by Karen Clarke
‘What?’
‘That woman on Morning, Sunshine!?’ He shook his head. ‘Don’t take any notice of her.’
I managed a half-laugh. ‘I bet she’s planning to sabotage my tasting day.’
‘You sound like you care.’
I flicked him a look. ‘It’s my grandfather’s legacy she’s messing with.’ It was almost a growl.
‘And yours.’
For a second I glowed, then remembered it wouldn’t be for much longer. ‘When are you leaving?’
‘Tuesday.’ His gaze was unreadable. ‘I only ever wanted you to be happy, you know.’
Tears swelled in my throat. ‘I know.’
‘I hope you have a good life, Marnie.’
‘You too.’ It was barely a whisper. I fumbled with the door and scrambled out before I broke down. ‘Bye,’ I managed.
As the car moved off, I realised I hadn’t congratulated him on his engagement, and that neither of us had mentioned Bobbi-Jo.
Twenty-Seven
Phoebe called as I was trudging home.
‘Maybe what he’d really wanted was to buy some chews,’ she said, when I’d filled her in on everything. Well, not quite everything. I was still trying to make sense of the things Alex had said, wondering how he’d got me so wrong. ‘It must have been a shock, seeing you with Josh, but he’s got no right to be upset when he’s engaged to someone else.’
‘Exactly,’ I said, with a hollow feeling inside.
‘Anyway, I was thinking,’ she went on, after a suitably respectful pause. ‘What if I were to come and help you run the shop?’
‘Sorry?’
‘You know I was saying I wanted to move back to Shipley and …’
‘ … start weaving blankets,’ I said. ‘Go on.’
‘Well you’ve said Josh can’t stay, even though you obviously still fancy him, and Beth’s gone, so you’ll need a full-time assistant. Especially after tomorrow once people have tasted your sweets.’
‘You haven’t tasted them yet,’ I said, but I could tell by the edge of excitement in her voice she’d given it some serious thought. ‘Well, I will need a manager before I go away …’
‘You’re still going then?’ She sounded surprised. ‘Just when you’ve won that award, and are getting all this publicity?’
‘I’ve booked a one-way ticket to Thailand.’ The more I said it, the more unreal it was starting to feel. ‘I thought it was as good a place as any to start travelling.’
‘But Marnie, you’ve got something good there,’ she said, her voice dipping into exasperation. ‘You can’t just walk away.’
‘Well, maybe that’s where you can come in.’
‘I don’t want to be a manager,’ she said. ‘I’ve had enough with El Mirador. I want to relax and let someone else take responsibility.’
‘But if you took over, the shop would still be in the family.’
‘That’s emotional blackmail.’
‘Of course it is,’ I said. ‘Will you think about it?’
‘OK,’ she said. ‘I’ve thought about it, and the answer’s no.’
‘I hate you.’
‘No you don’t, you love me.’
‘God knows why.’
She paused. ‘A little birdie told me Auntie Laura’s home.’
‘She is,’ I said. ‘But she’s in a funny mood.’
‘She’s been in a funny mood for thirty years.’
I replayed her words when I got home and peered in the fridge, at the colourful array of sweets under parchment, and stuffed three pieces of Turkish delight in my mouth. It really was delicious. I ate some chocolate truffles, and they were delicious too. Maybe all Mum had been missing was a vocation all these years, and once she found something to be passionate about – apart from Mario – she’d feel settled. Or maybe travelling was still her real passion, and she was feeling hemmed in by Mario.
She’d left a scribbled a note on the back of an envelope, saying she’d turned in early.
Sweets cooled and in the fridge, and your gran back in her bedroom. Xx
Celia had turned in too, judging by the snores drifting down the stairs; as if she was nursing an asthmatic bear in her room.
As I let Chester out for a wee, exhaustion rolled over me. I gulped a glass of water at the sink and went upstairs, but the minute I lay down in bed and shut my eyes they pinged open, the day’s events circling my brain.
I hadn’t even thanked Josh for all his hard work. After I’d shot back into the shop, I’d just told him I had to go and herded him out.
He’d looked quietly disappointed, as though his hopes had been dashed, but hadn’t said anything. It wouldn’t have taken a genius to figure out my abrupt departure was ex-boyfriend related.
Giving up on sleep just after midnight, I skulked downstairs in my bathrobe. Curling on the sofa with Chester, I turned the television on low and watched a bare-breasted woman being chased through a forest by a serial-killer. I was too tired to work out why she hadn’t called the police before leaving her isolated cottage, or even put a bra on.
As she conveniently tripped over a tree root and crashed into the undergrowth, I picked up my phone and scrolled through for Agnieszka’s number. She normally worked on bank holidays, but I’d forgotten to check. She worked at The Anchor on Sunday night, and guessing she’d still be there I sent a text.
Ten seconds later she replied
No problemo, boss, I be there.
Next, I checked to see if Alex might have texted, but of course he hadn’t. Swatting away an image of him and Bobbi-Jo, grappling in his bed, I clicked on Isabel’s blog, which she’d updated a few hours ago.
Below a photo of a kale and mango smoothie that looked like slurry, she’d written,
Big day tomorrow! Got my publisher friend coming to visit about turning my blog into a book, and am preparing lots of healthy recipes to feature!! A certain person, who runs a certain sweet shop, was mentioned on local radio last night, or so I’m reliably informed – I don’t have time to listen – and it’s such a shame when people take that attitude.
I inwardly cringed, recalling my slip-up. I honestly hadn’t meant to say it out loud, and supposed I couldn’t blame her for being annoyed.
I logged off, about to change the TV channel when I became aware of a faint, metallic tapping at the front door.
Chester, roused from a limb-twitching dream, let out a fart.
‘Thanks for that,’ I said, getting off the sofa. On screen, the killer raised a knife above his head, and I hesitated. Murderers didn’t normally knock softly to be let in, and crime figures in Shipley were reassuringly low.
Whoever was at the door sounded like they were trying not to wake the whole house, but knew by the glow of the television that someone was awake.
‘Harry!’ He’d been tapping with his phone, and his face, in the porch light, was lit with exhilaration. ‘She’s here!’ he said in a stage whisper, breaking into a grin. ‘Bunty’s here!’
Stupidly, I glanced over his shoulder as if the baby was sauntering up the path.
‘Oh my GOD!’ As his words sank in I dragged him over the threshold and closed the door. ‘How’s Beth, how’s the baby, how big was she?’ I blabbered in a ragged whisper. ‘Bunty, I mean?’ I hugged myself into my bathrobe. ‘I can’t believe it!’
‘Me neither!’ We grinned at each other inanely, and in the half-light of the hall I’d never seen him look happier; even when he’d turned to watch Beth walk down the aisle, and he’d looked pretty ecstatic then.
‘She’s shattered, the baby was eight pounds six ounces, and they’re both amazing.’
‘Do you want some coffee?’
‘I’ll have tea if you don’t mind, I’ve drunk enough coffee to power the national grid.’ He raked a hand through hair that looked pretty well raked through already.
‘Eight pounds six ounces sounds massive.’ I led the way into the kitchen and snapped the light on. Chester followed, tail wagging. ‘Did she nee
d stitches?’
‘Apparently, she’s really stretchy down there,’ Harry said, without any trace of embarrassment. ‘I thought you might want to see this.’ He jabbed the screen of his phone before thrusting it under my nose.
I wasn’t sure what was happening. A terrible sound emerged, like a whale being harpooned, and Chester’s ears flattened.
‘Sorry.’ Wincing, Harry turned down the volume. ‘Look!’
At first, I thought I was watching a YouTube clip of someone attending to a badly injured animal flailing, writhing and moaning on the ground.
‘The epidural didn’t work properly, and she took it badly,’ said Harry, rubbing his eyebrow. ‘She kept getting off the bed and crawling about.’
And that’s when I realised I was watching my best friend give birth.
There she was, her face scrunched up in agony, the veins in her neck so prominent I feared they might fly out. ‘Oh, Harry.’
‘I know,’ he said, equally choked. ‘I felt so useless.’
The camera panned over her distended belly and zoomed in on a frizz of brown hair. For a second, I wondered why Beth was sporting a seventies-style bush, then realised it was the midwife’s head. As she moved aside, urging, ‘Push, Beth, push, you can do it, sweetheart,’ Beth screamed, ‘I CAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN’T, I’VE HAD ENOOOOOOOOOOOOOUGH, HOOVER IT OOOOOOOOOOOUT, FOR CHRIST’S SAAAAAAAAAAAAKE!’
Harry and I exchanged a grimace and returned our eyes to the screen.
‘GET HIM OUT!’ she roared.
‘She was talking about me then, but didn’t mean it,’ Harry said, though judging by the assassin’s glint in Beth’s eyes, it looked like she wanted him dead.
A minute later, after more blood-curdling screams and wobbly camera work, my breath stopped. A downy head appeared between Beth’s legs, followed by a slippery rush, and suddenly the midwife was hoisting an actual baby into the air, purple, bloodied and beautiful.
‘It’s a girl, all fingers and toes intact,’ she said, and there followed a lot of excited and relieved laughter around the bed – though Beth’s soon bordered on hysteria.
Harry and I laughed snottily, heads touching as we stared at his phone as though it was the Holy Grail.
After a split-second’s silence, the baby emitted some lamb-like mewls that stopped the second she was placed in Beth’s waiting arms. Despite her sweat-soaked curls, tear-streaked cheeks, and badly ripped gown (I daren’t ask how that happened) her expression melted into joy, prompting a flood of tears down my face.
‘Hello, Bunty,’ she murmured, then the camera panned to Harry’s work boots and went blank.
‘That was amazing,’ I wept, wiping my nose on the sleeve of my bathrobe. ‘You’re really calling her Bunty?’
‘We’ve got used to it, I suppose.’ He dabbed beneath his eyes with his fingers. ‘She’s definitely a Bunty.’
‘Thank you so much for letting me see that.’
‘Beth wanted you to,’ Harry said gruffly. ‘So did I.’
‘I really appreciate it.’
A peaceful silence stole over us. ‘I’ll go and see her tomorrow,’ I said finally, turning to the kettle. I felt subtly different – as if I’d witnessed a miracle. Which, in a way, I had.
‘Our folks have been there all evening, driving us mad,’ he said, dropping into the armchair by the Aga as though his legs wouldn’t support him any more. ‘I think Beth’s intending to leave first thing, and come to your sweet-tasting session.’
I whirled around. ‘That’s crazy,’ I said. ‘She doesn’t have to do that.’
‘Isn’t that what friends are for?’ He let out a giant yawn, and although I suspected his softening was due to elation and tiredness more than anything, I was grateful for the ceasefire.
His eyelids were drooping as I took a carton of milk from the fridge and ate another chocolate truffle. I was suddenly ravenous.
‘What’s going on?’
Swinging round again I saw Mum entering the kitchen, blinking in the brightness. ‘Sorry,’ I said, swallowing the chocolate whole. ‘I didn’t mean to disturb you.’
Chester lolloped up to her. ‘Couldn’t sleep?’ she said, making a fuss of him. Make-up free, with her hair loose around her shoulders, and her coltish legs emerging from the hem of her silky kimono, she looked about twenty-two.
‘Beth’s had her baby,’ I said, a smile stealing over my face. ‘Harry recorded it and came to show me.’
‘Harry?’ She clearly hadn’t noticed him slumped in the armchair. As her eyes found him, they widened. ‘Harry,’ she repeated, as though she’d never heard the name before. ‘Harry Fairfax.’
All vestiges of sleep fled Harry’s face as he got to his feet, stuffing his phone in his pocket. ‘I’d better go,’ he said to me.
I looked from him to Mum. Her chest was heaving, as though she’d been out jogging.
‘You don’t have to leave on my account,’ she said, in a breathy voice that sounded on the verge of tears.
‘I think I do.’ Harry strode past us into the hall.
‘What about your tea,’ I said, idiotically. It was clear that drinking tea was the last thing on his mind. He was fumbling with the latch on the front door, swearing under his breath.
‘Here, let me,’ I said, rushing through and yanking it open. ‘Thanks again, Harry.’ But he couldn’t even look me in the eye. ‘Give Beth my love,’ I called after him, shivering a little as the cool night air rippled my flesh into goosebumps.
Watching his van drive off, I noticed a light on in Isabel’s cottage, and wondered what she was doing up. Maybe her conscience was keeping her awake.
‘What was all that about?’ I said, going back inside, forgetting to keep my voice down. The snoring upstairs had ceased, and there was a creak of floorboards overhead.
‘What’s all the racket?’ Celia said, looming into view at the top of the stairs. ‘I was dreaming about the dog whisperer.’
‘It’s nothing,’ I called up. ‘Go back to sleep, Gran.’
‘Don’t call me Gran.’
Mum was standing in exactly the same spot as I’d left her, staring at the wall.
‘Why was he so upset?’ I said, unsettled by her stillness. ‘It’s normally me he has an issue with.’
Her gaze shifted infinitesimally. ‘He does?’
‘Yes he does,’ I said, trying to think whether I’d ever discussed it with her. But then, why would I? I’d barely liked to admit to myself that my best friend’s husband didn’t like me.
As she moved over to the table, like an old woman in the grip of arthritis, a thought burst into my head.
‘Oh god.’
Her head jerked round. ‘What?’
I registered Celia coming downstairs, but couldn’t stop the words from bursting out.
‘Did you ever try it on with Harry?’
It would explain a lot, and as the idea expanded I couldn’t believe I hadn’t considered it before. Her flirtatious introduction to Alex should have sent up a warning flare, and there’d been a boyfriend much younger than her, before she met Mario – a yoga teacher from Manchester, who had taught her how to wind her legs around her neck.
And it would explain some of Harry’s barbed comments to me over the years.
‘Tell me the truth, Mum.’
‘Yes, Laura, tell her the truth,’ said Celia.
I whipped round, almost cricking my neck. She looked like a Roman centurion, sitting on the stairs in her voluminous white nightie, holding her walking stick.
‘Mum?’ I looked back at her, the blood draining from my face.
Her hands were flat on the table, her head hanging between her shoulders. ‘I didn’t make a pass at Harry,’ she said listlessly.
‘Well … that’s great.’ Relief poured through me. The ramifications if she had didn’t bear thinking about. ‘Thank juniper for that!’
She lifted her eyes to mine, and they were liquid-filled pools of sadness. ‘But I did have an affair with his father,’ she
said.
Twenty-Eight
What felt like a decade later I dragged my jaw shut.
‘You? Had an affair with Steven Fairfax?’ I wondered if I’d heard right. ‘Harry’s dad?’
Mum straightened. ‘Yes. Harry’s dad.’
‘When?’
She shut her eyes as if to block me out. ‘A long time ago, before you were born.’
I turned to look at Celia. ‘You knew?’
‘I knew,’ she said, rising from the stair with a heavy sigh. ‘I hoped it would pass.’
I rounded on Mum again. ‘Why didn’t you ever say anything?’
‘It was years ago.’ Her eyes flew open. ‘And what was I supposed to say?’
I gave a disbelieving laugh. ‘You said affair, so I’m assuming he was married?’ A tightening of her jawline said it all. ‘Great,’ I said. ‘Is that why Harry doesn’t like me? Because he knew?’
Her fingers worried at her gold chain. ‘Possibly.’
‘But …’ Questions pounded through my brain.
‘I’ll give you some privacy,’ said Celia, rising. ‘Tell her everything, Laura.’
When she reached the landing, I whipped round to face Mum again. She’d dropped onto a chair, elbows on the table as she cradled her head in her hands. ‘I started saying something earlier, before your gran came in.’
‘Yes?’
Her swathe of hair hid her face. ‘That I wasn’t so much travelling all that time, as running away,’ she said tiredly. ‘From him, I suppose.’
I dragged out a chair and sat opposite, feeling as if I was in a dream sequence. ‘Was it …’ I struggled for the right word. ‘Consensual.’
Her head jerked up.
‘The affair, I mean.’
‘Of course it was.’
I was shocked by the pain in her eyes. ‘You were in love with him.’ It wasn’t a question.
‘Yes,’ she said starkly, twisting her watch around her wrist. ‘But he was married to Jacky, and Harry was only three. Steven didn’t want to break up the family, so that was that.’