The House of New Beginnings

by Lucy Diamond

  He came good, Rosa thought, feeling unexpectedly fond of Gareth as she picked up the menu. Dad to the rescue, just when he’d been needed most. When disaster had struck, Gareth had been there to catch his daughter, to save her from the fall. That would teach Rosa to write off all handsome men as untrustworthy. Maybe he was one of the good guys, after all.

  The waitress had just set down their plates of food and was bustling away again when Bea’s phone started ringing in her pocket. The three of them immediately looked at each other, clearly all thinking the same thing: that it was the school bully once more, weighing in for another attack. ‘Do you want me to take it?’ Gareth asked, already reaching out a hand.

  ‘No, I’ll . . .’ Bea swallowed. ‘I’ve got it.’ She pulled out the phone and then her expression changed. ‘Oh, it’s Mum!’ she said, hurriedly swiping the screen. ‘Hello?’

  You could have heard a pin drop as both Rosa and Gareth leaned forward. ‘Really?’ said Bea and her eyes were suddenly shining with tears. ‘Oh, Mum, that’s so brilliant. Let me just tell the others – she can come home tomorrow!’ she cried. ‘Yeah, everything’s fine here,’ she said into the phone, smiling shyly at both Gareth and then Rosa. ‘We’re in the pub, actually. No, I’m not drinking. Dad’s only had three bottles of wine so far.’ She stuck her tongue out at him as he made a yelp of outrage. ‘I’m joking, Mum. No, it’s been fine. Dad’s all right really, I suppose. Yeah, me too. Bye, Mum. See you tomorrow.’

  Chapter Twenty-One

  SeaView House Noticeboard:

  PRACTICE SUPPER CLUB

  FRIDAY 20th MAY!

  Three courses at Rosa’s flat.

  Bring whatever you’d like to drink.

  Ten quid – special introductory price!

  Everyone had been so delighted when Charlotte and Jim got together. ‘He’s so right for you,’ her mum had gushed after that first Sunday dinner. ‘Seems like a good bloke,’ her dad had commented, when Jim helped him put a fence up. Even her difficult Aunty Irene, who never liked anybody, grudgingly decreed him ‘better than the last few, anyway’; high praise indeed. The perfect couple, friends had sighed on their wedding day. But nothing lasted forever. Even so-called perfection could twist and buckle, especially when you were forced to watch your own baby die together. Locked in their parallel worlds of sadness, they had no longer been able to reach one another after the funeral, no longer able to find a connection. Not so perfect after all, then.

  Goodness only knew why she was thinking of Jim again, when she was meant to be getting ready for her first date with Ned, Charlotte chastised herself, trying to put her mascara on but blinking at the wrong moment so that she jabbed her eye with the wand. Ow. There, that was karma, telling her to focus and step away from the past. Now she was going to turn up to her date with a bloodshot eye and bad make-up, and she’d only have herself to blame.

  Her date, she marvelled, trying to wipe away the black smears on her eyelid with little success. She was actually going on a date again. So there, Jim, you’re not the only one who can move on. The past was the past. She was all about the future these days.

  ‘A date!’ her mum had exclaimed when she mentioned it on the phone. ‘Gosh! Are you sure this isn’t just . . .’ She had trailed off diplomatically but Charlotte knew her mum well enough to hear the unsaid ‘. . . because of the news about Jim?’ there in the ensuing silence.

  ‘It’s only one date, Mum,’ she said firmly. ‘Dinner with a man. I’m dipping a toe back in, that’s all, okay? Testing the waters.’

  Margot had been more enthusiastic at least when Charlotte went up to tell her about it. She still looked pale and unwell, wrapped in a dressing gown, her speech punctuated by a lung-wrenching cough, but assured Charlotte that she was on the mend, and that this news was just what she needed to help her recover. ‘Have fun,’ she said. ‘And be brave. And bad!’

  Bad, indeed. Like Charlotte was that sort of person. But she could be brave, all right. She could go out there and try again, wear her experience like armour and take that leap of faith. He knew the worst thing that had ever happened to her, after all, and he hadn’t flinched. If anything, his kindness and understanding were what made her feel she could trust him.

  She started again with the mascara, taking care not to stab herself or muck it up this time. She’d gone out clothes-shopping in her lunch hour the day before, finding a really flattering mint-green top whose silky fabric fell softly against her skin, somehow disguising all the ready-meals and chocolate eclairs she’d put away recently. That would do with a nice pair of jeans and maybe some wedge sandals, wouldn’t it? She had finished the outfit with a gold circlet that looked understated yet a bit classy too; a look, all in all, which said, in her opinion, I’ve made an effort but I’m not trying too hard. Staring at herself in the mirror, she brushed her hair and arranged it around her shoulders, suddenly feeling a bolt of nerves. God. Would he expect to kiss her, she wondered, pulling a face at her reflection. It had been so long since she’d kissed anyone, really snogged them properly in a corfancy-you kind of way. What if she had forgotten how to do it? What if she somehow got it wrong?

  Her phone rang just then and it was him. ‘Um . . . Charlotte?’ he said, sounding worried. ‘About tonight. There’s a slight problem.’

  ‘I’m so sorry about this,’ he said, as he answered the door to her half an hour later. Grabbing a bottle of wine from the fridge, she’d taken a cab over to his place in Hanover, a Victorian terrace on a steep hill, with pink flower shapes Blu-tacked into one of the upstairs windows. ‘Daisy – the babysitter – is normally really reliable but she double-booked and only realized at the last minute. I tried my sister but she’s hosting twelve drunk women at her book club tonight, apparently. Her words, not mine.’ He looked flustered, raking a hand through his shaggy hair so that it stuck up at the front. ‘Come in, anyway. Dinner is a bit . . . random, I’m afraid, but I’ve got tons of wine at least.’

  She stepped into the narrow hall, past dinky purple and red children’s wellies, a half-collapsed buggy with a plastic necklace draped around one handle, and almost tripped over what appeared to be a ride-on ladybird with deranged googly eyes lurking beneath the coat rack. A proper family home, she thought to herself, feeling a twist of envy inside, mingled with the familiar sadness of something that had been denied to her. Living right in the city centre, as she did, it was easy to forget about neighbourhoods like this one, with bikes propped outside, cats draped along windowsills, glimpses of dinners being served in brightly lit kitchens, curtains being drawn upstairs. Of course, she’d deliberately chosen to live away from happy families in streets like these, but coming here, seeing the ordinariness of so many lives carrying on around her, she realized she’d missed it too in a strange way.

  ‘Here, add this to your collection,’ she said to him now, holding out the bottle she’d brought. ‘And it’s fine, honestly, about the restaurant and everything, don’t worry about it.’ She shrugged off her jacket and hung it on an empty peg on the wall alongside a Snow White cape, a small shiny yellow mackintosh, and a battered denim jacket. There were some little trainers on the floor too, messily kicked off. Weren’t small shoes the sweetest things ever? She had kept a single pair of knitted white bootees that Kate had worn in intensive care and, even now, could remember how those tiny feet had felt in her hands. Oh, Kate. She hoped she could keep it together, being here, surrounded by the regalia of two other little girls. What if her emotions got the better of her, what if being here stirred up all her feelings of loss again?

  Don’t go there, she ordered herself, taking a deep breath as she turned back. Keep your cool.

  ‘Hello,’ came a high, interested voice just then, and Charlotte glanced up to see that a small, curious face had appeared at the top of the stairs, peering down; the girl from the pier who’d held her hand. Lily, was she called?

  ‘Hello,’ she replied, swallowing uncertainly and trying to smile. Please don’t remember that I screamed at
your dad that day.

  Ned groaned at the sight of his daughter. ‘You’re meant to be in bed,’ he reminded her.

  ‘I’m not tired.’ The girl sat down on the top step, stretching a pale pink nightie down over her knees. ‘Not even a very bit.’ She opened her eyes wide as if demonstrating how extremely awake she was. ‘Look.’

  ‘Lils, come on. It’s bedtime and you’ve got school in the morning.’ A timer started beeping further into the house and he glanced over his shoulder helplessly at it. ‘And that’s the lasagne. Go on, hop it. Quick! Right now! Good girl.’ He pulled a funny face as his daughter reluctantly got to her feet. ‘Sorry, Charlotte, come through. Let me get you a drink.’

  Charlotte followed Ned down the hall and into a long narrow kitchen, whose walls were decorated with various paintings and collages. A face made of pasta shapes. Some animal – a dog perhaps? a cow? – constructed of scraps of fabric with black buttons for eyes. There was a stuffed monkey dangling from the curtain rail, and a tableau of Sylvanian Family animals having a tea-party with a small plastic dragon down by the back door. Charlotte had to blink quickly and look away. He’s allowed to have a family, she reminded herself, her fingers curling into her palms. They’re allowed to be happy. This is real life, Charlotte. That’s just how it is.

  ‘Smells delicious,’ she said, noticing the pile of saucepans stacked up in the sink and feeling touched that he’d gone to so much effort on her behalf when she’d have been perfectly happy with a fish and chip takeaway. ‘Thank you. This is lovely of you, especially at such short notice.’ (If he could whip up a lasagne at the drop of a hat, she must never let him see the woeful emptiness of her fridge, she thought in the next moment.)

  ‘It’s vegetarian, I hope that’s okay,’ he said, his voice slightly muffled as he bent to check inside the oven. ‘I didn’t think to ask if you ate meat, when I . . . Oh, Lily.’ His voice became stern at the sound of pattering footsteps. ‘What are you doing down here? I thought you’d gone to bed!’

  Charlotte turned to see the little girl standing in the doorway, hopping from foot to foot. ‘Hello again,’ she said.

  Encouraged by this, Lily danced into the room, her white-blonde hair flying out around her head as she pointed her toes. ‘I like your shirt,’ she said winningly to Charlotte, who felt pathetically flattered. ‘Green is my best colour.’ Then she came to a stop by the freezer and gazed up at her dad. ‘Are you going to have ice cream?’ she asked him in a way that left no room for misunderstanding where this particular conversation might be going.

  ‘Maybe later but—’

  ‘I love ice cream,’ Lily told Charlotte confidingly, as if he hadn’t spoken. ‘It’s my best. Specially chocolate. Aunty Debbie lets us have sprinkles and—’

  ‘Lily. You can have some ice cream tomorrow if you go back to bed right now,’ Ned said, folding his arms across his chest. ‘But if you don’t go this minute, then Charlotte and I will eat all of it tonight, without you. And we’ll have all the sprinkles.’

  Lily’s jaw dropped in outrage. ‘But—’

  ‘This minute, I said.’

  Eyes blazing, Lily whirled around crossly and stamped upstairs. Then they heard a door bang, shortly followed by a pitiful wail. ‘Oh, great,’ sighed Ned. ‘Now she’s woken her sister up. I’m sorry about this, Charlotte.’ He took down two wine glasses and held them up, looking rather helpless. ‘Red or white? Or should I just put you out of your misery and order you a cab home?’

  ‘No! Don’t worry about it,’ she told him. He was looking really frazzled by now, taking off his glasses and rubbing the lenses on his shirt. She noticed the ironing board propped up in the corner of the room just then too, the iron still cooling on the side, and realized he must have ironed his shirt on her behalf. He was trying hard, you had to give him that. ‘Red would be lovely,’ she said. ‘I can pour if you need to get on with dinner.’

  ‘Would you? Thanks.’ He passed her the bottle, corkscrew and glasses. ‘Right. Let me chuck together a salad, and then we can eat.’

  It took approximately half a glass of wine, several mouthfuls of (excellent) lasagne and a slightly stilted conversation about his work running the café and her unloved job, before they had their first bonding moment when they realized they had both been to university in Birmingham. This was pretty much the exact point where Ned stopped looking quite so harassed and Charlotte started to relax. It took a second glass of wine, their scraped-clean plates and the joyful realization that they had friends of friends in common (‘No! You were in halls with Eleanor Gray? She went out with my flatmate Neil!’) to have them clinking glasses like old mates, exclaiming what a small world it was, and reminiscing about their favourite pubs and gigs they’d been to around the city.

  But just then there came the sound of small footsteps again, and in came Lily, this time holding hands with Amber, both in their nighties with messed-up bed hair. Amber’s nightie was patterned with dinosaurs, and a ragged brown teddy dangled from one hand. Lily, for some reason, had donned a pair of fairy wings and some stripy socks. Charlotte’s breath caught in her throat at the vision. Oh, these girls. They were simply adorable.

  Lily put her arm around Amber. ‘You was making too much noise laughing,’ she said disapprovingly, ‘and you woked us up.’

  ‘And now we want ice cweam,’ Amber said, a determined set to her jaw.

  ‘I telled her you had ice cream,’ Lily explained smugly, ‘and now she wants it.’ She shrugged as if the adults only had themselves to blame for the situation.

  ‘Is that so?’ Ned said, raising an eyebrow then catching Charlotte’s eye. He was pulling such a severe Dad expression she found herself wanting to giggle.

  ‘I had a bad dweam,’ Amber said in a piteous and not altogether convincing way, cocking her head up at her father. ‘Because you was laughing.’ She looked at Charlotte from under long dark eyelashes. ‘And what is your name?’ she asked, sliding a thumb into her mouth.

  They were so unbelievably cute, standing there together in bare feet, naughty little partners in ice-cream wangling. Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was that she’d had such a nice time with Ned, but Charlotte no longer felt cramped up inside with envy or pain. Goodness, if she had tiny sweet daughters like these two, she’d probably let them have ice cream all day. Look at them! How could anyone refuse them anything? ‘I’m Charlotte,’ she replied. ‘I’m sorry we woke you up. I’m not sure but I think your dad might have some ice cream,’ she went on, hoping the cheering and leaping up and down this prompted from both girls wouldn’t incur her host’s wrath. She couldn’t bear for Ned to send them back up to bed immediately, she realized. Also, and this was even more shallow, she wanted them to like her. Talk about a pushover. ‘Sorry,’ she said, turning to him. ‘I couldn’t resist. They’re so gorgeous.’

  Lily stopped leaping and cheering in order to beam graciously at Charlotte and then twirl around on the spot so that her wings fluttered. ‘I am a beautiful fairy,’ she agreed.

  ‘Can we have ice cweam now?’ asked Amber, just in case anyone had forgotten why they were there.

  ‘Oh, go on, then,’ Ned said, caving in and rolling his eyes at Charlotte. ‘One small bowl each and then it’s straight back up to bed, all right? Just this once.’

  By the end of the evening, everyone had eaten and drunk their fill, and Charlotte had a sleeping Amber on her lap, nestled into her like a small warm bear-cub. Lily had already been carted back up to bed, fast asleep, over her father’s shoulder, but Charlotte had shaken her head when Ned offered to peel his youngest daughter away similarly. ‘She’s fine,’ she told him. It was more than fine, actually, having a soft little person sleeping on you while you drank another glass of wine and flirted daringly with their father. Every time she felt Amber breathe or sigh or murmur, every time she glanced down and saw that tiny pink ear whorl, the flutter of those long dark eyelashes against a rounded cheek, the tangle of long brown hair slippery against her arm, it was like the best ki
nd of balm on an old hurt. The most comforting feeling in the world. You’re not Kate, she thought, but you’re lovely. And you’re here.

  ‘Thank you, I’ve had a brilliant evening,’ she said when they’d finally called it a night. Amber had been taken up to bed, Charlotte had put her jacket back on, and a taxi was waiting outside, engine purring beneath the streetlights.

  ‘Me too,’ he replied. ‘And I promise that next time, all babysitting arrangements will be firmly in place so we don’t have to eat with an entourage,’ he added with a rueful face.

  Next time, she thought, hugging the phrase to herself. ‘I didn’t mind,’ she told him truthfully, then hesitated in the doorway, wishing she could stop thinking about kissing quite so much. Should she lunge at him, make the first move? she wondered, biting her lip. Be brave, urged Margot in her head but Charlotte remained frozen to the spot. It was all right for Margot to say such a thing; she was perfectly shameless and didn’t seem to care what anyone else thought. Charlotte, on the other hand . . .

  ‘Well,’ she said, reluctantly. ‘Good night, then. And thanks again.’

  ‘Good night, Charlotte,’ he said, and then, before she could even panic that she might have garlic breath or have turned into an incompetent kisser, he was looming towards her and his lips were on hers. Goodness, yes, and now his arms were around her, all firm and muscular, and the two of them were locked in the most fantastically passionate kiss that made her legs feel quite weak and her body just want to press herself against him, and . . .

  And the taxi was beeping from the road, and then they were laughing at what an unromantic killjoy the driver must be, and disentangling themselves. ‘That was an excellent kiss,’ she heard herself saying recklessly before leaning over and giving him a last quick goodbye on the lips. Then she turned and hurried down the steps, her face one gigantic smile.