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A Dozen Second Chances (ARC)

Page 26

by Kate Scholefield


  hung back, smiling as she posed for photographs with Paddy. Winston and Cheryl passed me,

  pushing a sleeping Mabel in her pram.

  ‘You should be up there, taking some credit,’ Cheryl said, pointing towards the

  photographer. ‘Winston won’t put himself forward either. This is all down to your hard work.’

  ‘I wouldn’t dare steal the limelight from Gran,’ I said, laughing. ‘This is her last chance

  to make the papers. She’s been looking forward to it for weeks. The fundraising was originally

  her idea, as she keeps telling anyone who’ll listen.’

  ‘Do you know what the winning name is?’ Winston asked.

  ‘I haven’t heard. I just hope it’s not The Phyllis Roberts …’

  The launch ceremony passed off well, and the minibus was duly christened with the

  name that had won the public vote: The Alfred Wainwright, after the legendary Lancashire man

  who had produced famous walking guides to the nearby Lakeland fells. Gran would be

  disappointed: I knew that she’d suggested Not Dunroamin’. The manager of the motor

  dealership made a worthy speech about how pleased they were to support a good cause, and

  then it was Paddy’s turn. He woke everyone up again with a hilarious account of the adventures

  a group of pensioners might have, travelling around the country on a road trip in the bus. It was

  one of those seemingly effortless performances that must have taken considerable preparation

  in advance, as he name-checked many of The Chestnuts residents and gave them roles on the

  grand tour – with Gran as conductor, of course. The delight on the residents’ faces made tears

  clog in my throat.

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  ‘I think you made their day with your speech,’ I said, finding myself beside Paddy after

  the press had finally finished taking photographs.

  ‘Ah, I wouldn’t have said that. But if I did, they deserve it, don’t they? It was no bother.’

  No bother, he said – but he must have contacted someone at The Chestnuts to find out

  the names and personalities of the residents, to give them all such accurate roles in his story.

  He must have spent time thinking about his speech, writing it and learning it – and all for a

  group of old people he didn’t know and was unlikely to see again. How did that fit with the

  notion I had clung to all these years, that Paddy Friel was only interested in himself? It didn’t

  – of course it didn’t.

  ‘How’s your mum?’ I asked, as we crossed the lawn to the table serving drinks. Only

  soft drinks were left now, including my rejected elderflower pressé, although a can of Guinness

  mysteriously appeared from under the table when Paddy approached. We wandered further

  down the garden, away from the other guests, and he took a long slug of beer before replying.

  ‘She’s not so good,’ he said. He stared down at the can in his hand. ‘It’s taking her

  speech now. Her mind is still full of things, you know, but she’s struggling to get it out. It’s

  unbearable to see her frustration. Jeez, Eve, you wouldn’t want to watch an animal suffer like

  this, never mind your mam …’

  I stepped forward and hugged him. What else could I do? I couldn’t watch him suffer.

  He returned the embrace one-armed, minding his Guinness, his head resting against mine. And

  a memory came rushing back of us doing this before, but the other way round – of him

  wrapping me in his arms and comforting me when the news first came that Faye had died, as

  if he wanted to squeeze the pain out of me and protect me from further hurt; before we had

  realised the implications of her death for us and our planned life together. How had I forgotten

  that? Because I had let his one bad act of leaving Caitlyn – leaving me – wipe out years of good

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  deeds. I tightened my hold, trying to offer the comfort he had once given me. But as I finally

  pulled away, he dipped his head and kissed me.

  The forbidden taste of alcohol and Paddy … Which was more intoxicating? I stepped

  back, and wiped the back of my hand across my mouth.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I asked, glancing round to see if anyone had noticed. ‘I was

  offering you sympathy, nothing more. You promised not to do this!’

  ‘I never promised not to kiss you.’

  ‘You did! When we were on the rooftop in Bath …’ I tried to remember. What words

  had he used? ‘You said you wouldn’t break my heart again.’

  ‘I won’t.’

  He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t making a joke of this. I felt unsteady, wrong-footed. So

  what exactly had he meant by that kiss? Nothing I wanted to hear. And yet … I wished I could

  wipe a hand across my mind, to stop it reliving the moment, stop it making a connection with

  all those other remembered kisses from before, as if a string of fairy lights were coming on one

  by one, connecting the past with the present until I couldn’t help but see how perfectly our lips

  fitted together, and always had. Before and after, no kiss had ever affected me like Paddy’s.

  That hadn’t changed. So what was I to do now?

  I glanced around, anywhere but at Paddy. The garden was emptying now, and I spotted

  Gran sitting by herself on one of the few chairs still outside. I hurried over, and crouched down

  in front of her.

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to abandon you,’ I said. ‘I was just …’ What? Kissing Paddy?

  My mind went blank – of excuses, but sadly not of memories.

  ‘No need to fret about me,’ Gran said. ‘I was having a nice little chat with the journalist.

  I’m sure you were having a nice time too.’

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  She said this with a twinkle that made me suspect she’d seen exactly what I’d been

  doing, until I noticed that Paddy had followed me over and the twinkle was directed at him. He

  was more persistent than a shadow, I thought, standing up again. What was the matter with the

  man? Missing when I needed him most, and now I didn’t need him, I couldn’t shake him off.

  He smiled at me and that train of thought fizzled away.

  ‘Don’t think you have to hang around here with me,’ Gran said. ‘They’ll be dosing us

  with cocoa and shipping us off to bed soon enough. You can get off now if the pair of you have

  plans for the night.’

  Paddy looked at me in enquiry. He could look all he liked. I wasn’t falling for Gran’s

  tricks.

  ‘I do have plans,’ I said. ‘After I’ve helped clear up here, I’ve arranged to speak to

  Beverley on Skype. You remember Beverley,’ I said to Paddy. ‘She was with us on the dig in

  the Cotswolds. The Californian lady.’

  ‘She was fun.’ Paddy smiled. ‘Where is she now?’

  ‘In Spain. She’s working her way across Europe, and doesn’t go home until November.’

  ‘It’s a great way to spend the summer.’

  I nodded. It probably was. He should know. I assumed that after he left me with Caitlyn,

  he’d picked up our plans to volunteer at digs across the world and fulfilled them by himself; it

  was one subject we hadn’t discussed since we met up again. I could only imagine what it would

  be like to explore the world in that way. But he could only imagine what it was like to raise a

  child, to help t
hem develop and grow and become their own person. Having witnessed his

  sadness in the Cotswolds, how could I envy his life over mine?

  ‘Never mind helping here,’ Gran said, prodding me with her stick. ‘Take Paddy out

  somewhere. He put on a good show for us. The least you could do is buy him a drink.’

  ‘Don’t you have to get home?’ I asked him.

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  ‘I’m staying at The White Hart for the weekend. I thought we could do something

  tomorrow.’

  Do what, exactly? More kissing? He was smiling at me in a way that was dangerously

  familiar. Thank goodness I had a perfect excuse.

  ‘I’m busy tomorrow. It’s the Inglebridge agricultural show. I’m taking Gran.’

  ‘Really?’ Paddy turned his attention to Gran. ‘I didn’t know you had a secret interest in

  cattle, Phyllis.’

  ‘I don’t. Can’t stand the pong. I only agreed to go so Eve wouldn’t be lonely on her

  own. She normally takes our Caitlyn. I’d rather stop here and take part in the dominoes rally.’

  That put me in my place – and it wasn’t a particularly comfortable place to be. Shouldn’t I be

  worried about her being lonely, rather than the other way round? What next? Would she be

  inviting me to join the dominoes game soon? It was beginning to feel like life was ending at

  forty, never mind beginning.

  ‘So that’s sorted,’ Gran said, waving her stick from Paddy to me. ‘I’ll stop here and you

  two can go together.’

  *

  The Inglebridge agricultural show had been one of my favourite days of the year ever since we

  had moved to the town, and was one of the first events I marked in my new calendar each

  January. It was an important day for the local farmers, and competition was fierce to win the

  colourful rosettes for having the best sheep, pigs and cattle, but there was equally stiff rivalry

  amongst breeders to own a prize-winning budgie or rabbit. There was fun for the general public

  too, and the main arena in the centre of the showground held livestock parades and equestrian

  events such as show-jumping and carriage-driving, as well as special stunt displays that always

  drew a huge crowd. The arena was surrounded by tents full of local crafts and food, an

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  astonishing variety of trade stands, and a funfair that seemed to grow bigger and better each

  year.

  Caitlyn and I had attended every year, spending the whole day there whatever the

  weather, until we had staggered home, exhausted and happy and laden down with shopping

  bags. This year, after Caitlyn had accepted the job in Paris, I had wondered whether to go at all

  until I had come up with the brilliant plan to take Gran: I had even paid extra for seats in the

  arena grandstand, so she could sit down whenever she wanted. Never had I imagined, when I

  bought the tickets so many months ago, that I would end up going along with Paddy.

  It wasn’t what I’d planned; it wasn’t what I’d wanted. But as the day rolled on, and the

  sun warmed our heads and made everything seem more cheerful, I couldn’t regret being there

  with Paddy. His curiosity knew no bounds – it was what made him such an excellent

  archaeologist and TV presenter – and he started conversations with people I recognised from

  previous years but wouldn’t have thought to approach myself. We learnt about the tips and

  tricks to prepare a bull for showing; heard fascinating stories about classic car rallies from the

  owner of a gorgeous Austin 7 saloon dating back to 1931; and learnt about the development of

  a new micro-brewery at a local farm, which even I found interesting – although not as much as

  Paddy, who sampled the beers with great delight. His enthusiasm for it all sparked mine; his

  curiosity sparked mine. I’d been visiting the show for sixteen years and felt as if I’d hardly

  noticed half of it before. And that was Paddy – that was what made him special, what had made

  me miss him so profoundly when he left. He didn’t just share life. He enriched it. I wasn’t sure

  it was helping me to be reminded of that.

  We bought our lunch from the food stands – the inevitable sausage sandwich for him,

  and a bowl of steaming vegetable paella for me – and squeezed onto the benches in the

  grandstand while we ate it. This year, the stunt display featured horse riders who had appeared

  as body doubles on popular television dramas, and who stood on, dangled off and performed

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  tricks on horses while cantering around the arena, jumping over obstacles and leaping through

  fire. It was an entrancing performance, and we laughed and gasped at the near misses and

  daring stunts, cheering loudly with the rest of the audience when it was over.

  After the equestrian display, there was a sudden change in the mood, as the head teacher

  of Inglebridge primary school led a long crocodile of children into the arena. I’d seen this

  advertised in the show programme, and hadn’t planned to watch, but we were wedged in high

  in the grandstand with no easy means of escape. One of the teachers at the primary school had

  died earlier in the year, after fighting breast cancer, and the children were going to release pink

  balloons in memory of her. The head gave a moving speech, as did the teacher’s widower who

  was flanked by their two teenagers, and then the balloons soared into the air as cheers and

  applause rang out across the showground.

  I couldn’t help myself; a few stray tears rolled down my cheeks as I listened to the

  glowing tributes and watched the balloons drift away on the gentle breeze. The teacher who

  died had worked at the school for many years – she had taught Caitlyn – and she had been

  known to many of the children and parents attending the show today. It was a fitting goodbye

  from the Inglebridge community, but it was inevitable that my own personal goodbyes in my

  family would enter my mind too.

  The crowd in the grandstand started to move, and Paddy grabbed my hand.

  ‘Come on,’ he said, pulling me up and leading me down the steps. ‘It’s time for the

  funfair.’

  ‘No …’ I began to protest, but he put his finger up to my lips.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘We’re going to have fun. We need it.’

  He was right, of course. It proved exactly what we needed to lift the mood again. We

  had a go at the hook-a-duck stall – Paddy won a plastic sword, which he brandished at me in

  brutal Viking fashion before handing it over to a less successful little boy. We rode sedately on

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  the painted carousel horses, and raced round on the dodgems, laughing as we chased and

  bumped into each other; enjoying ourselves as if we were still the young Paddy and Eve, lovers

  with a life of adventure ahead of us, rather than the middle-aged pair scarred by tragedy and

  loss.

  Paddy caught my hand as I stumbled down the steps away from the dodgems, dizzy

  from the movement of the cars and the abundance of laughter. He led me away from the fair

  and towards the bank of trees that lined the side of the showground, until we were out of the

  crowd. He stopped and looked at me.

  ‘What do you say to me kissing you now, Ev
e? I’ll give you a fair chance this time.

  Would you pull away?’

  Would I? His eyes were locked on mine. I reminded myself that this was Paddy – the

  man who had abandoned me with a grieving child. But it was also the Paddy I had loved more

  than I had thought it possible to love another person; and the Paddy who had shown me this

  year that he had become the decent, thoughtful man I had always believed him to be. The

  question chased around my head, searching for the right answer, but it was too late – my body

  was already leaning forwards, ready to meet his.

  My mouth had almost reached his when the sound of my phone rang out from my bag.

  ‘Ignore it,’ Paddy said, the words blowing against my lips.

  ‘I can’t. It might be Gran.’

  I drew away and took out my phone. It stopped ringing just as I tried to answer. There

  was a long list of missed calls on the screen, all from the same unfamiliar number. All from

  France, according to the display. The blood that had so recently roared around my body now

  seemed to freeze in my veins. Before I could call the number back, the phone started ringing

  again.

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  ‘Mum?’ It was Caitlyn. There was no time for relief, as the word ended on a sob. ‘Mum?

  I need you.’

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  CHAPTER 21

  ‘What’s the matter? What’s happened?’ Paddy had been pacing around me as I spoke, and he

  clutched my arm as soon as I ended the phone call. ‘Was that Caitlyn?’

  I nodded. ‘She’s been mugged. Her bag was snatched – her purse and phone have gone.’

  ‘But nothing worse? She’s not hurt?’

  I shook my head. I’d had to be calm and soothing when talking to Caitlyn, but now the

  tears I had supressed ran down my cheeks, and I felt a complicated mix of horror that she had

  suffered this and relief that it hadn’t been anything worse. And Paddy pulled me into his arms,

 

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