by Lilac Mills
Unable to work her out and with other things on his mind, Henry found a place to park near the Sea Horse Inn at the top of the town, got out of the car and stretched.
Once again, his thoughts circled back to his interview with Sally Chisholm yesterday, and he checked his phone just in case, even though he knew full well he hadn’t had any phone calls while he’d been driving.
He was at a bit of a loose end because over the past week, or maybe longer, work phone calls had dried up to the point where they were almost non-existent. He assumed that anyone phoning head office would be passed on to the guy who was forced to cover Henry’s patch as well as his own. And with Christmas only just around the corner, leads tended to dry up at this time of year anyway. Today he only had three clients booked in, which was why he was finding himself heading towards the pretty harbour town of New Quay and the possibility of finding a couple of oars. If he couldn’t do anything else, he might be able to make Lottie happy by bringing home the finishing touches for Robin’s bedroom.
She’d not been at all happy lately, and it pained him to see her this way. Even acknowledging that part of it might be his fault because of his attitude and his mood, it didn’t explain everything, and for what felt like the twentieth time that day he wondered what was going on with her.
The only thing that seemed to please her these days was renovating and upcycling old stuff. Namely furniture. Maybe she was getting fed up with being a housewife? With Morgan not yet in full-time school she had very little respite from parenting. It went on twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. She was always the one who got up with the children in the middle of the night when they were ill; she was the one who attended sports days when he couldn’t because he was working; she was the one who was called into school to collect them if one of the children became sick.
In some respects, he had it easier; more often than not, he managed to relax when he came home. It wasn’t that he didn’t play his part – he did; but his part, when it came to parenting and running the house was, out of necessity, considerably smaller than Lottie’s.
Morgan’s arrival had been a bit of a surprise to them both – a very welcome and very much-loved surprise, but Lottie, he could tell, had been thinking about starting to expand her horizons again. And when their most recent bundle of joy had made an appearance, she had instead been catapulted straight back into the nightly feeds and nappies stage.
He was pleased to see she was enjoying a hobby, and he wondered if it could be more than that for her. He wasn’t truly aware of the amount of time which went into transforming something like a boat into a bed, but he suspected it was quite considerable, and he was fairly certain she wouldn’t get a return on her investment if she factored in the hours she spent on the project. But if she could get something for nothing, do it up and sell it, then it might be worthwhile.
He wasn’t entirely sure about Lottie showing Eleri what to do. As far as he was concerned, Lottie should be doing this herself, then charging Eleri, and he felt she was selling herself short. He also felt rather cross that she wasn’t being paid in cash, but had been paid in soft furnishings. Still, it was up to Lottie – it was her hobby, and it was down to her how she wanted it to go.
His boots slapping against the tarmac and his breath misting in the cold air, Henry headed down through the steep, narrow streets that would take him to the harbour. Most of them, especially those nearer the sea, had been built before motorised vehicles had become a thing. If he ignored the yellow lines on the tarmac, he could almost imagine himself being transported back a couple of hundred years.
The harbour was almost directly below him, and he stopped for a moment to admire the view. On the side of the road furthest away from the sea were shops, guest houses and an ice cream parlour, although the latter was closed. On the other side was a grassy area dotted with benches, and he strolled over to one of them and sat down, stretching out his arm along the length of the back of the seat. With the tide out, a variety of small boats lay in the sand, cocked to one side as if asleep. The harbour wall, which bustled with tourists in the summer, was mostly devoid of people apart from a few fishermen repairing lobster pots or nets, or doing whatever fishermen did.
That was where he was headed: he wanted to have a chat with some of them to ask if they had an old pair of oars they no longer used which they could donate to a worthy cause, namely his son’s bedroom. It was a bit of a long shot, he realised, but he couldn’t concentrate on work anyway – as his last, disastrous visit to a stable yard a few miles away had proved. He wouldn’t have much commission to show for this month, but that sometimes happened, so he was sure Lottie wouldn’t comment on it. At least, he hoped Lottie wouldn’t comment on it.
He took a deep breath of briny air, smelling the fresh scent of the sea along with the tang of seaweed, and an undercurrent of fish. It wasn’t a nasty smell, it was a traditional seaside smell. And surfing on the top of it was an enticing aroma of fish and chips.
His stomach gurgled.
He thought about the sandwiches he’d eaten earlier on, which Lottie had made for him, and he grimaced. He had a suspicion they hadn’t been made with love: basic Marmite sandwiches didn’t rock his boat, although Robin adored them. Sabrina not so much – it was safe to say that Sabrina absolutely hated Marmite. He marvelled at the differences between his three offspring. They had distinct and clear personalities of their own, regardless of gender, and he thought what a wonderful job Lottie was doing in bringing them up. Of course, he took some of the credit, but most of it was down to his wife, he acknowledged.
A tune coming from his pocket made him jump, and he scrambled for his phone, almost dropping it in the process.
‘Hello?’ His voice was tentative. He didn’t recognise the number, but then again that didn’t mean anything.
The voice on the other end was gruff and most definitely male. ‘Are you the Baldwin bloke?’
Henry rolled his eyes. He’d been called worse. ‘Yes, I am. What can I do for you?’
‘I need some of that new stuff you dropped off with me last time.’
‘Sorry, I didn’t catch your name—?’
‘Evans from Coed Cae Farm at Tregaron.’
‘Oh, yes, hello, Mr Evans. What stuff was that?’
‘Can you call in after Christmas and I can give you an order? And I read about some new-fangled supplements that’s good for sheep. Helps their feet. It was in that brochure you sent me. I could do with a free sample of that, too.’
The brochure would have come from head office, but Henry knew what was in it because he’d seen a copy. His heart sank as he said, ‘I’m sorry, but I won’t be working for Baldwin after this Friday, but I can get head office to put you in touch with someone who can help you.’
‘Will he give me a free sample?’
Henry didn’t know, but he doubted it. He liked to do that for his clients as he felt it built confidence in new products, but he was aware it was a dying practice. Margins were so tight these days that giving stuff away was becoming less common.
Call ended, Henry returned his phone to his pocket, stood up and carried on walking down the hill, ignoring the enticing cooking smells coming from the pub and the aroma of the chip shop on the corner. He paused for a moment to look in the window of a gift shop that seemed to specialise in using driftwood and other salvaged materials in artistic ways. Despite there being a lack of tourists it was open, and he gazed at the prettily decorated window, festooned with sparkling lights and a small Christmas tree. It was nearly time to put their tree up. The whole family made a point of going to choose it together from a farm that grew fir trees as a seasonal sideline.
A display of jewellery caught his attention. It wasn’t the usual diamond and gold, or even silver. These were pieces made from things as diverse as pebbles, driftwood and discarded fishing paraphernalia.
He knew Lottie would simply adore this place, and after checking the prices and seeing they were rather reasonable, he ga
ve in to an impulse and went inside. He hadn’t given Christmas a second thought (he rarely did, until it was almost upon him), and this year his only concern had been being able to afford it. On seeing such unique pieces though, and with the prospect of another job hoving into view, he knew exactly what he’d buy Lottie – a wonderful pin for her hair. She normally shoved anything thin and pointy into her bun to get it to stay up, from a pencil to a chopstick, but the one he’d seen in the window was perfect. A piece of card in front of it said it was made from metal salvaged from the beach, and it had a smooth, oval pebble in the most wonderful shade of orange at one end. The pebble was encased in intricate metal scrolls on which tiny beads of sea glass in similar shades had been threaded.
Lottie would love it, and it would appeal to her love of using repurposed or recycled things whenever she could. It was the ideal present for her, so Henry paid for it, trying not to flinch as he shoved his bank card into the machine, and waited for the pin to be gift-wrapped.
When he was sorted with a new job, he’d suggest a day out in New Quay. They could have chips out of a cone and play on the small but perfectly formed beach. He’d treat the kids to a kite or something and maybe they could even go on one of the dolphin-watching boat trips in the summer, when Morgan was a bit older.
As he continued on down the slope towards the harbour wall, he could see the men with fishing tackle were still there, and he gathered his courage and made his way towards them, thinking that if you don’t ask, you don’t get. No one was going to simply offer him a pair of oars out of the blue, were they?
‘Excuse me?’ he said nervously, to three men that were closest to him. ‘I know this might be a bit of an imposition, but I wondered if anyone had a couple of oars they no longer had any use for. I don’t mind if they’re split or cracked, or have got woodworm – they’ll just be for decoration for my son’s bedroom. My wife has made him a bed out of an old boat and we thought a pair of oars would set it off nicely.’
The three men looked up, and glanced at each other. Two of them went back to what they were doing, which seemed to Henry’s untrained eye to be repairing lobster pots.
The third sucked his teeth and said, ‘Sorry, mate, I don’t have any. Do any of you?’
His companions kept their attention on their work and shook their heads.
‘Can’t leave stuff lying about like that, see? The harbour authorities don’t like it. Piles of rubbish puts tourists off.’
‘OK, well, thank you anyway.’ Disappointed, Henry decided to carry on walking to the end of the harbour wall. Even in the short amount of time since he’d been watching the sea, he could tell the tide was coming in. With nothing else to do, he found a seat and perched on it, ignoring the cold.
His phone rang again. This time Henry wasn’t feeling quite as hopeful that it would be Sally Chisholm, but he answered it anyway. Sitting on a bench and staring out to sea while answering a phone call seemed to be the theme of the day.
‘Is that Henry Hargreaves?’
Henry recognised the voice instantly and his heart missed a beat, before compensating with a rather more noticeable one immediately after.
‘This is he,’ he said, trying to keep the hope out of his voice and not seem too eager.
‘Sally Chisholm here. How are you?’ She sounded upbeat, and hope rose slowly from his stomach into his heart. She was going to offer him the job, he simply knew it.
‘I’m fine, thanks, and you?’
‘Good, good… Look, I’m sorry, but we don’t think you’re the right fit for Allinson just now.’
And that was it. In one simple sentence hope deserted him and his world came crashing down around his ears. Not wanting to listen to her platitudes, he abruptly switched his phone off and dropped it back into his pocket.
He might be being dramatic, but at that very moment all he could think about was how the hell he was going to pay his bills, without dipping into the extension fund. He would have this month’s salary to carry him through to the next, but what was he supposed to do after that? With no other prospect insight, with not even a sniff of interest from any other company, he knew he had no choice but to claim unemployment benefits from Monday. And Lottie? He still had a little bit of leeway before he’d have to tell her, but not yet, not today. He needed to let this latest setback simmer for a while and settle. Once he’d got over his acute disappointment, then he’d tell her.
Unable to face going home, he sat on the bench for the rest of the afternoon and into the evening, hunched into his coat, hands in his pockets, thinking that his search for a pair of oars was a metaphor for his life – because at that moment, he really did think he was up shit creek without a paddle.
Chapter 20
Lottie
Lottie glared at the clock. Henry was late. Again. He’d promised he’d be home to see to the children so she could go to Eleri’s, but there was no sign of him.
She grabbed her phone and stabbed at it. The call went straight through to voicemail again, so she guessed he’d probably turned the damn thing off. She must have rung him six times already, plus sending several texts, each one more and more annoyed in its tone. What the hell was he playing at? she asked herself, before answering her own question. ‘Playing’ was probably the operative word here. He must be with her. There was no other explanation as to why he was uncontactable, and why he was late.
She couldn’t believe he’d chosen another woman over their own children.
Hang on a minute, he hadn’t, had he? It wasn’t as though she was about to leave the kids on their own to fend for themselves, was it? He knew perfectly well she’d take care of them, no matter what he was up to.
Damn it, she really wanted to go to Eleri’s house. She’d been thoroughly enjoying helping her friend transform what had been an ugly TV cabinet into something new and fresh. Besides, she didn’t want to let Eleri down; both of them had been looking forward to it. She sent her a quick text to tell her she was running late, and as she did so anger shot through her.
Right, that’s it. She’d had enough.
Jabbing violently at her phone again, she got through to Meryl. ‘Have you heard from Henry?’ she demanded, skipping the niceties.
There was a slight pause, then Meryl said, ‘No. Why, is there something wrong?’
Yes, there bloody well is something wrong, Lottie thought viciously. It was so wrong, she didn’t know where to start. ‘Henry was supposed to be home so I can go out,’ she said. ‘He’s late. Again.’
‘If you give me ten minutes I’ll come and sit with the children until he gets home. I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about.’
Lottie blinked. She hadn’t been worried. Should she have been? She was so het up she hadn’t even considered the possibility that something might have happened to Henry. He spent an awful lot of time on the road, and occasionally when the weather forecast was bad or she heard of an accident while she was listening to the radio, she would pray he was OK.
But his safety hadn’t once crossed her mind this evening. She’d been so busy imagining him up to all kinds with that woman, that she hadn’t stopped to consider there might be something else wrong.
Feeling slightly chastened, she said in a more reasonable tone of voice, ‘I’ve phoned him and texted him, but I think his phone is switched off.’
‘He’s probably driving,’ his mother pointed out.
Lottie bit her lip. Henry usually answered because he had hands-free. Not every time, admittedly – it depended on the situation and where he was, but he generally did pick up his calls. Was his failure to answer this time because he couldn’t, and not because he didn’t want to?
Oh, God, now she felt dreadful. This niggling worm of worry that Meryl had injected into her stomach was growing into a twisted python of a thing, making her feel sick. How could she go and enjoy herself – although enjoy probably wasn’t the right word considering the mood she was in – when Henry might have been involved in a car accident? How could s
he be so selfish?
Ashamed, she was about to say that it was fine and she wouldn’t go out after all, when her phone vibrated.
‘Hang on a sec, that might be him now. I’ve just had a text,’ she said to Meryl.
It was indeed from Henry.
On way home, will be half an hour.
Lottie didn’t believe what she was seeing. ‘He’s on his way back,’ she said, flatly.
‘Do you still want me to babysit? I’m just getting in my car.’
‘Yes, please, if you don’t mind. I don’t want to let Eleri Jones down.’
‘Of course not. I wasn’t doing anything this evening, anyway.’
Lottie paced up and down while she waited for Meryl to arrive, and she was out of the door even before her mother-in-law had clambered out of her car.
Lottie hadn’t made the slightest attempt to prepare the children for bed. That was supposed to have been Henry’s job, so she said, ‘Don’t worry about the children. Henry can see to them when he gets in. Sabrina is in her room, and Robin and Morgan are watching a film. It’s only got about twenty minutes to go, so there’s no point in putting them to bed before that as they’ll only howl. They might as well stay up until their dad comes home. After all, they haven’t seen him all day.’
This last was said with some acerbity.
* * *
As Lottie stamped towards Eleri’s house, she was almost incandescent with rage. Not only was he late, but he’d had her worrying he might have been involved in an accident when he’d been with another woman all along. How dare he! How very dare he!
‘Are you OK, love?’ Eleri asked, when she opened the door to Lottie.
‘Men!’ Lottie cried.
‘Enough said. Come in. Glass of wine? You look as though you need it. That is, if you don’t mind drinking and putting hinges on.’
For the first time that evening Lottie smiled. ‘They might be a bit wonky,’ she warned.
‘What the hell. They can always be redone, can’t they?’