Heart in the Right Home

by Lisa Hill

  Chapter Eleven

  ‘Thank you for a wonderful evening, girls,’ Louise smiled at her beautiful daughters, fast turning into young women. She’d had a lovely evening, she kept reminding herself.

  ‘That’s okay, Mum,’ Cerys said, her long chestnut hair falling over her shoulder as she bent to clean up the last remnants of chocolate sauce from her pudding with her finger.

  They might look like young women, but Cerys still had the manners of a six-year-old. Which made Louise sad, in a way, because those days were over a decade ago and life was so different now. Forty-two years old today and no husband sharing her birthday with her. Was it going to be like this from now on, now the girls were growing up?

  ‘You’d better get off home,’ Louise said, checking her watch.

  ‘Won’t you come?’ Megan asked, standing up to reveal her taught, bare midriff. The fashion seemed to have gone very ‘Nineties’ this year. All cropped tops with baggy, loose trousers and wedge-heeled trainers or skimpy vests, with a denim pinafore dress over the top. All the things she had worn as a teenager.

  It was making her feel old.

  ‘As it’s my birthday,’ Louise plastered on a beaming smile, belying how she felt inside, ‘I think I’ll just stay for one more glass of red.’

  ‘Yes, just wait around for another hour, for Dad to disappoint you even more.’

  Louise’s smiled faltered. She was stunned. Her eldest daughter was intelligent and perceptive, but was it that obvious to her how Louise felt? She’d tried to hide how she’d been feeling about the day’s events. The girls didn’t need the stress of their parents not getting on, on top of exam stress, body conscious stress, boys stress, did they?

  ‘Don’t look like that, Mum,’ Cerys said, her tone as disappointed as Louise felt. ‘You know he should have been here this evening.’

  Louise inwardly groaned about what she was going to say next. ‘He’s under a lot of pressure at the moment; worried that this new development will affect our income at the stores.’ After Johnnie prioritising VOCAB over her today, she should be the last one defending him but just because she felt that way, didn’t mean the girls should have a negative opinion of their father. ‘University doesn’t come cheap, you know.’ She risked a glance at Megan whose eyes were full of sympathy.

  ‘I’ll be taking out the full student loan; you don’t need to worry about me.’ Megan pushed in her chair. ‘You concentrate on your future, Mum.’ She leant over the table and kissed Louise on the cheek.

  Louise forced her lips into something resembling a smile, feeling very much like the daughter in their mother-daughter relationship. ‘Thanks, girls, I’ll see you in the morning. Night,’ she managed, battling back tears.

  She watched her two young feminists weave their way through the tables, their long, loose hair swishing around their narrow waists. Oh, to have that all over again. Be on the brink of the beginning, the end of childhood and the exciting, yet slightly scary, verge of the brave new world of adulthood. Would she do anything differently? She really wasn’t sure. She was so proud of what her daughters were becoming, proud of her capabilities as a mother to have reared such eloquent, assertive individuals. But at what price? Here she was, on her forty-second birthday, celebrating alone. Was she being selfish? Should she have just gone to the meeting to support Johnnie?

  It didn’t feel like she was being selfish, though. It felt like something more. Something which had been nagging at her for quite a while now. Months, years possibly. The feeling that she had put up and shut up for the girls to have a happy upbringing. Always doing what Johnnie and the girls wanted.

  But what about me?

  ‘Come to settle up?’

  Without realising it she had left her table and drifted towards the bar. Behind it, Duncan Campbell was standing there, his midnight blue, smiling eyes twinkling back at her.

  ‘Um, actually, I’ll have another glass of red, if that’s okay?’

  He shrugged and put down the pint glass he was polishing. ‘You don’t need my permission, lass,’ he said, in that silky, smooth Scottish accent of his.

  ‘Pah!’ Louise laughed. ‘Lass! You make me sound like one of my girls.’

  ‘Ach, you must have had them young; I dare say you’re still the right side of forty, still a lass in my books.’ He poured her wine.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said, as he placed it in front of her. ‘Forty-two today, actually.’

  ‘Ahhh, many happy returns.’ He appraised her through fresh eyes. ‘A woman after all. Life truly has begun for you then.’

  ‘Mmmm.’ Louise took a sip of her wine, feeling slightly awkward. Was that what all of this was; a mid-life crisis? Had it been creeping up on her, this dissatisfaction, since her fortieth?

  ‘No Johnnie celebrating with you then?’

  Louise turned around and looked towards the pub door. ‘Sadly not. He’s gone to that VOCAB meeting tonight.’

  Duncan’s gaze followed hers to the closed door. He picked up his tea towel again. ‘Well, park yourself on one of those stools then; I’ll keep you company until he gets here.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Louise said, upending herself onto a high bar stool, feeling a mixture of gratefulness for someone to talk to, mingling with awkwardness of what she would talk to Duncan about, all vying with the feeling of hurt and resentment that Johnnie still hadn’t made it to the pub for a quick drink after his meeting.

  ‘So, have you had a good birthday?’ Duncan asked.

  What a loaded question. Louise took another sip of her drink while she tried to formulate an answer. Had she had a good day? No husband to greet her in bed this morning, a new employee she knew nothing about and she’d spent an afternoon at Clun Park, alone with her own thoughts, trying to decide whether she was a selfish, self-absorbed, ungrateful wife or if she had the right to feel neglected by her husband’s behaviour today.

  It was all very confusing.

  ‘On balance,’ Louise slowly replied thinking about the fact the girls had hurried their revision this evening so they could all pile down here, to the Clunderton Arms, where she’d enjoyed a delicious meal with lots of wine, ‘I have, thank you. My girls gave me a new tool box this evening, to keep all my cake decorating utensils in, on top of the presents they’d already given me this morning. All-in-all, I’ve been thoroughly spoilt.’

  By my girls.

  ‘That cake you made for Tom and Jude was quite something. You really have a talent for it, don’t you?’ He looked down at her whilst reaching to place a glass up on the rack.

  ‘Thank you,’ Louise said, feeling a warmth spread through her which she wasn’t sure whether was the effect of too much red wine or a glow from being paid a compliment, for once. ‘I do actually. When I’m decorating cakes, I’m not thinking about all my problems.’

  ‘Problems?’ Duncan didn’t look up from the next glass he was now polishing.

  Louise felt a creeping blush spread up her neck to join the warm glow she’d been experiencing. ‘Oh, you know Cerys is taking her GSCEs and Megan’s taking her A-levels. Lots of revision stress. Plus,’ she hurried on, ‘you know what it’s like running your own business; barely five minutes to yourself. Then Johnnie’s worried about this new development and, if permission is granted for a fish and chip shop and a corner shop, how it will affect our business?’

  Duncan carefully placed the glass on the bar and leaned in towards her. She looked up into those twinkling, bear like eyes. They were kind eyes.

  ‘Louise,’ he said softly. ‘Those all sound like other people’s problems.’ He paused. ‘Not yours.’

  She looked down and rubbed her finger around the rim of her wine glass, acutely aware he was still looking at her. It felt uncomfortable. It felt like he could see through all her armour that she wore to protect herself, the smile she plastered on every day, the war paint mascara. Like he was reaching into the piece of her she kept locked up and didn’t dare acknowledge, even to herself.

  ‘They were all in here
tonight, actually,’ Duncan continued.

  Louise mentally shook herself from the grenade of thoughts which Duncan had casually thrown into her mind, confirming what she already knew but refused to admit; she put everyone before herself. She looked up. ‘Who was?’

  ‘The VOCAB lot.’

  She frowned. ‘Before the meeting?’

  ‘Yes, not all of them; we certainly don’t see the likes of Hilary Preston-Jones in here without it being a very special occasion, but quite a few of them, like the Morrises up in Rosefields and, interestingly enough, Jack Sellwood. Can’t say that’s going to go down well in the Hardwicke camp. Unless he’s come to spy on what’s going on.’

  Drums were crashing around in Louise’s head. ‘How about you; how do you feel about the new development?’ She was itching to ask if Johnnie had been with them, but she needed to play it cool. Breezy. As if it didn’t matter to her.

  When it totally did.

  ‘Ach, all a storm in a teacup if you ask me. If you’re a business owner, you can’t oppose progress. Plus, no-one ever risks drink driving anymore, it’ll be more footfall in the village so possibly an increase in customers to me.’

  Louise nodded. Secretly this was how she felt. At the stores they prided themselves on luxury items without a luxury price tag and the tearooms were a big draw to parents after morning school runs. A budget mini-mart style operation wasn’t likely to make a big indent into their profit, as long as they strived to keep the customers coming to them.

  Only, Johnnie didn’t see it that way.

  Louise cleared her throat. ‘Was, um, Johnnie with them?’ Her heart was in her mouth. She fiddled with the stem of her glass, looking at her fingers twisting it as her stomach twisted in time.

  ‘Aye, he was. Didn’t he tell you he was coming here first?’

  With as much energy as she could muster, she rallied herself with one of her blasé smiles to hide her pain. ‘He probably mentioned it and I just forgot.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Gosh, is that the time; I’ll be complaining how tired I am in the morning. At least Johnnie did let me have a lie-in this morning.’ She swigged back the rest of the wine. ‘I must pay you,’ she said, fumbling in her handbag for her purse. She ripped her debit card out and placed it on the bar.

  Duncan’s hand came down on top of hers, enveloping it. She was overcome with a feeling of reassurance.

  ‘It’s on me.’

  ‘Oh, no, I couldn’t.’ Louise went to take her hand away but found she couldn’t. Not because he was keeping any grip on her, just that if felt comforting.

  ‘A birthday treat, from me,’ he said, squeezing her hand gently before taking his away.

  She suddenly felt lost again.

  ‘Thank you.’ She didn’t want to argue. He was being kind. Apart from the girls, she hadn’t experienced this feeling in a long time. ‘I’d best be off,’ she said, averting her gaze from his meaningful stare. She picked up her tool kit which she’d placed on the floor next to the stool.

  ‘Perhaps you should have a little play with that tomorrow? Take your mind off things.’ he said, nodding at the box.

  Louise nodded vigorously. ‘Yes, perhaps I should. Thank you, Duncan.’ She smiled again and headed for the main entrance, her brain whirring away in thought.

  ‘Louise,’ Duncan called.

  She turned to see him leaning against the bar again. His forearms all muscular and taut, his thick, dark hair swept back from his face, his brow furrowed and intense.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘You’re always welcome to call in for a chat, you know, if you’re passing.’ He smiled. Those mystical, dark, eyes glittering back at her.

  Louise swallowed hard. ‘Thank you,’ she squeaked. She yanked open the door and rushed out onto the high street, the evening breeze cooling her burning cheeks. What had just happened there? She didn’t know whether to be excited or scared. But as she scurried along the high street, towards the stores, trying to quell the rising anger she was feeling towards Johnnie – that he had managed to call in for a pint earlier but not with her, for her birthday – Louise couldn’t help but feel a sense of hope that someone cared about her.

  Chapter Twelve

  Rebecca flicked the indicator and swung her little, black A-Class Mercedes into Saint Mary’s Walk. She could have made the journey by foot, really, seeing it was only a hop, skip and a jump over West Park and down Montpellier Hill, but she had a shedload of brochures and a sign to erect at the entrance to the carpark of the property where she was hosting an open house this Saturday morning. A shabby little apartment on the corner where the road met with Esplanade. Not too far from her apartment, actually, but her block was far more elegant. This one was built in the early sixties and oozed retirement chic. Even the gardens were well manicured with begonias in the border.

  She wrenched up her handbrake – after sliding into the nearest space to the entrance – and mentally shook herself. She had to stop thinking like this! That was old Rebecca, talking like she was above such things as open houses and dealing with properties with less than a five-hundred-thousand-pound price tag. She’d actually volunteered to come here this morning; she needed a reality check. That and James had conveniently rostered himself to work the same Saturday as her, despite her protestations that it was not sensible to have two senior staff on one weekend and two junior staff another.

  Only she’d come to regret her decision of being less judgemental and more of a team player as soon as she’d found out that the open morning was being jointly run with HG1 who were also marketing the property. She’d seen Drew and Lottie around, frequently bumping into them at viewings, but she would always just wave and rush to her car, or into the property, avoiding actual conversation and the opportunity for one of them to raise the subject of Edward.

  She looked over at the entrance to the block of apartments and swallowed hard.

  Please don’t let it be Lottie.

  Lottie was, well there was no way of sugar coating this even if Rebecca was trying to turn over a new leaf; Lottie was downright nosey. Which was exactly why she’d been avoiding her. She’d want to know everything. How Rebecca had been so stupid to let it go so far with Edward. And if anyone had a canny knack of making you let your guard down, it was Lottie.

  A bejewelled hand with neat, French, manicured nails rapped on the window, making Rebecca jump.

  ‘Cooeee! It’s me!’

  Rebecca inwardly groaned. Karma really was a bitch.

  She plastered on a smile. ‘Lottie, darling, how are you?’

  Lottie leaned down, her thick, lustrous, blonde hair hanging heavy over her shoulders. The sun crowned her head, making her look like an angel. There was a time when Rebecca pitied Lottie, clutching hold of something resembling a career on top of raising three children, but now, Rebecca had to concede, Lottie had it all. Her own business, a husband who loved her and something Rebecca hadn’t really realised she had any desire for until recently; children.

  ‘How are you, lovely?’

  ‘Good, thank you.’ Rebecca couldn’t bring herself to look at Lottie, she knew Lottie would be appraising her body language. Instead she undid her seatbelt and made to get out of the car.

  ‘Here, I got you this, it’s a skinny one.’

  Rebecca was taken aback as she took the paper coffee cup from Lottie. ‘Thank you, but, how—’

  ‘I phoned the office to ask who would be meeting me here.’

  ‘That’s really kind of you.’ This was silly, Rebecca could almost feel tears springing to her eyes. Since Edward had left she’d had plenty of time to appraise her life and realise that she was in fact, lonely. She had a dwindling circle of friends which she was guilty of neglecting the entire time she had been seeing Edward. It felt like a punishment. An appropriate one, perhaps.

  ‘No problem.’ Lottie turned on her heel and clicked-clacked back to the old rickety-rackety Land Rover, belonging to Jack, which she still seemed to prefer driving than her people carrier. ‘We’d
better get set up; applicants will be arriving any moment. Fifty quid says you can’t sell it this morning!’

  Rebecca laughed. A hollow one. Lottie was referring to the gauntlet Edward had set down to her last year, that she couldn’t sell a property on a Saturday. He did it to everyone. Lottie had done it in style by selling Clunderton Hall to Tom Thorpe. Everyone had thought she was having an affair with him and she’d had to fight hard to prove the gossips wrong. Rebecca knew how that felt.

  But she didn’t have a reason to prove them wrong; she was just guilty as charged.

  Louise leant on the counter in the tearooms and her gaze drifted through the open French doors, where customers were enjoying the prolonged spell of sunshine out on the decking in the garden, across the fields towards Clunderton Hall. Johnnie was right, the new development would spoil their view. Did it matter, though? As Duncan said; what was a little healthy competition? Louise had thought about little else since Thursday evening. Not the proposed development, however, more her brief encounter with Duncan. It occupied her every waking thought. In fact, it had woken her at night. The way he’d enveloped his hand around hers, his eyes looking deep into her soul. He knew how she felt. He hadn’t vocalised as much, but he knew. The open invitation to return for a chat anytime she wanted weighed heavy on her mind. Duncan was a good-looking man. He must be over fifty, but age had yet to catch up with him. A smattering of grey around the edges of his jet-black hair, which swept backwards, flopping back down to frame his stubbled, toned face with prominent cheekbones and jawline. The only tell-tale signs of age were when he smiled, and crow’s feet formed around his eyes, adding to the warmth of his smile. He was muscular too, under his standard uniform of a well-cut, designer shirt and faded denim jeans. She didn’t know whether the feeling she was experiencing at the thought of casually returning to the pub was one of sheer fear or the thrill of excitement.

  ‘Ah, there you are, Louise.’