by Jenny Kane
Slowing to avoid hitting a couple of seagulls that had decided to take up residence in the middle of the road, Max found himself feeling curious about Abi in a way he hadn’t been about a woman for a long time.
He blamed Lucinda. He’d had his trusting fingers well and truly burnt by his ex-wife, who’d run off with someone high-powered who could afford to buy his way into her avaricious heart over and over again. But there was something about Abi. She seemed so fragile, and not just because she was short and petite. There was an air of vulnerability about her that she was evidently trying to hide within an invisible suit of armour.
If her husband had died so recently, perhaps that would explain the way she held herself. Upright, shoulders back, as if trying to cast away every single sign of weakness, and repel any sympathy that might just open the floodgates on whatever she was holding inside.
‘Oh for goodness’ sake, Max!’ He rolled his eyes as he pulled the van into an unusually handy parking spot right outside Beth’s place. ‘You’re letting your imagination run away with you. It’s obviously been too long since you met a woman your own age.’
Still, as he let himself into Beth’s place with his spare key, Max couldn’t stop himself imagining giving Abi a hug. He could almost feel her tucked up under his arm, the top of her head just reaching his chest. He shook his head sharply, trying to dislodge the idea as he climbed the stairs towards Beth and a very welcome cup of tea.
‘Yes, that’s the one.’ Max held the slightly out of focus picture of the old photograph up to the light. ‘I’m sure you’re right. Looks like the end of Miners Row.’ He traced a finger over the two small figures in the photograph. ‘I take it that’s Abi and her brother?’
‘Oliver. Abi hasn’t changed much, has she?’
‘No.’ Max didn’t say anything else. Even as an eight-year-old Abi had the look of someone it would be easy to snap if she was cuddled too hard.
‘Max? Are you with me?’ Beth waved a hand in front of his face, ‘I asked you a question.’
‘Oh sorry, I was just thinking.’ Max put the photograph down on the table. ‘What did you ask me?’
Beth sat back and crossed her arm, a playful smirk playing at the corner of her lips, ‘Do I detect a flicker of manly interest in the newcomer to the parish?’
‘Hardly.’ Max pulled his mobile out of his pocket, making a play of reading his emails so that Beth couldn’t see the blush that threatened to spread over his face, highlighting his freckles, and giving him away. ‘Now, what did you really ask me?’
‘Do you have Abi’s mobile number? I forget to get it from her, and I want to tell her about the house as soon as possible.’
‘No, I don’t. Why would I have it?’
‘Maxwell? Are protesting too much?’ Beth teased him gently, but when he just shrugged by way of reply, she realised with a shock that he really did fancy her new friend. Beth wasn’t sure if she was pleased or put out. She had never been attracted to Max herself, but there was no doubt that she’d got used to not having to share him. She’d been the one who’d nursed his broken heart back to health, and she didn’t like the thought that he’d fall for someone who wasn’t local and might take him away. ‘You do like her, don’t you?’
‘Against my better judgement.’
Beth swallowed down her own selfish feelings, ‘What do you mean? Abi is lovely, and it’s been an age since you dated. Time to get back on the horse, maybe?’
‘Says the woman who has been single for years!’
Beth grimaced. ‘Boyfriends and caring for an elderly relative don’t mix. And don’t you try and change the subject, Max. I like Abi. She’s nice, and I’m sure she could do with some kindness. Why don’t you ask her out? She likes pub quizzes.’
‘How did you find that out?’
‘We passed the Old Success, and I told her you liked doing the quiz there.’
‘Oh,’ Max shrugged, ‘well, it makes no difference. I may well ask her to come along to the quiz as a friend, but not as a date. I mean, look at her and look at me. If I hugged her she’d snap, and I can’t imagine I’m exactly her type. And, to be honest, I’m not that keen to risk a relationship with another executive-type woman.’
‘Abi is hardly that.’
‘I bet her husband was though, wasn’t he? I bet he was a real high-flyer.’
‘Luke. His name was Luke,’ Beth realised she’d been right to be afraid that Abi’s previous life would put Max off, although she understood why, ‘and, well, yes, I think he was something big in the City.’
‘I rest my case.’ Max decisively put down his mug, closing the subject, ‘Now, what are you going to do with the photo, pop it back to her at the hotel?’
‘I’m sorry, but Mrs Carter isn’t here.’ The receptionist greeted Beth with the disappointing news. ‘I believe she’s gone into Penzance to meet a few estate agents. Can I give her a message for you?’
‘That would be very kind, thank you, I’ll just write a note.’
Beth scribbled the address of the place she and Max believed to be Abbey’s House, together with directions, her mobile number, and an invitation for another day out soon, if Abi fancied it. She placed it in the envelope with the photograph, handed it over, then headed home again.
Abi clutched Beth’s message in her hand. She’d read it three times now, and as she sat on the edge of her bed, ready to text a thank you to Beth, she found herself having to steady her breathing.
Max and Beth had tracked down the house. Abbey’s House. Suddenly her plan to drive as far north as Hayle to visit more estate agents, having decided it was time to pull herself together and look for real home, and not some fantasy house she’d seen as a little girl, was put on hold. Tomorrow she was going to take a look at the outside of the house that had lived in her subconscious since she was a young child being carried on her father’s shoulders.
Abi squeezed her eyes shut, trying to shut out Luke’s voice, telling her to prepare herself to feel let down. She knew in her heart of hearts that this time his spectre was probably correct. But if her dream was about to end, she wanted it to be good for at least one more night.
Chapter Twelve
Abi knew she was in the right place as soon as she turned her car into a row of tiny stone terraced cottages.
Her heart thumped in her chest as she parked her car at the far end of the street. Taking a long exhalation of sea air, Abi rose slowly from the driver’s seat. She could feel the mixture of anxiety and excitement, which had been somersaulting in her stomach since the hotel receptionist had given her Beth’s letter the evening before, threatening to spiral out of control.
For a split second Abi had considered asking Beth if she’d join her on this pilgrimage into her past, but she’d quickly changed her mind. If she was going to be as disappointed as she suspected she would be, then Abi knew it was better to be by herself.
Even though Abbey’s House was at the other end of the row, Abi wanted to approach on foot, just as she had as a child. It was pure fluke that she’d missed this street of houses on her first day hunting around Sennen.
Miners Row, although tucked out of sight from the main village, was only a ten-minute walk up the hill. She hadn’t been far from it when she’d given up looking before. Beth’s earlier guess had been correct. It was high enough up the slope to be able hear the waves and inhale the salty aroma of the sea, but not high enough to give sea views from the ground floor. Yet, because it was secluded from the bustle of the village’s main streets, the air had a peaceful edge to it.
Abi forced herself to walk slowly, wanting to put off the moment when she knew she’d finally have to give up on her dream and move on until the last minute. She wanted to take in every inch of the line of six homes; all connected, each pair at a slightly steeper gradient than the next, so that every other roof was a metre higher than the next. Glad she was on her own, Abi felt oddly emotional as she moved along, images of her much-missed parents and her younger brother walki
ng with her, but stuck in another time, quite literally another century.
The feel of the place was precisely as Abi remembered. She could almost hear her mother telling Ollie off for walking along the low stone wall that ran the length of the little square front gardens.
Each wooden front door was painted in the bright red gloss she remembered and, unsurprisingly as it was only half past eight in the morning, a few of the windows were still covered – not by curtains, but with the wooden shutters that had fascinated Abi’s younger mind. Not fake ones like Luke had fitted to their house, but originals.
Abi’s mother had told her the windows would probably have seats cut into the stonework from the inside. From that day on Abi had longed to live in a house with a window seat when she was a grown-up. And when her mother had added that such seats were the absolute perfect places to sit and lose yourself in the pages of a book, she was sold on the idea for ever.
It was very quiet. Not even the usual background noise of cawing seagulls disturbed the stillness of the air. Everyone that had to go to work for the day had obviously already left, and no one else appeared to be up yet. Abi stopped outside the third house, trying hard not to peer ahead to her ultimate goal, and increasingly conscious that if anyone was watching her from within the houses she might look like a lost tourist or worse, an incompetent burglar casing the joint.
The little square garden immediately before her was neat and tidy, and the presence of a pile of upturned buckets and spades drying out by the front door suggested that this was a family home. Or perhaps, Abi happily speculated, it belonged to grandparents who had their grandchildren to stay on holiday.
The slate on the connected roofs glistened grey and blue as the sun made the flecks of granite in the brickwork flicker and shine. She wondered what the buildings looked like from the back. Abi had always assumed that they’d have the traditional long narrow gardens running out behind them. She could picture raised flower beds and vegetable plots, with discreet patios and wooden summerhouses in which to draw, read, and relax in the glow of the balmy seaside summer, or huddle with a hot chocolate and a cosy blanket in the depths of winter.
What Abi didn’t see was a single For Sale sign. She was a little disappointed but not at all surprised. No one would ever want to give up living here if they didn’t have to.
Trying not to make her staring obvious, Abi’s pulse drummed faster in her neck as she walked toward the last two houses in the row.
Her feet stopped moving and her chest constricted with sadness. Unbidden tears gathered, resting at the corner of her eyes. The neglect of the last two houses in the row was painfully striking compared to the state of the other four obviously loved and cared for homes.
Abi forgot her resolve not to stare. Her legs wouldn’t move as she took in the crumbling brickwork around the front door, the overrun garden with its tiny lawn just crying out for the attention of a mower. The upstairs curtains were drawn and tatty, and as she studied the rotting window mullions she wondered when the last time they’d been opened.
Now Abi looked more closely, she saw that the house wasn’t just one cottage, but two that had been knocked into one bigger property. It broke her heart to see that the house that had stayed in her mind almost her whole life wasn’t being loved. But it was the condition of the wooden house sign, Abbey’s House, faded and half hanging off its supporting post, that took the tears that had been brimming and pushed them in a waterfall down her cheeks.
Abi almost stumbled over her own feet in her haste to move. Knowing there was no way she could drive safely, she abandoned her car and walked into the village. She had to think.
She sharply told herself that her distress was her own fault for chasing the happiness of her childhood. It had been bound to lead to disappointment. How could it not, after so many years away? Abi angrily wiped the tears from her face as she imagined hearing Luke’s taunts. She wandered blindly towards the heart of the village, not really sure where she was going, but knowing she needed to walk; to be somewhere else.
Max tucked the bag of sandwiches he’d bought for his lunch into one of his big pockets, waved goodbye to the shopkeeper, and set off towards his van and a day of tiling a shower room. His key was in the lock when he spotted Abi. He frowned as he saw her marginally avoid bumping into a man walking in the opposite direction. It was as if she hadn’t even seen him.
Quickly locking the van up again, Max hastened across the road after her. ‘Abi!’ Convinced something was wrong, he chased after her, amazed at how fast she could walk for someone with such short legs. ‘Abi, wait!’
Catching up with her, Max placed a hand on Abi’s shoulder. One look at her tear-stained face and puffy eyes told him that she hadn’t even been aware of him calling her. She looked spaced out. Gently taking her hand, Max swivelled Abi round and steered her into the nearest café.
Sitting her down in the corner of the tearoom Max exchanged a familiar greeting with the waitress behind the counter, mouthing the urgent need for a large pot of coffee and two cups as quickly as possible.
Speaking quietly, as if coaxing her to respond, Max said, ‘Have you eaten today, Abi?’
There was something about the ordinariness of the question that brought Abi back to reality. She peered around her, taking in the quaint table clothed surroundings properly for the first time. ‘Max?’
‘Morning, lass. You look very pale, are you OK?’
‘I couldn’t face breakfast, I was too nervous.’
‘Nervous?’ Max suddenly became aware that he was still grasping her tiny palm. Feeling self-conscious, he laid her hand carefully on the table top and let go.
Trying and failing not to sigh, Abi said, ‘I went to the house. Just to see.’
‘Ah.’ Max said nothing else for a while, letting Abi gather herself, as she blew her nose and wiped her eyes.
Thanking the waitress as she brought a large coffee pot and two cups to the table, Max said, ‘Can I have a large stack of hot buttered toast as well, please?’
When they were on their own again he said, ‘The house wasn’t as you remember it?’
Abi went to pour the coffee, but her hands were shaking so much that Max took the pot off her. ‘Let me. Do you have milk and sugar?’
‘Just milk. Thank you.’ Abi felt horribly embarrassed. ‘I shouldn’t have come here.’
‘You needed food and drink. And no way was I leaving you in the street like that.’
Abi shook her head sadly, ‘No, I meant I shouldn’t have come to Cornwall. How stupid to chase a childhood dream at my age! You’d think I’d know better.’
Shaking off the impulse to pick Abi up, wrap her in his arms, and tell her that whatever it was, it was going to be alright, Max pushed a cup brimming with coffee towards her. ‘You did what you needed to do, and that was to come to a place where you felt safe as a child; at a time before your world hadn’t been tilted on its axis.’
Abi, her face still pale but for two high points of pink on each cheek, frowned in confusion.
‘I know she shouldn’t have, but Beth told me about losing your husband, and about how you hadn’t fitted in with the other city wives. I hope you don’t mind. She was worried about you.’
‘It was kind of her, but she need not worry.’
‘Oh course she should. You’re a friend, and you’re sad. Beth wants to help. We both do.’ Max averted his eyes from the lost expression in Abi’s eyes, glad that the waitress chose that moment to deliver the piping hot rack of toast and real Cornish butter. ‘I’m going to butter this and you are going to eat every scrap, and before you tell me you’re not hungry, I don’t believe you.’ Not pausing for Abi to argue, Max went on. ‘I have to pop outside to make a phone call, and then I’m coming back. Seems to me that it’s been far too long since anyone listened to you properly.’
Abi started eating without being aware that she was doing so. She felt a total fool, and Max’s kindness was making her feel worse.
How could t
hese people read her so well and so fast? Did she have ‘I am running away from an unhappy life’ tattooed on her forehead or something? It didn’t help that Max was right. It had been a long time since she’d properly offloaded her troubles onto anyone, and, somehow, seeing Abbey’s House looking so run-down and neglected had undone the securely padlocked box she kept closed up in the confines of her mind.
A box which contained every hurtful comment, every inch of guilt from the times she’d known she’d unwittingly let Luke down, every friend she had unwillingly sacrificed to make her husband happy. And then there was the sense of failure. Firstly, because she’d allowed it all to happen – because, for all Luke’s faults, she had loved him. And secondly because she was crammed to the hilt with regret that once the initial shock of his demise had passed, she simply couldn’t manage to make herself miss her husband. The relief of being free of his demands and rules was just too strong.
As she thought, butter trickled down her chin, and slowly the crunchy, creamy calories began to return Abi to her senses.
Enough. Enough now.
As Max came back to the table, slipping his mobile back into his pocket, she poured him a coffee of his own. ‘Thank you.’
And as he sat down, his kind, friendly face a picture of smiling concern, he said, ‘Never mind the thanks. Just talk to me.’
Chapter Thirteen
It was almost midnight, and despite the chunky woollen jumper Abi had on, she shivered against the chill as she sat in the hotel garden watching the star-studded black sky.
Abi hadn’t been able to face going back to the pub for her evening meal. She couldn’t face Max. He must think she was some sort of emotionally screwed-up nutcase. He’d probably have reported back to Beth by now, and although she didn’t mind that as much as she might have in the past, she wasn’t up to any show of sympathy tonight.