A Year and a Day

by Isabelle Broom

  ‘Charlie,’ she said. ‘He’s been calling me for days. When I eventually answered, he told me how upset you were.’ She had to pause again as the sobs threatened, and Hope braved a look at Charlie. He looked close to tears, too.

  ‘He told me you’d been crying, and that you kept talking about me and …’ Annette couldn’t hold her tears in any longer, and her face screwed up in agony. She looked just as she had as a small child, all red and blotchy and vulnerable. Hope finally regained her power of movement and gathered her daughter into her arms, stroking her hair and making soothing noises into her ear. It wasn’t long before both women were crying, clinging on to one another with a desperate mixture of love and relief.

  Hope heard Charlie cough under his breath. Looking up, she saw that his cheeks were wet with tears, but he was smiling.

  ‘I’m going to head downstairs and get a coffee,’ he told her. ‘Leave you two girls to catch up.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she mouthed, still holding Annette as tightly as she could. Charlie nodded, turning away and heading for the stairs.

  Hope ushered Annette into the bedroom, sending up a silent prayer of thanks that she’d taken the time to tidy the place and make the bed. Annette didn’t seem to notice the lavish décor or the beautiful details – she only had eyes for Hope.

  ‘I’ve missed you, Mum,’ she admitted, finally letting go of Hope and allowing herself to be gently manoeuvred into a chair.

  ‘Oh, darling – I’ve missed you so much.’ Hope clasped her hand. ‘I’ve felt like my heart is breaking every day.’

  ‘I was so angry,’ Annette confessed. ‘I just didn’t understand why you would do that to Dad.’

  ‘I’m so sorry you found out the way you did,’ Hope said, twisting her body in discomfort as she remembered Annette’s face peering at her and Charlie through the car window. ‘I’d never in a million years have wanted that to happen.’

  To her surprise, Annette suddenly started chuckling.

  ‘What’s so funny?’

  ‘Just you – snogging a man in a parked car. My mum! Honestly, when I think about it now, I’m actually quite impressed.’

  ‘Oh, don’t!’ Hope slapped playfully at the air. ‘You’ll make me blush.’

  ‘Charlie’s a nice man,’ Annette said now, surprising her again. ‘I thought I hated him, but I don’t. I just hate the situation.’

  ‘He is a nice man.’ Hope nodded. Annette looked so drawn and pale. She must have had a very early flight from Manchester to be here by this time. Hope wanted to get up and make her some tea, urge her to eat some biscuits to get the colour back in her cheeks, but she resisted. This was the first time they’d properly talked to one another in weeks, and she was reluctant to upset the calm that had settled between them.

  ‘When he called me,’ Annette went on, staring down at Hope’s hand holding her own, ‘he told me – begged me – that he would do anything to reunite us. He paid for my flight over here and arranged a car from the airport and everything. He wouldn’t take no for an answer. Patrick was sick of me moping around the house anyway.’ She looked up and smiled. ‘I think he was as relieved as I was that someone else was taking charge of things.’

  Hope thought of all those calls Charlie had made, at how he’d hidden the truth from her, presumably so as not to raise her hopes. How horrible she’d been to distrust him. All that time he was trying to do something nice for her, something vital, and she’d assumed that he was up to no good. And now there was an uncomfortable rift between them that she wasn’t sure how to mend.

  ‘I can’t believe he managed it,’ she told Annette. ‘I honestly thought you might never speak to me again.’

  ‘I thought so, too,’ Annette admitted, and Hope flinched. ‘But then I went to see Dad, and he told me I was being unfair.’

  ‘Did he?’ Hope’s eyeballs bulged in surprise.

  ‘He told me that your … well, that you and he hadn’t been a real couple for a long time. I don’t think he was surprised when I ran in there and shouted my head off about you and Charlie – in the end, I think he was relieved.’

  Hope felt a huge metaphorical weight lift off her shoulders.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘You should see him, Mum – he’s been like a new man these past few weeks. He’s started jogging!’

  ‘No!’ Hope actually laughed.

  ‘I said to him, I said, “Mum’s gone out there and found herself someone who makes her happy – and you should do the same.” I think he took it to heart, because the next time I went over, I found him in the kitchen with one of your Jamie Oliver books open, trying to cook himself a decent meal.’

  ‘I can’t imagine it.’ Hope clapped her hands together.

  ‘The place was a bomb site, obviously,’ Annette added. ‘But at least he was trying. I was so proud of him.’

  ‘I am, too.’ Hope smiled. ‘I never wanted to hurt your dad, but what he told you is right. We hadn’t really been a proper husband and wife for years. Neither of us ever had the guts to say anything about it, so for ages we just sort of existed. Meeting Charlie made me realise that I was still a woman as well as a wife, but more than that, he gave me the excuse I needed to escape.’

  She trailed off, not wanting to sound too damning of Dave and their relationship, but Annette was looking at her eagerly.

  ‘Go on.’

  Hope took a deep breath. ‘The thing is, love, I’ve been thinking about this since I’ve been here, actually. For such a long time, I’ve been Dave’s wife and your mum. And you know there’s nothing I love more than being your mum, but somewhere along the way I lost who I really was. Can you understand that?’

  Annette nodded, tears making her eyes shine.

  ‘I felt like I was invisible half the time,’ Hope admitted. ‘You and your dad, you had jobs and lives outside of the house, but I felt as if I didn’t, not really. Not in the way I wanted. Now I’ve realised that what I want is a life all of my own. Oh love, don’t cry.’

  ‘I just wish you’d talked to me about it.’ Annette sniffed and wiped her face with the back of her hand. ‘If I’d known how unhappy you were I could have done something.’

  ‘I’ve never been unhappy being your mum,’ Hope assured her. ‘Don’t ever think that. Promise me?’

  Annette nodded, taking a deep breath to control her sobs.

  ‘Being a mum to you is the best thing I’ve ever done or ever could do, and it was only when you moved in with Patrick that I started to feel as if I was in the wrong place. Charlie just came along at the right time, I suppose. He saw me as a woman and as a person – I was Hope to him. Am I making any sense?’

  ‘So much sense.’ Annette sniffed. ‘I behaved like such a brat. I’m so ashamed of myself.’

  Hope shook her head. ‘Don’t be. I would have done exactly the same thing. And anyway, you’re here now and that’s all that matters. I’m so glad you are, too, because you’re going to love Prague.’

  Annette got up from the chair and wandered over to the window, peering out at the brilliant blue sky.

  ‘It’s so cold!’ she said. ‘I didn’t even bring a scarf.’

  ‘Well, we’ll just have to get you one,’ Hope told her, thinking of a beautiful stall down in the market.

  Annette took a breath. ‘I’m sorry, Mum,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry for everything.’

  ‘Enough of that,’ Hope chided, swallowing her own tears yet again. ‘You must be starving, are you? Let’s go down and see if we can’t find some late breakfast.’

  ‘Can Charlie come with us?’ Annette was suddenly urgent. ‘If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t even be here. I’d like to thank him properly.’

  ‘Of course.’ Hope took her hand.

  As they shut the bedroom door behind them and made their way hand in hand down the carpeted staircase, Hope thought about the wish she’d made on the Charles Bridge. A year and a day to get her daughter back had felt like such a desirable prospect at that moment, but now that she had
her here, Hope knew a wait that long would have been unendurable. It turned out that she hadn’t needed Prague’s hidden magic to have her wish granted – she had just needed Charlie.

  38

  ‘Do you remember that advert, the one with Mr Soft?’

  Megan frowned. ‘The Softmints one?’

  Ollie looked at her, then again at the building in front of them. ‘Yeah, he had a little song and everything. It was a bit creepy, but I used to love it.’

  ‘I remember,’ she said.

  ‘Well, this place looks like something that would be in that advert. It’s all squashed.’

  He wasn’t wrong, thought Megan. The Dancing House did look a lot like a mistake from a potter’s wheel, with its irregular edges and bizarre curves, but she liked it all the same. It had so many windows dotted up its height in random places that it reminded her of something you’d see in a cartoon, or in a fairy tale.

  ‘Apparently, it’s known as the Fred and Ginger building,’ Ollie told her, reading from the guidebook. ‘There’s a swanky restaurant on the top floor, too.’

  Megan didn’t reply, because she’d crouched down at his feet to get a good angle. The Dancing House was situated on the corner of a very busy crossroads, with cars and trams hurtling past them from every direction.

  ‘I’m just going to cross the road,’ she told Ollie, pressing the big red button and waiting for the ticking noise that would indicate she could go. ‘I can’t get the right frame from here.’

  Ollie went to follow her, but then thought better of it. ‘I’ll just have a wander down there,’ he said, pointing to a road heading off to the right. ‘Find myself a tea or something.’

  She watched him lope off, his hands deep in his pockets and his head down, and resisted a strong urge to run after him. Was her mother right? Was she making a mistake by refusing to be with Ollie? Last night had felt so amazing, but more than that, it had felt right. Any niggles she had about the way she felt towards him were eradicated by the strength of their connection. But now, with the alcohol out of her system and reality holding up huge placards in her mind, that creeping feeling had worked its way back into her gut, and she couldn’t ignore it. If she truly loved Ollie, then why wasn’t she doing everything she could to be with him, rather than running away?

  When she had taken as many photos from as many different positions as she could of the Dancing House, all the while growing more and more impressed with the sheer ambition of the architect who had created it, Megan made her way back across the road in search of Ollie.

  Aside from a cat café, the street seemed to be purely residential. But Ollie wouldn’t have gone into a cat café, would he? Shrugging, she made her way along the wide pavement, which was inlaid with flat grey pebbles, until she reached the black-and-white sign featuring a little cat and a steaming cup of coffee. Peering through the glass, she emitted a small murmur of delight.

  Ollie was sitting cross-legged on the floor, a large red cushion underneath him and at least four cats crawling all over him. A petite Czech girl was sitting on a chair nearby, and she watched as Ollie said something that made her laugh. Very slowly, she lifted up her camera.

  One of the cats had curled up in the space between Ollie’s gangly legs, and another, which looked much younger, was crawling up his arm to reach its tortoiseshell friend. That one, having scaled Ollie’s other arm, had settled down on his shoulder and was now calmly washing its own bottom. Ollie waited until the young cat had reached the summit of his head before picking up his mug of coffee, laughing as the Czech girl clapped her hands and pointed.

  From behind two layers of glass – the window and the lens of her camera – Megan experienced a stirring of jealousy. She would never get to be that girl again, the one who Ollie would flirt with, or laugh with. It felt like too much had happened between them now for her ever to be that girl again. There was too much resentment and distrust on his side, too many memories of how great things had been between them before she’d ruined it all. On her side it was more complicated, because she felt guilty. Not only about hurting Ollie’s feelings, but also for allowing herself to feel miserable, too. What a stupid mess she’d made of everything.

  Ollie suddenly looked up and saw her through the glass. He hesitated for a split second, then beckoned to her, gesturing to the cats and giving her a half-hearted thumbs up. Inside, the smell of cat litter was almost overwhelming – even the aroma of freshly ground coffee came a poor second.

  ‘You’re a regular Doctor Doolittle today,’ she told him, shaking her head at the young Czech girl to indicate that she didn’t want to order anything.

  ‘Did you get some good photos of Mr Soft’s house?’ he asked.

  She nodded, looking anywhere but at him. There were more cats sitting on chairs and along a wide wooden rail above the windows at the back of the café. Some appeared to be sleeping peacefully, while others stared across at her, in that quietly judgemental way cats always do, their tails twitching with displeasure at this strange, foreign newcomer.

  Ollie must have sensed her impatience to leave, because the next time he picked up his cup of coffee, he drained it in one gulp.

  ‘Shall we?’ he said, indicating the door.

  Megan was relieved. The combination of cat litter and curious stares from the girl – who, she’d decided in the past five minutes, had clearly developed a major crush on Ollie – was making her feel extremely uncomfortable. Once outside, she sucked in the cold, clean air gratefully.

  ‘How could you stand the smell in there?’ she asked, when they were a safe distance away from the café.

  ‘Smell?’ Ollie seemed genuinely at a loss.

  ‘The cat litter. I thought I was going to heave.’

  Ollie shrugged. ‘My parents have got loads of cats. I’m probably immune to the smell of them by now. Plus, we have loads of animals in the classroom. They come round on rotation for the children to care for. At the moment, I’m looking after three guinea pigs and a degu.’

  ‘What the hell is a degu?’ Megan asked as they crossed the road. They had made their way back to the main road that ran alongside the Vltava River, and the sun was still dancing merrily off the surface of the water below them.

  Ollie pulled a face while he searched for the words. ‘Like a big gerbil,’ he told her. ‘Sounds awful, but he’s actually quite a character. He seems to love the children, too.’

  ‘I don’t know how you do your job,’ she told him honestly.

  That shrug again. ‘I don’t know how you do yours,’ he said.

  ‘Don’t you ever have days where the kids annoy you?’ she persisted, steering them towards a wide bridge that would take them across the river.

  Ollie shook his head. ‘Not really. The thing is with young children, even when they’re naughty, it’s rarely coming from a bad place. They don’t understand what it is to be spiteful. It’s almost always to do with attention. And if there is some persistent bad behaviour, it usually indicates a bigger problem.

  ‘I had a boy in my class a few years ago who turned from behaving impeccably to literally tearing the place apart, and when I finally sat down with him, one-to-one, it turned out that his mum was sick with cancer.’

  ‘Oh.’ Megan put a gloved hand up to her mouth. ‘That’s awful.’

  ‘There was no dad in the picture, so little Ryan and his older brother, who was only about thirteen, they were doing the lion’s share of the housework and the food shopping. The mother’s sister was helping out, but they were all struggling, and poor Ryan was just falling apart.’

  ‘What happened?’ Megan asked. They had crossed the river now and turned right to walk down the other side, back towards the centre of the city. She was becoming accustomed to the click-clicking sounds of the passing trams and the crunching of the frozen slush beneath her feet. It felt oddly comforting – even relaxing – and she stopped in her tracks for a few seconds to take in the view. The glittering ribbon of the Vltava lay flat and calm to their right, t
he wind only just causing the trees beside them to creak and rustle. She thought again about the golden cross on the Charles Bridge, the promise of a wish coming true. It was easy to believe such a thing was possible on a day like today.

  Ollie had slipped into his typically modest mode now, as he explained how he’d contacted a local support group on Ryan’s mother’s behalf. His self-effacing nature was one of the things she liked most about him, but equally it frustrated her at times. Ollie was incapable of patting himself on the back, even when he really deserved it, and accepted compliments in much the same way that a cat accepted a worming tablet – he found them a very sour pill to swallow.

  ‘You should feel proud of yourself,’ she told him, groaning inwardly as he shook his head with predictable disagreement.

  ‘I was just doing my job,’ he said, glancing at her. ‘Ryan’s mum died about a year ago now. He’s not in my class any more, but I’ve been keeping an eye on him, you know, just making sure he’s coping okay.’

  Megan paused while she tried to imagine what it must be like for poor little Ryan, losing his mum and not having a dad. She was so close to her own parents that the thought seemed absurd – impossible even.

  ‘Is he okay?’ she asked, noticing the moisture in Ollie’s eyes.

  He took a few moments to reply, instead looking out across the water until the twinkling flickers of sunlight calmed him. ‘Kids are resilient,’ he said, turning to her. ‘I’m supposed to be the teacher, but in the end it was him who ended up teaching me a lesson.’

  Megan made a small noise of enquiry, silently worried where the conversation was heading.

  ‘I wasn’t in a good place when … Well, after my last break-up. I’ve never told you about my ex, have I?’

  Megan shook her head, thinking privately that whoever this girl was, she already hated her.

  ‘I thought it was going somewhere, she had other ideas,’ he stated, being careful to keep his tone neutral. Even now, Megan thought, he’s doing whatever he can to avoid offending me.

  ‘I won’t bore you with the details,’ he went on. ‘It was nothing like what you went through with that Andre moron – but just after it happened I was having a hard time sleeping and was beating myself up about it all, wondering what was wrong with me, what I could have done differently.’