Green Beans and Summer Dreams

by Catherine Ferguson

  ‘And now she wants to come back so you can be a proper family again?’

  He nods. ‘It’s what I’ve always wanted for Zak. She thinks she can make it work this time. Says she’s got the wanderlust out of her system. She’s going to find a job locally and be there for Zak. Make up for all the lost time.’

  ‘And do you still…?’ I swallowed hard, the words stuck in my throat. ‘Love her?’

  He looked directly at me then and his eyes were so bleak, I wanted to leap off the sofa and throw my arms around him. Tell him that everything was going to be fine.

  But I forced myself to stay where I was and wait for his answer.

  ‘I did – love her,’ he said at last, forcing out the words. ‘We loved each other. We were young. We thought our feelings would last forever. But everything took its toll. And then you…’ His voice cracked and he looked down, his jaw rigid.

  I desperately wished I could read his mind. Know precisely what he was feeling. But of course I couldn’t.

  We stayed like that for a long time. Dan staring down at his hands. And me watching him. Seeing the grey pallor of his skin and the way the muscle kept twitching in his jawline.

  At last he looked up.

  ‘It’s all about Zak,’ he said flatly. ‘He needs a proper family. A mum and a dad. He’s been let down enough already. And Monique is convinced she can make it work.’

  He shrugged. ‘I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t try. For my son’s sake.’

  He got to his feet, gave me one last searching look as if he was trying to memorise every inch of my face, and slowly walked out.

  When I arrive at Jess’s house later, I’m expecting tears, lots of agonising and an excess of woolly scarf on the knitting needles.

  But the Jess who opens the door is strangely calm.

  ‘Are you OK?’ I ask, as she ushers me in.

  She waits till we’re in the living room, closes the door then clutches my arm. ‘Something amazing happened, Izzy. It all started when I burnt the toast.’

  She says this with the kind of beatific awe normally reserved for religious epiphanies such as the Virgin Mary appearing in Joe Bloggs’ cappuccino froth.

  I stare at the high colour in her cheeks.

  Is she drunk?

  She flops into a chair with an ecstatic sigh. ‘It was Fate. One simple act and everything changes.’

  I perch on the sofa. ‘Jess, you’ll have to explain. Is this something to do with Luke?’

  She beams at me. ‘I love him. I’ve been fighting it for ages but when he turned up this morning with the key, I knew it had to be Fate. I finally realised it was all meant to be and I should stop trying to pretend otherwise out of a feeling of guilt over Wesley.’

  ‘So you’re together again? You and Luke?’

  She nods.

  I feel tears springing up, she looks so happy.

  We stare soppily at each other. I try hard not to think about Dan but fail miserably.

  ‘Hang on. What key?’

  It turns out that when Jess ran from the party, Luke picked up her jacket and took it away with him. When she got home, Jess couldn’t find her door key so had to wake a neighbour who kept a spare.

  ‘So this morning, I was gazing out of the kitchen window thinking of Luke and I forgot about the toast. Of course I burned it and that meant I had to open the window to let the smoke out. And when I nipped out to the car in my nightwear to look for my keys, the open window in the kitchen caused the front door to slam shut. So there I am with bare feet, dressed in skimpies and I can’t get into the house.’

  She laughs at the memory. ‘Guess what happened next.’

  ‘You climbed in through the open window?’

  This side-tracks her for a second. ‘Gosh. Do you know, I never even thought of that.’

  ‘That’s love for you,’ I point out, trying to smile and swallowing hard on the wretched, heavy feeling in my chest. ‘It scrambles your brains.’

  And breaks your heart into a million pieces.

  Jess sighs. ‘As I was standing there wondering what to do, Luke arrived. With my jacket.’

  I force a smile. ‘And your keys were in your jacket pocket.’

  ‘Yes!’ Her eyes open wide. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘If it was Fate, they had to be there.’

  Jess nods eagerly. ‘They did, didn’t they?’

  I’m so delighted for her and Luke.

  But honestly, if she beams any wider, she’ll qualify for a curly orange wig and long, flappy shoes.

  And talking of clowns, there can’t be a bigger one than me.

  There I was, finally facing up to the fact that I’d fallen in love with Dan; so full of joy when he actually came to my party; seeing Jamie and realising I’d probably never, throughout our five years together, loved him even a fraction of the way I loved Dan; closing the door on Jamie and feeling light-headed with happiness, ready to grab life with both hands.

  And then rushing back to Dan in the kitchen, only to have him shatter all my lovely illusions in a handful of words.

  Monique and I have decided to give it another go.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Jess is peering at me worriedly.

  I shrug off her concern. ‘Just a hangover.’ I’m not up to telling her about Dan and Monique. Not today.

  I say goodbye and get in the van.

  Dan’s van.

  Everything seems to remind me of him. I should probably give the van back but I can’t afford to buy a new one. I stare for a moment at the steering wheel, running my hands around it.

  Then I realise Jess is watching me, wondering what I’m doing, so I give her a bright smile, start the engine and drive away.

  I feel so tired. I just want to lie down and sleep for a year.

  I arrive back at Farthing Cottage with no memory of actually getting there. It’s possible I drove at twice the speed limit and squished several hedgehogs along the way. I was so immersed in thought, I can’t even remember.

  I park the car and automatically go straight to check my messages.

  There’s only one.

  It’s Jamie, telling me to phone him back. He has something important to tell me.

  Oh great, so he’s not taking ‘no’ for an answer, then.

  I wipe the message and decide to wipe Jamie from my mind as well.

  Anna comes over later and we sit in the kitchen, finishing off the remnants of drink from the night before. I confess all about being in love with Dan and how he’s going back to Monique.

  We slump at the table, as deflated as the party balloons I blew up excitedly, only a few days ago.

  She’s quite tearful over Peter, which is not like her at all. I think she’s got it bad.

  Honestly, there’s a pair of us.

  We’ve just moved on to the dregs of the port from last Christmas, and I’m describing Dan’s finer points (I’ve been rambling for half an hour and I’m still nowhere near finished) when my mobile goes.

  ‘Why haven’t you phoned me?’ a voice demands.

  I heave a sigh and cross my eyes at Anna. ‘Jamie, I haven’t changed my mind. I’ve absolutely no intention of getting back with you.’

  Anna snorts loudly, swallows some port the wrong way and starts coughing.

  ‘Who’s that?’ demands Jamie. ‘Who’s there with you? Is it a man?’

  ‘That’s none of your business.’

  ‘Are you seeing someone? You must be seeing someone.’

  I frown. The implication being that if I’m refusing to go back with him, there must be someone else in the picture. It couldn’t be anything to do with the fact that he turned out to be a first class knob head.

  ‘I’m going now, Jamie.’

  ‘I want my money.’

  ‘Your money?’

  ‘Yes. My money. If you don’t want to give us another go, that’s fine. But I paid the mortgage on Farthing Cottage for three years and I want it back.’

  My heart gives a sickening th
ump.

  What’s he talking about?

  Three years of mortgage payments? But that must amount to thousands of pounds. He has to be joking.

  ‘Jamie … I haven’t got that kind of money,’ I say incredulously.

  I’ve barely got enough to keep a roof over my head!

  ‘That’s rubbish. I saw you in the paper handing over that charity cheque after the fayre so business must be good. I’m only asking for what’s rightfully mine.’

  I stare into space.

  My head is spinning and it’s not just from the mix of vodka and port in my system.

  Can he do this? Has he got legal rights?

  ‘Look, I’m a reasonable man,’ he’s saying. ‘I’ll give you a month to come up with a plan for repayment that’s acceptable to both parties.’

  I swallow hard. His legal speak would suggest he’s already been talking to a solicitor. ‘I can probably afford a fiver a week. Would that be “acceptable”?’

  ‘This isn’t a joke, Izzy.’

  ‘I’m not laughing.’

  ‘I said you should sell the house, but did you listen? A month, Izzy. Then you’ll be hearing from my solicitor.’

  He rings off.

  NOVEMBER

  November has turned out to be unusually sociable for me.

  Last month I was bemoaning the size of my pumpkin harvest to Posy and wondering aloud what to do with them. And she said her friend, Flo, was just the person to see. Flo apparently ran the local fruit shop with her husband, Davy, and would be happy to take the pumpkins off my hands.

  And she did. With Hallowe’en just around the corner, they would, Flo said, fly off the shelves as fast as witches on broomsticks.

  Flo sounded good fun so I invited her and Posy round for supper. No prizes for guessing what I served up. I like to be adventurous with my cooking. So my version of pumpkin soup included shallots, root ginger and some mild chilli peppers from the garden.

  At the last minute, Posy phoned to say another two friends had unexpectedly called round and could she possibly bring them over? I said the more the merrier, as long as they liked spicy pumpkin soup.

  We had a riotous evening.

  I needn’t have worried about the spiciness of the soup. Flo, Irene and May, who are all in their late fifties, tucked in with gusto and declared it a triumph. We toasted the soup with several glasses of Irene’s homemade rhubarb wine which was eye-poppingly ‘characterful’. Once you got used to the slightly acidic taste (and were on to the third or fourth ‘topping up’), it slipped down just fine.

  Later, Flo – who’d started experimenting with vodka shots in her rhubarb wine – got it into her head that she wanted to go outside and look at the stars. So, fearing she might stumble around in the dark and do herself a mischief, we all got up and went out the back door, tumbling straight back in again when we realised it was freezing out and we needed coats.

  Amid all the jollity, Posy suggested we ought to form a club. Flo laughed and said, ‘Like the WI, you mean?’

  Posy said, ‘Ah yes, but our WI would stand for something else.’

  There were a few suggestions, I seem to remember, none of which could be repeated in church.

  Then Irene had a ‘Eureka’ moment and shouted, ‘Women Inebriated!’

  So that’s who we are …

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  It’s the first week in November.

  Nearly a month has passed since my party and the nights are starting to draw in.

  I couldn’t have picked a better time of year to be in danger of losing everything. It turns out these actually are the darkest days of my life.

  I’ve learned it’s wise to spring out of bed and dive into the shower the instant the alarm goes off in the morning. If I forget and lie there a little longer, thoughts of Dan and Monique happily reunited crowd into my mind with the speed of sales shoppers charging through the door the instant they open.

  And every time I see the postman, my heart tries to hammer its way out of my chest. I’m clinging desperately to the hope that Jamie’s demand for money was just an empty threat, born out of bitterness because I wouldn’t take him back. Deep down, though, I’m preparing myself for the worst.

  But his deadline arrives and nothing happens.

  With each day that passes, I breathe a little more easily. Perhaps it was an empty threat. Maybe, once Jamie calmed down, he thought better of it.

  Then one afternoon a week after the deadline, a plush cream envelope lands on the mat. Even before I pick it up, I know it bears the stamp of Jamie’s solicitor. I sink down on the stairs and stare into space for a long time with the letter on my lap before I open it.

  I skim over the introductory waffle and zero in on the facts.

  Since the deadline our client set for producing a repayment plan has been ignored, we have no other option but to now formally request, in writing, a plan for repayment of the monies owed that is acceptable to both parties.

  Please communicate your intentions to us by December 15th, otherwise we will have no option but to begin court proceedings to have the sum returned to my client.

  Two words spring out at me, causing my heart to leap into my throat: court proceedings.

  Oh, God, he’s serious.

  It’s really happening.

  I can no longer cling to the hope that Jamie might have a change of heart.

  It’s now perfectly clear he means business.

  What I want to do right now is go to bed, pull the covers over my head and check out of life’s messiness for a while. Just until the throbbing at my temples eases off.

  But I know I can’t.

  Now is not the time to go to pieces.

  Alison will be here soon to pack today’s boxes. While she’s doing that, I’ll catch up on paperwork and phone calls. I need to carry on as normal while I decide how I’m going to respond to the solicitor’s letter.

  I’ve got an hour before she arrives, so I put on my fleece and trainers and step out onto the terrace. It’s a perfect crisp autumn day and the trees are a riot of colour. I walk around the vegetable plot, hugging my arms around me, hoping the garden will work its magic on me and restore my mood.

  I’m invited to Anna’s for dinner tonight and I cling to that thought the rest of the afternoon. I’ll be able to get everything off my chest. Anna will know what to do.

  It’s the only thing that’s keeping me going.

  Then she phones later, just as I’m getting out of the shower and asks if it’s all right if Peter joins us.

  My heart sinks. ‘So are you two back together?’

  I know I should be pleased for her, but …

  She laughs. ‘Not yet. But he’s weakening, I can tell.’

  I get dressed half-heartedly, tempted to phone back and cry off. I’ve got the perfect excuse. My head feels like it’s being crushed in a vice.

  But the thought of being alone all evening with just my own wretched thoughts for company is not great, so I take some painkillers and head on over.

  As it turns out, we have a good night. Peter’s in great form, making us laugh with stories of his weird work colleagues, and when we kick back to watch a film later, they don’t make me feel like a gooseberry. Peter sits beside me on the sofa and Anna curls up in an armchair, and there isn’t even a hint of romantic banter between them. I have a feeling this is deliberate, to spare my feelings, but I’m relieved nonetheless.

  I get up to fetch more wine, and I hear Anna say, ‘Do you fancy going to the cinema some time?’

  Peter responds with an unenthusiastic grunt.

  When I go back in and top up their glasses, Anna’s moved over to sit next to him. ‘What about tomorrow night?’ She nudges him.

  Peter gets up and heads for the kitchen. ‘I’ll let you know. I might have to work late. Crisps, anyone?’

  Anna flops back on the sofa with a groan. ‘How come you’re always so busy these days?’

  Peter stops in the doorway and flashes me a mis
chievous grin.

  I stare at him.

  And then in a flash, I get it.

  The crafty bugger!

  He’s playing Anna at her own game. Making himself unavailable, keeping her waiting, playing hard to get. That’s what he was doing at my party that night.

  And it’s definitely working.

  Peter leaves after the film, saying he has an early start, and I finally get to talk to Anna alone. She’s as shocked as I am that Jamie is carrying out his threat.

  ‘You need to take action. Now! You should have talked to Peter. He’s the best solicitor in the business. He’ll know what to do. Promise me you’ll phone him.’

  This is just the kick up the bum I need. For the past few weeks, I’ve been burying my head in the sand, paralysed with indecision, hoping all the nastiness would just magically disappear.

  But Anna’s right. If I want to avoid more financial trouble, I need to formulate a plan and follow through. And with Jamie on my back, there’s no time to lose.

  So first thing this morning, I make the call.

  And with a meeting organised for three o’clock today, I’m finally ready to face the future …

  At three on the dot, I’m sitting upright at the table, hands clasped, waiting for the bell to ring. The kitchen is spotless. In fact, the whole house looks great, thanks to the thorough spring clean I gave it this morning.

  When a car draws up on the gravel, I get up and walk calmly to the door.

  I shake hands with the estate agent and usher her in.

  ‘Perfect,’ she says, glancing admiringly around the hallway. ‘It’s not often a house as lovely as this goes up for sale.’

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  After the estate agent’s gone, I trail upstairs and change my smart clothes for sweats. My heart feels unbearably heavy but I’m determined not to cry.

  This is definitely the best way forward.

  It’s the only way.

  All the fight has gone out of me. I’ve tried so hard over the past year to make the business work but it’s been a constant battle against the odds.

  Jamie and his demands for money were the final straw.