Remember Me at Willoughby Close (Return to Willoughby Close Book 4)

by Kate Hewitt

  Laura thought of the women in Tea on the Lea, laughing and chatting. “Maybe, but I didn’t talk to any of them.”

  Chantal tutted in sympathy. “It takes effort, remember.”

  “I know. More than I have right now, I’m afraid.”

  “One day, though.”

  Laura nodded rather mechanically. “Yes. One day.” One day soon, hopefully, or she might miss her window.

  “You will get there, Laura,” Chantal said, her voice full of earnest conviction. “I know it’s hard now, and it’s been hard for a long time. But things will get better.”

  “Yes, I know.” What else could she say? Chantal was no stranger to grief. Both her parents had died in the last few years, along with an ex-boyfriend. Admittedly it wasn’t quite the same as a husband, but she understood loss.

  “It does take effort, though,” Chantal continued a bit severely. “It’s not going to just happen. A mum isn’t going to walk up to you and say, ‘Hey, want to be my friend?’ This isn’t nursery, after all.”

  “Well, she might,” Laura said with a smile. “I can hope, anyway.”

  “You have to do something,” Chantal insisted in her usual much-needed brand of tough love. “Like I said, it’s going to take effort. That’s why it’s hard.”

  “Right.”

  “All right, I’ll back off now,” Chantal told her with a laugh, reading her repressive tone correctly. “But I expect regular updates.”

  “Okay,” Laura agreed somewhat reluctantly. “Although I’m not sure I’ll have that many to give.”

  “Yes, you will,” Chantal returned robustly. “Anyway, what about work? Are you going to register with a supply agency? I think it would do you good to get out there, meet people that way as well as by the school gate.”

  “It’s on my to-do list.” Before Tim’s death, Laura had been a teaching assistant. Before kids, she’d taught history at a large secondary school in London. Both felt like a long time ago now; since Tim had died the money had been dwindling down and Laura knew she needed to get a proper job. She’d started back with supply in the autumn, but then they’d decided to move and she’d only managed a few days of cover, all of which had been more difficult than she’d hoped—the staffroom chitchat, the nine to five, the actual teaching. Just a day of it had exhausted her, and yet she knew Chantal was right.

  She was planning to register with a supply agency here and then look for a full-time job for September—she just had to muster the energy. When, she wondered, was she going to stop feeling so tired?

  “It would be a good way to meet people, Laur,” Chantal persisted. “I know you’ve always had a dread of the school gate.”

  “It just feels like Year Seven,” Laura admitted. “With the popular girls all flicking their hair and giving superior looks.”

  “Not everyone can be a popular girl,” Chantal reminded her; they’d had this conversation many times before. “Look for the outliers.”

  I’m the outlier, Laura thought, and I’d like someone to look for me. Even if, like with Lindy and Ava, she’d shut the door in their faces. She really was a contrary person. Chantal was right. She needed to get out there and make an effort, even if it was hard. No one was going to come up to her and ask to be her friend. At least, it was unlikely. She needed to jump in first.

  “Thanks for the pep talk,” she told her friend. “I needed it.”

  “You know I’m here for you, anytime.”

  “Yes, I do.” Thank heavens for Chantal. She’d come and stayed with them in Woodbridge for a week to help with funeral arrangements; she’d had Maggie for the weekend in London when Laura had been feeling able to cope at home. She regularly sent the kids emails and little presents in the post, and she was always, always available at the end of a phone. Chantal was more than a good friend, she was a godsend. Laura only wished her friend lived in Wychwood, or that Laura could afford to live in London.

  “Now let me know how you’re doing,” Laura said as cheerfully as she could, conscious that Chantal did so much for her. She wanted to keep her end of their friendship up, but as usual Chantal wasn’t having it.

  “I’m fine, Laur, don’t worry. And when I really am having a wobbly, you’ll be the first to know.”

  “Any romantic interests?”

  “No,” Chantal said on a sigh. “Sadly, forty-two-year-old women who could lose at least a stone aren’t being scooped up by eligible bachelors. At least, this one isn’t.”

  “There must be someone who sparks your interest. A teacher at school?”

  “No.” Chantal pretended to shudder, although on second thought Laura wasn’t sure it was pretend. “Definitely not. The only single man at my school is a creepy science teacher who wears his socks pulled up to his knees when he’s wearing gym shorts.”

  “He doesn’t wear gym shorts to school,” Laura exclaimed with a horrified laugh.

  “He likes to volunteer for football club. Trust me, there’s no one. And actually, that’s okay.” Chantal was quiet, and Laura knew she was thinking about her ex-boyfriend who had died suddenly of cancer a year and a half ago, a few months before Tim’s accident. Although they’d already broken up, Laura knew the loss had hit her hard.

  “Like you said, it does get better,” she reminded her friend gently. “Eventually.”

  “Yep, it does.” Chantal blew out a breath. “Some days are better than others, you know?”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “Of course you do. Love you, Laur.”

  “Love you, too.”

  Her conversation with Chantal, as it almost always did, made her feel better, and as Laura headed outside with Perry there was a slight spring in her step.

  The dank clouds that had blanketed the sky that morning had given way to pale blue skies, the air fresh and damp and tinglingly cold. Willoughby Close looked even more charming with the sunlight lighting up the mellow golden stone; it was very quiet at ten o’clock on a Monday morning. All her neighbours must be at work.

  Laura took the path through the woods and then around the back of the manor, its huge, gabled roof visible over the dark fringe of trees. Jace had told her all the residents were permitted to have a wander through the landscaped gardens, but she resisted the urge to explore the hedges and flowerbeds as Perry was getting tired, his shaggy head lowered as they plodded towards home.

  He’d turn ten in the summer and had definitely been slowing down; Laura had a terror of him getting ill and dying. She didn’t think she or the children could cope with losing their dog on top of everything else; Maggie had only been four when they’d got him as a puppy, Sam one.

  Still, that was a worry for another day. The vet had said he was very healthy for an old dog, and today the sun was shining, the children were hopefully having a good day at school, and she was going to make more of an effort. There was no point feeling left out and lonely if she wasn’t going to at least try to put herself forward.

  And so, resolutely, Laura marched up to Lindy’s front door and knocked. She probably wasn’t home, and as she stood there Laura realised she was at least partially counting on that. This was more of an exercise to prove something to herself, and maybe to Chantal, than to actually reach out to somebody. So it was something of an uncomfortable surprise when, just as Laura was turning away from the door, Lindy opened it.

  “Laura!” She looked delighted. “How are you?”

  “Oh, uh, fine.” Laura summoned a smile, having to abruptly switch gears. She really hadn’t expected Lindy to be home. “I just wanted to say thanks for the cookies. They really were delicious.”

  “It’s no problem. Do you want to come in for a coffee?”

  “Oh. Ah.” Panic warred with pleasure; could she really make that much small talk? No, she decided, she couldn’t. Laura flushed as she struggled to find a credible excuse. “I’m just in the middle of something actually, but…ah…maybe another time?”

  “How about tomorrow? Two o’clock okay?”

  Lindy
was like a dog with a bone. Laura smiled weakly. “Sure,” she said, and with another smile and a wave, she headed back to number three.

  At least, she told herself, she had made an effort. And she would have coffee with Lindy tomorrow. She seemed perfectly nice, if quite exuberant, but frankly Laura could do with a bit of energy in her life. She needed to move on, she reminded herself, and like Chantal had said, it took effort. Effort she had to be willing to make, and so she would be.

  Perry lumbered into the house and flung himself down in front of the wood burner, which had become his usual space. Laura closed the door behind her with a little sigh of relief. Now, she wondered, what to do with the rest of her day? And, she thought, suppressing a sigh, every day after this one?

  Chapter Three

  “I’ve got coffee, Earl Grey, chai, or builder’s brew.” Lindy smiled at her expectantly, her hands on her hips, her golden-brown hair tumbling over her shoulders. “What do you fancy?”

  “Builder’s brew is fine.” Laura stepped into the cottage, which had the exact same layout as hers, but looked a lot more lived in. There were some lovely watercolours of the village on the wall that she duly admired.

  “Roger gave me those for Christmas,” Lindy said as she caught her gaze. “He’s—well, he’s my boyfriend, I suppose you’d say, although that sounds kind of juvenile, like I’m about sixteen.” She let out a little, breathless laugh; Laura had the sense the relationship must be rather new, and quite exciting.

  “Have you been together very long?” she asked, and Lindy shook her head.

  “Just a few months, really. Not long at all.”

  “How did you meet?” As long as she kept Lindy talking about herself, Laura hoped she wouldn’t have to answer any questions, although she supposed Lindy would get around to asking them eventually. And she would have to get around to answering them.

  “Through my class. I teach ballroom dancing, and Roger came with his mother, Ellen. Not that he likes dancing. Actually, he hates it.” She let out another little laugh. “He did it for his mum because it was on her bucket list and—well—she doesn’t have long now.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

  Lindy nodded soberly as she poured hot water into two mugs. “She has cancer. She’s in hospice now, and she has the most incredibly positive attitude, but it’s hard, you know?”

  “Yes, I imagine it must be.” This, Laura knew, would be a perfect opportunity to talk about her own tragedy. I lost my husband just over a year ago, she could say, although that sounded as if she’d misplaced Tim along with her car keys and a mismatched sock. Or: It is hard, isn’t it? My husband died a little over a year ago. Car accident. She should say it, because she knew the longer she left it the harder it would become—that elephant in the room only she could see.

  And Lindy had already, in the first five minutes of her coming over to her cottage, been so open about her own life, its joys as well as its sorrows.

  So why was Laura still standing there like a lemon?

  “Milk?” Lindy asked. “Sugar?”

  “Just milk, please.” And now the moment had passed, just as Laura had known it would. She didn’t know whether she felt relieved or annoyed, and decided probably a bit of both. Telling someone your husband had died was like hogging the conversation. Everything revolved around that afterwards, and then it became the elephant in the room they both could see, which was worse. Still, Laura knew it had to be done at some point.

  “So how did your kids get on at school yesterday?” Lindy asked as she handed her a mug.

  Laura took it with murmured thanks. “Okay, I think, although I’m not sure I actually know. They didn’t say much. Which I’m hoping is a good thing.” She’d spent much of the day in a state of anxiety over how they’d been managing, but when she’d picked Sam up that afternoon he’d just shrugged and loped home, announcing he was starving as soon as they got in the door. She’d made him his favourite peanut butter and banana sandwich while he’d flung himself on the sofa, hugging Perry as he reached for his iPad.

  “Just an hour, okay?” Laura had said. “Then we’ll play a board game or something.”

  “Mmm…” was all the reply she’d received.

  Maggie had been much of a muchness when she’d breezed in a few minutes later, grabbing a banana from the fruit bowl before heading upstairs.

  “How was school?” Laura had called after her a bit desperately, and she’d received a bored “Fine” in response.

  Clearly she needed to get her own life, so she stopped obsessing about her children’s. She’d spent the afternoon in absolute knots, and yet here they were, sprawled about snacking, as if the day had just been like any other. Laura was relieved, of course, but she was also anxious. What if they were hiding something from her? What might she be missing?

  Because you’ve missed things before, haven’t you?

  “That’s good, though, isn’t it?” Lindy said optimistically, forcing Laura thankfully back to the present. “They would have told you if something had gone really wrong, wouldn’t they?”

  “I don’t know,” Laura admitted. “Teenagers tend to be monosyllabic at the best of times. That is, when they’re not infuriated with you.” She gave Lindy a wry smile as she sipped her tea.

  “Yes, I suppose you’re right.” Lindy nodded thoughtfully. “I think I went through that phase, although I know I tend to idealise my childhood a bit.” Now she was the one to smile wryly, a touch of sorrow to the curve of her lips. “My parents died in a car accident when I was nineteen.”

  “Oh.” Laura nearly spit out her tea. Okay, now she had to say something.

  “I like to get it out there,” Lindy said semi-apologetically. “Otherwise it becomes awkward.” She held a palm up as if to forestall Laura’s stammering commiserations. “It’s okay, though. It was a long time ago. Not that that makes it better, of course, but, you know, I’ve learned to heal. To grieve. It’s a process, and Roger has actually helped a lot with it, so it’s all good. Or becoming good. Whatever.” She let out a self-conscious laugh.

  “Actually,” Laura said, her cheeks starting to burn for some reason, “I can relate. My husband died just over a year ago. In a car accident.”

  “Oh.” Lindy’s eyes widened, and then for a reason she could not possibly fathom unless it was sheer nerves, Laura started to laugh.

  She clapped a hand over her mouth, horrified at herself. “Sorry,” she gasped. “It’s not funny. Nothing’s funny about it at all. Of course not. It’s just…I dread telling people, because like you said it can be so awkward, and then it becomes the defining thing about you, and I just…I just wanted to be normal for a bit. And then you come out and tell me…” She started to laugh again, and to her relief, Lindy did, as well, both of them bringing up deep belly laughs as if the whole thing were completely hysterical, which actually, in a weird way, it sort of was.

  “What a pair we are,” she said, wiping her eyes. “The Tragedy Twins. Is that awful?” She looked at Laura anxiously. “It’s so much more raw for you, I know. I shouldn’t joke…”

  “No, no.” Laura’s stomach hurt from laughing. When had she last had a proper belly laugh? Goodness, but it felt wonderful, like exercising all sorts of old muscles. “No, it’s…it’s so nice. That someone gets it. It makes it so much easier. I mean…” She blew out a breath as the laughter that had seized her so utterly a few moments ago started to trickle away. “It’s awful and some days I can barely get out of bed, but I still want to be happy. It’s just hard to know how.”

  Lindy nodded soberly. “I know exactly what you mean. It’s like you have to learn how to live again, as if you need an instruction manual.”

  “Too bad there isn’t one.”

  “No, and I have to say, books on grief didn’t help all that much. They were either too painful to read or I wanted to throw them across the room for being so bloody obvious.”

  “Yes.” Laura couldn’t help but laugh in relief. She had an entire shelf o
f books on grief that so many well-meaning people had given her, and she’d barely managed to get through one.

  “How are your children doing with it?”

  Laura shrugged and sipped her tea. The laughter had drained right out of her, replaced by a familiar flatness. “I couldn’t really tell you. Maggie is angry all of the time, and Sam’s just quiet. They were both seeing a grief counsellor before we moved, although I’m not sure whether it helped or not. They both went reluctantly, but hopefully it did something.”

  “A year isn’t a long time, in terms of the grieving process,” Lindy said after a moment. She smiled wryly. “Sorry if you didn’t want to hear that.”

  “I think I knew it already.” Laura smiled back. Despite everything, she felt better for having told Lindy. Talking did help, she realised, especially when it was with someone who understood something of what you were going through. She was glad she’d said something.

  “Anyway, I think it will get better. It already has been. You know, more good days than bad ones. Mostly. It’s just this new start…we moved to be closer to Tim’s—that’s my husband’s—parents, and starting over has made everything feel fresh again, for some reason, like I’m feeling it for the first time.”

  Lindy nodded soberly. “I understand.”

  And Laura had a feeling that she really did. “Thank you for this,” she said, hefting the half-drunk cup. “I really appreciate it. It’s been hard getting out of the house sometimes, so if I’ve seemed rude…”

  “No, not at all,” Lindy assured her. “And don’t worry even if you have! You have good reason. But you’ll find people here are friendly. Maybe a bit too friendly, if you’re looking for some space. They’ll be dragging you out for drinks no matter how you feel.”

  The thought both heartened and terrified her. “Perhaps that’s what I need.”

  Lindy smiled with a sort of benevolent approval. “Perhaps it is. Olivia in number four is on her honeymoon at the moment, but when she’s back we’ll all have to go out for a drink. Emily’s in number one—have you seen her?”