‘So desperate to get away?’ I could have kicked myself the moment the words slipped
out. I didn’t want it to sound as if I’d miss him. I would rather not have felt that way, but
tendrils of disappointment were wrapping round me, too tightly to ignore. I tried to lighten the
remark. ‘Is my cooking that bad?’
‘Surprisingly good, considering how it was before.’ He smiled. ‘But I can’t deny I’m
worried I might get a taste for the healthy living malarkey if I stay much longer.’
‘I had it covered.’ I reached into one of the shopping bags and pulled out a four-pack
of Guinness. ‘This caused a stir in the supermarket. I’ve never set foot in the alcohol aisle,
never mind bought any. It’s a small town. News will spread that I’m having a midlife crisis or
something.’
Perhaps I was. I’d had alcohol in the house before – I operated a ‘bring your own bottle’
system when friends came for dinner – but I didn’t buy it. So why the exception for Paddy?
Because there had always been an exception for Paddy, in everything. Something had drawn
me into the unfamiliar section of the shop – a curiously attractive area with its wooden flooring,
stylish bottles and feature lighting – and the Guinness had appeared in my trolley without me
giving it a thought.
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‘I wish I could stay, and not just for the Guinness. It’s been …’ He shrugged.
‘Unexpectedly restful. But I had a call this morning. I’ve been asked to take a look at a
construction site in Essex. They’ve found some remains, and work’s been halted until it’s
checked out, so it can’t wait. And then I have to give a couple of lectures, and next week there’s
a TV awards ceremony in London …’ He sighed. ‘Time to return to real life. I think I might
need this Guinness.’
‘Take it.’ Although I couldn’t see why he sighed; it didn’t sound too shabby a life to
me. ‘Are you up for an award?’
‘The show is.’ He laughed. ‘You can say it – I don’t deserve it. All I do is stand in front
of a camera and talk about something I love. I don’t save lives.’ His smile faded, and he pushed
back his hair. ‘I need to win. If we win, we’ve been promised another series, and then there’s
more chance of other opportunities … I need it for Mam. If there is a third series, I want to
feature Inglebridge, and look more at that barrow, perhaps dig some test trenches. You may be
seeing me again sooner than you think. Keep your fingers crossed.’
I followed him out to the hall, wondering whether I should keep my fingers crossed that
he won or that he didn’t. He reached into his bag and pulled out a padded envelope.
‘At the risk of making you think I’m even more hollow, I’ve bought you this.’
He handed over the envelope and I pulled out a DVD of the first series of his TV show,
Travels Through Time. Paddy’s face stared out at me from the front cover, as if the appeal of
the show lay solely in him, not the history they uncovered.
‘Ignore the cover,’ he said. ‘I didn’t have a say. Watch the show. I know you want to
forget the past. I get that. But it wasn’t all bad.’ He tapped the DVD in my hand. ‘The past can
be inspirational and educational, and a blueprint for the future. You always understood that
better than the rest of us. Watch this and remember how it felt. You deserve this, Eve.’
*
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I hadn’t intended to watch the DVD, and certainly not so soon. But after Paddy had gone,
disappearing from my life with a soft kiss on the cheek and a wave of the hand – more than he
had managed seventeen years ago – I stripped his bed, cleaned his room, cooked half the food
I had bought for tonight and then … Hours still stretched before me, the same as they had done
before Paddy’s visit – so why did those hours now feel so long, so empty? Paddy had taken the
Guinness and my contentment too. He had made me think about the past in a way that I had
chosen not to for years.
The DVD sat on the coffee table, winking at me, striving to capture my attention until
in the end I snapped and shoved the disc into the DVD player. Three hours and three episodes
later, having moved from my chair only once to fetch a cranberry and raspberry tea, I finally
switched the television off, knowing that even halfway through the series, the damage was
done. I was hooked. The show was a brilliant idea, contrasting the past with the present in order
to highlight the similarities and differences. Over six episodes,
the series followed
archaeological investigations on three sites, discovering who had lived in the area and how the
land had been used hundreds of years ago. At the same time, the programme showed what
current life was like in the nearest town or village, featuring interviews with some real
characters – and the locals were all encouraged to get involved with volunteering on the dig,
and to connect with the history of their community.
The episodes had covered a variety of subjects: a medieval tithe barn in Herefordshire,
a Roman villa in Essex and a Norman church in Kent, but there was one common factor. The
passion, the enthusiasm and the curiosity of the whole team making the show was
unmistakeable. And as for Paddy – whether talking about the dig, or drawing out hilarious
anecdotes from villagers, he was a natural in front of the camera, and I chose that word
deliberately. This wasn’t a sham – it was a genuine performance from someone who knew and
loved his subject and wanted to share his passion with others. He brought the show to life and,
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watching it, I could almost smell the earth and feel it beneath my fingers in the trenches. And
a dormant piece of my heart started beating again.
The thoughts I had denied so long rushed in. I didn’t want to be on my sofa, watching
other people uncover history. I wanted to be in that trench myself, knee pads on and trowel in
hand, scrabbling around in the dirt and dust, finding the clues about past civilisations and past
lives. I wanted to discover the footprints of buildings and communities long buried – to help
remap the world as it used to be in centuries gone by. And the more I thought about it, the more
certain I became. I didn’t just want to do it. I had to do it.
I would be forty in August: too young to stagnate in a job I increasingly disliked, and
too old to let an opportunity pass by without grasping it. I was healthy and so was my bank
balance – when would this chance ever come again? It was now or never. And as I watched the
A Dozen Second Chances (ARC) Page 19