by Fern Britton
‘You’re probably right.’ Keith stubbed out his cigarette and stood up. ‘Time to go home.’
As he departed he said, ‘And no getting up to any hanky-panky, you two. I might be an old duffer but I don’t miss much.’
Ed and Charlotte tried to look innocent. ‘I don’t know what you mean, Keith,’ Charlotte said, trying to stop a grin from spreading over her face.
‘A likely story.’ He wished them goodnight and headed inside.
After a moment, once she was sure he’d gone, Charlotte inched closer to Ed so that their thighs were touching. Her hand crept under the back of his T-shirt and she leaned in to nibble his ear.
Ed’s senses felt under assault; she smelled of fresh meadow flowers and Ed could feel the swell of her breasts against his chest. It took all his willpower not to reach under her T-shirt and slip his hand under her bra. Despite this, it was Ed who pulled away first.
‘We’d better be careful, someone might see us.’
Charlotte slipped her hand into his. ‘They all know already. Look at Keith – and he’s well out of the gossip loop.’
‘No.’ Ed shook his head. ‘They don’t know. Not officially, anyway, and I don’t think they should, not yet. We’ve talked about this.’
She pulled away and looked at him with a frown. ‘Yes, we might have talked about it, but I still don’t see we have anything to hide.’
Ed squeezed her hand and tried to make light of it. ‘I know you don’t, but you’re the design director and I’m the lowly runner. They’ll think I’m trying to sleep my way to the top.’ He tried to engage her with a smile.
Charlotte’s frown deepened. ‘I don’t care what they think. We’ve been seeing each other for nearly a year. Your toothbrush can’t remember what your bathroom looks like, I let your best friend sleep on my sofa for three weeks and I’ve played in a Scrabble contest with your mum. For heaven’s sake, Ed, we couldn’t be more together if we tried.’
‘But you know what the top brass are like. They hate relationships on set in case things go wrong.’
‘What’s going to go wrong?’ Charlotte looked alarmed.
‘Nothing! Nothing’s going to go wrong, Charlotte. But I’m building my career, and yours is going so well. We don’t want anything to spoil that, do we?’
Ed felt as though the conversation was running away from him but couldn’t work out where he’d gone wrong. This was the first time Charlotte had ever said anything about wanting their relationship to be more open. They’d both been happy for their work and personal lives to be separate – hadn’t they?
He pulled his cigarettes from his top pocket, took one for himself and offered one to Charlotte. She shook her head, her lips set in a thin line.
‘I’ve given up.’
‘Since when?’
‘This morning.’
‘Oh?’
Ed removed the cigarette from his mouth unlit. Charlotte was looking at him, an unreadable expression on her face. It wasn’t a look he recognised or that he felt particularly comfortable with, if he was honest.
‘What’s wrong, Charlotte?’
Charlotte tugged at her long fringe, something he’d noticed she did when she was nervous or anxious.
‘Something’s happened.’
When he thought about it later, Ed realised what she said next was literally the last thing he’d have thought she was going to say. He’d have been less surprised if she’d told him she’d been born with a penis and had undergone a sex change.
‘I’m pregnant.’
That she uttered these words and not some others was his justification for his response, though he knew as soon as the words left his mouth that it was completely the wrong thing to say in the circumstances.
‘Oh, shit!’
Charlotte immediately stiffened, eyed him with a look that seemed to communicate both disappointment and distress, and snatched her hand away from his.
‘Oh, shit!’ he said again, unable to absorb what those two words could mean for both of them. Registering the look in her eyes, he panicked. ‘I didn’t mean oh, shit, I meant oh, no. I mean, it’s the timing, isn’t it, for both of us.’ Unable to stop himself, he blathered on: ‘Your job, mine … I always thought we’d get together properly one day – you know, married, kids and all that – but just not now …’
This was all coming out wrong. He looked at Charlotte, his secret girlfriend … beautiful, clever Charlotte … the mother of his children …
At this thought, a little spark seemed to ignite somewhere inside him and for a moment he saw them, his future family, and words and feelings that he’d never recognised in himself flickered within him: father, husband, protector …
But Charlotte was getting up off the step, moving towards the door. She reached for the handle, then paused to look back at him. ‘The traditional response when someone announces they’re expecting a baby is “Congratulations!” Look, we’ll talk about it later, Ed. You’re right, my timing is shit.’
‘Wait, Charlotte!’ He leapt up and reached for her, but she brushed his hand away.
‘Look, Ed, it’s fine. We’ll talk later. Right now I need to go home.’
As Ed watched her retreating back and scrabbled to his feet to catch her, he knew he’d screwed it up big time. If this was a test, then he had failed miserably.
He only hoped it wasn’t too late and she’d give him a chance to make things right.
1
Pendruggan, Cornwall, 2015
Penny Leighton was sitting in the kitchen of the Old Vicarage with her feet up on the kitchen table – it was her table, after all – enjoying a freshly poured cup of tea. For once the house was quiet: her husband had gone over to the church hall, where he was hosting the Pendruggan Mother and Toddlers’ Group as part of his vicarly duties. Across the table, Ed Appleby hunched over a laptop, wrinkling his brow as he perused stately homes on his web browser.
‘That list Cassie sent over of possible locations for Lady Arundell’s family pile – I’ve worked my way through and eliminated the ones that wouldn’t be suitable. Lanhydrock would be ideal, but I also like the sound of Prideaux Place, smaller but gorgeous. It’s not far from here and apparently it has amazing grounds overlooking Padstow. As we’ve got a break in filming, maybe I should arrange a meeting with the owners, do a recce – what do you think, Pen?’
When his question went unanswered, Ed looked over the top of his laptop. The producer of The Mr Tibbs Mysteries seemed oblivious to his presence. She had just dunked a HobNob in her tea before popping it into her mouth and was currently savouring the soft, sugary crunch. A look of sheer bliss on her face, she let out a long ‘mmmm’.
Ed took off his thick-rimmed Michael Caine glasses and rubbed at his tired eyes. ‘Did you hear any of that, Pen?’
‘You know, without your glasses on you look about seventeen.’ Penny dunked another corner of her biscuit into her tea.
‘Don’t change the subject.’
‘Why not? Why do we have to talk about work? We’ve four weeks’ enforced break while our leading lady goes off and does her one-woman thing at the Old Vic. What’s wrong with spending a morning eating HobNobs and taking it easy for once?’ She cast a longing gaze at the copy of Grazia lying unopened by her side.
Mr Tibbs, based on the novels of Mavis Carew and filmed on location in the picturesque Cornish seaside village where Penny had made her home, had proved to be such a runaway success that they were now halfway through filming the fourth series. The invasion of the cast and crew, and the transformation of Pendruggan into something straight out of the 1930s, had become an annual fixture in the village calendar. Some of the locals had been resistant, but most welcomed the film crew, especially now that the series had put Pendruggan on the tourist map. Queenie’s shop had become a must-see destination for the holidaymakers who flooded the village each summer.
Ed sighed and shut his laptop.
‘Besides,’ Penny added, ‘it’s not your job to sort out
locations. Cassie’s already done half the work. Let her go and see them. She’s more than capable. You can make your decision once she’s written up her recommendations.’
‘I’m the location manager. It’s my job.’
‘Cassie’s the assistant location manager, and that makes it her job. It’s called delegating, Ed. Anyway, you look exhausted.’
‘I am exhausted.’
‘Then go home and try to put your feet up for a while. Spend some time with Charlotte and those gorgeous children of yours. You all look like something out of a Boden advert.’
Ed let out a humourless laugh. ‘Looks can be deceptive, Pen.’
Penny put down her cuppa and leaned closer.
‘What’s the matter, Ed? You and I have worked on umpteen productions together over the years. I’ve seen you go from junior runner on Blue Peter to location manager on a Woody Allen movie, and, no matter how demanding the job, you’ve shown up for work full of enthusiasm and energy. I’ve never seen you out of sorts – until now. You’re usually so cheerful – too bloody cheerful, in fact!’
‘But it hasn’t affected my work?’ he asked anxiously. ‘Has anyone said anything?’
‘No of course not. Don’t be silly.’ She batted away his anxiety with a wave of her hand. ‘No one’s noticed a thing. Except me, and that’s only because we’ve known each other such a long time.’
Ed wiped his glasses clean on the corner of his Superdry T-shirt and let out a sigh.
‘Oh, I don’t know …’ He hesitated, wondering how to articulate what he was feeling without making it sound melodramatic. ‘Alex has been a bit difficult lately. She’s not been herself and Charlotte’s worried something’s up at school.’
‘She’s fifteen,’ Penny reasoned. ‘They’re unknowable at that age. You and Charlotte are there for her, though. You’re solid, right?’
Solid, thought Ed. Before all this had happened he wouldn’t have hesitated to say yes. They both adored the kids and put their needs first. For Ed that involved taking on work that meant they could leave London and buy a large house on the seafront in Worthing, and cover school fees so that both kids got the best education possible, plus a bit left over for long summer holidays in the South of France so they could spend time as a family. For Charlotte it had meant giving up work until the kids started school. Then she had become involved with a local theatre group, helping out with set design – always fitting it around the children’s needs, because Ed wasn’t around to help as much as he would like. In order to command the big salary he had to spend large chunks of time away on location. The last couple of years, he seemed to have spent most of his time at the opposite end of the country to Charlotte and the kids.
‘I think so,’ he replied, trying hard to keep the uncertainty out of his voice. ‘Charlotte says I’m away too much.’
‘Are you?’
‘Perhaps, but only the last year or so. You know how it is in this business, Pen. Projects are tied up years ahead, you sign your life away.’
‘You’re one of the best in the business, Ed. You can pick and choose your projects now.’
‘I’m not so sure. People have short memories.’
‘Only for people they want to forget.’
Ed laughed at this. ‘Point taken.’
But the thing that was really worrying him was the one thing he couldn’t bring himself to tell Penny. Over the past year the distance between him and Charlotte had been growing, and it was a distance that had nothing to do with being at opposite ends of the country. They always used to make the most of the weeks when he was at home, but now Charlotte seemed to spend every minute she could at the theatre. Worse still, she’d taken to sleeping in the spare room, citing his fidgeting in bed as the reason. ‘I’ve got used to sleeping without you, Ed,’ she’d told him bluntly.
Ed felt sure there was more to it. Whatever their ups and downs over the years, the two of them had always been physically close. It made this new distance between them all the more painful. Then four weeks ago, during his last stay at home, he’d waited until Charlotte had gone to take a bath before sneaking into the spare bedroom and picking up her phone. Though he hated himself for it, he clicked on her inbox and scrolled through the messages. Among them he found one that made his heart stop. It was a text message from Henry, the director at the theatre. He could hardly bear to think about the words he’d seen: I love you … can’t live without you …
The thought that his wife was in love with someone else tore at his insides. He pushed it away.
‘Look,’ said Penny, pulling him back to the present, ‘what you need is a break. Why don’t you bring them all down here for the weekend? One of the cottages in the village is for rent. It’s recently been bought by some second-homers who’re letting it out when they aren’t here. It would be perfect for you and the family, and the best thing about it is that it’s got this amazing beach cabin on Shellsand Bay that comes as part of the package.’
‘How do you know it’s available?’
‘Queenie told me. The owners have engaged her as their key holder. I can easily get their number off her.’ Penny picked up her phone and started to call Queenie.
‘Hang on, I’m not sure. I’d need to check with Charlotte – they might have plans.’
‘Ed, stop procrastinating. You need to spend some time with your family and that’s that.’
Ed did as he was told. Now that the idea was in his head he ached to see his kids. The last four weeks he’d avoided going home, citing complications with the production. Anything rather than confront the situation and risk Charlotte telling him that she no longer loved him, that their marriage was over.
Maybe Penny was right. They hadn’t been seeing enough of each other, that was all. He’d been letting his imagination run riot. Yes, they could sort this all out – a little holiday was exactly what they needed.
*
‘Please can you get off my foot, Molly?’ Charlotte looked down into the soft adoring eyes of their bearded collie. Molly was a shaggy-coated four-year-old, absolutely enormous and intent on getting as close as she could to Charlotte, which meant that crushed toes were part and parcel of being a dog owner in the Appleby household.
Charlotte eyed the ingredients in front of her. Prawns in their shells. Coconut milk. Now what else was it that Nigel Slater had said should go in? The recipe had been in the Observer at the weekend, but she’d forgotten to tear it out before chucking the paper into the recycling box. She’d decided to give it a go anyway, hoping that she could rely on her memory. A green curry – would that be Indian? Or Sri Lankan? She rummaged in the cupboard and fished out some curry powder. What else? There’d been a green herb of some sort … And was it a lemon or a lime he used? She went to the fridge: there was no lime, so it would have to be lemon, and the only green herb she could see was a slightly withered stalk of parsley. That’d do. Maybe chuck in a carrot or two? And mangetout – she had plenty of mangetout and it was definitely one of Nigel’s ingredients.
Any other evening Charlotte would have abandoned all thought of making the dish as soon as she discovered the recipe was lost, but tonight she was glad of the challenge. She needed something to distract her from the worries racing through her mind. Alex should have been home an hour ago. They’d agreed that she could go to her best friend Poppy’s house for the afternoon, provided she was home by seven. When seven thirty rolled around with no sign of her daughter and no word of explanation, Charlotte had tried to ring her, but an automated announcement informed her that the person she was calling was not available. So she rang Poppy’s mum to ask her to send Alex on her way – only to discover that Alex hadn’t been there in days. Fighting the urge to panic and ring all three emergency services and run up and down the street in hysteria, she’d focused on remaining calm and waiting it out. It wasn’t the first time Alex had disappeared for a few hours with no explanation. It had been less obvious during term time, though Charlotte had managed to catch her out a few tim
es, but now the holidays were here it was clear that Alex was going somewhere she didn’t want anyone else to know about.
There had been none of the usual telltale signs of a boyfriend. No dreamy looks over the breakfast table, or furtive late-night phone calls. Charlotte wasn’t much of a snoop, so she could be wrong, but in her experience boy trouble usually came with bells on, shouting its presence loud and clear. No, this felt like something else. Perhaps if she’d been around a bit more, then Alex would have opened up to her. But she’d been preoccupied with everything that was happening with Henry – she’d be lying to herself if she didn’t admit to taking her eye off the ball.
Charlotte proceeded to chop up all the ingredients with more confidence than she felt. The resulting mix looked nowhere near as lovely as the photos of Nigel’s efforts …
She lit the flame under the deep sauté pan and threw in the vegetables. Behind her she heard the front door shut quietly in the hallway and turned with great relief to see her daughter Alex slipping past the kitchen door in the direction of the stairs.
‘Hi, darling,’ she called out.
Alex’s foot stopped on the stairs. ‘Hi, Mum.’
‘Got a minute?’
Silence, but then, a moment later, the slow plod of reluctant footsteps back down the hall. Alex’s hair had been purple when she’d first dyed it, but it had now faded to a lilacy-blue and was scraped back in a ponytail. Charlotte missed her daughter’s natural copper-blonde hair but hoped it would stage a return one day. Chewing the toggle of her hoodie, Alex hovered by the door.
‘Been somewhere nice?’ Charlotte asked casually. Must avoid an argument, she told herself. Tread carefully.
‘I was at Poppy’s, I told you.’
Damn. Why do you have to lie, Alex? Why can’t you tell me where you’ve been?
‘I’m making dinner. Are you hungry?’ she asked, a touch too brightly.
‘No, thanks. We had KFC.’
We? Who’s ‘we’?