Ten Little Words

by Leah Mercer

  ‘Yes,’ she said, and Bertie got to his feet. A huge grin shone from his face and he gathered her in his arms, hugging her so tightly her feet left the ground.

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t have a ring,’ he said when he set her down again. ‘I’ve been saving up and I’ll get you one eventually, but right now I wanted to give you this.’ He withdrew a box from his pocket and Jude snapped it open, her eyes raking over the gold heart pendant inside. She lifted it up, loving the heavy weight of the heart and the way the chain glinted gold in the sun.

  ‘It’s gorgeous. Thank you so much.’ Her fingers touched a small latch on the side of the heart and she popped it open, glancing up to meet Bertie’s eyes as she spotted a slip of paper folded inside. She carefully unfolded it, her heart swelling as she took in the words written in Bertie’s neat script.

  ‘I am always with you,’ she read. ‘I will always be here.’ The words spun around them in the air, and she thought how, for the first time since her parents had died, they seemed more of a promise of potential than a desperate plea.

  Bertie fastened the necklace around her neck, and Jude reached up to touch it. It felt like she was wearing his heart next to hers, and she never wanted to take it off. She’d do everything she could to keep it safe – to keep them safe. That much she could promise.

  Bertie’s lips met hers and, as the river flowed and the sun rose in the sky, she wished they could stay here, in this place where nothing else could touch them, for ever.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  ELLA

  ‘Where should we start?’ I asked Bertie, praying I’d somehow be able to quickly snuff out his notion that my mother was alive. I bit my lip. How could you convince someone that the love of their life was dead if they simply didn’t want to believe it? God, I wished I’d never come here. ‘The advert doesn’t have any contact details, but maybe I can call the newspaper office and see if they can tell me something.’ If they could say who had placed that advert – and clearly it wouldn’t be my mother – it might go some way towards placating Bertie.

  ‘But then, I’m not sure they’ll be able to release any details,’ I said, thinking out loud. ‘Data protection and all of that.’ I didn’t want to sound too negative, but we had to be realistic. I let out a puff of air. Realistic. I was chasing a dead woman.

  ‘Maybe if you go there in person?’ Bertie said. ‘Tell them a bit about the background, and why you want to know? I’ve always found if you rely on the kindness of others, it often helps.’

  The kindness of others. Since when had I ever relied on that?

  ‘I’d do it myself if I could,’ he continued, ‘but you’re an immediate family member. If your mother did place the advert, then they might release the details to you.’

  I grabbed my phone and pulled up the newspaper’s website, scrolling down to see where they were located. ‘They’re in South Kensington, in London,’ I said, turning the idea over in my mind.

  ‘Perhaps you could pop in on your way back to Hastings?’ Bertie asked. ‘You need to connect through London anyway, don’t you? You could stay the night here and take the train back in the morning. That should give you plenty of time.’

  ‘Are you two still chatting?’ Angus poked his head through the front door. ‘I’m running to the shop, Hugh.’ I jerked at the name. The man before me seemed so much more a Bertie than a Hugh. I had to agree with my mother on that one, I thought, pushing away the sudden zing of connection. ‘Do you want anything?’

  ‘Yes, thank you.’ Bertie smiled over at me. ‘We’re having a guest for supper, Angus. Ella is going to stay tonight and go home tomorrow. Right?’ He lifted his eyebrows at me, looking hopeful.

  I held his gaze, my mind ticking over. Although I was itching to get back, the sooner I was able to convince Bertie my mother was gone, the better.

  ‘Right,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, brilliant,’ Angus said. ‘Maybe I’ll make my famous sausage and mash.’

  ‘Infamous, more like.’ Bertie grinned. ‘Last time he made it, the sausages burned and stuck to the pan. He said it was the pan, but I don’t think so.’

  ‘It was the pan, of course,’ Angus mock-protested. ‘Okay, then. That settles it. Sausage and mash tonight – if you’re okay with that, Ella.’

  I nodded, unable to remember the last time I’d had such a homely meal. Usually, I heated up a bowl of soup after work.

  ‘Sounds great, thank you.’

  ‘Right, back soon.’ Angus ducked out again.

  ‘That’s a good lad, right there,’ Bertie said. ‘He’s taken me under his wing ever since my diagnosis. I don’t have any family around – my brother passed away years ago, and we weren’t talking by then, anyway.’ He sighed, looking off into the distance, as if he could see the past there. ‘He got into some financial trouble selling properties off-plan in Spain and asked me to bail him out. I didn’t have the money, so he asked me to sell the house. When I refused, well . . . it got a little nasty.’

  I shifted in my chair, feeling awkward in the face of such personal information.

  Bertie jerked towards me and, for a split second, confusion flashed across his face. Then he cleared his throat and smiled at me. ‘Anyway, after years of being on my own, it’s rather nice to have someone popping in and out; keeping track of me and making sure I haven’t wandered off.’ He sounded like he was kidding, but I wondered if he had wandered off before.

  ‘Angus seems lovely,’ I said to fill to silence, but for some insane reason I could feel my cheeks getting warmer. Bertie gave me a steady look but, before he could comment, I looked down at my mobile.

  ‘Right, speaking of neighbours . . . I’d better text mine and ask if she can look after my cat a bit longer.’ I wrote a quick message, thinking how different my relationship with my neighbour was to Bertie’s. I hadn’t even known her name until yesterday.

  Angus returned from the shops and, despite my discomfort at staying longer, I was surprised how quickly the rest of the afternoon and evening slipped by. Angus and Bertie had such an easy, comfortable relationship that I couldn’t help but be drawn into their warmth, finding myself eagerly answering questions about my job and my life in Hastings instead of shying away, like I usually did.

  As darkness fell on the mews tucked away in the heart of the city, it felt like it was just the three of us, in our own little world – and, strangely, I didn’t long to be alone, back in my sterile flat. This place was crammed to the gills with knick-knacks and it couldn’t have been further from the bare confines of my home, but instead of repelling me, it drew me in. Whether it was the men beside me or the house itself, I didn’t know, but I felt like I could curl up and sleep for years here.

  If only Bertie would stop talking about my mother. As Angus cooked supper, Bertie pointed out where my mother would sit and write music, the place she used to nap, the mug she’d broken . . . it was as if, despite the years, she was still alive in this place for him. I itched to say that I didn’t want to know these details – that I didn’t want her to come alive for me – but then I thought how tomorrow he may not be able to grasp on to these things. I should let him savour his memories while he could.

  We devoured Angus’s hearty meal (luckily, not burned) and chatted over yet another cup of tea before Bertie got to his feet.

  ‘That’s it for me,’ he said. ‘I’m absolutely knackered.’

  ‘Ah, you’re just trying to escape the washing up,’ Angus said, pushing back his chair. ‘Are you okay? Do you need help with anything?’ I couldn’t help being touched by his attentiveness.

  ‘I’m fine, I’m fine.’ Bertie waved a hand. ‘If you could show Ella where the guest bedroom is once she’s ready for bed, I’d appreciate it.’ Bertie made a face at me. ‘Sorry, I’m not being the world’s greatest host here, am I? But you feel like family.’ He smiled, and warmth shot through me. Oddly, he felt like that, too. I clamped down on that feeling as quickly as I could. I shouldn’t let myself get involved with Bertie an
d his life. After tomorrow, I wouldn’t see him again.

  ‘Good night, all.’

  ‘Night.’ Angus and I spoke together as Bertie made his way up the stairs.

  I got to my feet and started clearing the dishes, anxious to be doing something to escape the awkward feeling that had slid over me.

  ‘Bertie should be okay tonight,’ Angus said, ‘but if you need any help, please don’t hesitate to call me.’

  ‘Any help?’ I froze. ‘What do you mean?’ I barely knew the man and, as much as I liked him, I wasn’t capable of being a carer.

  ‘If he’s had a confusing day – a day where he can’t get a grip on things – he’s more likely to have nightmares, and he may wander a bit,’ Angus said. ‘But don’t worry. He’s been great today and it’s only happened once or twice.’

  ‘Okay.’ I swallowed, fear gripping me. ‘It’s wonderful that he has you right next door.’

  Angus shrugged. ‘I’m lucky enough that I work from home, and my hours are really flexible. I can usually fit everything around what he needs me to do. Until quite recently, he’s been pretty much fine – just a few minor lapses here and there. Anyway, this is the least I can do for him. He helped me out when I really needed it.’

  I nodded, not wanting to pry, but wondering what Angus had gone through. I’d only known him for a very short time, but he seemed so friendly and open – as if nothing bad had touched him.

  Angus leaned back, sipping his tea. ‘When I first moved in next door, I was in a bad way. My wife, Steph, had got together with my best friend. Such a cliché, I know.’ He tried to laugh, and I ducked my head to avoid the pain pulling at his face. I knew only too well the betrayal and bitterness he was feeling.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said quietly, and although I hardly knew him, I really was.

  ‘Thanks.’ He forced a small smile. ‘Anyway, she moved out. After she left, I couldn’t bear to knock around our house by myself. I sold it and moved in here, and it was . . . well, it was difficult. I just wanted to shut myself in and stay there for ever.’

  I nodded, thinking I could certainly understand that. It was what I had done.

  ‘But Bertie wouldn’t let me. He took it upon himself to check on me, drag me over to his for meals, take me on walks. I wouldn’t say much at first – I couldn’t say much at first – but gradually, we started to talk.’ He sipped his tea, and I waited for him to continue.

  ‘When it was too much some days and I couldn’t even rouse myself to get out of bed or turn on a light, he’d bring me tea and toast. He told me that he knew what it was like to lose someone you loved, but that we were the lucky ones, because we had that love in the first place. No matter how we’d been hurt, we would always have that to hang on to.’

  I shifted in my seat, turning the words over in my mind. Maybe Bertie could think of my mother’s love without the pain she’d caused him, but I couldn’t. To me, remembering how much I’d loved her only brought memories of the deep well of longing and hurt when she’d gone. The two were inseparable, twisted together in my heart and my mind.

  I scraped back my chair, aware of Angus’s eyes on me as he awaited my response. Part of me wanted to say he was right – to reinforce his positivity – but I couldn’t.

  ‘I’d better get to bed,’ I said. ‘Good night.’

  ‘Good night.’ Angus’s voice followed me up the spiral staircase, and I suddenly realised just how tired I really was.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  ELLA

  I stared up at the ceiling when I awoke the next morning, trying to get a grip on my surroundings. Birdsong floated through the air and light streamed from the window, making me feel like I was in a sunshine-bathed meadow. I shifted on the bed, memories from yesterday flooding in: making my way through the city to Bertie, him telling me he’d seen my mother alive and that he hadn’t placed the advert . . . of the hope rekindled in his eyes, and what I’d agreed to do today in order to bury it.

  I sat up, rubbing my eyes. There hadn’t been a peep out of Bertie’s room, but I’d been so worried about him wandering off that I’d barely slept. Tiredness weighed on me, but I couldn’t stay in bed a second longer. I pulled off my pyjamas, gasping at the cold air on my bare skin, then yanked on my clothes from yesterday. It might be summer, but someone really needed to turn on the heating.

  I sniffed the air as the scent of strong coffee curled into the room. God, what I wouldn’t give for a cup or three right now! I padded down the hallway to the bathroom and splashed water on my face then ran my fingers through my hair, peering closely at my tired reflection. As much as I wanted to get back to normality, part of me longed to stay here, in this place so far removed from my life – a place where, strangely enough, I’d felt so safe that I’d let down my guard a bit to connect with others. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d enjoyed a supper so much. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d enjoyed people so much.

  I rammed my few belongings into my backpack and made my way down the spiral staircase.

  ‘Morning.’ Angus smiled up at me and I jerked in surprise. I’d expected Bertie, not him. ‘Thought I’d bring you guys some croissants and make some proper coffee. Bertie lives on tea, and his idea of a good coffee would blow your head off with all the caffeine.’ I couldn’t help noticing the cute tuft of hair sticking up at the crown of his head. ‘I hope I didn’t wake you up. I’m an early riser – always have been.’

  ‘I’m the same,’ I said. ‘There’s just something about getting a head start on the day, isn’t there? I love the peace and quiet before everything gets going. Even on weekends, I get up early.’ I came to a stop at the bottom of the stairs, flushing as I realised I was babbling.

  Luckily, Angus didn’t seem to notice. ‘Do you take milk?’

  I nodded, settling on to the sofa. The house was quiet except for the sound of the birds outside and Angus’s happy whistle as he prepared the coffee. For a second, a line from one of Bertie’s letters to my mother ran through my head . . . how my mum used to sit right here, while Bertie made her coffee just right. Had she preferred her coffee super-strong, just like me? I wondered.

  ‘Actually . . . I’d better get going straight away,’ I said. It was better not to linger, no matter how much I could do with some coffee. Suddenly, I just wanted to get out of there. ‘Thanks, but I’d better make a move.’

  ‘Don’t you want to wait until Bertie gets up?’ Angus asked. ‘I know he’ll be sorry to have missed you.’

  I paused. I’d love to say goodbye to him, but I couldn’t. I had to go now, head to the newspaper office and find out what I could, then return to my world.

  ‘Better not.’ I heaved my backpack on to my shoulders and went out into the cool morning, leaving the fairy-tale house behind me.

  A couple of hours later, I was on the train to London. Despite my hasty exit, Angus had caught up with me and insisted on driving me to the station. His dirt-streaked four-by-four had rumbled through the streets, with Angus apologising for its ‘rustic’ appearance. He’d surprised me with a friendly hug after he got my bag from the back and I stood there, stunned, with my hands by my sides. I couldn’t remember the last time someone had hugged me; Carolyn knew better than to try. I always felt like I was being smothered, but now, I had to admit I liked the feeling of his arms around me. I felt protected, in a way I hadn’t since, well . . . since before my mother had left.

  That was ridiculous, I told myself now as the train rumbled through the countryside. I didn’t even know the man, and I’d never see him again. I let out a puff of air at the thought, crossing my fingers that visiting the newspaper in person would persuade them to help me. Did they even have the information I needed and, if they did, would they break the rules to let me have it? I prayed they had something to convince Bertie my mother was gone and let him get on with his life as best he could.

  For the second time in as many days, I’d called in sick for work. I hated lying to Jane – especially after she’d sound
ed genuinely concerned, asking if I needed anything – but I could hardly tell her the truth, could I? It sounded fantastical, even to me.

  The train pulled into King’s Cross and I followed the crowd down the platform and into the Underground, moving in a sea of faces where no one made eye contact or acknowledged my existence. I felt like I wasn’t even there, a stark contrast to the place I’d left behind and the rare connection I’d felt with the people I’d met.

  I got off the underground at South Kensington and walked the short distance to the newspaper’s headquarters. The sky was blue and the white facades of the buildings around me glowed in the sun. Tourists pushed around me on the street and well-heeled mums and nannies dragged their charges on scooters home from school. Everywhere I looked, life was in full swing. It couldn’t be more different from my quiet view out to the sea each morning.

  I opened the door of the newspaper office and entered the dingy reception, which looked like it hadn’t received any visitors since the mid-sixties. A row of straight-backed chairs lined one scuffed olive wall, a brown coffee table with rickety spindle legs held yellowed newspapers, and a stained beige carpet covered the floor.

  ‘Can I help you?’ A woman with shiny black hair and purple-rimmed glasses met my eyes.

  ‘Um, yes. I’d like to speak to someone from Classifieds?’ It crossed my mind that maybe I should have arranged a meeting before coming. I hoped this wasn’t a wasted trip. I was way too tired to deal with that let-down. I was here now, and I wanted to get this over with.

  ‘If it’s about placing an advertisement, you can either email us the text or call this number.’ She rattled off the digits so quickly I could barely process them.

  ‘No, no.’ I shook my head. ‘It’s not about placing an advert. Please, can I talk to someone who might have access to the details of previous adverts?’

  ‘You’ll be wanting Greg, then. Can I tell him your name, please?’ She peered at me over the top of her glasses.