by Annie Lyons
Guy addressed the camera. ‘That man is a disingenuous low-life, who has used Natalie for his own political ends. He shouldn’t be allowed on the streets, let alone be allowed to represent constituents. Voters be warned!’ He turned to me and offered his arm. I accepted it, feeling like a woman in receipt of true chivalry.
‘Natalie, I can explain!’ cried Tim, trying to follow me.
‘I very much doubt that,’ I said, turning on him. ‘Now why don’t you crawl back into whichever swamp-hole you came from.’
‘Erm, Tim, I’m not sure if you’re going to want to use much of this,’ frowned the director, nudging the man behind the camera.
‘Oh, for Christ’s sake, Gavin, will you stop filming!’ shouted Tim.
‘Thank you,’ I said to Guy as we walked into the hall, where a definite party atmosphere was beginning to take hold. Pamela was pouring Prosecco into some plastic cups she’d found. She handed one to John Hawley before planting a lipsticky kiss on his cheek. He grinned at her.
Guy turned to face me. ‘I care about you, Natalie,’ he said, fixing me with a look that made my heart dance. ‘I know you can handle yourself but sometimes it’s nice to know that someone’s got your back.’
Never a truer word. ‘Yes,’ I smiled. ‘Yes, it really is.’ Look out, Natalie, you’re in danger of actually feeling happy today and you haven’t thought about Dan since breakfast.
This unnerved me slightly but then I caught sight of Woody, laughing and messing about with Sadia and Matilda. I felt reassured.
Woody’s happy. I’m happy.
It wasn’t a straightforward sort of happy – the all-singing, whooping like a loony kind of happy but I had come to realise that this didn’t really exist. That was the stuff of adverts for cars or phones with actors having the time of their lives in neat twelve-second segments. Mine was more a ‘settling down to watch crap Saturday-night television with my boy and a huge cheese pizza’ or a ‘singing with the choir in the pub’ or a ‘sitting down with a book and a glass of wine’ kind of happy. I couldn’t complain at that. That was more than a lot of people had.
‘Cheers, Natalie,’ said Caroline, knocking her plastic cup against mine. ‘We did it.’
I grinned. ‘Cheers. Here’s to never giving up.’
‘But to realising when your best is good enough,’ she added with a wry smile.
‘I’ll drink to that.’ I laughed, taking a sip of my drink before going off to find Woody and embarrass him with a gigantic hug of pure love and pride.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CAROLINE
‘I think that banner needs to go up to the left a bit, Oliver,’ I said.
‘Yep, definitely, lovey,’ agreed Pamela, unfurling another roll of bunting and handing it to her husband, Barry. ‘These need to go all along the side walls and then I’ve got more for outside,’ she told him sternly. ‘You make a start and I’ll come and check you’re doing it right.’
‘Yes, my little Obergruppenführer,’ grinned Barry, giving a sharp salute.
‘Oh, get away with you,’ chuckled Pamela. ‘And be careful on that step-ladder. You’re not as sprightly as you were, Barry Trott.’
‘You feed me too well, my sweet,’ observed Barry, patting his not-insubstantial belly.
‘Anything I can do to help, Caroline?’ asked Jim, his giant form creating a large shadow in the doorway. ‘It’s looking grand in here, by the way.’
‘Yes, it’s amazing what you can achieve with a clean-up and a lick of paint. I mean, it really needs to be completely renovated, but all in good time,’ I said, standing back to take in my surroundings. ‘Did Pamela tell you that we should get the National Lottery funding? Together with the money we raised, this place will go on for years.’
Jim grinned. ‘And they say community spirit is dead.’
‘Not in this street it isn’t,’ I smiled.
Since we won the hall just over three months ago, we had worked like dervishes to spruce it up. We had advertised the clean-up in all the local online forums and been amazed when a veritable army of helpers turned up to lend a hand. My ex-cleaner Rosie had given her time for free and organised the volunteers so that the whole job became less of a chore and rather enjoyable in some ways, as if we were all pulling together to do something worthwhile. Today was the day of the grand re-opening with the choir due to sing too.
‘Well there’s lots to do. Why don’t you help Mr Trott with the bunting?’ I suggested.
‘Please call me Barry,’ smiled Barry from his step-ladder. ‘Actually, Jim, my lad, how about we make use of your height and I pass the bunting up to you? I am basically five-foot-four in all directions, so it makes more sense,’ he chuckled.
‘That’ll be Mrs T’s cakes,’ teased Jim. ‘I’ve put on about a stone since I started singing with the choir.’
‘Oh, you boys,’ clucked Pamela, dismissing the pair of them with a wave of her hand. ‘I just know the way to a man’s heart.’
‘What have you made today then, Mrs T?’ asked Jim.
Pamela gave him an enigmatic smile. ‘That would be telling but it is rather special.’
‘Took all week to make. And I haven’t been allowed a single piece,’ observed Barry ruefully.
‘I let you lick the bowl,’ said Pamela. ‘Now hurry up with that bunting. Doly and Nat will be here with the food soon.’
‘How’s that now?’ asked Oliver, having adjusted the banner and climbed down from the ladder.
We stood side by side to admire it. ‘Perfect,’ I said, even though I probably would have moved it down slightly.
He planted a kiss on my cheek. ‘I’m so proud of you,’ he said.
I gazed up at him. My darling Oliver. ‘Well, ditto,’ I said.
He raised his eyebrows. ‘This is new.’
I gave him a playful push in the chest. ‘All right. I know I don’t say it enough but for the record, I think we’re a good team and I’m looking forward to the future.’
‘To Taylor-made Bakeries?’
‘Are we definitely going with that name?’ I grimaced.
‘The focus group liked it,’ he grinned.
‘The focus group containing you, Natalie, Woody and Matilda.’
‘That’s a pretty broad demographic,’ he replied sagely.
‘We’ll see,’ I smiled, putting my arms around him. ‘But I think it’s going to be great working together.’
‘And you can cope without your Ocado shop?’
‘Natalie has promised to take me to Aldi every week.’
‘And Rosie?’
I shrugged. ‘I can clean my own house, Oliver. First World problems.’
He wrapped me in his arms and kissed me again. ‘See? I told you I was proud of you. You’ve been through a lot these past few months. I know it’s been hard but I just wanted to tell you how beautiful you look today.’
I stared down at my outfit. It was one I only wore for painting or gardening. ‘Really?’
‘Really,’ he said, kissing me again. ‘There’s something about you these days that’s different. You seem transformed and you’re even more beautiful than before. You coped so well with your Mum too. I know it knocked you sideways.’ He pulled me into a hug.
I felt my throat tighten at the memory. Mum had died at the end of August after a short illness. It had hit me very hard. There was the inevitable sadness at the death of a parent but at the same time, I felt cheated. I had only just got my mum back, only just started to get to know her properly, to understand what she had been through. It felt too brief and too soon.
Oliver had tried to tell me that it wasn’t my fault, that there was nothing I could have done. That it was pointless punishing myself. And yet, I had spent days crying, wracked with guilt and regret. I would sit in her room with her things around me, feeling the weight of sadness on my shoulders as tears streamed down my face.
One day I had found the Ella Fitzgerald CD we had danced to and tortured myself by listening to the whole thi
ng whilst sobbing at the kitchen table. In the end Oliver had come running from upstairs because he thought I’d hurt myself, which was actually partly true because my heart did hurt. It ached with longing and loss.
In the end, it had been Matilda who pulled me to my senses.
‘Nanny wouldn’t want you to be sad,’ she said one day as we sat at the breakfast table, my eyes red and sore from weeping.
‘How do you know?’ I asked with the naivety of a child.
She looked at me as if the answer was obvious. ‘She loved you best of all. I could tell. When you love someone that much, you definitely don’t want them to be sad.’ She approached me and put an arm around my shoulder. ‘I don’t want you to be sad, Mummy,’ she added. I pulled her petite form to my body and hugged her tight, not wanting to ever let go. ‘It will be okay,’ she said. ‘You’re sad because she’s gone but she’s watching you from up in heaven and making sure we’re all okay.’
I nodded. ‘Thank you,’ I whispered. ‘Thank you, Tilly.’
She looked at me with surprise. ‘I like it when you call me that,’ she said.
‘Then I’ll call you that all the time,’ I smiled.
She nodded with satisfaction before reaching for my hand. ‘Come on, let’s go and do our nails to cheer ourselves up. I’ll let you use the purple glittery one if you like.’
‘Coming through!’ cried Natalie, bursting into the hall with a tray of food, grinning at Oliver and me. ‘Where do you want these?’ she asked. ‘Doly and Dev have made enough food to feed the whole street!’
‘Wonderful. Let’s put them over here for now,’ I smiled, gesturing towards the decorating tables that we had covered with crisp white tablecloths, courtesy of Pamela.
Doly and Dev appeared moments later, carrying more trays. ‘I will bring the hot-plates, curries and rice later on,’ said Doly.
‘Ooh, what have we got here?’ asked Barry, appearing at the food table and smiling up at Dev and Doly.
‘Shingaras, pakoras and samosas,’ smiled Doly proudly.
‘Delicious!’ said Barry. ‘I love Indian food.’
‘Bangladeshi!’ cried Pamela, bustling over. ‘Pardon my ignorant husband,’ she added with an embarrassed smile.
Doly and Dev laughed, waving away their concerns. ‘It’s all right,’ said Dev. ‘Most Indian restaurant owners are from Bangladesh, so we’re used to it.’
‘You should definitely be running your own restaurant,’ said Barry in admiration.
‘Please,’ smiled Doly. ‘Try one.’
‘Well, if you’re sure,’ said Barry, helping himself to a pakora. ‘Mmm, that’s the stuff. You’ll have to give Pamela the recipe!’
Doly blushed with pride. ‘Right, well, I need to get back to the kitchen. I cannot trust Hasan for long. He will either eat it all or let it burn. Natalie, are you coming back with us or shall I just bring Woody along with Tilly and my girls later?’
‘No, I’ll come with you. We need to get changed before the reception. Unless you need me here, Caroline?’
I shook my head. ‘I think we’re pretty much under control, thanks,’ I said, just as the sign at the far end of the hall came crashing down.
‘I’ve got it,’ said Jim. ‘Don’t worry.’
‘I’ll give you a hand,’ said Oliver, following him.
‘Controlled chaos?’ asked Natalie.
‘You’ve taught me well,’ I grinned.
Natalie laughed. ‘Cheeky mare. See you later,’ she smiled, waving over her shoulder as she followed Doly and Dev out of the hall.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
NATALIE
I had invited Dan. I wasn’t sure if he’d come but I hoped he would. I wanted us all to be there. It felt like a defining moment in some ways. I hadn’t realised it at the time but the choir, the hall campaign and even Caroline, in her bossy, control-freakish way, had been my saviours – the normality in an increasingly upside-down world.
I would like to say that I was okay with everything now, that I had reconciled myself to the fact that my marriage was over, but life isn’t about neat conclusions. I knew it was still going to be hard, that I would have days of despair and moments when I questioned everything I knew, but I’m pretty certain everyone has these days. I’m fairly sure that even the well-adjusted, happy and settled people have days when they wake up and think, ‘What is the bloody point?’
So when I have this thought, I’ll remember that I’m not alone, that there is a point and that there are people out there who care about me; people who will be there if I need them. And the best thing is that most of them live right on my street.
After I left the hall, I fetched Woody and we went home to change. I had the usual wrangling with him about what to wear. He favoured jogging bottoms and a Real Madrid football top. I was less keen. We compromised on a Minion T-shirt and ripped jeans that Ed had bought him. After the truth had emerged about Dan, things had been tricky for a time with Ed. I wanted to sort everything out with him but something prevented me. One night, just before the Choir Final, he had appeared, carrying a bottle of expensive vodka and a large bag of Doritos.
‘I thought it was about time we got drunk together and sorted this out,’ he said, his eyes pleading forgiveness.
I stared at him for a moment before rolling my eyes and taking a step back. ‘You better come in.’
Within an hour, we were telling each other how much we loved and had missed the other. He begged my forgiveness, I told him there was nothing to forgive and we were all square. If only I’d been married to Ed. Still, I was glad to have him back in my life. Husbands aren’t compulsory but I’m pretty sure that best friends are.
Whilst Woody got changed, I began my inevitable hunt for a decent outfit. Predictably, my son was ready in a matter of minutes. ‘I hope you’re not going out like that,’ he said, staring at my jeans and shabby T-shirt combo.
‘I’m just trying to decide what to wear,’ I said, pulling outfits from the wardrobe like a woman possessed.
‘You should wear that one,’ said Woody, pointing at a fancy green 1950s dress with a ribbon sash.
‘Really?’ I asked. I had only worn it once, to a wedding. ‘It feels a bit dressy for today,’ I observed.
‘Dresses are meant to be dressy,’ remarked Woody with an earnestness that made my heart ache with love. ‘You look nice in a dress.’
As most mothers will tell you, it’s nigh on impossible to refuse your child when they give you a compliment. I put on the dress and stood in front of the mirror to appraise my appearance. Actually, it didn’t look too bad. I had found a pair of respectable-ish flats and applied some make-up and a dab of perfume by the time someone knocked at the door.
‘I’ll get it,’ shouted Woody, bolting down the stairs.
‘Only if you know them. Check at the window first.’
‘It’s Dad,’ Woody confirmed, before opening the door.
I felt my stomach churn with nerves as I checked my appearance in the mirror one last time. ‘You look good,’ I told myself. ‘You’re going to be all right.’ And for once, I believed it.
I walked down the stairs as Woody and Dan smiled up at me. ‘Doesn’t your mum look beautiful?’ asked Dan, his eyes showing the love of a friend but not the longing of a lover.
‘Yeah, you look great, Mum,’ grinned Woody.
I put my arm around him before reaching over to kiss Dan on the cheek. ‘Thanks for coming,’ I said.
‘My pleasure,’ he replied.
As we walked along the road, Woody ran ahead, his bobbing form reminding me that he was still just a little boy, a little boy full of hope and happiness. I slipped my arm through Dan’s. ‘I wanted to tell you something,’ I said. ‘I’ve made a decision.’
‘Oh yes?’ he replied, smiling at me.
‘I think we should apply for divorce.’
He blinked at me. ‘Are you sure?’
I nodded. ‘I think it would help all of us.’
He paused in
the street before reaching down to kiss me on the cheek. I caught the scent of him and felt a pang for something loved and lost but I also realised that it didn’t hurt as much as it had. ‘I will always love you,’ he told me.
‘I know,’ I said, pulling away and smoothing my hair. ‘Me too.’
‘We can make this work,’ he said. ‘If anyone can, we can.’
‘I know,’ I repeated.
‘Will you tell Woody?’ he asked.
‘Let’s do it together,’ I replied. ‘After the party. I don’t think he’ll be surprised.’
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Whatever you think best.’
We reached the hall and Dan held the door open for me. He gave me a smile filled with love and regret. I touched him on the arm. ‘It’s going to be okay,’ I said, because I knew now that this was true. I had fallen apart for a while but the people in this hall, these wonderful, inspiring people, had helped me piece everything back together. They wouldn’t let me fall apart again.
As we walked into the hall, the delicious aroma of Doly’s food filled my nostrils. ‘Glass of bubbles?’ smiled Barry, handing me a plastic wine glass without waiting for a response. The room was filled with the buzz of happy chatter, children laughing and our choir songs playing from an iPod that Guy had set up with speakers in the corner of the room.
‘Isn’t this fantastic?’ cried Pamela, hurrying over and wrapping me in a tight hug. ‘And you must be Dan. So lovely to meet you,’ she gushed. Dan smiled.
‘Mrs Trott, your cake is amazing,’ declared Woody, wide-eyed and impressed.
‘Aww, thank you, ducks,’ she grinned.
‘Dad, come and see,’ said Woody, pulling his father by the sleeve.
Dan gave me a wink as he was dragged away with Pamela in tow.
I spotted Guy by the food table and made my way over. ‘I’m told that the pakoras are very good,’ I said with a smile.
He grinned. ‘I know. I’ve had three already. How are you?’
‘I’m very fine,’ I replied.
‘And so you are,’ he agreed, standing back to look at me. ‘You look lovely in that dress, by the way.’