The Last Piece of My Heart

by Paige Toon

  While I’m waiting, I email Marty at work. Elliot gave me a rough idea of the dates he might be able to join me, so I don’t have a whole lot of flexibility. Early November is just outside peak season, so the resort should have availability. I ask Marty if she can look into flights for Elliot, as well as me, although it will probably be cheaper for him to do his from Australia.

  Elliot and I spoke on Saturday and, at first, our conversation was a bit tense. Luckily he’s not the type to hold grudges – he’s easygoing like that – so we were pretty much back to normal by the time we got off the phone.

  I can hardly believe I might see him in six weeks. The thought makes me feel slightly off kilter. It’s probably best not to think about it as it might not happen. I’ll call him tomorrow to touch base. For reasons I can’t quite fathom, though, I have no desire to tell him about Valerie and Kate.

  At that point, my contact from the wedding magazine calls back and, brilliantly, gives me the go-ahead. How I love it when a plan comes together! Now I just need to email the resort and put the idea to them.

  In the meantime, I intend to keep my suspicions about Nicki to myself. If she was being unfaithful to Charlie, I’m not sure it’s something he ever needs to know.

  ‘What does your dad say about your blog?’ Charlie asks me later that week.

  It’s Friday night and we’re in his living room, waiting for our Indian takeaway to be delivered. Deadpool is cued up and ready to go, but we’ve been talking.

  I’ve just confessed that Sara has been encouraging me to visit Vince as soon as I return to London. She reiterated that my blog will lose momentum if I don’t post again soon. I can’t believe my time in Cornwall is drawing to a close.

  Charlie shook his head and stared straight ahead when I told him this.

  ‘My dad doesn’t read my blog,’ I reply. ‘He’s under strict orders. He knows I’m no nun, but he doesn’t need the details. Anyway, he’s always accepted me for who I am. Whatever that is,’ I mutter.

  A slag, slut, hussy, whore, if my ‘haters’ are to be believed.

  I really do hate that word.

  Not too keen on the others, either, if I’m honest.

  ‘What about Elliot?’ Charlie asks. ‘How can he be cool with you going to see Vince after everything that happened? Does he know what went down between you?’

  I shrug. ‘A bit, yeah.’ The truth is, not as much as Charlie, which is weird in itself.

  ‘There’s no way I would’ve allowed Nicki to put herself in that position. I don’t understand why you do it to yourself. How can you stand everyone judging you? I’m not judging you – you can live your life however you want to.’

  ‘Thank you very much,’ I can’t help but quip.

  He ignores my sarcasm. ‘But when you put it all out there for everyone to read about, then you’re inviting criticism.’

  ‘I know,’ I say simply, falling quiet. ‘The truth is, I never thought I’d be a relationship blogger. I used to detest that sort of thing – people airing their dirty washing for everyone to see. I don’t know quite how I got myself into this mess. Oh yeah, that’s right,’ I say facetiously. ‘My boyfriend suggested it.’

  I throw Charlie a grin, but he doesn’t find it remotely amusing.

  ‘You would like Elliot, you know,’ I suddenly feel compelled to say. ‘I know you probably think he’s a bit of a, I don’t know, dick, for encouraging my blog, but he’s a good guy, really.’

  He doesn’t seem convinced.

  ‘Honestly, you’d like him,’ I insist. ‘Everyone does.’

  ‘Hmm.’ He picks up the remote control. ‘Are we watching this movie or not?’

  ‘Hit it.’ We need something to lighten us up.

  This week has been all right, considering.

  Considering what his sister-in-law and mother-in-law think of me. . .

  Charlie and I have done our best to put brave faces on it. I’m only here for one more week and then my tenants are out of my flat and I can move back home. I’ve done more than enough research to be getting on with the Cornwall scenes – now it’s just Thailand I need to worry about.

  My flights are booked, my accommodation is sorted (free – yes!) and I’ve even managed to confirm that Isak does still do rock-climbing sessions for the resort. I was excited when that email came in.

  Somehow or other I’ll get the truth out of him. I’m still trying to understand Nicki and where her head was at when she wrote this book.

  It’s been hard keeping Isak out of my conversations with Charlie, but I don’t want to distress him unnecessarily. He did contact Nicki’s dad on my behalf a couple of days ago and Alain said he would be happy to meet up with me for a coffee sometime. He won’t be able to spare much more time than that, from what I’ve heard, but, if nothing else, the experience will help bring Nicki’s diaries to life, and that, in itself, will be fascinating.

  I don’t know how it happens, because Deadpool is absolutely frigging hilarious, but somehow or other I manage to fall asleep on the sofa. When I come to, the room is dark and I have a pillow under my head. The cosy blanket Charlie gave me earlier is still wrapped around me. I squint at the time on the DVD player’s digital clock. Two thirty-five! I’m not going back to the campsite now. I close my eyes again and try to get back to sleep.

  In the morning, the smell of bacon and cinnamon rouses me from sleep. It’s just after eight o’clock.

  ‘Hey!’ Charlie exclaims when I appear in the kitchen. He’s frying up pancakes in one pan and bacon in another. ‘Did you sleep well?’

  ‘I did. Thanks for letting me stay.’

  ‘I didn’t have a choice: you were out like a light.’

  Smiling, I walk over to where April is standing in front of the sofa, jiggling along to the radio. ‘Good morning, baby.’ She beams up at me.

  ‘MMMBop’ by Hanson comes on as I scoop her up. She leans her whole body over to her left and then all the way over to her right, back and forth like a cartoon jumping jack in slow motion.

  I laugh and dance around the kitchen with her, singing along to the occasional lyric. When the chorus kicks in, I slide across the floor with her in my socks, but Charlie beats us to our destination, turning the radio up to full volume. We sing along at the tops of our voices before cracking up laughing.

  I feel as if I have a balloon inside me and someone is filling it with happy gas. It is the best possible start to the weekend.

  Next weekend I’ll be back in London. My balloon pops at the thought.

  Chapter 36

  On Thursday, my last day in Cornwall, we skip work so that Charlie can take April and me back to Lansallos in search of sea glass. He offered to show me another cove, but I wanted to see this beach one more time. While he climbs up onto the rocks to take a closer look at the shimmering colours that I saw the first time we came here, April and I walk barefoot along the shore, getting our toes wet in the cold, clear, light-blue water. I clutch her hands, even though she’s growing steadier on her feet every day. The truth is, I just don’t want to let her go.

  That evening, Pat and Adam join us for one last pizza night.

  ‘Good luck with the rest of your writing,’ Pat says to me kindly, when we’re saying our goodbyes. She’s dropping Adam back to Bude on her way home.

  ‘Thank you,’ I reply sincerely.

  ‘I can’t wait to read it.’ She smiles warmly and gives me a hug. When she withdraws, I turn to Adam.

  ‘Bridget,’ he says fondly, opening his arms wide. I grin and step forward and he proceeds to squash the breath out of me.

  ‘Argh!’ I gasp, but he just squeezes me tighter and rocks me back and forth for a while before letting me go.

  ‘How was that?’ he asks meaningfully as I overegg my efforts to reclaim oxygen into my lungs.

  ‘I’m not sure what you want me to say.’ I regard him warily.

  He leans forward and whispers into my ear, ‘Was it better than sex?’

  I burst out laughing a
nd give his shoulder a shove. He’s referring to the night we went out in Padstow when I said I missed hugs more than sex. He was unimpressed at the time.

  ‘What did you say to her?’ Pat asks her younger son impudently.

  ‘I’m sure you don’t want to know, Mum,’ Charlie interjects as Adam continues to grin like a loon.

  Pat tuts and rolls her eyes. ‘You’re right, I probably don’t.’

  After we’ve waved them off, I turn to Charlie. ‘Will you stick around for a bit?’

  ‘I can stay pretty late, but I need to get home.’ He sounds reluctant.

  ‘Could we put April to sleep in the van so you don’t have to rush off?’ I raise my eyebrows at him hopefully.

  ‘Okay,’ he agrees with a nod.

  He lets me settle her. I lie on my side, facing her, and sing her to sleep, gently stroking her light-blonde curls until her slowly blinking eyes become so heavy-lidded that they close and stay closed. A lump forms in my throat as I stare at her.

  Later, we find ourselves back up on the hill to watch my final Cornish sunset. It’s the end of September now and the leaves on the trees are already beginning to turn.

  I can’t believe I’ve been here for two whole months.

  Charlie and I have both been downcast this week. I think he wants me to leave as much as I want to go, which is not much at all.

  I am looking forward to sleeping in my own bed and cooking in a proper kitchen and using a toilet that is situated just metres away, but I’m nowhere near breaking point.

  I’d stay another month if I could, maybe longer. But there are things I need to do back in London. I’m going to have to force myself to pay Vince a visit so I can write up my next blog entry.

  ‘You should go out with Edward, Jocelyn’s husband, after I’ve gone,’ I say to Charlie. ‘I thought he seemed nice at April’s party.’

  ‘He’s pretty quiet.’

  ‘I know,’ I reply with a smile. ‘But maybe he’s shy. Jocelyn is so warm and friendly – he might have hidden depths. Perhaps he needs a baby pal as much as you do.’

  He laughs under his breath. ‘You really think I’m lacking in company?’

  ‘You will be once I leave,’ I joke, but it’s not short of the truth.

  We sit in silence for a while, but it’s comfortable.

  ‘I wish you could come to Thailand,’ I murmur. ‘It’s so sad that you and April have never been, considering Nicki loved it so much. Is there really no way you could make it work? Would Alain help with your flights?’

  ‘He hasn’t offered. I couldn’t ask,’ he replies in a low voice. ‘We’re just not in a position right now to be able to blow a grand or whatever on flights, however tempting it is. I don’t know what’s around the corner. I’ve got a fair few projects coming in at the moment, but they could all dry up. There are no guarantees. I can’t risk it.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ I reply glumly.

  ‘I was thinking, though. . .’

  Something in his tone prompts me to look at him.

  ‘I don’t want you to go and see Vince on your own.’

  My shoulders slump. Vince is the last thing I want to talk about.

  ‘I could come to London next weekend and go with you.’

  When I don’t say anything, he turns his head to look at me. Staring into his green-gold-brown eyes, I get an intensely restless feeling deep in my stomach. It’s almost uncomfortable, but I don’t want to look away.

  Elliot pops into my mind and I jolt, coming to my senses.

  ‘I can’t believe you would do that for me,’ I mumble, my face flushing as I turn to pull up a handful of grass.

  ‘Of course I would – we’re friends,’ he replies. ‘So is that a yes?’

  ‘Yes,’ I say quietly. ‘I’m glad tonight isn’t goodbye.’

  ‘Tonight isn’t goodbye, anyway. We’re coming to see you off tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Are you?’ It feels safe to look at him again.

  ‘Yeah, I need my tent and outdoor table back.’

  I bump against his side, smiling. We both know he could get them back from Justin and Julia at any point.

  ‘Tomorrow wouldn’t have been goodbye, anyway,’ he says seriously. ‘We’re staying in touch, right?’

  ‘Definitely,’ I reply.

  But it won’t be the same. It will never be the same. A few days here, a week there. . . I’ll never have an excuse to come and stay for eight weeks of summer again. And, who knows, maybe I’ll be living in Australia by next year?

  The thought hurts.

  That doesn’t bode well for the future. For now, I bank my reaction to the idea of moving, but I know full well that it’s something I’m going to have to come back to.

  Later, we make our way down the hill.

  ‘Do you have to take April home? Can’t she stay with me? Can’t you just kip over?’ I ask the three questions in quick succession, not giving him a chance to reply.

  ‘There’s something I need to do.’ He answers my third question first.

  ‘That sounds cryptic.’ He doesn’t want to elaborate so I don’t force the issue. He had to mysteriously nip into Polperro on our way home, too – April and I waited in the pickup while he went to get whatever it was he needed.

  ‘April can stay with you if you want her to,’ he says.

  ‘Really?’ My eyes light up.

  ‘I can come back early in the morning to help you get packed up.’

  ‘Are you worried about me taking down your tent wrong?’ I tease.

  ‘No, I’m worried about you,’ he says categorically, wrapping one arm around my shoulder and giving me a squeeze. I really don’t want him to let me go.

  The next morning, I wake before April. Dad told me to set off early if I didn’t want to get caught in London’s Friday rush hour – in fact, he said I should drive through the night if I really wanted an easy journey – but I can’t quite bring myself to get up and start quietly packing my things away.

  I lie there for a long time, staring at April’s little face, so peaceful in sleep. I watch the gentle rise and fall of her ribcage and want to place my hand over her heart, but I’m too scared about disturbing her. I’m going to struggle to leave her today.

  I’m going to struggle to leave Charlie, too.

  When I’m finally packed up and ready to go, I stand facing Charlie with April in his arms. There’s an ugly yellow patch of grass from where his tent has been standing, stagnant, for the last six weeks or so. When I drive away, I’ll leave behind a Hermie-shaped patch, too. I tell Charlie that he can come back and look at it if he ever misses me, but my comment barely raises a smile.

  ‘Thank you,’ he whispers, wrapping one arm around me and pulling me in for a three-way hug with him and his daughter. ‘You’ve done more for us than you know.’

  ‘Stop,’ I say, because I don’t want to cry. ‘I’ll see you next weekend, right?’

  ‘We’ll be there,’ he promises.

  I give them both one last hug before climbing into the van. Charlie motions for me to put the window down.

  ‘This is just something small. Open it when you’re home.’ He passes me a tiny parcel, gift-wrapped with the same paper he used for April’s birthday presents.

  ‘Can’t I open it now?’ I ask with a smile.

  ‘No.’ He shakes his head with determination and his cheeks brighten.

  I’m intrigued.

  ‘Bye, Charlie,’ I say sadly. ‘Bye, Chipmunk.’ I wave at April. ‘I’ll miss you.’

  She holds her hands out to me, but Charlie steps back from the car and her face falls. I swallow back the lump in my throat and try to get Hermie into gear before I lose it.

  I don’t make it far. Pulling up outside the big supermarket along the road, I take a deep breath and attempt to gather myself together. I glance at the present Charlie gave me. As if I’m going to wait. . .

  As soon as I open it, I see what he had to go home for. He’s drilled tiny holes into three of the pie
ces of sea glass we found yesterday – green, brown and yellow – and threaded them onto a long, silver chain that I’m guessing he picked up from a shop in Polperro. He’s made me a sea-glass necklace. I burst into tears.

  Chapter 37

  I have never been so happy at the prospect of seeing Vince. Seeing Vince means seeing Charlie and April.

  The last week has dragged by in slow motion. I’ve had an ache in my chest that just won’t go away and I can hardly believe that they’re staying with me for the weekend at my flat. I’ve borrowed a travel cot from one of my friends and made up the bed in the spare room.

  Charlie drives down on Friday night – late to avoid traffic – so April is fast asleep when they arrive. I’ve been longing to hold her again, but Charlie wants to transfer her to her cot as quietly and quickly as he can. She opens her eyes and looks straight at me as I stand by Charlie’s side, so I hurry out of the room and leave him to get her back to sleep. Perhaps she’ll think she dreamt me.

  Charlie emerges from the bedroom and smiles as he quietly pulls the door to.

  ‘Now we can say hello properly,’ he says. I step forward into his arms and he rocks me back and forth, holding me against his broad chest for a very long time. It is the most beautiful feeling, being in his arms. God only knows how much serotonin is being released by this one.

  ‘We’ve missed you,’ Charlie whispers into my hair.

  ‘I’ve missed you both, too.’ I reluctantly withdraw. ‘You look shattered,’ I say, gazing up at his weary face. ‘Do you feel like a nightcap or do you want to head straight to bed?’

  ‘I’ll have a quick one.’ He follows me into the kitchen. ‘Nice place.’ He’s looking around slowly, taking everything in.

  I live in a middle-floor apartment in a terraced house, a ten-minute walk away from Chalk Farm underground station. There are two medium-sized bedrooms, one bathroom and a light, airy, open-plan living room and kitchen. My favourite thing about my place is the large sash windows that look straight out onto a couple of mature trees. The best time of year is spring, when the leaves start to bud. Sadly, they’ll all be gone soon, but autumn brings with it its own rewards.