by Paige Toon
This weekend, James and I are going home to Somerset. Every year, in early December, the people in the town switch off all the street lights and use only candles in their front windows. As it’s my turn to spend the festive season with James and his family in Kent this year, he promised he’d join me and mine for the ‘Dunster by Candlelight’ weekend.
We arrive in Dunster on Friday afternoon, in the nick of time to see the candlelight procession begin. My stepbrothers and Meg are already there and the five of us rug up warm and make our way down the village lanes. There are hoards of people lining the main street; everyone is buzzing. A flame juggler wows the crowds as we head across the road to the tea shop. Mum is closing early for the day so she and Terry can join in with the proceedings, and they’re just lighting the candles in the front window.
James insists on buying everyone hotdogs from the Tithe Barn restoration stall, and then we stand and watch as a man and a woman on stilts in Victorian costume totter down the street, hooking dozens of lit lanterns onto tall posts.
The fire roars in the corner of the pub we end up in later. Tom turns to Meg and gives her a kiss on the lips and James does the same to me. ‘Eugh, would you lot cut it out?’ Nick grumbles, and we all laugh. He still doesn’t have a girlfriend. I wonder how many poor girls’ hearts he’s broken in the three months since he started university in Nottingham.
The next day it is pouring with rain. It’s coming down so heavily that it looks like there’s a giant sprinkler system in the heavens, chugging out water in bursts that carry sideways in the wind. Normally on a grey day like today all the lights would be on in the house, but we’re sticking to the theme of the weekend and using just candles. It’s too wet even to venture out of the house to the pub so in the late afternoon we decide to play Trivial Pursuit instead.
James is my partner and he’s excellent at these questions. How good would Nathan be, I wonder, remembering that he left school at sixteen? I smile proudly as James scores another piece of Trivial Pursuit ‘cheese’ for us.
Tom and Meg form another team, while Mum, Terry and Nick make up a third. I look around at my family and am filled with love. Tom kisses Meg as she gets a question right. They’re so right together. So uncomplicated and content. Why can’t James and I be like that? Why on earth did I have to go and mess things up by falling for Nathan? I watch Mum and Terry as Terry pours another glass of brandy and chortles happily. They’ve been together for, how long has it been? Over ten years? But they look like newly-weds.
Nick grabs the bottle from Terry and decants some into his own glass. My adorable stepbrother. He’s so handsome. But I do wonder if he ever gets lonely.
And then I look at James, ‘my’ James, as he reads out another question to Mum’s team and nudges Nick away as he tries to sneak a peek at the answer. It’s good to have him here at home with me again. It feels safe. It’s been so long since he’s seen my stepbrothers but, apart from the odd roll of Nick’s eyes, they seem to be getting along well.
James and I make love by candlelight later that night in my bedroom. And afterwards, lying in his arms as he falls asleep, I realise I haven’t thought of Nathan too often this weekend. My heart aches as I realise it’ll be another week before I see him, and I’m immediately infuriated with myself. Why can’t I let this be? Why can’t I be more like my older stepbrother, with his wonderful, straightforward relationship? It’ll be easier when Nathan goes home to Australia, I tell myself, but another sharp pang shoots through me at the thought. Will I ever stop obsessing about him? Is this Sam all over again?
My mind ticking over ten to the dozen, I eventually get out of bed and quietly search my bag for my purse before creeping down the corridor to the bathroom. Inside, I lock the door and take out Nathan’s silver Concorde charm.
When we were at university, Karen was a firm believer in the idea of a pros and cons list to help her make up her mind about big decisions. I’m not about to go and find a piece of paper and a pen at this hour, but I silently make a list in my head.
Nathan pros: obviously I’m attracted to him; he’s sexy and funny. But above all, he ‘gets’ me. He understands me. And I feel like I could talk to him for hours, weeks, months–God, years…
Nathan cons: lives on the other side of the bloody world, two years’ younger than me, left school at sixteen, might be getting his act together now with his career but from what Sam and Molly have said in the past, he may very well chuck it in to go travelling again at the drop of a hat. He’s a headstrong, independent guy–why would he even want a long-term girlfriend? Look at what happened with Amy.
What about James? Pros: we’ve been together for four years now. We have a history together. I remember when we first fell in love and we couldn’t get enough of each other. We lived together practically from day one and now we have our own amazing place. He has a great job, which bodes well for the future. He’s intelligent, mature, also sexy, and a bloody good kisser. Very good in bed too.
Hmm, I wonder how good Nathan is in bed. What if we don’t click between the sheets?
James cons: don’t trust him. Never have.
Why not? Do I trust Nathan? Yes, I do.
Does James have anymore cons? He watches a lot of sport. But hey, if I lived in Australia with Nathan he’d be going off surfing at all hours of the day. That could drive me bananas.
Anyway now I’m just being picky. I dread to think what someone would come up with if they did a pros and cons list about me…
The upshot, though, is that James does love me. He looks after me and cares for me.
There’s one clear winner but, I think desolately as I look down at the charm in my hand, it’s not the winner I wanted.
Chapter 24
‘You will never guess who I met last night!’ Chloe gasps. It’s Friday morning, four days since we got back from Somerset, and Gemma and I are just getting started on some envelope stuffing because the workie called in sick. Chloe has been for an early morning meeting with a cosmetics client.
‘Who?’ I ask, as she dumps her bag and coat and reaches for a stack of envelopes.
‘William!’
‘Who’s William?’ Gemma chips in.
Turns out Chloe bumped into James’s colleague at a bar and they got chatting. He’s asked her out on a date tomorrow.
‘So, not so shy, after all?’ Chloe says, looking like the cat that got the cream.
‘Tell her to watch out,’ James says later.
‘Why?’
‘He’s a bit of a liar, that one. You should see the things he gets away with.’
‘What do you mean?’ I ask with concern, although warning bells are going off in my head because I know the same could be said of James.
‘Confidential business stuff. I shouldn’t say. Just make sure she’s careful.’
It’s Saturday and Nathan is taking me to Highgate Cemetery. James wasn’t keen; he might meet Zoe for lunch instead. Which is fine by me. I can’t quite believe I’m having a day alone with Nathan.
Ally answers the door to me. ‘Come in. Nate’s upstairs.’
Nate? When did my Nathan become Nate?
I can hear him playing his guitar behind the closed door. I pause for a moment, then imagine Ally or someone walking by, so I knock. He stops playing abruptly and calls me in.
‘Hello, Nate.’ I grin at him cheekily. He grins back and starts to put his guitar down. ‘No, don’t stop playing,’ I plead, but he shakes his head, embarrassed. I sit on the bed and look at him sorrowfully. He laughs. God, he’s sexy, sitting there with his long leg tucked up on the bed, in position from cradling his guitar.
‘Is Richard coming today?’ I ask him, hoping he’ll say no.
‘Nah, he’s going out with Ally.’ Nathan gives me a knowing look.
‘Oh, really?’ I’m thrilled that his housemates have other plans. ‘Are those two finally on together, then?’
‘Yep.’ He laughs. ‘Come on, let’s go.’
The cemetery is fas
cinating. Decrepit tombs line stony paths and ivy seems to cling to every surface. We peer through the dank trees and can make out countless gravestones that haven’t been preserved. It’s eerie.
Nathan’s hand brushes against mine as we climb the steep paths and I have to concentrate on not grabbing hold of it. If Richard and James were here, I’d be okay. But here, now, alone, I’m finding it hard.
‘You alright?’ he asks me. ‘You seem quiet.’
‘Yeah,’ I murmur, and try to focus on the tour guide’s story about the large stone lion resting atop one of the tombs.
Afterwards we make our way back up the hill into Highgate with the intention of finding somewhere for lunch. I switch my phone on to find a voicemail waiting. It’ll be James. But no, it’s Mum, asking me to call her urgently.
She answers on the first ring. ‘Lucy…’
‘What’s up?’
‘I’ve got some bad news.’
‘What?’ I’m hesitant.
‘Lucy…your father’s dead.’
‘Not Terry?’ I gasp, and Nathan looks across at me, sharply.
‘No,’ she says quickly. ‘Terry’s fine. Your real father.’
‘What happened?’ I sink down onto a park bench.
My father was still in Manchester; he lived and died an alcoholic. The neighbours alerted the police when the flat started to reek of his decaying body. He’d been dead over a week before they broke in and found him. The police didn’t know who to call as dad had no immediate family left. In the end they traced his wife from over twenty years ago. My mum.
It’s the weirdest sensation. I don’t feel sad. I don’t want to cry. I feel oddly detached. I sit there looking down the hill at one of the almost-bare trees and find myself wondering how long it will be before the next leaf falls off. Five seconds…Twelve seconds…That one took a whopping thirty-two seconds.
‘Lucy…’ Nathan says tentatively. He reaches down and takes my hand and I let him hold it.
Twenty-two seconds…
‘Lucy,’ he tries again. ‘Talk to me.’
I can’t look at him. I just keep staring down at the trees. I picture my father dead and buried in one of the tombs that we’ve just been looking at:
Joe McCarthy…Father of one…
I didn’t want to see my dad again. Not now, maybe not ever. But that was my choice. Now that choice has been taken away from me, and the realisation is shocking.
‘I must go to the funeral,’ I say tonelessly.
‘Of course,’ Nathan says. ‘Of course.’
‘I should call James.’ He lets go of my hand and I dial James’s mobile. He doesn’t pick up. I hang up and try again. Voicemail. It’s then that I start to cry.
Nathan takes me in his arms and holds me tight, while I sob into his warm shoulder. I shift, trying to get closer to him, but I can’t, side by side on this bench. It’s so frustrating.
‘Come on,’ Nathan says gently. ‘I’ll take you home.’
I don’t want him to let me go, but he does.
He finds a place to park outside our terraced-lined street and unbuckles his seat belt. I stay seated.
‘Lucy?’ He comes around to the passenger door, opening it and taking my hand to help me out. He holds it the whole way up three flights of stairs. At the top he takes my handbag from me and finds my keys, then unlocks the door.
The flat is silent. James must still be with Zoe.
I sit there, while Nathan makes me tea, wondering why my copy of Bridget Jones’s Diary has been put back on the DVD shelf upside down, and notice that there’s a ring on the coffee table where James or I must have forgotten to use a coaster.
Nathan puts a mug of tea in front of me. He sits down and takes my hand again.
‘Lucy, I’m worried about you,’ he says. ‘Let me try James again?’ I nod slowly. He gets my phone out of my bag and presses redial. After a while he hangs up and tries again.
‘Don’t worry,’ I tell him. ‘It’s okay. He’ll be back when he’s back.’
Nathan looks at me, relieved to hear me talking. ‘When’s the funeral?’ he asks.
‘Tuesday.’
‘Wow, that’s quick.’
‘He died three weeks ago. They’ve been trying to trace his family.’ My voice sounds vacant.
‘Is it in Manchester? Will James go with you?’ he asks.
I nod to both questions.
‘Good. But if he can’t,’ he says, ‘for whatever reason, let me know and I’ll drive you.’
‘Thank you. That’s really kind.’ I turn to look at him for the first time since Mum’s phone call and my eyes well up again.
‘It’s okay,’ he soothes. ‘It’s okay.’
I lie down and rest my head across his lap and he strokes my hair while my breathing slows.
‘What the hell’s going on here?’ At the sound of James’s voice, Nathan and I jolt awake. We must’ve fallen asleep again. Oh, Christ.
James is looking down at us accusingly. Nathan gets up but James doesn’t move back to make room for him and for a split second it appears James is going to square up to him.
‘My dad died!’
‘What?’ James pushes past Nathan to get to me.
‘My dad died,’ I tell him again.
‘Baby,’ he says, taking me in his arms.
‘I couldn’t get hold of you!’ I cry.
‘I’m sorry, baby, I’m sorry.’
I pull away and look over at Nathan, standing awkwardly by the coffee table.
James follows my gaze. ‘Thanks for looking after her, mate,’ he says.
‘No worries,’ Nathan answers, and motions towards the door. I nod at him. ‘Give me a call if you need anything, okay?’ he tells me.
‘I will.’
After he’s gone I feel lost for a moment. Nathan was so sweet to me today, and James was just so awful to him. I’m utterly despondent. I try to focus on relaying to James what Mum told me.
‘Baby, you don’t have to,’ he says, when I tell him I’m going to the funeral. ‘You shouldn’t put yourself through this.’
‘I’m going, James. Will you come with me?’
‘Honey,’ his face falls, ‘I don’t know how I can. We’ve got this conference on Tuesday and Wednesday and it’s really important that I attend. Lucy, you don’t really want to go, do you?’
‘No, I don’t want to, James. But I’m going to.’
‘Will your Mum go?’
‘I don’t know. I’ll ask her.’ I turn away from him.
My mum doesn’t want to and I don’t push her. She feels terrible but, after all these years, with the hurt he’s caused her, she just can’t bring herself to go. She doesn’t want me to either, but she understands why I have to. I want to make up in some way for not attending my grandmother’s funeral. At the time I really didn’t want to see my dad. I’ll never have that concern again.
‘Will James go with you?’ she asks.
‘Yes,’ I lie.
Nathan picks me up at seven o’clock on Tuesday morning.
When we’ve wound our way north of London and finally reach the motorway amid rush-hour traffic, I take his tape out of my bag and put it in the player.
‘You’ve still got it?’ he asks me.
‘Of course I do.’
It takes us a long three and a half hours to get to Manchester, thanks to the traffic. I fall asleep and Nathan keeps driving. The funeral isn’t until midday, so we find the cemetery then go to a greasy café nearby.
‘Thank you for coming with me,’ I say to him, once we’re seated. ‘I don’t know what I would have done…’
‘James would have come if you’d told him how much you wanted him to,’ he says.
‘Maybe.’
Nathan doesn’t answer. The waitress comes over with our food.
My father is being cremated because it’s cheaper than a burial. The vicar is surprised to see me; he didn’t know my father had any relatives. A few people are seated, including a couple
of old codgers. I don’t know who they are and I don’t want to know. When the vicar asks me if I’d like to do a reading, I decline. The service is short, perfunctory, soulless.
Afterwards a plain-clothes policewoman introduces herself to me. She has some of my dad’s belongings in her car and wants to know if I’d like them.
‘I thought my mum said to give everything to charity?’ I ask, unsettled.
‘We have,’ she tells me. ‘These are personal items. Only a small box.’
Back in the car with the box on my lap, I’m filled with dread at the thought of what’s inside.
‘You don’t have to do this now,’ Nathan says.
‘I want to. Before we get out of here. Do you mind?’
Rain is beating down heavily on the windscreen and the afternoon sky is dark and stormy. It’ll be completely dark in a couple of hours and we still have to drive back down to London. Nathan switches on the overhead light and I open the lid.
There’s a weird smell. Musty, decaying…as if the scent of my dad’s dead body is clinging to his belongings. I have an overpowering urge to get out of the car and stand in the rain, or at the very least open a window and let the elements come in. But I restrain myself, acutely aware of how much Nathan has done for me already. I don’t want to freak him out completely, however claustrophobic I’m feeling.
Inside the box there are twelve books, including the Bible, seven vinyl records by Irish artists I don’t recognise, a cheap-looking metal watch, a gold wedding ring, and a few envelopes.
I spot my mum’s handwriting immediately.
I open the door of the car and retch. The rain is pouring down as I continue to retch but nothing comes up.
‘Lucy!’ Nathan pulls me back and I close the door. ‘You don’t have to read these now!’