‘We’d planned to be out by the old pier today,’ Dylan said, as the waitress settled the plates on their table. ‘You know the one that burned down?’
‘You mean the west pier,’ she said, ‘with the starlings.’
‘Yes, that’s it. But with the weather today we had to change tack. We stuck with the outdoors – we had to, it’s for the autumn edition so it’s all coats and scarves – but we took the photos under the arches down by the sea instead.’
‘Sounds like fun,’ Maggie said, before swallowing another delicious oyster.
‘You know what, once the rain had stopped it actually was. There were some great people. I’m remembering a lot of what I used to love about England.’
He looked awkward for a moment, then took her hand. Maggie didn’t know whether she should pull away or not, but the truth was it felt nice. She wanted to stay just like that.
‘I still hate cracking these critters open, you know,’ Dylan said, taking his hand back and pointing to the lobster on the seafood platter.
‘Here, let me,’ Maggie said. She took his plate and cracked the shell, scooping out the lobster meat for him and handing it back. ‘You always were a wimp with those.’
He shrugged, smiling. ‘Are you still singing, Maggie?’ he asked, picking up a forkful of lobster meat.
‘Yes, sort of,’ she said. It wasn’t, strictly speaking, a lie. ‘Every so often,’ she said. Like in the shower. To the orchids. Or to Maisy. But she hadn’t sung a note to anyone older than her niece since signing her divorce papers. The moment she’d written her name on that line, reality had hit on all fronts; from then on she’d decided that singing was childish and indulgent, and belonged to a life she was saying goodbye to. She’d made a bit of money at it over the years, but with Dylan gone she needed to make enough to live on her own, and fast. She’d put away her music and put all her energy towards making her way in the flower business.
‘I’m glad you haven’t stopped,’ he said. ‘You’ve always had an amazing voice, Maggie. I still hear it sometimes, in my head I mean.’
She fell quiet, embarrassed by the compliment, especially as she’d lied to earn it. Dylan’s dark blue eyes fixed on hers. He reached over and touched her face, his hand lingering on her cheek. His touch was warm on her skin and made her long to be closer to him. The rush of emotion caught her unaware.
‘Maggie, I wish I could take back how I hurt you.’ His eyes wandered over her face, taking it in. ‘But I know I can’t. I made some really big mistakes, and I’ve learned from them. I’m hoping that we can find a way to start things anew.’
Maggie looked into his eyes. He seemed sincere, and things did feel different; Dylan was calmer, she was stronger. The anger she’d felt during that first meeting was dissipating with every word he said. She didn’t need Dylan, didn’t need anyone; but as her eyes wandered to his mouth, and warmth spread through her body, she knew that she definitely wanted him.
‘Anew,’ she said, the wave of longing taking over. ‘I suppose we could try that.’
Dylan’s face lit up. ‘To new beginnings,’ he said, raising his glass. She felt a rush of adrenalin as she chinked hers against it.
Maggie woke up the next morning wrapped in the crisp white sheets of Dylan’s hotel bed. She was curled into his body and for a moment it felt like he’d never left. He was already awake and gently ruffled her hair. ‘Morning sweetie,’ he said.
Maggie took in the unfamiliar surroundings and started slightly – sun was streaming in through the windows and she could hear the waves crashing outside.
‘Hello,’ she replied, relaxing and snuggling in closer. Dylan tipped up her chin and kissed her gently on the mouth, reminding her of all the pleasure of last night – the shower, the rug, the sofa … The physical connection was still there, and last night had proved it was stronger than ever.
Her phone alarm beeped, loud. ‘Ahhh. I’ve got to get …’ she started saying, as reality began to kick in. What was she doing here? On the strength of a few words, she had gone back on all the other years of trying to erase Dylan from her life.
‘Yep, me too,’ he said. He kissed her again, lingering this time.
It did feel good, and sort of right.
‘OK, I’m going to jump in the shower,’ Maggie said. ‘And then we’re both out of here.’
Maggie opened the shop and flicked the lights to bring the place to life. Out in the back room she found the bag of clothes she’d brought in weeks ago, meaning to take them to the charity shop, and rifled through them. Black slacks and a pistachio v-neck top. The loose trousers were going to look a bit odd with the heels she was still wearing, but they would have to do. Putting the kettle on to boil, she got changed and poured herself a cup of Earl Grey. The motorway had been clear and even after stopping to get a pastry from the bakery, she’d arrived at the shop earlier than usual.
As she took her first sip of tea, and a bite of the Danish, she recalled how she and Dylan had left each other that morning. Her car had been parked on the seafront and he had kissed her goodbye there.
‘Maggie, I don’t want to jump the gun, but this feels like the start of something good, doesn’t it?’
All the feelings she’d had when they were together had flooded back the moment they’d kissed. The chemistry, the buzz, the sensation that her other half – the man who knew her inside-out – was back. Maybe, just maybe, she wouldn’t have to deal with life alone, after all.
After a beat, she’d nodded and his face had lit up in response. It was difficult. She found it so hard to let go – to give in, and to trust that whatever was happening was happening for a reason. But if she didn’t do that, was she really giving love a chance at all?
Dylan had looked gorgeous, with his hair still ruffled. Just thinking of him made her melt inside. When she had finally pulled away and got into her car he had stood there, watching from the pavement as she drove away down Marine Parade. She had caught sight of him in her rear-view mirror, flagging a white and green taxi and getting in.
The jangling shop bell announced Anna’s arrival. Maggie looked over and was met with a cheery wave.
‘Morning, Boss,’ Anna called out. She looked smart in leather boots and a knee-length jersey dress.
‘Hi, Anna.’ Maggie said, brushing pastry crumbs from her top. ‘You look nice.’
‘You sound surprised,’ Anna laughed, her big blue eyes shining. ‘But yes, I thought I’d try and make a bit more effort, stop being such a scruff all the time.’
‘I like it, it suits you.’
The morning flew by, helped by a sudden influx of customers – a coachload of elderly French tourists who’d stopped off in Charlesworth on a tour of Sussex towns and villages. After they’d finally filtered out, arms full of plants and blooms, Maggie saw a familiar handsome face come to the shop door and went over to open it.
‘Hello, Jack,’ she said, smiling and greeting him with a kiss. He was clean shaven today and smelt good, she couldn’t help noticing. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Anna’s face light up in interest.
‘Come in, come in,’ she led Jack into the shop. He shook Anna’s hand, introducing himself, and then looked around.
‘Nice place,’ he said, admiring the displays.
‘Thanks. We do our best,’ Maggie said, giving Anna a wink. ‘What can I help you with?’ Maggie asked, her voice bright and cheerful. In contrast, Jack’s brow was creased and it was obvious that there was something on his mind.
‘It’s Lucy,’ he said at last.
‘Shall we pop out the back for a chat?’ Maggie asked, and he nodded.
‘Maggie, she’s freaking out about the wedding,’ Jack said, as soon as they were alone.
Maggie had seen this a couple of times before. In fact, managing Bridezilla wobbles was one of her specialities. ‘What is it she’s worried about?’
‘The thing is,’ Jack said, ‘she’s worried about you and Owen.’
Maggie’s heart sank. L
ucy’s wedding was by far the biggest event in her autumn schedule, she didn’t want any hitches.
‘What about me and Owen?’ Maggie asked, already guessing the answer. A memory of his taunting face flashed through her mind.
‘She thinks you don’t share the same vision,’ Jack said, shrugging his shoulders to show he wasn’t taking sides. ‘She says it was obvious you didn’t click the other day.’
Maggie could have kicked herself. She knew she should have been the bigger person and just ignored Owen’s arrogance, but she’d been so annoyed at the way he spoke to her she’d found it hard to hide.
‘I mean,’ Jack continued, ‘I know Owen isn’t the easiest person to get on with, and weddings aren’t really his cup of tea, like he said – he has really strong opinions about environmental stuff. But underneath it all he’s a good bloke.’
How far underneath, Maggie thought to herself. She stayed silent and heard Jack out.
‘Anyway,’ Jack stumbled on. ‘Lucy says if you can’t work together she’s going to have to lose one of you.’
A wave a panic rushed through Maggie. With Jack and Owen’s long-standing friendship she knew it had to be her that Lucy was considering giving the boot. She couldn’t lose this. Lucy and Jack’s wedding was her big chance – her shot at getting the publicity she needed, the kind of exposure that could bring her a serious investor.
‘I see,’ Maggie said, swallowing her pride. ‘Thanks for coming here and letting me know. And of course I’m keen to put things right. As it happens, I really don’t have a problem working with Owen, I like his designs. I think perhaps the issue was that we were both just a little too excited about the wedding, that’s all.’
Well, that and his stuck-up, superior attitude, Maggie thought.
‘Maybe the best way forward,’ Maggie said, ‘would be if you could set up a meeting with the two of us and Owen, so we can smooth out any misunderstandings?’
Jack nodded and looked relieved. Maggie might be gentle in some aspects of her life, but business wasn’t one of them. She would try playing fair with Owen – but if that didn’t work, well, there were other ways.
Chapter 17
Jenny
I dipped my paintbrush in water and painted in Charlie’s ears and the darker parts of his face. He was the first chinchilla I’d ever painted, but he was turning out to be pretty cute.
My children’s book was finally starting to take shape. I’d been coming around to Dad’s a couple of evenings a week after work, when Dan was working late, and going up to my old room to work on it. I’d told Dad and Chris that I was working on a project, but hadn’t told them what, and I hadn’t said a word to Dan yet. The book was my little secret. When I was drawing, all the other things on my mind drifted away – Zoe’s increasingly rude and unreasonable demands; how to make ends meet for the wedding …
Putting together the book also took me back to the time after Mum left, when I was six and Dad was sometimes too tired to read to me. I’d get cosy in bed and look through my picture books before I fell asleep, Dad asleep next door and Chris downstairs. Those pictures and stories had made everything seem OK and helped me forget how much I was missing Mum. Now I liked the idea that maybe I could do that for another boy or girl somewhere – take them off to a different world for a while where they were safe and happy, whatever their real life was like.
I’d mostly been working on pictures of Jake so far, sketching out different poses for the little boy before trying the best ones in paint. He was chubby and sweet – keeping quiet at the dinner table, waiting for night to fall so he could go on another adventure with his chinchilla friend. I had my iPod on as I worked, and was listening to a summertime playlist Chloe had made. It was full of upbeat tunes, and shut out the sounds of Dad banging around in his workshop downstairs. I heard someone call out and removed my headphones.
‘Jennnnnny,’ Chris’s voice came. ‘Are you even still up there?’
‘Sorry, Chris. Yes I’m here!’ I called back. I put the painting things to one side and went over to the banister to talk to him on the floor below.
‘Ah, you are there,’ he said, without his usual smile.
‘Headphones,’ I said, pointing to my ears, ‘couldn’t hear a thing, sorry.’
‘Ah, cool, fine. Dinner’s up, if you’re hungry.’
‘Great, I’m starving actually. I’ll be right down.’
When I got down to the kitchen, Dad was dishing up chicken stir fry onto three plates.
‘You OK, love?’ he said. ‘How’s your project going?’
‘Well, thanks,’ I said, taking a seat. As if it were something important, like research, rather than rodent-painting. ‘I’ve done quite a lot today.’
Dad sat down and Chris wheeled up to the space at the end. Dad put our plates in front of us without saying a word. I glanced over at Chris, looking for some clue from him.
‘Dad, come on.’ Chris looked serious. ‘Are you going to say something or am I?’
‘What is it with the awkwardness?’ I said.
‘There’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about, sweetheart,’ Dad said.
‘Oh, is there?’ So that’s why he’d been acting so oddly lately. ‘What’s up, Dad? Is it about the wedding? Look, I’ve told you before, I’m not expecting you to pay towards it. Dan and I have it just about covered. OK, not quite but we will soon.’
‘It’s not that, Jen.’ Dad looked down. He looked tired right now, older than he should.
‘What Dad’s trying to tell you,’ Chris said, sitting up straighter. ‘Is that Mum called him the other day.’
‘Mum?’ I said, my voice hoarse. I put down the fork that had been en route to my mouth. Mum wasn’t in touch with us. She didn’t call up, for a chat, just to see how we were doing. She hadn’t even sent a birthday card for ten years.
‘When? What did she want?’ My chest and face burning hot.
‘About two weeks ago,’ Dad said. ‘I wasn’t really expecting it,’ as ever, master of the understatement, ‘you know it’s been twenty years since we last saw her? And ten since those last birthday cards.’
Chris put his hand on mine and squeezed it, he didn’t even have to look at me to know what I was thinking. Dad obviously felt the need to say all this out loud, maybe it was his way of making it more real. Chris and I didn’t need reminding though, the dates were engraved on both of our minds.
When we were kids we’d tried to forget about Mum. Dad was so busy most of the time, keeping an eye on me and making sure Chris went along to his special playgroup and doctor’s appointments. He’d keep us entertained with games and activities so that we didn’t have much time to sit around talking or thinking about it. But looking back now there was something missing. Dad had changed. It was as if he was stuck on tramlines, taking us to the places we needed to be but otherwise keeping to the house. If he had any time to himself he’d be out the back with his carpentry, sawing and nailing something together. Friends and family would call up, or come by, but he’d hardly say a word to them, just ‘yes’ or ‘no’ or ‘fine thanks’. Even as a child I knew that he just wanted all those people to leave him alone. We were a unit and we muddled along together. We got along OK. Most of the time we were happy, in fact. In spite of the challenges he faced, Chris always wore a smile and we used to play together a lot. We were just like other kids.
Then one day when I was seven, Emma, pretty and slim and the most popular girl in my class, came up to me in the playground. My heart had lifted, I was finally going to be asked to join in her game of French elastics. ‘Laura dared me to ask you something,’ she said, a laugh bubbling up in her voice. I could see her friends on the other side of the playground watching on. ‘Why’s your mum never there to pick you up after school?’ She tilted her face waiting for my response.
My alice band was really digging into my head, and the plastic teeth were sharp. I tried to think of an answer. The stupid hairband was too small, I thought as I moved the
side bits, I’d told Dad the red one was better. Emma came closer to me. I could see all the freckles on her nose now. She smelled of strawberry Hubba Bubba. ‘Is it because you don’t have a mum?’ she asked, glancing back at Laura and the other girls, who were laughing.
I’d come home crying that night. I can still remember the raw feeling in my throat from sobbing, it had stung as I gulped my juice while Dad calmed me down. That was when he told me what had happened: that Mum had loved us all, but it hadn’t been working living together, and one day Dad had come home and she wasn’t there any more. As teenagers Chris and I found out from Uncle Dave, Mum’s brother, that soon after leaving us Mum had moved in with an ex-boyfriend of hers in Eastbourne. My guess is it was actually right after she left, but Uncle Dave didn’t say that. I think he was probably trying to soften the blow.
‘I’m sorry that your mum didn’t stick it out with your dad, because he’s a good bloke,’ he’d said. ‘But we all make our choices.’ Uncle Dave was a Hell’s Angel. His choice was to spend his life on the road with other bikers, never tied down, so we didn’t see him much, but Chris and I had always enjoyed it when he stopped by.
‘I couldn’t believe it when I heard her voice.’ Dad shook his head and looked away, recalling the recent memory. ‘But there she was.’ He looked back at me. ‘Our phone number’s never changed, has it? I suppose she knew it by heart.’
‘Are you really telling me she called two weeks ago,’ I said, his words finally sinking in, ‘and you didn’t think to mention it till now?’
‘I know,’ Dad said. ‘I’m sorry. You just seem to have a lot on your plate at the moment. I should have said something sooner.’
I felt sick to my stomach. I turned to face Chris.
‘Look, Jen, I only heard about this yesterday. And it’s weird for me too, believe me.’
‘It was you she really wanted to speak to, love,’ Dad said, looking at me, his eyes weary and sad. ‘It was actually you she called about.’
The Vintage Teacup Club Page 11