My Summer of Magic Moments

by Caroline Roberts

  ‘The 24th of September. The Saturday.’

  ‘Ah … right. Are you sure it’s the 24th?’

  ‘Yes, I’m pretty certain that’s the date I put in my diary.’ It was the day after Andrea’s birthday, that’s how she remembered. They’d decided to postpone her birthday drinks until after Race Day. A hangover might seriously affect performance.

  ‘Okay, the muddy one. Did you know you were doing that one, or were you meant to be doing the normal run on the Town Moor?’

  ‘The normal one, as far as I know. What’s the muddy one all about?’

  ‘Three miles of mud and obstacles at Newcastle Racecourse, apparently. Thick, gloopy mud by the looks of last year’s photos.’

  ‘I’ll check with Andrea – she’s the one who booked it. She might have jotted down the wrong date. We’re on the normal run, I’m sure. Andrea wouldn’t want to mess up her hair – a bit of sweat will be bad enough. Leave it with me and I’ll give her a quick call. Get her to check her email confirmation.’

  ‘Okay.’

  Ten minutes later, after explaining the situation and sending Andrea off to check, the call came back.

  ‘Do you want the good news or the bad news?’

  ‘Go on …’

  ‘We’re definitely booked in for Saturday the 24th … and it definitely is the muddy one. Soz. I’m not sure how I managed that. It’s still three miles, though. We’re not on a half marathon or anything.’

  ‘Oh my God. Three miles of mud and grime and assault-course battering. What have you got us into, girl?’

  ‘We could just rebook on the other one and not turn up for the muddy one.’

  ‘Mmm.’ Claire’s mind was buzzing. It might actually work better for publicity and sponsorship. The mud-wrestling-style images would work really well in the paper, if Dave let them have a slot. If she could get through cancer, she could get through a bit of mud. It might even be fun in a weird, horrendous kind of way. ‘No, let’s do this thing!’

  ‘You sure?’ Andrea sounded horrified.

  ‘I’m sure. Just think of the publicity we could get. We’re bound to raise more money.’

  ‘Okaaay. I think. What am I agreeing to?’

  ‘It’ll be fun!’ The slogan of the ‘Pretty Muddy’ campaign had stuck in her mind: ‘Cancer plays dirty, but so can we!’ she chanted down the phone. And she thought about little Reece and his family.

  ‘Okay, your call, Claire. We’re on.’

  ‘I’ll just ring Sal back – tell her the good news.’

  They both laughed.

  21

  After a long day working in the garden, sitting down on the patio with Mum, enjoying a glass of wine and listening to the birds

  D., Cornwall

  It was just three days to go until the big move. She had a day off booked for Friday when the removals van was coming, thanks to Mark, who’d elected himself as driver, at eight-thirty a.m. Half the furniture had already gone off with Paul, who’d turned up last night looking rather sheepish in a self-drive with his mate. At least he’d had the decency not to bring the new girlfriend, but actually it hadn’t hurt as much as she’d feared. She’d booked a smaller van than Paul’s, and Mark was going to give her a hand with moving the sofa and larger furniture items, and then all the boxes. It was a bit daunting, but she felt very ready to face the next chapter. A fresh start.

  Her mum, one of her moving out support team, let herself in that evening, calling ‘I’m here, love, where can I help?’

  ‘I’m in the kitchen. You can help in here, that would be great. That’s where most of what’s left to pack is.’

  ‘I’ll do your china and glass then. I’m a dab hand with scrunched-up newspaper. I take it you’ve kept some back?’

  ‘Oh yes, I’ve kept all my old articles. I thought they’d come in handy to wrap round my mugs,’ Claire quipped. Her mother raised a grey-pencilled eyebrow. ‘Actually, you can use the sport pages. Gary’s soccer specials are enough to bore the socks off anyone.’ She smiled.

  Her mother shook her head. She was used to Claire’s ironic humour about her work. Her daughter was always modest about her writing.

  ‘I’m liking your “Magic Moments” articles, by the way. What a lovely idea. Makes you think about all those special moments and slow down a bit. Brings us all back down to earth.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Claire started on a box for her oven trays and casserole dishes.

  ‘Oh, and Mrs Evans, next door but one, said to tell you that her magic moment is an hour with The Times crossword and a coffee when her husband’s out at golf.’

  ‘Cheers. I’ll jot that one down when I get a mo.’

  ‘Do you want to know what mine is?’

  ‘Ah, okay yes, of course.’ Ooh, she hadn’t got round to asking her mum. She should have done by now, really.

  ‘It was after your dad died …’ Her mum held a half-wrapped mug aloft as she remembered. ‘I’d been racing around trying to block it out. Keeping myself busy. I thought that was best for a while, and then I realized that what I actually needed was to slow down. It was the garden that did it. Gave me these magic moments. At first it hurt like hell, even there. I’d be cutting the grass and it felt all wrong. Your dad always did that, not me. I did the borders and weeding. I just stopped mowing one day and smelt the grass, freshly cut, and I felt the sun on my face. And although it hurt and I ached inside, I felt like it might just be okay again, one day soon.’

  Claire listened quietly as her mother reminisced, giving her space to talk.

  ‘Yes, the smell of freshly mown grass. The warmth of the sun on your face. Watching a butterfly on a buddleia. My magic moments … Oh, and when you were so poorly, Claire. It was the garden that kept me sane. Doing the weeding, watering the pots, keeping myself active. Thank God you’re all right now.’ Her mum’s eyes had misted. ‘Sorry, I’m going on a bit, aren’t I?’

  ‘No, it’s fine. It’s lovely to hear that. And I’m fine. So we’re all okay, aren’t we?’

  ‘Well, except for that bloody husband of yours.’

  ‘Ex-husband.’

  ‘The bloody bastard. I still can’t believe he’s making you move out.’

  Claire was taken aback to hear her mum swear like that, but she gave a smile. ‘Mum, I’m okay with it. I can see the sense in it now. We were both clinging to a lost cause.’

  ‘But waiting to tell you until you got better, indeed. He shouldn’t have been messing about elsewhere in the first bloody place.’

  ‘The ship had already sunk, Mum, way before I even got cancer. I suppose it just made it harder for him to leave.’

  ‘Well, I’d not be so forgiving.’

  ‘Hey, I’ve tried the bitter, angry and twisted route already – it just left me exhausted. So I decided to go with it and see things for how they were.’

  ‘Hmm …’ She obviously wasn’t convinced. ‘Do you want me to leave the kettle out?’

  ‘Yes, last thing to pack away. Actually, let’s have a cuppa now, shall we? I’m parched.’

  They had a ten-minute breather, munching on crumbly shortbreads and sipping strong Yorkshire tea.

  ‘Thanks Mum, for your help. For everything.’

  ‘My pleasure, darling. I’d only have been watching the Bake Off or repeats of Strictly. Talking of Strictly, what do you make of the new Romanian male dancer? Rather gorgeous, don’t you think? Makes it much more exciting viewing this year, I must say.’

  Claire smiled. His eastern European charms hadn’t been lost on her either. Nothing like a taut torso, even when it was all spangly lycra and orange spray-tan.

  They packed a couple more boxes, then her mother said she’d better be heading off. She’d promised to pop into Mrs Clark’s down the road on her way back and drop off half a dozen eggs and a madeira cake from Sainsbury’s before it got too late.

  ‘Are you all organized for Friday, darling? Do you need a hand on the day? Maybe I can come and help unpack all this stuff at the new place over th
e weekend.’

  ‘Friday’s going to be pretty manic. Sal and Mark are going to help. Mark’s driving the hire van for me, and he’ll help with all the heavy stuff. It’ll be enough hands on deck, I think. So thanks. But, Saturday would be good. By then we could unpack some of the smaller stuff together.’

  ‘I’d like to help both days if I can. I’ll keep them free and we’ll chat about what I can do. Ooh, shall I make you some supper over at mine on Sunday evening? I’m sure you’ll be in need of some good food and rest by then.’

  ‘Oh yes, that sounds great.’

  ‘Lovely. But ring me if you need anything before then, won’t you. No point struggling away on your own.’

  ‘Thanks, for everything, Mum.’ And she gave her a big hug. Family was precious.

  22

  Family

  Back at the Herald the next day, Claire had her head down typing up her ‘Magic Moments’ blog for Monday’s edition.

  All night her mind had been buzzing with that email from ‘E’. She thought she’d put the whole thing to rest, but what if it really was him? But no, a cheating git wouldn’t try and contact the woman he’d had a fling with once she’d sussed him out. On the other hand, dammit, what if she had, after all, got the wrong end of the stick?

  She typed up Mr Jones’s message of enduring love. Focused on that. She’d get herself a coffee soon; she was feeling bloody tired – hadn’t got a good night’s sleep at all. Why the hell was she allowing thoughts of Ed and Bamburgh to affect her? The race training was taking it out of her a bit too.

  She vaguely heard the sound of the swing doors opening at the far end of the office – it happened all the time, so it hardly registered. A male voice, possibly Gary in Sport, said, ‘You’ll find her just down the far end on the right, mate.’ Then there was a weird hush over the office. The usual sounds of typing, chatting, had ceased.

  Claire glanced up to see Emma’s head and ponytail swish in a turn. There was a mass swizzle of chairs. Then Andrea’s face popped up over the dividing screen just across from Claire, her eyes wide. Why the hell was everyone in the office looking her way?

  A deep mellow voice with a hint of Scottish lilt. ‘I’m looking for Claire?’

  As she turned, he stopped.

  ‘Hi, Claire.’ He stood, looking rather awkward, in front of her. As tall and handsome as ever. Dark-blond tousled hair. He gave her a nervous smile.

  Oh My God!

  ‘Hi.’ She just about squeaked the word, stunned. ‘Ed.’ She seemed to be incapable of normal speech.

  ‘Hi,’ he replied. He didn’t seem to know what to say next either. It didn’t help that the whole office was staring at the pair of them.

  They stayed a polite metre or so apart, Claire still sitting in her office chair, Ed standing before her. Ed who she’d kissed, had sex with, whose body she’d seen every inch of. Her colleagues were gawping. Andrea’s eyes were still peeping over the top of the partition, entranced, as if she was thinking ‘Who the hell is that!’

  ‘I’m sorry to just turn up like this. How are you?’ His voice melted her like chocolate.

  ‘Fine,’ she managed to say, her tone all high-pitched. ‘And, it’s okay.’

  ‘It took me ages to find you.’

  ‘It did?’ So he’d been looking for her.

  ‘Well, after you’d stormed off that day … You never gave me the chance to explain.’ A furrow crossed his brow.

  Andrea’s face slid down behind the screen to give them the pretence of privacy, though she’d be earwigging on the far side of the partition, for sure.

  To explain. So had she been the one to make the mistake? She suddenly felt very unsure of herself.

  Ed scanned the office, looking uncomfortable. Most people’s eyes had shifted back down to their computers, their phones. Most people’s ears were probably still tuning in, though – this kind of thing didn’t happen every day. ‘Look, do you get a break or something? Can we maybe go for a coffee?’

  ‘Ah, yes – yes, of course.’

  ‘And … how are you, Ed?’ Claire returned the question.

  ‘Fine.’ He nodded slowly as if reassuring himself.

  ‘Okay then, I’ll just need to finish off here. But I could take my lunch hour a bit early, say in ten minutes. There’s a little coffee shop just over the road opposite the main entrance, Brooklyn’s. We could meet there.’

  ‘That sounds good. I’ll go and set myself up in there with a cappuccino or something. I’ll see you in a minute.’

  He turned to walk away, the eyes of the office lifting again. Curiosity fizzed through the air like static. In her work environment he looked gorgeously out of place. Just as the swing doors closed on him, Andrea’s head popped up like a meerkat’s. ‘And who the fantastic fuck is that?’ She wiped her brow exaggeratedly ‘Hot or what!’

  Claire stifled a giggle as Dave loomed out of his office doorway. ‘Okay, gang, enough of the side show. Back to work. Claire, my office.’

  Oh shit, was she in trouble? It wasn’t as if she’d asked Ed to call in at work.

  She saved the editorial she was working on, took a slow breath, and walked up the aisle to David’s door. Andrea gave her a small thumbs-up signal of encouragement from her desk.

  She braced herself as she took a step inside.

  ‘Have you done the article on the old people’s home being threatened with closure yet?’

  ‘Yes, I finished that this morning. I was just going to give it a quick glance over, then forward it to you.’

  ‘Good, that’s fine then. Get it checked and into my inbox for three thirty. In the meantime, scarper. You can go. Believe it or not, I’m a bit of a romantic at heart. Go meet your man.’

  Claire grinned. ‘Thanks.’

  Though she wasn’t at all sure he was her man.

  Her stomach was in knots as she put her computer into sleep mode and quickly neatened the paperwork on her desk. She grabbed her jacket and headed out of the office.

  Why had he come? What was this really about? She was torn between elation and the fear of getting hurt yet again, the fear of learning something that she’d really rather not.

  She walked down the two flights of stairs and out through the glass double doors at the front of the newspaper building.

  He was there, sitting in the window of the coffee shop over the road. He hadn’t seen her yet. He lifted his head instinctively as she crossed.

  Okay Claire, here goes. She tried out a smile, pushed open the coffee shop door. He was sat on a stool at a high table in the corner. He looked gorgeous, if somewhat apprehensive. And breathe.

  ‘Hey,’ was all he said, with a gentle smile.

  ‘Hi.’ A whole host of butterflies were jittering away in her stomach.

  ‘Come and sit down.’

  ‘So …’ She picked up the conversation they’d started in the office. ‘You found me.’

  ‘Yep. I did. Can I get you a coffee or anything?’

  ‘A latte would be great.’

  He had a half-empty cup in front of him. ‘I’ll just be one sec.’ He headed over to the counter, spoke with the waitress and was soon back. ‘Right, well …’ He sat down on his stool across from her. They were close enough to touch, yet she felt a world apart. He took a slow breath as Claire held hers. ‘Claire, I didn’t want to leave things like that. With you thinking …’ he paused, looked out of the window for a second, then began rearranging the sugar sachets that were in a small white dish. ‘Ah, this is so hard to put into words. Sorry.’

  ‘Shall we make these a takeaway? There’s a nice park just along the road. We could walk a bit.’ Walk and talk, hopefully. She could do with some fresh air herself.

  ‘Yeah, that sounds good.’

  The waitress was still making up her latte, so she asked for a takeaway cup and, after checking with him, another Americano for Ed.

  She rejoined him, offering him his paper cup. ‘Have you been back to Bamburgh lately?’

  It was two
weeks since they’d both been there. Since she had dashed off, full of anger, accusing him of all sorts. She felt herself flush a little as she remembered.

  ‘Yes, last weekend.’

  Of course. The bank holiday. ‘It’s such a beautiful place,’ she added.

  ‘It is.’ He smiled softly.

  Beautiful, she mused, and full of memories. Shaken up right now like a kaleidoscope – the meal in his garden, the tea lights glowing, the taste of raspberries and cream, the smell of the sea, dancing barefoot on the beach … the gut-wrenching twist of betrayal, or so she thought … Despite the horrible ending to it all, the truth of which it seemed she was about to find out, she had missed it so much. And him.

  ‘Right, I’ll show you where this park is. I escape there sometimes on my lunch hour.’ Yes, she’d watch the children play, feel the sun on her face or the wind in her hair. It had been a really important place to her when she’d first gone back to work after her chemotherapy sessions. The park kind of grounded you. Reminded you that life was still carrying on, and that was a good thing.

  They walked fairly close together, but not touching in any way. The unspoken was keeping a polite space between them. He might still be a shitty adulterer, for all she knew. But would you seek someone out to tell them that? Track someone down to say another goodbye? Too many questions were flitting in her mind. She took a sip of her latte as they entered the stone gates of the park and wandered along a leafy grove, dappled sunlight beaming across their path.

  ‘I’ve been reading more of your column. The magic moments.’

  Curiosity burned. ‘Was it you?’

  He quirked an eyebrow at her.

  ‘The “E” last week? Was that you? All those things about the beach. Our evening.’ Her voice faded, realizing she’d look a right idiot if it hadn’t been him. If she’d been clutching at similarities.

  But he smiled broadly, showing white, even teeth. And his lips. Boy, she remembered those lips. ‘Might have been.’

  She smiled back tentatively, the sensible part of her brain still keeping her in check.