‘It’s fine. No worries,’ I lie. I make my way towards the shop door, hoping Josh will take the hint and follow me. But he doesn’t.
‘How’re things up at the house?’ he asks jovially. ‘Are you busy?’
I usually have a lot of time for both Josh and Olivia, they’ve been a godsend to our little shop, but today I’m on borrowed time.
‘Yes we are. Very busy.’ I half smile and turn to the door again.
‘That’s great, and how’s the rehab centre going?’
‘It’s going well. Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but I didn’t buy a pay-and-display ticket and I think we should get back to the car as quickly as possible.’
‘Oh, of course,’ Josh says. ‘I’ll go get the trolley.’
Josh and I leave the shop and head towards my car, Josh pushing the metal trolley that’s used to move heavier objects around the shop.
When we arrive at the Range Rover, Joseph, our local traffic warden, is standing looking with interest at my ticketless car.
‘Oh, is this yours, Grace?’ he asks, seeing us hurrying along the path.
‘Yes, Joe, I’m unloading for the shop – closest I could get. Is that OK?’
‘Course it is!’ Joe replies, smiling at me. ‘Do you need a hand?’
With relief, I help Josh and Joe lift the parcel from the car, then Josh arranges it on his trolley. ‘You two coming in for a cuppa?’ he asks, as he begins to make his way slowly along the street pushing the metal trolley in front of him.
‘On duty, mate,’ Joe replies. ‘Can’t.’
‘Thanks for the offer, Josh,’ I call to his departing figure, ‘but not today, I have to be somewhere!’
‘No worries! Another time then,’ Josh calls and he continues happily down the street with his latest acquisition for the shop.
‘Somewhere important?’ Joe enquires as I close the boot and head around to the driver’s door.
‘Very,’ I reply, as I open the door. ‘Thanks for not giving me a ticket, Joe,’ I say as I climb into the driver’s seat. ‘Appreciate that.’
‘I couldn’t be giving the loveliest lady in Sandybridge a ticket now, could I?’ Joe grins.
‘Ah, you always were smooth, Joe!’ I smile at him.
‘Well you know if it wasn’t for your other half, I’d be asking you out,’ Joe says. ‘I’ve told you that before.’
‘You have indeed.’ I feel awkward. Joe has always made it quite clear that if I wasn’t happily married, he’d be right there. ‘Anyway, must be going. See you soon, Joe.’ I close my door, and Joe taps the side of the Range Rover as I pull out into the traffic.
But as I drive towards Lighthouse Cottage, I’m still thinking about Joe, my past relationships and how things could have been very different…
Part Three
2001
Twenty
‘Where on earth is this place, Grace? The back of beyond?’
I look over at the man driving me through Norfolk today. He’s wearing a navy suit – tailor-made; a pristine white shirt – designer-label; and a purple silk tie with matching socks – also designer; and he suits all of them. He turns to me and winks.
‘It might seem like that to you, my urban, city-dweller friend,’ I reply, trying to put on a stern voice, ‘but Sandybridge is my home, and I’ll thank you to talk kindly of it!’
I turn away from him to take in the view as we travel the last few miles through Norfolk towards the coast. Surrounding us is the greenness I always notice when I make this journey home; the never-ending trees that form tunnels for us to drive through, the farmers’ fields that house crops, cattle, horses and pigs, and scattered amongst this greenness the small towns and villages filled with warm terracotta-brick houses, churches, and large open village greens. And today we are spoilt as this vista of rural Norfolk unfolds before us, because we have the added bonus of the sun shining down on it all, to make it look extra special for our visit.
‘Not sulking with me are you, Grace?’ Simon asks as we join the A148 and follow the signs for Fakenham. ‘I was only having a joke.’
I turn to face him; Simon is unlike any other man I’ve dated – not that there have been an awful lot in my thirty years. For a start, he’s a fair bit older than me – he’ll be forty later this year – and he’s a lot more sensible. But I like that; I’d needed a steadying influence in my life, a life that had been pretty wild since I left university.
I’d met Simon on an archaeological dig I was taking part in in southern France, not long after I finished my studies, and we’d quickly bonded over our despair that we weren’t discovering much in what was suspected to be an early Norman settlement. We were the only ones on the dig who ever seemed to question that we might be wasting our time camping in the middle of nowhere night after night, spending our days digging and sifting minuscule areas of soil and finding very little for all our troubles. But if nothing else we gained a relationship from that miserable experience – eventually. It was years later when we bumped into each other again in New York and found out we were both working in the city. We’d agreed we must ‘hang out’ together sometime, and we’ve been hanging out in each other’s company ever since.
‘Of course not!’ I smile. ‘I’m just enjoying being back here again, it’s been some time since I came home for a visit.’
Fourteen months to be precise, since the awful day that had been Charlie’s father’s funeral.
Peter had a stroke, a bad one, and he’d been hospitalised immediately down in Norwich. But sadly there was nothing they could do, and he never left hospital again.
Charlie had been devastated, of course, and I’d done everything I could to help him at the time. But luckily for Charlie I wasn’t the only one he had to lean on, he had his new wife Louisa too.
It had all come as a bit of a surprise when Charlie phoned me to tell me he was getting married. I’d just started my job over in New York, and I hastily had to beg for time off to come home. I couldn’t possibly miss Charlie’s wedding, strange as it felt to think of him married. But his bride, Louisa, seemed a lovely girl, and we got on quite well in the short time I had to get to know her before heading back to New York.
Simon hadn’t come with me on either of those flying visits. We had barely even started dating when Charlie got married, and a funeral wasn’t the occasion to introduce him to my family and friends. But now was the right time, and I was full of excitement at the prospect.
‘Well, I’m pleased you’re pleased!’ Simon says, his dark eyes twinkling. ‘I’m always happy when you are, even if you do come from a town that’s light years from London!’
Simon and I shared a flat in Chelsea. Although I paid as much as I could towards the exorbitant rent, my salary as a curator for one of the galleries at the Victoria and Albert Museum didn’t pay anywhere near as well as Simon’s business searching out antiques for the wealthy. Simon was a go-getter in every sense of the word; he was energetic, enterprising and a highly successful businessman.
‘And here it is!’ I announce as we drive past the little sign declaring we’ve arrived in Sandybridge – Jewel of the Norfolk Coast.
I direct Simon to my old house and we pull up outside. I can see Mum twitching at the net curtains before we’ve even got out of the car.
‘Grace!’ she cries, running out of the door and down the path to hug me. ‘And this must be your Simon.’ She stands back to check Simon out, and nods approvingly. ‘Very nice, very nice indeed. Welcome, my dears!’ Then to my dismay Mum reaches out to hug Simon too, but Simon just smiles and wraps his long arms around Mum, pulling her close. ‘Thank you, Mrs Harper,’ he says over her shoulder, winking at me.
‘Oh no, dear, you must call me Janet,’ Mum insists, taking Simon by the hand and escorting him into the house. ‘Bob – that’s Grace’s dad – is waiting for us inside.’
I follow Mum and Simon into the house, and as we pass by the stairs I can’t help but look. But of course the area where Wilson’s basket us
ed to be is still dog-free. Mum replaced his basket some time ago with a small set of shelves to house her collection of Art Deco pottery.
I swallow hard. I still can’t get used to coming back here with no big hairy Wilson eager to greet me. He passed away in his sleep one night in 1995 when I was in Australia backpacking. By the time Mum had finally been able to break the news, in one of my rare phone calls home, Wilson’s ashes had already been scattered over Sandybridge beach by Charlie – another thing I had to be grateful to him for.
Mum and Dad hadn’t got another dog; much as they’d loved Wilson, I had been the reason they’d got him, and now I wasn’t around there didn’t seem much point getting another dog. Besides, I think they enjoyed being able to go off to auctions and house clearances at a moment’s notice without having to worry about who would look after Wilson, especially since Charlie now had his own family to care for so their dog-sitter was no longer available.
‘I still miss him too,’ Dad says, seeing me gazing sadly under the stairs. ‘The house isn’t the same without his panting and snoring.’
I hug Dad. Then he holds me back in his arms to look at me. ‘How are you, Grace?’ he asks. ‘Are you happy?’
I turn my gaze to the lounge where Mum is busy showing Simon family photographs, giving him a potted history of every person in every frame.
Simon is smiling politely, and making all the right noises in the right places, which is pleasing Mum all the more.
‘Yes,’ I say, turning to Dad and looking up at him. ‘Yes, I am.’
‘Good,’ Dad says. He nods in the direction of the lounge. ‘He seems like a nice fella.’
‘He is. Really nice. I like him – a lot.’
‘As long as he makes my Grace happy, then I’m happy,’ Dad says, hugging me again. ‘Now let’s go and rescue him from your mum before she scares him away!’
In the lounge Mum has laid on a huge afternoon tea for us: sandwiches with their crusts cut off, a selection of cakes, and lots of tea served with Mum’s best china service.
‘Did you make these delicious cream buns, Janet?’ Simon asks, as he finishes off his second cake.
‘Oh no, Simon,’ Mum says coyly. ‘They’re from the Lighthouse Bakery. Baking has never been my strong point, has it, Bob?’
Dad shakes his head, and give me a rueful smile.
‘Isn’t that the bakery your friend owns?’ Simon asks me.
‘Charlie – yes, it is.’
‘Ooh, he’s done ever so well for himself has Charlie,’ Mum says. ‘That bakery is all around the country now, and Charlie was telling me the other day he has plans to go international next.’
Simon nods. ‘Excellent. But Grace tells me they don’t run the business out of the lighthouse any more.’
‘Oh no, Charlie has a huge factory down near Norwich where they make everything now – better transportation links, see. But it’s still all his original recipes the cakes are made to. That’s why they’re so popular, because they all taste home-made.’
‘Sounds like you have your own Mr Kipling here!’
Mum nods proudly. ‘Like I said, Charlie has done very well for himself.’
‘And how about you, Simon?’ Dad asks. ‘What do you do?’
‘I have my own business sourcing antiques and collectables for clients who have a need for a specific objet d’art.’
Mum and Dad both prick up their ears. ‘Ooh, just like us!’ Mum says, smiling proudly.
‘I don’t think Simon deals in the sorts of things we do, Janet,’ Dad says. ‘I expect most of his items are top end.’
‘Well, most of my clients are quite wealthy,’ Simon says, looking uncomfortable. ‘But at the end of the day we’re all doing the same thing: providing a service to people who want a piece of the past.’
Simon may as well have said he was related to royalty; judging by the way Mum and Dad are gazing with admiration at him, his approval rating couldn’t be higher.
‘You’ll have to come and see our shop while you’re here, Simon,’ Mum offers.
‘Yes, come and have a look at the Harper family business, son. Maybe you can give us a few pointers.’
‘Oh, I doubt that. I’m sure you’re both doing very well on your own. But I would like to visit the shop. Grace has told me so much about it, and how it sparked her interest in history.’
‘Another cake,’ I say, thrusting the plate quickly under Simon’s nose. I shake my head vigorously at Mum and Dad while Simon deliberates between a vanilla slice and a cinnamon roll, praying they won’t tell him the truth.
‘Talking of that,’ Dad says, winking at me. ‘Have you heard from Danny recently?’
I glare at him.
‘That’s one of the reasons we’re here, actually.’ I glance at Simon, who smiles at me between bites of vanilla slice. ‘It’s Danny’s charity that’s holding the ball we’re attending tomorrow night at Sandybridge Hall.’
‘Oh yes, of course it is,’ Mum says, nodding. ‘He’s done brilliant things with that charity since the accident.’ Mum whispers the word as if it’s toxic.
‘Remember I told you about Danny and the fire,’ I remind Simon. ‘His legs were paralysed after a beam fell on them in the fire at Sandybridge Hall, and he went on to set up a charity to help disabled teenagers have more opportunities in life.’
Simon nods. ‘Sounds like a fine fellow.’
‘Oh, Danny is a lovely boy,’ Mum says fondly. ‘But he suffered terrible injuries that night. Dreadful, it was,’ she continues, her hand pressed to her chest dramatically. ‘The fire brigade got to him in time to save his life, but sadly they weren’t able to save his legs. Been in a wheelchair ever since.’
‘That’s terrible,’ Simon sympathises, as always saying exactly the right thing.
‘It was. Changed him though, didn’t it, Grace?’ Mum looks to me for support. ‘Some people said for the better! Danny was a lot… humbler after his accident. A lot easier to live with, his mum said.’
Simon just nods this time.
‘Did you know he was Grace’s boyfriend once?’ Mum asks innocently.
‘Was he now?’ Simon’s eyes twinkle mischievously as he looks to me. ‘That part you didn’t tell me, Grace.’
‘No need,’ I reply hurriedly. ‘It was a long time ago, and we’re here because Danny’s charity’s a worthy cause, not because I dated him once upon a time.’
But it will be good to see him again, I think. In fact it will be good to catch up with everyone again. I never thought I’d say it, but I’ve come to miss Sandybridge now that I no longer live here.
‘You said the ball was one of the reasons you were here,’ Dad asks, looking between Simon and me. ‘What was the other?’
I look at Simon. He nods his reply.
‘Because of this!’ I say, twisting the ring on my finger to reveal the rather large diamond I’ve had hidden in my left palm since I arrived. ‘Mum, Dad, I— I mean we are engaged!’
Twenty-One
It seems funny, staying in the spare room while we’re here, instead of my old room. But my old room only has a single bed, whereas the spare room has a double, which Simon is currently sprawled out on, taking a nap.
I tiptoe across the landing so as not to disturb him and open the door to my old bedroom for a look. It’s only now that it hits me: this isn’t my room any more, it’s a storeroom for items my parents can’t find a home for elsewhere. Where there used to be posters of my favourite bands, actors and movie stars, Mum has hung a series of quite dull botanical prints. And the wardrobe, which used to hold all my clothes, is filled with paperwork, magazines, and Dad’s old cricket stuff. But what had I expected? I’m thirty now; I could hardly expect Mum and Dad to keep my room as some sort of shrine to my teenage years.
I’m just turning to leave when I notice something poking out from under a stack of old curtains on top of the chest of drawers. I go and lift the corner of the curtains, and there it is, about the only thing to remain in this room in
the same place it had been when I was last here – Remy.
I carefully remove the curtains and place them on the bed with the other junk, then I turn my attention to the old typewriter that had predicted, advised and sometimes tarnished my younger years.
‘Well, well, well,’ I whisper, like a detective confronting a criminal. ‘You’re still here then?’
Remy as always stares silently back at me.
‘Nothing to say for yourself today?’ I ask in a mocking voice. Then I feel bad. No, I hadn’t liked some of what Remy had told me when I was young. Back then I felt he’d given me bad advice on more than one occasion. But with hindsight it struck me that his seemingly dodgy advice had often led to an outcome that was good for someone else.
Charlie was the obvious case in point; it was rumoured his bakery company had made him a millionaire. I wasn’t sure how much of that was true – Charlie wasn’t the sort to brag about money or splash his cash around – but certainly he never seemed short of money when I saw him.
Would all that success have come about if life had taken him along the path he was on when I first met him?
And then there was Danny. He would have been nowhere near Sandybridge Hall that night if I hadn’t insisted we try to stop the party. But as a result of his injuries, Danny had set up a charity that had helped countless teenagers, raising more money than even Charlie had in the bank.
A phrase from the last letter Remy sent me pops into my mind:… life isn’t always as clear-cut as it seems. Sometimes good comes from bad.
‘You could be right about that, Remy,’ I whisper. The diamond on my finger catches the light from the tungsten bulb above. I look at it for a moment, then I look at Remy. ‘What about me, Remy? What should I do next?’
Simon had proposed to me in one of our favourite restaurants in London in a very romantic way, surprising me with a ring hidden in my dessert. I did love him; I knew 100 per cent that I did. But what if I wasn’t making the right decision, the one that would put me on the right path, the same path that Charlie and Danny now seemed to be on?
Letters from Lighthouse Cottage Page 15