Lucy pulled off the motorway, leaving Brighton and the south coast far behind her, and made her way along the now-familiar leafy lanes – now shaded in a glorious palette of russets and golds. She sang along to the radio. This was such a lovely place to live.
‘Hello.’ Sam appeared out of nowhere as she pulled the car into the space outside the cottage.
‘Where did you spring from?’ She could feel herself grinning ridiculously.
‘Sixth sense. I thought you might want this –’ he held up a pint of milk – ‘and maybe this?’ In his other hand was a freshly baked cake from the village shop.
‘Oh my God, you are amazing.’
He rubbed his chin, looking pleased with himself. ‘Your place or mine?’
She looked at the floor, feeling suddenly shy.
‘I mean for tea. Unless you’ve got any other plans?’ He was teasing now.
‘Tea would be lovely. Coffee even better. That was a long drive.’
‘In that case, come to mine. I’ll ring Mel and let her know you’re back – she can bring Hame over. She picked him up from Bunty earlier.’
Lucy threw her bag onto the sofa and headed back across the road.
Sam was inside his cottage, a tea towel over his shoulder. She watched as he busied himself in the kitchen, making a coffee at the expensive-looking Italian machine, steaming the milk, swirling it in the mugs and then handing it over, bringing a couple of plates from the dresser and a knife.
‘Do you want to cut it? I can, but I tend to just hack off gigantic slices.’
‘Gigantic slices are fine by me.’
Sam cut two pieces of cake and placed them on the plates. ‘Sugar?’
‘No, this is lovely, thank you.’
It was weird. They’d been chatting back and forth since he’d broken the ice sending the treehouse photograph, but somehow now they were sitting opposite each other in the little kitchen of his cottage, she found herself tongue-tied and wondering what to say. She looked at the dresser, seeing a photograph of a much younger Freya grinning toothlessly, her school tie askew. He followed her gaze.
‘Found it the other day. She’s cute, isn’t she?’
‘How’s she been?’
‘Well, she seemed fine yesterday. But this morning I asked her who she was emailing, and she just snapped at me and said couldn’t she do anything without me bugging her all the time, and then slammed the front door on her way out.’
Lucy pulled a sympathetic face.
‘So how was Brighton? Did you enjoy being back in civilization?’ He put his chin in his hand and looked at her. The lines around his dark brown eyes gave the impression he found life amusing. Lucy looked down at her plate, rearranging cake crumbs with a finger.
‘Well,’ she began. ‘It was nice to see the school, and the kids, of course.’
‘They’ll be looking forward to seeing you again?’
‘I didn’t see many of them. I was in and out of the head’s office pretty quickly.’
‘So you’ll be back to work in January?’
‘I’m not quite sure yet.’
‘How come?’ Sam turned in his seat slightly, so he was looking directly at her. She swallowed.
‘I don’t know. I just – have you ever gone back to something and realized it’s just not the same?’ As soon as she’d opened her mouth, she remembered that Sam had been living here in Little Maudley all his life. But he nodded, slowly.
‘Yeah. Not work, but – yeah. It’s weird. Like you’ve built it up and been absolutely convinced it’s the right thing and you get there and –’ He gestured, raising his palms skyward.
‘Exactly.’ She bit her lip. ‘Just – I’m not sure where that leaves me.’
He lifted his eyebrows slightly. ‘Well, I’d be happy – I mean we’d be – I mean . . .’ He shook his head, laughing ruefully. ‘I think you fit in here pretty well. That’s what I’m trying to say, in my own uniquely inarticulate manner.’
She loved village life. But giving up the life she’d known, to stay here? She couldn’t live on her savings forever, for one thing, and – she sighed – it wasn’t exactly practical. The clock chimed the hour. ‘Right; well, I’d better find something to do in the meanwhile.’
‘If you’re stuck, I’ve got an idea.’ Sam picked up the keys to his truck. ‘D’you want to come and see the new project I’ve been working on?’
Lower Maudley was a tiny, even more picturesque version of their village. A tiny church stood by a village green with a phone box that was hung with baskets of autumn flowers.
‘They don’t have a neglected phone box, I note.’
‘They don’t have a neglected anything. This place makes Little Maudley look like an inner-city slum. It’s the most desirable place in the area.’
‘So no expense spared on the treehouse?’
‘Definitely not.’ He jumped out of the truck, leaving the keys in the ignition, and pushed open a heavy white-painted gate. ‘You’ll see in a minute.’
‘And they don’t mind you randomly turning up with me in the middle of the afternoon?’
‘They’re not here, they’re in Cancun. All six of them.’
‘Wow.’
He raised his eyebrows and waved an arm in the direction of the house. ‘Yeah.’
Behind a huge manor house with sweeping, perfectly manicured lawns a garden stretched out, divided by neat gravelled paths.
‘Follow me, madam.’
‘So have you finished work on Janet’s treehouse?’
She stepped over a low lavender hedge and onto a gravelled path.
‘Yes, it’s all done. They’re delighted with it. That sort of thing makes it all worthwhile.’
At the end of one of the paths, a hedge had been clipped into a neat archway that bore the sign ‘Tim’s House’ in neat italics on a wooden board.
‘What d’you think?’
A huge oak tree stood in front of them, with a treehouse surrounding the base. It was completely different to the first one she’d seen, but just as magical.
‘It’s amazing.’
‘And it’s at ground level. I thought you’d appreciate that.’ He gave a smile that made her stomach twist disobediently.
‘I love it.’ She ran a hand along the smooth lines of the archway entrance. ‘How do you dream these up?’
Sam looked embarrassed. He ducked his head, rubbing his forehead for a moment, then looked at her through splayed fingers.
‘Honestly?’
She nodded, stepping on a fallen tree branch and wobbling sideways. He reached out with lightning reflexes and caught her by the waist, steadying her. When he moved his hand away, Lucy realized that she could still feel the sensation of the warmth of his hand through the thin linen of her shirt.
‘I think about what I would have wanted when I was a kid.’
Glancing up at him, Lucy caught a wistful expression on his face.
‘You didn’t have a treehouse when you were growing up?’
He gave a rueful laugh. ‘Definitely not. My mum didn’t really do the whole parenting thing. I think it’s why I’m so determined to do the right thing by Freya. Come through and see the rest.’
Inside was even more beautiful. Lucy sat down on a carved wooden bench, running a hand along the smooth wooden handle. Everything had been created with such love and tenderness.
‘What about you?’ His voice was gruff.
‘No, my mum wasn’t really the treehouse type. I mean we lived in the middle of Brighton, so there wouldn’t have been room, but . . .’
He nodded. ‘I know what you mean. Where is she now? Still in Brighton?’
‘No, Australia. She’s happy, so she’s low-maintenance.’
‘Sounds like Freya’s mum.’
They were stepping onto ground that was new, and Lucy was conscious that talking about this stuff wasn’t something that came easily to him. Mel had mentioned his ex in passing several times, explaining that she was better off out of h
is life – and Freya’s.
‘Do you think she wonders what it would be like if she’d stayed?’
He shook his head. ‘Definitely not. I don’t think Freya fitted into her plans.’
‘Well, she seems pretty happy and settled.’
‘Freya?’ He looked happy at that. ‘D’you think? It’s hard to tell. Harder still when she’s been so – different – recently.’
Lucy put a hand to her mouth in a subconscious gesture. She knew Freya had been looking for her mum. It wasn’t her place to break a confidence, but she couldn’t help asking, ‘D’you ever wonder if she’d like to get in touch with her mum?’
‘God, I hope not.’ Sam’s hand was curved around the top of a rough-hewn wooden post, and his knuckles whitened as his fingers tightened in an involuntary movement. He cleared his throat and spoke after a moment’s thought. ‘I’m afraid if she came back into Freya’s life she’d let her down. And if that happened, I’d be letting her down.’
She looked away, brushing a piece of wood shaving from the bench beside her. There was trouble ahead, but she wasn’t the one to tell him. Perhaps she could ask Bunty’s advice.
‘It’s funny – when I was teaching I felt like I had more of a clue about teenagers than I do now I’ve spent time with Freya.’
‘Maybe they’re easier in packs.’ Sam looked thoughtful.
‘No, I think maybe it’s more that when you actually stop looking at the big picture, you realize there are lots of details that it’s easy to miss. Getting to know her – and you – means I’m seeing it from a different perspective.’
‘She’s not that difficult, is she?’ He laughed, holding out a hand and pulling her up. Again, she felt the imprint of his skin on hers lingering.
‘No, more like – I was pretty sure that I had teenagers sussed. But seeing you with her, and Mel with Camille, I realize that the hard stuff really does happen at home. I bet Freya is an angel at school.’
‘Pretty much. Not like me.’
‘I always quite liked school. It was the one place that was stable.’
‘D’you think that’s why you went into teaching?’
‘I’d never thought of that.’ He opened the door for her, standing aside. He had very old-fashioned manners, which Bunty approved of, as she’d mentioned to Lucy on more than one occasion.
A moment later, he swung into the driver’s seat and turned on the engine. Lucy pulled down the shade to protect her eyes from the low sunlight.
‘I suppose it makes sense,’ Sam went on. ‘And d’you think that’s why you’re into history?’
Lucy remembered the final day of school: Tyler standing in the classroom, telling her he liked history because it didn’t move. Her childhood, and future, had felt so uncertain, too, that there was a comfort in looking to the past.
‘I think so. It’s safe. I mean, there’s lots to learn, always – look at Bunty.’
‘Weird, isn’t it. She’s been through so much. She’s living history.’
‘That’s why I want her to talk about what she experienced. She’s opened up a bit, but I’m still waiting to see if she’ll talk. They’re recording histories at Bletchley Park and she could be part of it – and her story’s so interesting. It would be good to have it preserved for the future.’
Looking at him as he drove, humming along to the radio, she felt oddly comfortable in his presence. She’d never had much luck with men back in Brighton. She’d tried online dating, with no success. Staffroom flings were unwise – there was nothing worse than having to make polite conversation in curriculum meetings with someone you’d been snogging at the end of the night in the pub twelve hours before. But she was in Little Maudley for a finite period of time. That was supposed to be the deal, anyway. It hadn’t occurred to her that there was a life outside Brighton, or that she’d become attached to this little village and the people who lived there. Sam was here for life, and his sole focus was Freya. There was no getting around it. He might be ideal on paper, but life didn’t work out like that.
Chapter Eighteen
Sam dropped Lucy back at her cottage and then pulled to a stop in front of his house. He watched in the rear-view mirror as she started to walk up the path to her door before swerving and heading over to Bunty’s cottage instead. He smiled to himself. Bunty would miss her when she left. Locking the door of the cab, he headed into the house.
‘Dad?’
He threw his keys down on the kitchen worktop and rifled through the post, tearing open envelopes and tossing them into the recycling bin one by one. All junk, except for one bill from a supplier who still did things the old-fashioned way.
‘Oh, hello. How are things?’
‘I need to go to Milton Keynes. Can you give me a lift?’
‘Oh hi, darling, how are you? Fine, thanks, yes. Been to see the latest job and took Lucy along to show her. Got to walk the dogs in a bit, if you fancy joining me . . .’
‘I wish you wouldn’t do the whole imaginary conversation thing. It’s so boring.’ Freya rolled her eyes. ‘I need some new jeans –’ she plucked at the leg of the perfectly good pair she was wearing – ‘and I’m going to meet the girls and have a Starbucks.’
Maybe they’d get a chance to have a chat in the truck. Sam let the dogs out into the garden, watching as they careered around, zig-zagging back and forth, following smells. Heads down, tails flagging. Thank goodness he’d gone to a breeder who didn’t dock their lovely, merry tails.
‘Fine, I’ll give you a lift. I need to go to Jewson’s anyway and pick up some bits. How long are you going to be?’
‘I’ll get the bus back.’ She didn’t catch his eye.
‘I don’t mind hanging around.’ Maybe they could go for a pizza, or even go bowling or something like that. Lucy had suggested he try and find a laid-back way to spend some time with her and talk. No pressure. ‘We could do something afterwards?’
‘Nah, it’s fine.’ It was as if someone had flicked a switch. His funny, warm, caring little girl had been replaced by a distinctly moody teenager. ‘What were you doing with Lucy?’ She looked up at him briefly. She was chewing on a strand of hair, a habit she’d had since she was a little girl. It usually meant she was nervous or worried about something.
‘I said.’ Sometimes it felt like Freya was only listening to about half of any given conversation. ‘I took her to see the treehouse I’ve been working on.’
‘Oh,’ Freya said vaguely, turning away.
She was definitely not quite on the same planet at the moment. It must be teenage hormones, or something like that. He hoped that was all it was, anyway.
Fifteen minutes later, having locked the dogs in the kitchen, he filled a travel mug with coffee – it had been a long day, and he was flagging. As he left the house and headed for the truck, where Freya was already impatiently waiting, he was cornered by Susan and a couple of people from the parish council.
‘Just wanted to check with you about fitting the shelves in our new telephone box library. You’re still okay to do it?’
‘Of course.’ He felt like he’d had the same conversation about fifteen times already. Helen had been round the other day, complete with notepad and pen, bossily insisting he talk her through the plans. All they needed was some shelving, and some flowers for the pots that were sitting outside the door. It wasn’t exactly rocket science.
‘You’ve created a monster with this phone box library,’ he told Freya as he got into the truck.
She honoured him with a brief smile.
She pleated the edge of her t-shirt and as he pulled up at a junction he could see she was chewing her lip. She was definitely anxious about something. His stomach churned with worry.
‘You okay?’ He turned to look at her, putting a hand on her knee.
‘Fine.’ She fiddled with her phone, checking it was charging from the wire plugged into the dashboard. ‘I’m fine.’
She seemed anything but. They drove through the countryside, slowing to
a crawl as they got stuck behind a combine harvester. It chugged along for a couple of miles. Freya changed the channel on the radio and turned it up, blasting them with Radio 1. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, trying to work out how best to address whatever it was that was bothering her. Every one of his parental instincts was screaming at him that something wasn’t right. What if she’d got caught up in something – arranged a meeting with someone she didn’t know? He felt sick at the thought.
‘And you’re definitely meeting someone at Starbucks?’
Freya rolled her eyes and glared at him. ‘Yes. I am definitely meeting someone at Starbucks.’
‘Nothing you want to talk to me about?’ he said, hopefully, as he pulled over at the shopping centre.
‘I just want to go to Primark and get some jeans.’ She opened the door.
‘I could come with you?’
She snorted. ‘Hardly.’ He blew her a kiss and she laughed despite herself.
‘Which bus are you catching? I’m going to the timber yard, but then I can pick you up.’
‘Oh my God, Dad, I don’t know yet.’
‘All right, all right. I’m just being paranoid. You’ll phone and tell me, though?’
She nodded, jumping out of the truck without giving him her usual kiss goodbye.
Half an hour later, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He was standing in the queue at the wood merchant’s with a pile of specific pieces he needed to finish off the bench for the treehouse job before the weekend.
Can you come and get me now?
‘Got your membership card?’ The woman at the till held out a bored hand, not even looking at him.
Of course I can. Have you got your jeans already?
Maybe his radar wasn’t off after all. He’d known there was something up. Why did she want picking up so soon? His heart thudded against his ribs as he pulled his wallet out of his pocket, dropping it on the counter in his concern to keep an eye on his phone.
Yeah. Meet you at the usual place?
He handed over his membership card, paid the bill and then wheeled the flatbed trolley out to the truck, throwing the wood in the back.
I’m waiting outside M&S car park now.
The Telephone Box Library Page 19