by Vivien Brown
‘Right, well, you’ve certainly done that now, haven’t you?’
‘I’m sorry, Prue, for letting you down. We’ve been friends for such a long time, and I miss that. I never meant for you to get hurt.’
‘I know. My own stupid fault for assuming too much. But, as I said, I’m in a hurry, so …’
‘Ah, okay. Bye then.’ He hesitated for a moment before walking on. ‘See you around, I expect.’
‘Not if I see you first,’ Prue muttered under her breath as he walked away.
‘Well, that felt a bit awkward,’ Madi said. ‘He does seem to have a chip on his shoulder, doesn’t he? A troubled soul, I’d say. But at least he apologised. Are you okay, Prue? Like to come in for a coffee, or to talk about it?’
‘Thank you, Madi, but I really do want to see Flo before Ralph locks up for the night, and I’m a bit shaky but I’ll live. It had to happen sooner or later, didn’t it? The difficult first meeting. Hopefully it will be easier next time, now that’s over with. One thing it has done though is prove what a lucky escape I’ve had. He’s never going to let it go, about Ralph, his dad’s so-called favourite. And it’s so untrue. There’s a bitterness about Joe that I was too blind or too stupid or too love-struck to see clearly before. And he doesn’t make me laugh, Madi. I need more laughter in my life, more fun, and to widen my horizons beyond this tiny village and stop clinging so tightly to the things that feel safe. Meeting Aaron’s shown me that.’
‘Oh, I didn’t realise that you and Aaron were …’
‘Oh, no! Nothing like that. We’re mates. Soulmates even! But he’s too young for me, and there is definitely no romance. He just understands me. Makes me realise there’s a big wide world out there, and I’m not in any hurry but somewhere, some day, I’ll meet the right person. The one who’s meant to be. And Joe will too, I hope. I don’t bear him any grudge, and it may have already happened for all I know. Still,’ Prue gave a half-hearted laugh, ‘God help whoever he ends up with …’
‘Do you think that was why he turned you down?’
‘What? That he might have met somebody else? No idea. It might explain the shock when I foolishly proposed that night. God, I must have had too much to drink. What was I thinking? But if he has found someone else already, or had someone all along, then she’s welcome to him.’
Or he is, Madi thought, as the two new friends parted company and Madi stepped back inside the cottage and closed the door. But it wasn’t her place to put Prue straight. If Madi was right in her assumptions, Prue would no doubt find out soon enough.
Donny had brought a whole gang of mates along with him to the first rehearsal on Saturday. One was carrying an old guitar in a tatty case, two or three had scraps of paper with scribbled jokes or poems or half-written songs on them, and one of the girls had found a microphone and stand at the back of her dad’s garage and was dragging it along behind her as if it was a long-handled broom.
Tom was soon busily writing names in his notebook.
‘Okay,’ he shouted at last, putting down his pen, trying to restore some order as everyone milled about, chatting at full volume. ‘Let’s have some hush, shall we? Come and sit down, everyone, and if there aren’t enough chairs, use the floor. Your bums are younger than mine.’
That seemed to get their attention.
‘And put that cigarette out, Ricky Flynn. You’re much too young to be taking up such filthy habits, and I just might feel obliged to have a word with your mother. Right, guys and gals, I’m not calling this an audition. As far as I’m concerned, whoever wants to be in is in. It’s your show, not mine. Now, so far we have two solo singers, one with guitar, one without, a girl band, a rock group, three comedians, a performance poet and a magician. Plus, Josie here would like to have a go at training her dog to do a few tricks, Pudsey style. We’ll keep an open mind on that one for now and see how it goes. So, all in all, I do think we have the basis for a show. A sort of Shelling’s Got Talent but without the public vote. What do you think? Two songs each, a five-minute slot for the non-singers, and some kind of group finale? With an interval for refreshments, we should be able to fill a couple of hours, eh?’
There were enthusiastic nods all round.
‘We appear to have a mike and a guitar at least. The rest of the props, scenery, costumes and all, we can work on, so what do you say we have a listen to our girl band today, assuming you’re ready, girls?’
Madi saw the smallest of the girls, who she now knew was called Chantelle, look across at Donny adoringly, and Donny give her a reassuring nod, his cheeks reddening when he realised Madi had seen.
‘Just give us one song for now,’ Tom went on, oblivious to the mini-romance blossoming right in front of his eyes. ‘And our soloist with guitar can follow on. Gerry, that’s you. And then our poet maybe. But keep it light, eh? It’s an entertainment show, so no doom-and-gloom stuff. That should give us a flavour of what’s to come, and highlight any areas that might need work.’
Madi sat at the back of the hall and smiled. This took her back. The first day of rehearsals, a cast getting together for the first time, a new play to look forward to, with all the excitement and anticipation that went with it. Would they gel? Would there be backstage fallings out, costume malfunctions, problems with the scenery changes, an understudy having to step up at the last minute? Or would it all run like clockwork, with a full house, appreciative audiences, rave reviews? She had to admit she missed it. All of it. The good and the bad.
A steady stream of willing parents had been in and out, bringing clothes they thought might make good costumes, dropping off forgotten lunchboxes and volunteering their services for everything from make-up and refreshments to ticket production and sales. Choosing a Saturday to get the ball rolling had been a good idea. Most people had time on their hands and there was no rush to get finished and out of the hall quickly.
Madi’s hand went instinctively to her side, slipping in beneath her open coat, over her jumper, feeling gently up and under her breast, and then moving tentatively to the other side, running her fingers along the line of her scar. She was healing. There was no pain now as she reached for something, carried something, turned awkwardly in bed. Just a soreness, and that nagging sense of loss that still reminded her of the emotional pain which she knew would take longer to heal than the physical. But this was it now. The breast was gone and, hopefully, it had taken the cancer with it. She had to be grateful for that.
As she watched the three girls take to the stage, saw the eagerness in their faces and the nervousness in their eyes, she knew exactly how they felt, caught up in the magic and the thrill of it all. Without a doubt, in that moment, she knew that she would go back to acting. How could she not? It was all she knew, all she had ever wanted to do, and she couldn’t allow a disease to stop her, especially now it had buggered off back where it came from. Cancer, exit stage left …
She laughed to herself. Only George mattered as much as – no, more than – her career and, try as she knew she must to rebuild her relationship with her son, there was absolutely no reason she couldn’t have both. Work and family. It’s what millions of other women managed to combine happily, successfully, every day. George wasn’t a child any more, far from it. He had his own life. He could look after himself. All she had to do was listen, offer support, do all the things he had accused her of not doing for so long. Yes, they had argued, not been there for each other in their times of need, not that he even knew she had had a time of need. And she still had no idea what had happened in his life, his marriage, to make him so bitter, so angry, and lead them to this awful distance that hung between them, this prolonged and ridiculous silence. The mistakes she had made in the long distant past could not be altered, but if he could find it in his heart to understand, and to forgive, then she could certainly do the same. It was time to mend things, to build bridges, do whatever it took to get her son back. When she went home, they would talk. Face to face, not on the phone, and certainly not by text or email.
She would tell him about the cancer, and he would tell her what had happened between him and Jessica, and if it could be fixed.
‘Baby love, my baby love. I need ya, oh how I need ya …’ the girls on the stage sang, their voices blending together, the words digging their way straight into Madi’s heart. And it was true. She did need him. So badly. He might be nearly forty, but George would always be her baby.
Chapter 29
PRUE
Seeing Joe again had not been as traumatic as she had expected it to be. It had been less than a month since that humiliating evening in the pub, but she had taken huge strides in that short time, proving to herself that she could survive, and thrive, without him, and the pain she had expected to feel just hadn’t happened. No broken heart, no pangs of loss, no desperate urge to throw herself at him and beg him to change his mind. If anything, the strongest emotion to hit her as she’d watched him walk away into the darkness was relief.
‘He really wasn’t worth it, you know.’ Sian had caught up with her on her way to the surgery. She switched on the big torch she was carrying as they turned off the road and into the narrow lane. ‘Never was.’
‘I thought you were still happily swigging the last of the coffee back at my mum’s.’
‘No, any more of that and I’d be awake all night on some sort of caffeine high, which is fine when I need to stay up for the patients, but tonight, assuming they’re okay, I am looking forward to an early night with my very own Barton boy.’
‘You definitely picked the right one!’
‘Don’t I know it? God, I love that man.’
‘Who’s that then?’ Ralph said as they stumbled into the dimly lit waiting room, his voice carrying through from the staff area behind the counter where they found him sitting in one of the armchairs, with his feet up on the other, a mug of tea in his hand.
‘You, you daft thing. How’s Flo? And what are you doing sitting here drinking tea when you should be out the back administering your own special brand of TLC?’
‘For those without medical training, Prue,’ Ralph said, smiling up at them, ‘that’s short for Tickles, Licks and Cuddles. The animals do the licking, of my fingers mostly, and I do the rest. Works every time, better than any medicine.’
‘I’m sure it does.’ Prue laughed out loud. ‘You know, I am so glad it’s you caring for Flo. And Dad, of course. I’d hate to think of her with strangers when she’s feeling poorly.’
‘She’s not so poorly now. In fact, she’s doing really well. Fast asleep last time I looked, which is why I’m out here taking a sneaky rest. By all means go through, Prue, if you want to.’
Prue looked from Sian to Ralph. They both looked tired, and it was enough to know Flo was okay without keeping either of them here any longer. ‘It’s fine. I’ll visit her tomorrow. Night, you guys …’
‘Here, Prue, take the torch. I can share Ralph’s.’
‘Thanks. The light on my phone isn’t really up to the job.’ She slipped the phone into her pocket and headed back towards her mum’s, and the prospect of a warm inviting bed.
Madi was still up, the light on behind the curtains at the cottage as she passed, but it was all dark at Tom Bishop’s next door. It was only as she approached Orchard House that she saw another light, the one shining over the porch door of the annex, its side entrance once the way into the old vet’s surgery at the back. It still felt odd knowing that Joe was living in it, his bedroom where the operating theatre had once been, the waiting area now converted into a small lounge.
She stopped suddenly, in the shadows between lampposts, and switched off her torch. Was that movement ahead, someone walking towards Joe’s door? Surely he should be inside by now. It had been a good quarter of an hour since she’d spoken to him in the street, on his way back from the pub. But no, that wasn’t Joe’s shape, or the way he walked. And, even in that long, black coat, this person was noticeably shorter, and thinner. After all these years, she would recognise Joe anywhere, in any light, and this wasn’t him. It was a bit late for visitors. An intruder then? It wouldn’t be the first time, even in a sleepy village like Shelling. She stood stock still, watching in silence, one hand gripping the phone in her pocket in case she had to call 999.
And then the door opened, before the mysterious figure had even knocked, and she saw Joe’s face illuminated by the yellowy porch light, and the look of happiness reflected there as he opened his arms and welcomed his visitor inside.
It had been several days since Prue had fired up her laptop and checked her emails. She hovered over one from her boss before opening it, dreading being pulled back, before she was ready, into the day-to-day banality of her job at the paper. She was pleasantly surprised to see that it was just a nice, friendly message checking that she was okay and confirming her return date. He had even signed it off with a kiss. She had always got on well with Fred, who had known her dad for ages and treated her like a surrogate daughter. If she was going to do this, she knew he would support her and wish her well, despite his constant assurances that there was no better photographer for miles around and the paper couldn’t do without her. It was doing without her now though, wasn’t it? And if it could manage for a month, it could manage for longer. Maybe even for ever.
She minimised her email screen and opened up Google. She had started looking at courses on her last day in London, before she’d had to dash home for Flo and the whole thing had been left on hold. The sheer volume of information had overwhelmed her, and scared her too, if she was honest about it. Now it was time to start researching in earnest. Yes, she was a good basic photographer. She knew the mechanics, she had a good eye, and some of her images had been really quite outstanding, or so people were always telling her. Good enough to frame and mount on walls, from her own hallway to the vets’ surgery and even the pub. But Shelling was hardly a gallery to the world, was it? And there was still so much she could learn.
It was the end of March now. Would all the best places for September starts have been snapped up already? There was just so much to look into, so much to consider. Then there was where to choose. London was definitely calling to her. She had tasted life there now, and wanted more of it, but staying as local as possible would allow her to stay living at home. Still, where was the adventure in that? She should be going wherever the best courses took her, striking out on her own, like any new student, applying for grants, living in halls. There would be fees and living expenses, and the bills for the cottage still coming in, whether she was living in it or not. And how did any of the financial side of studying work when she was twenty-four and had been earning her own money, not eighteen and still dependent on her parents as most students were?
Only one way to find out. Prue took a deep breath and ploughed in, typing the words Photography courses into the search bar again. There were pages and pages of them.
Online distance learning. Study at home, at your own pace, in your own time … No, that was not what she wanted. That sounded far too much like she’d be treating photography as a hobby, something to fit into the gaps in an otherwise busy life. Maybe if she had commitments, a husband, children to consider, but that was not the way she wanted to go.
Day courses, evening classes, part-time … Short specialist courses, taught by professional photographers … Combine creativity and technical skills … Develop a portfolio … Build a professional career … There was so much choice, but none of them appealed to her. And besides, she was already a professional photographer, wasn’t she? Well, she had a job that paid her to take photos, so she must be. But weddings, holes in the road, people proudly holding their prizes or their pets … she had taken enough pictures of those to last her a lifetime. Is that what she wanted? To carry on in the job, and study in the evenings? No, anything part-time would feel half-hearted and take too long. It wouldn’t feel like she really meant it, really wanted it. No, it had to be all or nothing now. A breakaway, a fresh start, a determined effort to stretch herself, expand her knowledge, make
something of her talent while she was still young enough, keen enough, bursting with ideas and enthusiasm. She had to channel that talent in the right direction, even if she wasn’t yet sure what that direction might be.
Bachelor’s and Master’s degrees … Now, that was more like it. A proper, full-time course of study, a chance to immerse herself in her art, and with real qualifications at the end of it. They even did them in Norwich, but no. She needed to get away, and London had so much to offer, so London it had to be. She grabbed a notepad and started making notes. Studio and artificial lighting, portraits, food and product placement, moving image and interactive media, photojournalism, editing and visual effects, live projects, testing boundaries, professional career guidance … there were so many choices, so much to think about. She could feel her excitement mounting, alongside a flicker of panic. What did some of it even mean? Could she really do this?
‘Prue? Do you want any lunch?’ Her mum was knocking gently on her bedroom door. ‘You do know it’s almost two o’clock?’
‘Is it? God, I had no idea. Yes, a sandwich would be nice. I’ll be down in a minute.’
She dragged her eyes away from the screen and straightened up, stretching her aching back. Where had the morning gone? After a quick bowl of porridge and a flying visit to Flo, who was looking much more like her old self, she had been shut away in her room for more than four hours!
‘I didn’t like to disturb you,’ Faith said, putting a big fat doorstop of a brown bread and cheese sandwich and a mug of tea in front of her. ‘And Madi tells me you saw Joe last night, so I thought you might be a bit upset, or in contemplative mood, shall we say? I just happened to bump into her at Patty’s and asked if she got home okay …’
‘Well, clearly she did, not that much was likely to happen to stop her. We’re not known for our axe murderers in Shelling.’
‘No need to be sarcastic, Prue. I was just checking she was all right. And that you are. That’s all.’