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

by Kate Hewitt

  “Now I’m really curious.”

  They kept painting, and they took a break for lunch, with James making what he called ‘epic sandwiches’ in the orange and olive kitchen. It was warm enough to sit outside, and he led her out to the garden, a long, narrow strip that ran all the way down to a stream, a tiny tributary of the Lea River. Like the house, the garden was in need of some serious DIY as well as TLC, but as she sat on the cracked stones of the little patio, Laura could already imagine it—the grass neatly trimmed, borders of riotous wildflowers and a wooden swing in the wonky old apple tree at the bottom of the garden.

  “This will be lovely, when you’re done,” she told him, and James grimaced good-naturedly.

  “Yes, when I’m about fifty.”

  Which wasn’t all that far away from her own age, yet she remembered how old fifty had seemed when she’d been in her early thirties. Absolutely ancient.

  No matter how often she tried to convince herself the difference in their ages didn’t matter, in moments like this she couldn’t help but feel like it might.

  *

  James knew exactly when Laura started thinking about their ages. He’d joked about being fifty and then he saw a shadow pass over her face and inwardly he cursed his stupid blunder. She seemed to count those nine years far more heavily than he did.

  He didn’t even think about their ages, not really, although he supposed, if things got serious between them, he should. But who was he kidding? Things were already serious between them, at least on his side. He hoped on Laura’s too; he knew she hadn’t gone on a date with him lightly.

  And yet they weren’t so serious that she’d told her kids about them, something he wanted to ask about but felt reluctant to do so because he wasn’t sure he’d like the answer. He didn’t want to be Laura’s dirty little secret, a ridiculous toy boy to her determined cougar. He didn’t see them that way at all, but he wondered sometimes if she did.

  Still, it felt too early to be talking about all that, especially when the sun was shining and crocuses were pushing up through the earth and they still had another six hours or so of painting to be getting on with. He just wanted to enjoy the day—and every day this week—no matter what the future held.

  “Shall we keep at it?” he asked as he finished his sandwich, and Laura nodded. James extended a hand to her to help her up, and as she took it, he couldn’t resist tugging hard enough that she bumped into him, which gave him another excuse to kiss her. And then kiss her again.

  “I thought when you said keep at it you meant the painting,” Laura said a little breathlessly when he’d finally, reluctantly, let her go. He was doing his best to take things nice and slow because that felt like the right thing to do, but his blood was raging within him.

  “I did, but then I changed my mind.” He gave her a lopsided smile, doing his best to tamp down on his libido as they headed into the house.

  They spent the rest of the afternoon finishing the living room, which looked much nicer with its blue walls, even if there was still a hole in the centre of the room.

  “I hope the upstairs is a bit further on than this,” Laura told him with a laugh. She had a smear of paint on one cheek and her hair was delightfully mussed. James wanted to kiss her again, but he didn’t.

  “The master bedroom is just about liveable,” he answered. “The three other bedrooms I can’t answer for.”

  “No wonder you want to eat at mine. You’ve been living like this for five months?”

  He nodded. “I’m not as good at DIY as I’d hoped I was.”

  “Didn’t you know?”

  “Not really. Remember I told you how my brother was the big, manly type?” He spoke lightly but as ever talking about Jack made something in him tighten, just a little, and not in a good way.

  “I think you’re a manly type,” Laura told him and with an impish smile she squeezed one of his biceps. “Definitely.”

  Which emboldened him to ask her if she wanted to get a takeaway. He’d spend every minute, every second, of this next week with her if he could.

  And fortunately Laura seemed to feel the same way, because she readily agreed to a takeaway, and to watching a film on Netflix afterwards, and even helping him paint the kitchen the next day.

  “You need to get rid of those colours before you have a permanent headache. It’s the least I can do.”

  James agreed, only if they could go for a walk the day after that, which they did, all the way along the river to Burford, under a rainy sky with puddles like mini-lakes on the low-lying land, but who cared? To him the day was beautiful, as they strolled hand in hand along the river, stopping to kiss every so often, although not often enough for his liking.

  “I think Maggie is enjoying flirting with the ski instructors more than the actual skiing,” she told him when he asked for an update on the holiday. “And Sam is sticking to the bunny slope. But I think they’re happy. My in-laws spoil them rotten, so they’ll be enjoying that. Hot chocolate and ice cream sundaes every day.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  “I wish I could give them nice holidays,” Laura confessed a bit wistfully. “I know love and attention are far more important than a trip to Tenerife or what have you, but still.” She sighed. “But the truth is, I never will on a teacher’s salary, and that’s assuming I even get a job.”

  “At least they have grandparents to give them those kinds of treats.”

  “Yes.” She sounded a bit uncertain, which made James wonder about her relationship with her in-laws. The few remarks she’d made suggested it wasn’t straightforward, but then what relationship was?

  Right now, in these halcyon days when it was just the two of them, their relationship did seem straightforward, but James suspected that was simply because they didn’t have to deal with any of the usual complicated mess and muck of life—like difficult children, awkward families, demanding jobs.

  And yet, as the week progressed, he was more and more tempted to include Laura in the mess of his life—and ask her to accompany him to Shropshire that weekend. He imagined the look of stunned delight on his mother’s face when he finally brought someone home. And he liked the idea of having a whole weekend with Laura, facing the farm with her by his side, although admittedly it meant her seeing his weaknesses in all their unprepossessing glory.

  But as the week had gone on, he realised he actually wanted that. Well, sort of. He wanted her in his life, whatever that looked like. Whatever it meant. He wanted to take things to the next level, even if that was risky and hard.

  And so, on Thursday evening, when they were watching a movie at Laura’s and there wasn’t any more time because he was expected in Shropshire tomorrow evening, he asked her, with his heart in his mouth and his voice coming out in something like a squeak so he had to clear his throat. Twice.

  “You want me to come with you?” Laura looked so flummoxed that it was hard for him not to cringe inwardly. Did she have to be that surprised?

  “That was the concept I was going for, yes.”

  “To meet your family?” Now she was the one squeaking, in incredulity. Great.

  “Again, yes, that is the idea. Is it so terrible?”

  “No, I’m just surprised. I mean…that’s big. And I haven’t even told my kids yet.”

  “Are you going to?” He tried to sound interested rather than aggressive, or worse, hurt, but the secretiveness of their relationship still annoyed him. They’d been in each other’s pockets this last week but Laura had been reluctant to get a drink at The Three Pennies together, in case someone saw them.

  “Well, yes, at some point. We’ve been spending just about every day together, haven’t we?” Except when he’d had a dentist appointment, and when she’d wanted to work on her CV.

  “Yes, I know.” She bit her lip. “It just feels like a lot. Won’t…won’t your family be horrified by me?”

  “Horrified?” He stared at her in dismayed surprise. “Why would they be horrified?”


  “Because I’m so much older than you. And I have two children already.”

  “So?”

  She shrugged. “You said they were traditional…”

  “What does that have to do with anything? Besides, you’re a perfectly respectable widow.” He gave her what he hoped was a teasing smile. “They’ll love you.” As I do. Thankfully he didn’t go that far. He wasn’t ready to make that kind of declaration, even in the quiet of his own mind.

  Still, Laura hesitated, enough to make James backtrack. Perhaps he was jumping the gun a little. Coming across too strong.

  “Look, it’s fine if you feel it’s too soon,” he said, trying for an offhand tone but speaking too quickly. “It probably is too soon. In fact, I’m sure it is. This is more like a six-months-in thing, isn’t it? I do get that, believe me. It’s just that the timing seemed right since your kids weren’t here and I don’t actually get out to the farm that much, but—”

  “James.” Laughing, she pressed a finger to his lips. “Enough. I’m sorry I was so surprised. I wasn’t expecting it, but I’ve got used to the idea now. So, yes. I’ll go with you. Thank you for asking me.” And smiling, she leaned over and pressed a kiss to his mouth.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The drive from Wychwood-on-Lea to the outskirts of Shrewsbury took a little over two hours, up the M5 from Birmingham and then westward, towards the Welsh border where James’s family had their farm.

  As Laura gazed out at the pleasant green fields glinting with rain puddles in the fragile February sunshine, she tried to untangle the knotted jumble of emotions that had been lodged within her ever since James had asked her to accompany him home last night.

  Her initial surprise—total shock, really—had soon been replaced by a flattered gratification, along with a very real and deep apprehension. The last week had been lovely, so lovely, just the two of them painting walls, walking in the wood, watching movies, chatting, laughing, and best of all, kissing.

  It had felt more like a fairy tale than a holiday, with no intrusions of real life save for the occasional text from Maggie or Sam, assuring they were having a brilliant time, or at least that was what Laura inferred from the comments they made about the food, the hot tub at their chalet, and, from Maggie, the fit ski instructors.

  For the last week she hadn’t had to think or worry about anything, and the freedom had been glorious. It hadn’t made her completely worry-free, of course, since she was prone to a bit of a panic, but now that a new reality was galloping towards them at a very brisk clip, Laura realised just how relaxed the week had been.

  Since James’s invitation, questions had been running through her mind on a constant, anxiety-inducing reel. What would his family think of her? What did this mean for their relationship? How could she tell her kids about him? How would they react?

  And then, on the heels of all that, even more enormous issues reared their demanding heads. If they were seriously dating now, did they need to talk about the future in a concrete and practical way? What if James wanted children, coming from a large family himself? Could she have another baby, or even two? Did she want them? How could they even talk about babies when they’d gone on their first date less than a week ago, not counting that coffee in Tea on the Lea?

  Her brain felt as if it might explode. It was a wonder she wasn’t hyperventilating. Laura slid a glance at James; he had seemed preoccupied and a bit withdrawn since they’d got in the car over an hour ago, and they’d barely spoken since they’d left Wychwood, something that added to her anxiety.

  It reminded her of Tim’s dark moods, the way he’d sometimes emotionally withdraw so much it almost felt as if he wasn’t physically present, or worse, like he was, but only as some grim, looming shadow. But it wasn’t fair, Laura reminded herself, to cast James in Tim’s likeness. And anyway, he was allowed to have his own weaknesses and worries, since she had a whole shedful to deal with.

  That was what real relationships were about—not some week-long idyll where reality never intruded, but battling through the muck and mire of life together, holding each other up, working through the problems.

  Which made her wonder if she even wanted that, or if she was ready for it.

  She’d already had an epic conversation with Chantal about it all last night, after James had asked her to come for the weekend, and in a moment of romance-fuelled optimism Laura had said yes. As soon as James had gone home she’d called Chantal to tell her everything that had happened, and then she really had started hyperventilating.

  “I’m too old to start a serious relationship,” she’d told Chantal in a voice that was almost shrill with panic. “I have two children to think of, two emotionally needy and demanding children who have been recently bereaved. Plus I’ve got my own grief, which sometimes feels as if I’ve barely got a handle on. I can’t deal with someone else and all their issues.”

  “James doesn’t exactly seem like someone with a lot of issues,” Chantal had remarked dryly, to which Laura had snapped,

  “He’s human. He has issues. Everyone does. And he deserves to have someone who can handle whatever he’s dealing with. I’m not sure I can.”

  “What has actually happened, to make you think you’re going to have to deal with all these so-called issues?” Chantal asked. “Because you’re talking as if James has just told you he’s got cancer or something.”

  “I don’t know,” Laura had admitted after a pause. “There isn’t anything specific, per se. It just feels as if it’s all become very real.”

  “Well, it has, and that’s a good thing, Laur,” Chantal told her bracingly. “You can’t play-act at a relationship, at least not for long, and that wouldn’t be very satisfying, anyway. Think of The Velveteen Rabbit. Real is good.”

  “Real is painful,” Laura shot back. “And hard. And doesn’t the rabbit end up being burned to death?”

  “No, he’s left out in a rubbish bag and the fairy makes him real,” Chantal replied patiently. “I know that, and I don’t even have kids. But the point of the story is that being real means being loved, becoming shabby, being worn to bits.”

  “It’s been a while since I read it,” Laura muttered, but she took her friend’s point. If she cared about James, then she’d want their relationship to be real—not just flirting in the schoolyard, or Monday night dinners, or a week spent in each other’s pockets.

  But it felt scary. Very scary. And even scarier because as they turned onto the road to Little Hawes from Shrewsbury, James had started looking incredibly grim, in a way she’d never seen before, his usually smiling mouth in a foreboding downturn, his hands clenched on the steering wheel, his eyes narrowed as he drove down the single-track lane.

  “Looking forward to going home?” Laura asked, pitching her tone somewhere between teasing and downright sarcastic.

  James grimaced. “Can you tell I’m a little unenthused?”

  “Yes, actually, which is making me nervous. Not to blame you or anything, but why did you ask me to come again?” She let out a little laugh to mitigate the accusation she’d heard in her voice.

  He glanced at her, smiling, although his eyes looked serious. “For moral support?”

  Laura bit her lip. She wasn’t being supportive right now, was she? Goodness, but this was hard. “Sorry. I get this is hard for you.”

  He shrugged. “I know it’s mainly my issue, and no one else’s. I just need to get over it.” He sighed. “Do you know how many times I tell myself that?”

  “Hundreds?” Laura guessed. “We all have our patterns and pitfalls, don’t we? You might have noticed I have a smallish tendency to panic.”

  “What?” James raised his eyebrows in mocking incredulity. “No.”

  “I know.” Laura nodded solemnly, relieved he seemed to be coming out of his dark mood. “Crazy, isn’t it? Admittedly I usually hide it quite well.”

  “Except when you start to hyperventilate.” He reached for her hand, brushing her knuckles briefly with his own bef
ore he returned his hand to the wheel. “You’re right, though. Everyone’s struggling with something.”

  “It’ll be okay, James.” At least, she hoped it would. She paused, needing to ask, to know, although she suspected he wouldn’t appreciate the question. “Did you tell your family I’m older than you? And that I have almost two teenaged kids?”

  James gave her a smiling glance. “Sam’s only eleven, and no. They didn’t ask for details, and I didn’t volunteer them. But my mum was thrilled I’m finally bringing someone home.”

  “She might feel differently when she sees me,” Laura couldn’t keep from saying, and James let out a little sigh of exasperation.

  “Laura, the age thing matters so much more to you than it does to anyone else, I promise.”

  “You can’t know that,” she said as reasonably as she could. “Since they don’t even know yet.”

  “What I know,” James replied evenly, “is that you’re making a very big deal of it.”

  With a little frisson of panicky surprise, Laura realised they were actually almost arguing. There had not been a single cross word between them since they’d first met, and now they were starting to snipe at each other? Her stomach soured at the thought. Instead of the beginning, this could be the end of everything. Everything was too new and fragile to be tested this way, with family dynamics and her panicky paranoia and James’s issues with his dad. What had she been thinking of, agreeing to come?

  “I’m sorry,” James said after a moment. “I don’t mean to snap. I always feel a bit tense when I come home, as you have sussed out, which is probably making you dread meeting my family. They’re all actually lovely, I promise. This is much more about me than it is about them. I know I’ve said that before, but it really is true. I just need to get over myself.”

  “Easier said than done,” Laura replied with a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry for overreacting.” She wanted to be as grown-up about this as he could be, even though she still felt panicky. “I’m tense, too, which isn’t helping you at all, is it?” She drew a steadying breath and let it out slowly. “Why is this about you? What do you mean by that?”