‘Is that a yes?’ Charlie asks, grinning from ear to ear. ‘Only you haven’t said anything for the last few minutes.’
I still don’t speak. Instead I pull my hand away from his and reach into the pocket of my dress, where I retrieve a folded sheet of typed paper.
I open it up and show it to Charlie. He looks at me, somewhat mystified, then he reads it aloud:
Dear Grace,
The time has come.
The one who owns the place you love is the one that will make you happy forever.
Cherish him, Grace.
And make sure you say yes!
Love, Me x
‘What is this?’ Charlie asks. ‘Who sent it?’
I take the letter from Charlie and look at it briefly before putting it back in my pocket.
‘That doesn’t matter now. All that matters is they were right. You’re the person that owns the place I love, Charlie. You. You own Sandybridge Hall and this little cottage we’re in now. You’re the one that’s made me happy for nearly thirty years, and now it’s about time I started making you happy.’ I cup his face in my hands. ‘I love you, Charlie, and I always have. Of course I’ll marry you. If it’s possible, it would make me even happier than I am now.’
Charlie leaps to his feet and pulls me into his arms as he has done so many times before, but this time it’s different, this time I feel different as I look up into his elated face.
Charlie hesitates, and I know what he’s thinking: this should feel weird, we’ve been friends for so long we shouldn’t be doing this. But it doesn’t feel weird, it feels so, so right when Charlie leans forward and gently places his lips upon mine.
So perfect that I only wish we’d done it sooner.
Summer 2016
My walk from Lighthouse Cottage back into Sandybridge takes me past all the special places that Charlie and I have known over the years.
As I leave the lighthouse – and the cottage that we both continue to live in with Ava, having decided it suits us better than a Tudor mansion – I walk past the sandy beach where we’ve spent so many happy hours walking dogs together, along the promenade with the pebble beach on one side and the Lighthouse Bakery café, busy as always, on the other. I carry on through the town, weaving my way through crowds of holidaymakers, until I’m able to stand on the opposite side of the road to the antiques shop.
It seems important to take one last look at all the places that have meant something to me since I was fifteen. Since you came into my life…
Harper’s Antiques and Collectables stands proudly in front of me. This shop was my parents’ pride and joy back in the day, and now, even though it still belongs to our family, it’s run with just as much enthusiasm by Josh and Olivia – and, to my delight, Mum, who still helps out on occasion.
‘Gracie!’ a familiar voice calls, and I turn to see Danny wheeling himself along the pavement towards me.
‘Busy, isn’t it?’ I say as he arrives by my side.
‘Ah, it’s fine, they always stand aside to let the cripple through!’ Danny winks, and I shake my head at him.
‘Never change, do you?’ I say.
‘Would you want me to?’
I shake my head and smile.
‘Now, tell me why you’re standing forlornly looking at your shop,’ he demands. ‘What’s up?’
‘Why do you think something is up?’
Danny pulls a wide-eyed look. ‘Gracie, I have known you long enough to know when you’re happy, when you’re sad, and when something is most definitely up! What’s in that?’ he asks, peering at my crate.
‘Nothing.’
Danny carries on staring at me, waiting for an answer.
‘OK, it’s something for the shop.’
‘If it’s something for the shop, why are you hanging around out here? Why not take it in?’
‘I will, in a minute. I was just taking a moment… to remember.’
Danny looks at me questioningly; he opens his mouth, then thinks better of it and closes it again.
‘Anyway,’ I say, realising I need to lighten the moment, ‘what are you doing here? Haven’t you got a rehabilitation centre to run?’
‘I could say the same to you.’ Danny winks. ‘How is your palace coping without you this afternoon?’
‘It’s not a palace, it’s a Tudor hall – as you should jolly well know by now. How long has your centre been on our grounds?’
‘OK, touché!’ he concedes, grinning. ‘You know I think you do a great job of running the place. We’d be lost without you.’
‘Thanks,’ I reply, almost blushing. ‘I only hope our success continues after —’
‘After what?’ Danny asks, quick as a flash.
‘Oh, here comes Olivia,’ I reply, relieved to see her approaching. ‘I assume she’s the reason you’re here.’
Olivia spies her new husband waiting with me across the street, and hurries over to see us.
‘Darling, this is a surprise!’ she says, kissing him.
‘I thought I’d take you for an ice cream, since it’s your early finish today,’ Danny says, gazing with delight at his new wife.
‘A ninety-nine?’ Olivia asks, grinning. ‘With a flake?’
‘Definitely!’ Danny agrees. ‘Let’s head down to the kiosk on the pebble beach. Can I interest you, Gracie?’
‘No, thank you. I’ve something I need to do.’
Danny looks at me, and then he nods knowingly. ‘Sure.’
‘Go into the shop and see the new bear, Grace,’ Olivia encourages. ‘That’s what was in the huge parcel you dropped off earlier: a life-size stuffed brown bear! I love him already.’
‘No,’ Danny says, before Olivia can ask. ‘We don’t have room.’
‘Ah, I bet I can persuade you,’ Olivia coos. ‘Let’s talk about it over our ice creams. See you later, Grace,’ she calls as they begin to make their way along the pavement.
Danny looks back at me and mouths, ‘Good luck.’
How does he know I need luck? But Danny’s always been able to read me so well; almost as well as Charlie.
I take a quick look at my watch. It’s time.
With a sigh, I cross over the road to the shop, dragging my crate behind me.
The shop door is propped open on this warm summer’s day, so I’m able to enter silently, and for a moment I stand just inside the doorway taking it all in – the smells, the sounds from outside, and most importantly all the memories. Dad in his little office going over the books. Mum behind the wooden counter helping a customer with their purchase. And me as a teenager, mooching about the place, not really wanting to be there.
Helping my parents in this shop was where it had all begun, so it seems quite appropriate this is where it should all end.
‘Grace, what are you doing here?’ Josh appears from the back room to greet me.
‘I thought you might need someone to cover the shop for a while,’ I tell him, putting part one of the plan into action.
‘No, I’m fine, I shouldn’t need to leave the shop until…’
The shop phone begins ringing behind him.
‘Excuse me a moment,’ he says, as he darts into the office again. ‘Yes,’ I hear him say. ‘Now? I didn’t expect it would be ready until later… OK, yes, sure, but… oh you won’t. Right then, I’ll get there as soon as I can.’
Josh reappears. ‘It seems I might need you after all,’ he says. ‘The garage say they’ve finished the MOT and the van is ready, but they need me to collect it now or it’ll be locked up in the workshop until after the weekend.’
‘That’s fine, you go,’ I tell him, not sounding in the least bit surprised. ‘I’ll be fine here for a while.’
‘You’re sure?’ Josh says, grabbing his wallet and phone from the desk.
‘Absolutely. It will be like old times.’
‘OK, I’ll be back in about half an hour then.’
‘Perfect.’
I watch Josh disappear out of the door. Then I t
urn to my crate.
‘Looks like it’s time,’ I say, removing the lid, and lifting an antique black typewriter from its carrier.
I place Remy in prime position in the window, rearranging some Clarice Cliff pottery to make him fit, then I stand behind the counter and wait. I glance at my watch again – two minutes to go.
At exactly four o’clock I see her, a young woman hurrying past the shop. But something in the window catches her eye, and she pauses to look at it, then a few seconds later she enters through the door.
‘I was wondering about the typewriter in the window?’ she asks. ‘There isn’t a price.’
I quickly appraise the young woman standing in front of me; she has long dark hair – not dyed or highlighted – she wears minimal jewellery, jeans and a plain white T-shirt, with a long crocheted waistcoat hanging loosely over them. She looks quite normal, and actually, I have to concede, quite pleasant.
I take a deep breath.
‘That’s because it doesn’t have one,’ I tell her. ‘It’s free to a good home.’
The woman looks at me in amazement. ‘Free? Really?’
I nod. ‘Do you like typewriters?’
‘Yes, very much, I have a collection of them at home. But I don’t have anything like that one – are you sure it’s free?’ She looks at me suspiciously, as though I might not know what I’m talking about.
I nod again. Every word pains me, but I know what must be done. It’s time for Remy to move on to a new owner. He’s done what he needed to with me, now it’s time for him to begin helping someone else.
‘Well, I’d be happy to take him off your hands then,’ the young woman says, looking pleased, and excited she’s found such a bargain.
‘I’ll fetch him from the window then,’ I tell her, doing just that. ‘He’s quite heavy,’ I say as I carry Remy across the shop. ‘But you can put him in this crate, if you like. It will make him easier to transport.’
‘Thank you,’ the girl says, looking mystified by this strange little shop she’s found herself in.
I place Remy back in the crate. It’s all I can do to stop myself from patting him and running my hands over his keys one last time. But Remy and I already said our goodbyes earlier today. So I simply cover him up and hand the crate to his new owner.
‘One last thing before you go,’ I ask. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Alice. Why?’
‘I just needed to be sure,’ I tell her. ‘Look after him, won’t you?’
‘Er… yes, sure, I will,’ Alice says, and she turns to leave the shop. ‘Thank you again,’ she says as she pauses on the doorstep. ‘I’ve been having some real problems lately, so finding you, and getting this, has totally made my day.’
The contents of that box will not only make your day, but your life if you listen to him, I think, but I simply nod as she leaves the shop.
‘Thank you, Remy,’ I whisper as I follow her to the door, and watch her walk away down the street wheeling the crate behind her. ‘It’s been an honour and a pleasure knowing you.’
I had intended to walk straight back to Lighthouse Cottage, but instead I find myself stopping along the way to reflect on all the places that remind me of Remy.
I’m about to leave the promenade, where I’ve been sitting on a bench for some time gazing out to sea, when a navy blue Range Rover honks its horn at me.
It’s Charlie.
‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere,’ he says as I climb into the passenger seat next to him. ‘When I found the car back at the cottage I wondered where you’d got to.’
‘Is Ava at Brownies?’ I ask, looking at the empty seat behind me.
‘Yes, I dropped her off a little while ago,’ Charlie says, putting the car in gear and pulling out into the traffic again.
‘I see you brought Thatcher,’ I say, dodging his question. I lean over to stroke our new rescue pup, who is curled up on a tartan blanket on the back seat. ‘Was she good for you today? The house seemed very quiet when I went round there earlier.’
‘She’s not been a bit of trouble. She’s a good dog.’
‘Yes, she is, isn’t she? Like all the dogs we’ve had.’
Sadly we’d had to scatter Winston’s ashes, like those of his predecessor Wilson, into the sea only a few months ago. And then, as always happens when you love dogs as much as we both do, we’d missed having one in our lives. So we’d adopted a rescue pup that nobody wanted, because she was a cross between an Irish wolfhound and a chocolate Labrador. We called her Thatcher, in memory of the two dogs we’d known and loved before.
‘So, how did it go?’ Charlie asks a little impatiently as he pulls up at some traffic lights. ‘You climbed into the car empty-handed, so I’m guessing everything went to plan.’
Charlie knew all about Remy now. I’d told him soon after we got together properly. And, as I knew he would, Charlie had simply accepted my story about Remy’s magical letters, even though I knew he found it quite hard to believe.
That was until he saw one for himself, sitting in the little black typewriter one day, and he got on the phone and asked me to come home immediately so I could read it.
‘Yes, Remy has a new owner now,’ I say sadly. ‘I’ll miss him.’
‘He did his job though,’ Charlie says, to try and cheer me up. ‘I’m assuming you agree his job was to get us together in the end?’
‘Of course I do!’ I reach over and squeeze Charlie’s hand. ‘And he did it magnificently! Even if it him took thirty years to accomplish!’
‘I still don’t understand where the letters came from though,’ Charlie says. ‘I’m a fairly open-minded person, as you know, Gracie, but you have to admit it’s pretty bizarre.’
‘Maybe we’ll never know,’ I reply, reaching into my pocket and pulling out the last letter I had from Remy.
Or maybe I will, I think as I begin to read it once more.
Dear Grace,
Sadly this will be my last letter to you.
Now I have successfully guided you through difficult times, the day has come for Remy to move on to a new owner, so he can help them through the challenging periods in their life, just like he did you.
At the bottom of this letter you’ll find details of who you should pass Remy on to next, where you will find them and when.
But in the meantime I want to tell you what a pleasure it’s been to be a part of your life all these years. I know we’ve not always seen eye to eye, but I hope you’ll agree that everything I advised you to do was for the greater good in the end.
And now you’ve found the one. The one who first called you Gracie. He will continue to love you the way he’s always done, and make you happy forever. Look after him, Grace.
I guess you might be wondering who has been sending you these letters all this time. Everyone that owns Remy for a short while does, it’s human nature.
This is the part that is always so difficult to explain.
We all have messages sent to us throughout our lives, and everyone receives their guidance in a way that works best for them.
Me, I go by many names; some people call me their subconscious, a gut instinct or a sixth sense. The more enlightened might call me a spirit guide, or even a guardian angel.
Your guidance may have been sent to you initially using Remy – we often find physical messages are more easily accepted than random thoughts. But now you’re ready to go it alone… Except, you’re not alone, Grace, you never have been. If you look deep inside yourself, you’ll find every answer I’ve ever given you, and so many, many more for the future.
I’ve been there all along, and I always will be.
Love, Me x
Acknowledgements
It takes a lot of creativity, hard work and dedication to write a book, much of it supplied by the author! But behind every successful writer is a quiet team of people supporting, encouraging and cajoling, and it is them I would like to thank.
My brilliant agent, Hannah Ferguson for everythi
ng she does so fabulously!
My lovely editor, Maddie West, and all the team at Sphere and Little, Brown without whom my books would just be stories floating around in my head!
My ever wonderful family, Jim, Rosie, and Tom. I love you more than you know.
And all my doggie companions, who like Grace in the story have provided me with so much affection and company over the years, in the often solitary world of a creative only child, who eventually became a writer…
Thank you all. x
Letters from Lighthouse Cottage Page 28