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

by Kate Hewitt

  “Finally,” her friend exclaimed as soon as she picked up. “All I get is one lousy text telling me it’s complicated in over twenty-four hours? You do know I’m living vicariously through you, right?”

  “Sorry.” The word came out on a tremble and Chantal immediately dropped the jokey tone.

  “Laura, what happened?”

  “I don’t even know. It’s all seemed to go so wrong, so quickly.”

  “Start from the beginning.”

  And so she did, telling Chantal about the weekend in Shropshire, the tension James had with his family, the unhappy conversation about babies and stepfathers and getting serious, and then how she had asked for some space.

  “And then tonight when I said goodbye after dinner—he always comes on a Monday because of Minecraft Club—Maggie jumped on me. She asked me outright if we were dating and it felt worse to lie about it, so I told her the truth and she flipped, Chantal. I know she’s a moody teenager but it seemed over the top, even for her. It makes me wonder if something else is going on, and if something else is going on, then how can I possibly date James…”

  “Okay,” Chantal said after a moment. “Let’s take this one thing at a time.”

  Laura nodded, relief flooding through her at her friend’s sensible approach. “Okay.”

  “First of all, going with him to Shropshire was a bloody stupid thing to do.”

  Laura let out a huff of outraged laughter. “He asked—”

  “I know, and if I was talking to him, I’d tell him he was being bloody stupid. The family test is not one to take after a week, Laura. For heaven’s sake.”

  “I actually liked his family. He was the one with the problem, not me.”

  “Well, of course he was. They’re his family. He’s had thirty-two years of dealing with the drama. You had forty-eight hours. Cut him some slack.”

  “I did—”

  “You might have seemed like you did, but I sense a little judgement. What, did you think it was a bit immature, how he got riled by his dad, at his age?”

  “Maybe,” Laura admitted, surprised at this notion. She hadn’t realised she’d felt that way until Chantal spelled it out. “I suppose it made me a bit extra sensitive about our age differences. I mean…I gave up on trying to win my father’s approval a long time ago.” After her mother died, she’d stopped making much of an effort with her dad. Her father was friendly enough, but he was happy to keep their visits to once a year, if that, and brief, sporadic phone calls. He’d never needed more, and so Laura had chosen not to, either.

  “Yes,” Chantal agreed, “and as a result you barely see him. At least James goes back home. He tries.”

  “That’s true.” Laura hadn’t considered that angle before. “I didn’t even realise I felt that way, Chantal. I doubt James picked up on it.”

  “As if. He probably knows he’s being a bit immature about it, but he can’t help himself.”

  Laura thought of the apologies he’d made about just that and winced. “Maybe.”

  “Second thing. The conversation you started about having his baby. I mean, really? You thought that was a good idea?”

  “No, I didn’t,” Laura returned with some defensiveness. “But it felt necessary. I’m forty-one—”

  “So? You think it would be a better idea to rush into a relationship, a marriage, and pop his baby out in the next six months?”

  “It takes nine months, actually.”

  “You know what I mean. I know you feel the age difference, Laura, but you can’t rush things, especially when you’re still grieving. You shouldn’t have had that conversation, especially on top of the tension you were already experiencing.”

  “I know,” Laura said quietly. “I just…panicked.”

  “As you often do.” Chantal’s voice softened. “I get that. This is scary and new.”

  Laura closed her eyes. “Maggie was so upset, Chantal. It made me feel so guilty.”

  “You’ve felt guilty for a while, haven’t you?” Chantal replied quietly.

  “You know I have.”

  “Maybe Maggie feels guilty, too.”

  Laura’s eyes flew open. That was something she’d never, ever considered. “But Tim had a great relationship with both Sam and Maggie. He was Mr Fun with them.” She thought of him building the zip wire in the garden, or going running with Maggie. Sprawling on the sofa with the three of them while they binge-watched Dr Who or Merlin. Tears crowded in her throat and gathered behind her eyes as the memories slammed into her. They’d all been so happy. Once.

  “He was,” Chantal agreed, “except when he wasn’t. I know you might have picked up on his moods a bit more than the kids, but Maggie’s perceptive, and as far as I can see, something is eating her up now. She wasn’t like this before he died, and it feels like more than grief to me. I think you need to get to the bottom of it.”

  Laura’s heart bumped inside her chest. “How?”

  “Talk to her.”

  “Chantal, she won’t talk to me—”

  “She will when she’s ready, but you might need to be the one to start the conversation. Ask the hard questions.” Laura gulped at the thought. She’d thought she’d been doing her best, but maybe that wasn’t good enough. She’d shied away from asking hard questions because, she realised, she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answers. But maybe Maggie needed to give them.

  “I’m sure this is all in a parenting manual,” Chantal mused. “Maybe I should write one myself. How to Parent Well, written by a non-parent.”

  Laura let out a trembling laugh. “I think it would be a bestseller. Thank you, Chantal. You’ve been amazing through this all. I feel so selfish, focusing on my problems all the time—”

  “Now don’t go adding to your guilt,” Chantal cut her off sternly. “Because I don’t think you’re selfish at all. We’ve talked about this, okay? Remember last year, when I moaned about that bad break-up for about six months?”

  “Brian,” Laura recalled. “Yes.”

  “You’ve been there for me. I’m here for you. That’s how relationships work, Laur. And maybe you need to think about that, when it comes to James. But,” Chantal added, her tone turning severe, “you are setting me up with that head teacher, right? Because that’s what friends are really for.”

  *

  Laura was shivering from cold by the time she walked back to the cottage. Sam had finished his homework and was sprawled on the sofa with, surprisingly, a book rather than his iPad.

  “You’re reading?” Laura said, practically doing a double take.

  “Yeah, this cool book about a boy having to survive in the wilderness with only a hatchet. Mr Hill recommended it.”

  “Great.” Something else to thank James for. Even though she’d only seen him a few hours ago, she already missed him. She missed what they’d had together. “Where’s Maggie?” she asked. “Still in her room?”

  “Nah, she went outside a while ago.”

  Laura stilled by the stairs. “She did?”

  “Yeah.”

  “But where would she go?” It was pitch-dark out, nearly eight o’clock at night.

  “I dunno.”

  Laura reached for her phone and dialled Maggie’s number, her heart starting to thud. Again. Just when she’d been determined to deal with a situation, it got worse. Maggie’s phone switched immediately to voicemail, which made Laura’s heart thud all the harder. Her daughter never switched her phone off.

  She took a deep breath, willing her panic to ease. She was overreacting as usual, fearing the worst because it had happened once. Maggie might have gone for a walk or even a run, to clear her head. Switching her phone off in such a situation was perfectly natural. There was absolutely no need for Laura to panic. Yet. Except of course she was.

  An hour crawled past with Laura pacing the downstairs of the cottage, checking her phone every few seconds, and then ringing Maggie, whose phone was still switched off.

  At half past eight, Pamela had call
ed, and Laura had had to bite her lips to keep from asking if Maggie was with her in-laws. She didn’t know how Maggie would have made it all the way to Burford, but she couldn’t bear to admit to Pamela she didn’t actually know where her daughter was.

  “I just thought you’d like to know how the ski holiday went,” Pamela said a bit coolly, and Laura knew immediately this was code for being disappointed that she hadn’t called and rhapsodised about the trip already.

  “Sam and Maggie were telling me all about it,” she said, trying to inject a note of enthusiasm in her voice and most likely failing. “It sounded brilliant. Thank you so much, Pamela, and Steve, as well. You’re both so very generous.”

  “Well.” Pamela sniffed. “We try.”

  After ten interminable minutes Laura managed to get off the phone with her mother-in-law, and was reaching for her coat, ready to search the mean streets of Wychwood for Maggie herself, when her phone rang again. It was James.

  She hesitated, because if he wanted to have it out in some heart-to-heart, this was definitely not the moment. And yet…

  “Hello?”

  “Laura? It’s me.” His voice sounded as warm and comforting as ever, like a blanket she could wrap herself up in.

  “James—”

  “I didn’t want you to worry. Maggie’s here with me.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Tissues,” James said briskly. “And tea.” He handed a mug of tea and a box of tissues to Maggie, who was curled up on his sofa, red-eyed and sniffling. When she’d shown up at his door, looking both furious and heartbroken, he’d been completely gobsmacked. He didn’t even know how she knew where he lived, never mind what she was actually doing there.

  “Maggie—” he’d said. “What…”

  “My mum told me you were dating her.” This was hurled as an accusation, and then she marched inside, while James, still gobsmacked, closed the door behind her, having no idea where this conversation might be going, or how he was supposed to handle it.

  “Does your mum know you’re here?” he asked as Maggie stood in the centre of his sitting room, dwarfed by her huge parka, looking very young and lost and alone. His heart ached for her and all the difficult emotions she had to be grappling with. Yet why had she come to him, of all people? And how could he help?

  “Noo, of course she doesn’t,” Maggie said with a lip curl of contempt, as only a teenager could do.

  “How did you know where I lived, out of interest?” James kept his tone friendly even though her presence alarmed him. How had Maggie found out about him and Laura—if there even was a him and Laura anymore? After walking away from Willoughby Close just a few hours ago, he wasn’t sure there was. But far more importantly than anything to do with his dating life, was why this sprite of a girl was looking so devastated. He hoped he could help her.

  “You can find out anything on Google,” Maggie told him with a shrug. “It was in one of the school’s newsletters, when you first moved to the village.”

  “My address was?” he asked, startled, thinking he needed to have a word with Dan Rhodes about the level of personal information given in newsletters, but Maggie shook her head, his assumption incurring even more disdain.

  “No, ’course not. They just mentioned you were doing up an old cottage on Chapel Lane. And this place looks like it needs doing up.”

  “Wow.” He shook his head slowly. “Perhaps you should consider a future career in the MI6. Or maybe cyber security.”

  That earned him a flicker of a smile before she threw herself down on a sofa, drawing her knees up to her chest.

  James perched on the chair opposite, knowing this needed delicate handling. “So why are you here, Maggie? How can I help?”

  She didn’t answer for a long moment and James decided to wait her out. He did the same thing with his students, whenever something was clearly bothering them, making them sulk or sigh or twitch. Silence could be golden.

  “I can’t talk to my mum,” she said at last.

  “Why not?”

  She burrowed her chin into her knees, her gaze lowered. “Because.” Again James waited. “I don’t want to hurt her,” Maggie said in little more than a whisper, and then she started to cry in earnest, hiccupy sobs that both alarmed James and made him ache.

  That’s when he decided on tea and toast, the two cure-alls his mother had always put forth, and it also gave Maggie a bit of space. While in the kitchen he rang Laura, as he expected she had started to panic.

  “Wh…what?” Laura had stammered, sounding as gobsmacked as he had been when he’d opened his front door. “I’ll come there—”

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea just yet,” James had said, his tone both hesitant and gentle. “Maybe in a bit.”

  “Oh.” Laura had sounded nonplussed, and James wondered if he was overstepping. This really was fraught. “Okay,” she finally said. “I’ll give it a little while. Is she…is she talking to you?” Again he couldn’t quite discern her tone. Was she hopeful, resentful, a bit of both? James would understand either of those feelings.

  “Sort of,” he told her. “But not really. Not yet.” Yet perhaps she would. For whatever reason, Maggie had chosen him as her confidant. James wasn’t sure how he felt about that, but it was a trust he didn’t want to betray. It seemed this stepdad gig was happening sooner rather than later. After ending the call with Laura, he headed back into the sitting room and Maggie, who had stopped crying and was sipping her tea rather morosely.

  “Somehow I don’t think you’re this upset because I’m dating your mum,” James announced, and again he was treated to that specific and skewering brand of teenaged scorn.

  “Of course I’m not.”

  “Right.”

  She sighed heavily and slurped more tea. “I know my mum has to move on,” she said slowly, her gaze fixed on her mug. “I’m not angry about that. Not really, anyway, although you are loads younger.” She eyed him doubtfully. “I mean, not to be weird or anything, but you could pull a younger woman, you know?”

  Pull? James didn’t think she meant the opposite of push. “I like your mum,” he said firmly. “But that’s not what this is about, is it?”

  “No, not really.” She looked up at him, tears trickling down her face. “It’s because…I feel like I can’t move on. And she doesn’t understand that. She can’t understand it, because she’s obviously moved on, no problem.” She gave him a knowing look, which James chose to pretend to ignore.

  “Okay,” he said slowly, absorbing this astute confession. “Why do you feel like you can’t?” He paused, feeling his way through the words. “Did something happen with your dad? Before he died?” He knew all about unspoken fractures in that particular relationship, and how the fault lines could go on and on, getting deeper with time, even as they were never spoken about. “Something that is making it hard for you to grieve?” he guessed quietly.

  Maggie was quiet for a long time, and it took effort to simply let the silence stretch on, expanding and filling the room. Giving her space to think…and to speak.

  “Yeah,” she finally said, her voice little more than a whisper, and she buried her face in her knees so James couldn’t make out her expression at all.

  He was out of his depth, but somehow, strangely, that felt okay. He was glad Maggie had come to him, and even though he had no idea how to handle this moment, the fact that it was even happening at all encouraged him. Maybe he could, in time, manage the stepdad thing. Maybe he and Laura didn’t have to freak out about the future, because, as his mum liked to quote from the Bible, every day had enough trouble of its own.

  Then the wheeze of the elderly doorbell startled them both.

  “That will be your mum,” James said, because he figured Maggie deserved a warning. “I called her to let her know you were here. I didn’t want her to worry, and I don’t think you did, either.”

  Maggie didn’t so much as look up but she still managed a nod, her head moving against her knees. James
rose to answer the door.

  “She’s here?” Laura asked breathlessly as soon as he’d opened it, her face pale and pinched with anxiety. “How did she even know…”

  “That’s what I wondered. She’s an expert at an internet search, apparently.” He wanted to pull her into a hug but she seemed too tense, almost breakable.

  “What has she said…?” Laura asked in a whisper.

  “Not much. Just that she’s having trouble grieving Tim. I think she feels guilty, or perhaps just conflicted. I don’t know. But if you want to talk to her, I can make myself scarce.”

  “I left Sam alone…”

  “Why don’t I go hang out with him? You can stay here with Maggie.”

  Confusion and something else, something deeper and more hurting, clouded Laura’s eyes. “I’m sorry, James. We’re dragging you into our mess…”

  “I don’t mind.” He laid a hand on her arm, needing her to see and believe his sincerity. “I really don’t, Laura.”

  “I know,” she whispered. She looked as if she wanted to say something more, but then she just briefly clasped his hand, still on her arm, before heading into the sitting room—and Maggie.

  James grabbed his jacket and went outside. It seemed he had some Minecraft to play.

  *

  Laura stood in the doorway of James’s sitting room, everything in her aching as she saw Maggie curled up on the sofa, her knees to her chest, her head to her knees, so she was no more than a tangle of dark hair and a pair of jeans.

  Yet as she stood there silently, Laura felt as if she were seeing her daughter with new, clearer eyes. She saw a hurting little girl rather than a rage-filled, defiant teenager. She saw someone in need of love and acceptance, patience and care, in a way she hadn’t quite been able to before, when Maggie’s anger had made her wary and despairing even as she’d kept trying. Now, strangely in this moment of crisis, she felt a new, fragile hope.

  Silently she sat down next to her daughter and without saying a word, Laura put her arms around Maggie and drew her into a hug. And to her amazement, gratitude and joy, Maggie came, burrowing into her like she had as a little girl, as she sobbed against Laura’s chest.