A Dozen Second Chances (ARC)

by Kate Scholefield

  had led to her death.

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  That was what I’d told everyone, when Faye’s death had been investigated. That was

  the truth. But there was one detail I’d never shared with anyone else, even Paddy.

  ‘You know we argued about the drugs,’ I said to Mum now. She nodded. ‘It was worse

  than I told you. We were drunk. We both said some vile things. She said that I thought I was

  better than her, because I had a degree, and she said that there was no way Paddy would stick

  around with someone as tedious as me. There was much more along the same lines. And I said

  …’

  I paused. Mum was watching me, her face pale, but I couldn’t stop now – just as I

  hadn’t been able to stop then.

  ‘I took some money out of my purse and threw it at her, and I said that she could buy

  more drugs and kill herself for all I cared. And that’s exactly what she did.’

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  CHAPTER 25

  ‘The £20 on the mantelpiece,’ Mum said.

  I stared at her, not understanding.

  ‘Did you throw £20 at her?’ Mum asked. ‘Two tens?’

  ‘Yes. How do you know that?’ Did it matter? Surely Mum should be angry with me for

  what I’d done, not focusing on a trivial detail?

  ‘The money was on the mantelpiece in her flat, under a photo of the two of you. There

  was a sticker on it, with one word written down.’ Mum reached out and grasped my hand. ‘It

  said “sorry”. It must have been meant for you. We never found any other explanation for it,

  and it didn’t seem to matter with everything else going on …’

  It would have mattered to me. It still did matter, more than I could ever say. I had spent

  half my life regretting that my last words to Faye had been so cruel; that was why I had given

  up alcohol, so that I would never lose control and lash out that way again. I could never undo

  those words, but now I felt a rush of relief that at least she hadn’t died hating me for them; that

  she had wanted to make up after our argument. I hoped with all my heart that when she wrote

  her ‘sorry’, she had realised that I would want to apologise to her too.

  ‘You mustn’t feel guilty,’ Mum said. ‘None of this was your fault. You didn’t put that

  drug in Faye’s mouth. She chose to take it. The one you knocked out of her hand might have

  been from the same bad batch. When were any of us ever able to stop Faye when she set her

  mind on something? She was unlucky. We were all unlucky, losing her like that.’

  I nodded. Perhaps Mum was right. I’d been through all the different scenarios, all the

  what-ifs, countless times, but the one element that could never change was Faye herself. We

  had loved her for her exuberance, her almost reckless determination to embrace every

  experience that life could offer. On this occasion, it had cost her life. I couldn’t deny the truth;

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  if she’d decided to take drugs that night, she would have found a way, whatever I said or did,

  and whether I’d given her money or not.

  ‘Don’t you think I feel guilty too?’ Mum continued. ‘When she phoned me that night,

  and said she felt ill, I didn’t go to her. I thought she’d drunk too much. I’d had a few myself,

  and couldn’t face going out. I told her to drink water and take aspirin. What if I’d gone to her

  then?’ The tears were rolling down both our faces, and I hugged Mum as I should have done

  at the time, if my guilt hadn’t thrown an inflatable barrier around me so I couldn’t reach out to

  her.

  ‘We can’t go on blaming ourselves,’ Mum said. She grabbed my hands. ‘What have I

  always said? Life’s too short to spend it looking over your shoulder at the past. We’re the lucky

  ones. We’re still here. Let’s not waste it.’

  *

  We were a surprisingly happy group as we arrived at the bistro the next night – Luc escorting

  me, Mum, Caitlyn and Gran, four generations of women whose lives had all been changed by

  grief but who had found the strength to keep going. There had been plenty of tears after my

  conversation with Mum yesterday – tears for Faye, cruelly denied the chance to fulfil her

  potential, and tears for me too, because after years of punishing myself, I still had the

  opportunity to fulfil mine. It felt like a momentous point – as if life truly was beginning again.

  The bistro was busy, and Tina and Graham were already sitting at a round table at the

  back – nearest to the ladies, at Gran’s request. As we all took our seats, my stupid heart ached

  at the sight of the empty place where Paddy should have been. I’d sent him a text to let him

  know that I couldn’t meet him this afternoon. Had he changed his mind about coming at all?

  And why was I so bothered if he had? The answer was obvious. My attempt to be neutral about

  him had utterly failed.

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  Mum ordered a bottle of champagne, and we were all clinking glasses as best we could

  without burning ourselves on the candles in the centre of the table, when a few whispers swept

  across the restaurant and the attention of most of my table refocused on something behind my

  back. I swivelled in my seat. Paddy was striding towards us, smiling at me with a degree of

  wariness, of uncertainty over his welcome, but even so his smile instinctively made my heart

  spin. And then he glanced at Caitlyn beside me, and my heart collapsed in a stupid, dizzy heap.

  ‘Cutting it fine, aren’t you?’ Gran said, while Paddy bent and brushed such a fleeting

  kiss on my cheek that it was over before I could decide whether to allow it. ‘We don’t run on

  celebrity time up here, you know. You’re lucky you’ve not missed your dinner. The

  champagne’s all gone.’

  ‘We’d better have another bottle,’ Paddy said, and with a few nods and gestures, the

  waiter brought over another bottle and glass.

  ‘Here you go,’ Gran continued, pointing at the empty chair between her and Tina. ‘You

  can be the thorn between two roses. And you can make yourself useful and help me with this

  menu. Which of these foreign words means chips?’

  Paddy squeezed round the table to the furthest place away from me, smiling and

  exchanging greetings as he went. He looked impossibly handsome; the blue shirt set off his

  dark hair and the sleeves were artfully rolled up, exposing firm, tanned forearms. Arms that

  had held me pressed to him, skin to skin, not so long ago. The champagne suddenly tasted like

  vinegar in my mouth, as it brought back memories of Paris: of everything that had been done

  and said and discovered there; of the happiness when I had thought a different future was in

  my sights; of the despair when I had realised that it was actually the past that had changed. I

  put down my glass. Why was he here? Was it to celebrate my birthday, or to see Caitlyn again?

  I wished I knew.

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  The meal was every bit as delicious as I’d hoped, and there was no denying that Paddy’s

  presence helped the conversation and laughter flow. I’d dreamt of this, long ago: growing old

  with Paddy, sitting around a table, surroun
ded by our family and friends. But I had never

  imagined how small the table would be; that vital family members would have gone; that the

  children I had expected us to have one day wouldn’t exist. And it struck me that perhaps Mum

  had had the right attitude all along. There was no point dwelling on the past or dreaming about

  the future. All we had, all we could be certain of, was now.

  I reached under the table for my bag, and pulled out the box of ‘Be Kind to Yourself’

  cards. My wrist jangled as I did; Mum had insisted on giving me some of her bangles, and I

  had accepted them gladly.

  ‘Here are the final two cards,’ I said, sliding them over to Caitlyn, who was sitting at

  my side. ‘The first was for this dress, which was very expensive.’ I laughed. ‘I’ll be wearing it

  to every occasion for at least the next twenty years to get my money’s worth, so I hope you all

  like it.’

  BE KIND TO YOURSELF

  VOUCHER ELEVEN

  I, Eve Roberts, have been kind to myself by buying an outrageously expensive dress!

  ‘You could have saved a few bob and borrowed something from Mrs Pike,’ Gran said.

  Laughing, I looked across the table at her and caught Paddy’s warm gaze rising back to my

  face. The smile he sent me suggested that he appreciated the dress, if no one else did.

  ‘And the final one,’ I carried on quickly, ‘is for this meal out, because I can’t think of

  any greater treat than to be surrounded by the people who matter. A family isn’t defined by

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  size, or shape, or titles, or even ties of blood,’ I said, smiling at Tina. ‘It’s about a group of

  people who might have nothing in common but love, but that’s enough.’

  BE KIND TO YOURSELF

  VOUCHER TWELVE

  I, Eve Roberts, have been kind to myself by having a night out with my wonderful family!

  ‘She’s getting sentimental in her old age,’ Gran said, but she smiled and scrubbed at

  her eyes. ‘Here, isn’t it time you handed over your present?’ She nudged Paddy. ‘Distract her

  so she doesn’t make any more soppy speeches.’

  Paddy had been carrying a gift bag when he walked in, but I hadn’t liked to presume it

  was for me. He now retrieved it from under his chair and passed it round the table to me.

  ‘You want me to open it now?’ I asked, as everyone gazed expectantly at me. Paddy

  checked his watch.

  ‘It’s a birthday present. If you don’t open it in the next two hours, it will have to wait

  until next year. Just go carefully with it, okay? It’s fragile.’

  I nodded, guessing that it was probably a bottle of perfume – it was an obvious present,

  wasn’t it, for a female acquaintance? And what were we, other than acquaintances? He’d

  treated me no differently than Tina or Mum tonight, and apart from that one searing glance at

  my dress, had spent more time looking at Caitlyn than me. His gift would reflect the

  insignificance of our relationship, wouldn’t it?

  There was a box inside the gift bag, and I drew it out, lay it horizontally on the table,

  and lifted the lid. There was a bottle inside, but not the perfume bottle I’d anticipated. It was

  approximately twelve centimetres tall, with a round body and cylindrical neck, made of

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  marbled green glass. I looked at Paddy. He smiled at me, because he knew, he must have

  known, what this present would mean to me.

  Carefully, I removed the bottle from the protective foam it lay in and held it up. The

  light from the candles brought out the iridescence of the glass as I tilted it from side to side.

  ‘Very nice, what is it?’ Gran called. ‘Is it a vase? It looks a bit grubby. Eh, have you

  been a cheapskate?’ She nudged Paddy. ‘Couldn’t you stretch to a new one?’

  ‘It’s an unguentarium,’ I said. Gran looked none the wiser. ‘They were used by the

  Romans to hold perfumed oils and ointments.’ I ran my finger over the glass. It was pitted in

  places, but I didn’t see the marks as flaws. They gave the piece character; each one added to

  its history, and made it what it was. It was in remarkable condition given the likely age; the

  piriform shape of the bottle helped date it. ‘First century?’ I asked Paddy. He nodded.

  ‘That’s the most likely.’

  Caitlyn was leaning against me, staring at the bottle.

  ‘It’s over two thousand years old? Wow. Did you dig this up?’ she asked Paddy.

  ‘No, I bought it.’

  ‘But wouldn’t it cost, like, millions of pounds to buy something so old?’

  ‘Not quite millions …’

  ‘She’d have got more use out of a nice bottle of Chanel,’ Gran said. She looked around

  for a waiter. ‘Do you reckon they know how to make a proper cup of tea here? I’m parched.’

  Mum ordered coffees and Gran’s tea while I packed away Paddy’s present. I could

  guess what he must have paid for this – not millions, but certainly hundreds – but the price

  wasn’t the point. There was a memory wrapped up with this bottle, of Paddy taking me to the

  British Museum for the first time, when we had been visiting his parents who had lived outside

  London then. He had indulged me as I’d spent hours dawdling around the galleries, particularly

  the Roman artefacts. I remembered clearly how he’d stood behind me, arms holding me tight

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  against his body as I’d studied a display of glassware, including the most amazing

  unguentarium made of swirls of marbled amber glass, and he had whispered in my ear that he

  would find one for me, one day. Had he remembered? Was there a significance in the gift that

  I hadn’t anticipated?

  Despite it being my birthday, I was driving, and when we couldn’t spin out our coffees

  any longer, I picked up my car keys ready to take Gran back to The Chestnuts. Caitlyn and Luc

  decided to carry on to one of the pubs in town, and Mum, Tina and Graham were walking

  home.

  ‘Won’t you come back for a drink?’ Paddy asked, as we left the warmth and bustle of

  the bistro and tumbled out into the quiet town centre. He was staying at The White Hart, an

  easy stagger across the square.

  ‘I think Gran’s tired …’

  ‘Not everyone. Just you.’ Paddy lowered his voice. ‘There are things we need to talk

  about.’

  Even without his flicked glance at Caitlyn, I’d known what he meant. I’d wished all

  night that I’d been able to meet him this afternoon, because it had been heart-breaking to see

  his response to her in the bistro. He had watched her through the eyes of a parent, marvelling

  at even the most innocuous comment, smiling at everything she did. I knew, because I did it

  myself. I had recognised the pride in his expression, because I felt it myself. And now I had to

  take it away from him.

  But as I drove back into town from The Chestnuts, one of the few cars on the road at

  this time, contemplating the vastness of the star-strewn sky all around, an alternative floated

  into my mind. Our affairs were so tiny, so immaterial in the grand scheme of things. Caitlyn

  had no father; Paddy had no child. Would it matter, really, if I told him I’d found evidence that

  she was his child, when the relationship woul
d benefit them both? Could I get away with it?

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  Parking in the square again, I crossed over to The White Hart and looked in through the

  window as I tried to decide what to do. It was relatively busy with Saturday night drinkers, and

  happiness spilled out onto the pavement through the open windows. There were a few faces I

  recognised, but my eyes were drawn to the man sitting on his own at a corner table, staring into

  a half-drunk pint of Guinness. Even from outside, I could sense the nervous energy radiating

  off him like a live current. The next few minutes – what I was going to say to him – were going

  to shape the rest of his life. The rest of all of our lives. I pushed open the door and went inside.

  Paddy looked up as soon as I walked in, and half rose, but I pointed at the bar and

  bought a sparkling water and another pint of Guinness before joining him at his table.

  ‘You haven’t told her yet, have you?’ he said, and I shook my head, because there was

  no point pretending that I didn’t understand. He sighed, and his hand crept across the table to

  hold mine. ‘Please, Eve. I have to know. It’s not just for me. It could make Mam happy, for

  whatever time she has left. It would give Dad a focus, when she’s gone. I’ve got the kit upstairs,

  for the paternity test. We both need to provide cheek swabs. We could do it this weekend.’

  ‘There’s no need to do a test,’ I said, and as the frown lines deepened across his

  forehead, and confusion clouded his eyes, any lingering doubts over what I had to do vanished.

  ‘I went through Faye’s belongings yesterday. I found evidence of who Caitlyn’s father is.’

  It was hard to tell if he was still breathing. He held my hand, and I could feel the tension

  in his fingers as they wrapped around mine. His hope was so real, so tangible, it was like a

  third party at the table.

  ‘I’m sorry, Paddy. She’s not yours.’

  His hand slackened in mine, and he slumped back in his seat. Waves of disappointment