The Homecoming

by Rosie Howard

  Camilla ducked her head modestly. ‘I’ve got a few bits and bobs – cake tins and stuff – in John Lewis and I’m talking to another high street chain, which must remain nameless, about some bedding, which is really exciting.’

  ‘It is!’ said Maddy. ‘Can I get you a coffee?’ she asked, waving at the cafe opposite, where there was now a queue of exhibitors wanting refreshment before the doors opened to the visitors.

  ‘That would be brilliant,’ said Camilla, scrabbling in her back pocket for money. ‘Double-shot cappuccino, please. We can take turns and mind each other’s stands. I’m on my own today too.’

  ‘Don’t worry about money; it’s on me this time.’

  By the time they had both drunk their coffee, the game was on. There was not so much a sudden rush but a growing trickle as the exhibition visitors piled in. It was a trade show so the visitors were primarily buyers, ranging from the big, high street stores to many, many small retailers who Maddy was also very keen to court the attention of.

  After just half an hour of catching people’s eyes and smiling warmly at them all, handing out brochures and engaging in small talk she was already exhausted. Thank goodness it was only one day. Actually the briefness of the event had been one of the attractions for them all, although they hadn’t been thrilled at how close it was to Christmas. Less than a week, thought Maddy, and goodness knows where I’ll be spending it. Most likely back at her mother’s house, just the two of them with their dual broken hearts, hers over Ben and her mother’s over Patrick. She would be just another statistic, a boomerang kid, slinking back to parents after a failed attempt to be a grown-up, she thought gloomily.

  By lunchtime, Maddy was pleased with her progress. She had filled a page and a half of her book with email addresses and other contact details. It was really important that the Bespoke Consortium had a regular e-newsletter and blog, she decided. She just hoped Serena and Flora would be prepared to accept her working in London. They could still meet regularly. Hopefully not in Havenbury but perhaps somewhere halfway.

  Maddy was just idly wondering if the cafe had anything for sale that she a) would want to eat and b) could afford to buy with her dwindling finances when a sweet-faced young woman wandered onto the stand, gazing at the photos and paying a flattering interest in the sample goods on display. She picked up the little sheepskin moccasins, felt the wool blankets and ran one of the soft, woven scarves through her fingers, looking impressed.

  ‘Hi there,’ said Maddy. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘Very nice,’ said the woman slowly. ‘Yes, very nice indeed. And,’ she gestured at the copy on the display boards, ‘I like your story too. Local, authentic, bespoke … very good. Very much the sort of thing I’m looking for, in fact.’ She paused and looked around again before seeming to make a decision.

  ‘I’m Abby,’ she said, holding out her hand. ‘I’m a buyer for Liberty. May we talk?’

  Maddy, registering what the woman said a millisecond after taking her hand, crushed it convulsively, making her jump and take a step back, leaving her hand behind in Maddy’s vice-like grip.

  ‘God,’ said Maddy, letting go a second later and leaping back too as if she’d been electrocuted. ‘I’m so sorry; are you alright?’

  Abby rubbed her hand ruefully but laughed. ‘Fine, thanks. I’m sorry, it’s my fault; I do seem to have that effect on people. I really like your offer. Shall we go and grab some lunch and have a chat?’

  ‘That would be lovely,’ said Maddy slowly, ‘but …’ She looked around the stand, ruefully.

  ‘Or we could eat here?’ suggested Abby. ‘I could go and grab something and bring it back?’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ swooped in Camilla, who had been lurking nearby with her ears flapping. ‘I’ll do your brochures and contact book for a bit, if you like?’

  Maddy moved over to her gratefully. Camilla grabbed her arm and hissed, ‘Do you know who that is?’

  ‘Yes,’ whispered Maddy. ‘I do now.’

  ‘Go, girl,’ said Camilla. ‘Take as long as you like.’

  Abby and Maddy had left it rather late for lunch so the queues weren’t bad but the choice was. They settled themselves at a little table with some dubious-looking falafel and a couple of chocolate brownies. Abby efficiently stacked the rubbish left by previous occupants – clearly the waitresses had not yet caught up after the lunch rush – and removed them to a neighbouring table.

  ‘Right,’ she said, taking a swig of her water. ‘Let’s talk.’

  She then explained that her bosses at Liberty had asked her to create a new range in the store, focusing exactly on the kinds of things the Bespoke Consortium valued, the local, natural materials, designer-makers, small volumes, bespoke finishing … Maddy listened to her talk with growing excitement.

  ‘I want to place a smallish order for certain aspects of your range,’ she said, using the brochure to mark off the goods that interested her.

  ‘We’re developing all the time,’ said Maddy. ‘We hope to have an artist blacksmith soon,’ she explained, ‘making coat hooks, fire irons, that sort of thing …’

  ‘Brilliant,’ said Abby. ‘I want to see everything like that as it comes through. This is a working partnership I’m proposing here. A two-way street.’

  ‘You should come down,’ said Maddy.

  ‘I’d love to. In the new year?’

  ‘Perfect,’ said Maddy, wondering where on earth she would be by then. Never mind, Serena and Abby would get on brilliantly. Serena was a buyer too, of course, plus she had Flora. They didn’t need her.

  Eventually, they agreed to keep in touch over the next few days with a firm first order from Abby by Christmas, which would give them a chunk of income pending, hopefully enough to secure the enterprise into the first few months of the new year.

  By the time Maddy got back to the stand, she was euphoric. Camilla gave her a grin as she returned.

  ‘That went well,’ she said, as a statement of fact, rather than a question.

  Maddy nodded. ‘Think so,’ she said. ‘Who knows …’

  ‘Nah,’ said Camilla. ‘It looks like a blinder to me. If you get nothing else out of this exhibition, I should have thought that one will justify the cost and time right there.’

  Maddy suspected she was right. Looking at her watch was a relief too. Just an hour to go until they were allowed to pack up and call it a day. She picked up her phone to text Serena and then decided to give her a call instead.

  She waited nervously as it rang. What if they were right in the middle of some crisis to do with Josh? What if the mobile phone signal did something awful to the equipment. Weren’t people supposed to switch off their phones in hospital?

  Just as it was about to go to ‘message’, Serena answered, sounding breathless.

  ‘Maddy?’

  ‘Oh God, Serena,’ said Maddy. ‘How’s Josh?’

  ‘I still don’t know,’ said Serena. ‘It’s been awful. We haven’t slept. Giles has been a complete hero, managing everything. Asking all the questions. Josh has just been taken off his drugs and we’re waiting …’ She paused to compose herself. ‘We’re waiting to see if he wakes up or …’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ said Maddy, ‘the last thing you want is to hear from me. I was going to text.’

  ‘No,’ interrupted Serena, sounding stronger, ‘I want to talk to you. I want to be able to talk about something else. How’s it going? I’m so sorry you’ve been on your own.’

  Maddy reassured her and then told her quickly about Abby. Serena was thrilled, shooting questions at her and then interrupting the answers. Maddy told her as much as she could and they both savoured the possibilities.

  ‘Anyhow,’ said Serena. ‘Ben’s here.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Maddy. ‘I see.’

  ‘You don’t, actually. I really don’t think you do. Look, the thing is, we’re only a few miles away so Ben’s coming.’

  ‘What? No!’

  ‘Yes,’ said Serena. ‘He’s j
ust setting off now. You two need to talk.’

  ‘We do not.’

  ‘Yes, you do,’ insisted Serena. ‘Anyway, he can give you a hand with the stuff.’

  ‘I don’t want a hand,’ said Maddy, but Serena had hung up.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  ‘Bugger,’ said Maddy, and looked at her watch again. There was a chance, if the traffic was bad, which it almost certainly was, that she could get packed up and out of there before he arrived. Even though visitors were still straggling through the hall, she started surreptitiously packing up bits and pieces.

  Just as she was starting to think about taking down the boards from the walls, she saw him walking towards her, his hair flopping over his forehead, a worn red polo shirt faded practically to pink because it had been washed so many times and an equally faded pair of jeans.

  He was making eye contact from yards away but when he finally stood in front of her neither of them could think what to say or do.

  ‘Wow,’ he said at last, looking her up and down in her impeccable charcoal suit with her sleek hair and make-up. ‘You’ve gone all cosmopolitan.’

  ‘This is London me,’ said Maddy. ‘It’s the real me.’

  ‘I’m not sure that’s true,’ he said, reaching for her but she put up a hand and took a step back.

  ‘No.’

  He put up his hands in submission. ‘Okay,’ he said gently. ‘No touching.’

  There was another pause.

  ‘How is Josh?’

  Ben’s eyes softened. ‘He’s amazing. Just before I left – after you spoke to Serena – he woke up. He’s had a rough time, but he’s in there. He’s himself. It’s just going to take a while. Basically he complained a bit and then told us all he’s taking up skydiving as soon as he’s old enough.’

  She smiled at that. ‘Sounds like Josh,’ she said. ‘At least he’ll be wearing a parachute.’

  Maddy’s smile dissolved suddenly into tears. Ben pulled her towards him, into a reassuring hug.

  ‘No,’ she sobbed, into his shirt.

  ‘Yes,’ said Ben, holding her tighter and putting his chin on her head, because it was just the right height. ‘I’m not put off by sleek, suited, sophisticated Maddy. That doesn’t wash with me, I’m afraid. We love you. All of us. And we want you back.’

  ‘You don’t love all the people I care about,’ protested Maddy, muffled by his chest.

  ‘I know it seems that way …’

  ‘Seems that way?’ she exclaimed, making a fresh attempt to wriggle free. ‘It’s damned hard to see it any other way, frankly. You and your little mate Jonno have meticulously dismantled the life and livelihood of my father, ruining his relationship with my mother in the process, I might add. And,’ she paused to steel herself to say it, ‘obviously, as a result, that means I hate you.’

  A laugh rumbled in Ben’s chest, vibrating against her ear.

  ‘Ah,’ said Ben, ‘about that …’

  ‘I do! I hate you.’ This time, when she struggled, he allowed her to pull away.

  ‘Listen,’ he said, this time grave-faced. ‘It was terrible not being able to tell you what Jonno was trying to do. It was important to keep our plans under wraps – and in any case, it might not have worked out.’

  ‘It bleeding well hasn’t “worked out”,’ she pointed out furiously. ‘In what sense does Jonno pushing up the bid price and snatching the pub out from under Patrick’s nose constitute things having “worked out”? I mean,’ she went on, ‘I’m sure they’ve “worked out” for Jonno in some way. God knows what his plans are – to run the pub, run it down, knock it down for houses … either way, he holds all the cards now, doesn’t he?’ she finished, breathless with outrage.

  ‘And I can’t imagine a better man to be holding all the cards,’ he said calmly, unmoved by her rage. ‘Listen, Maddy, I don’t expect you to take it from me, but hear this: Jonno is, as we speak, having a meeting with Patrick and Zach to talk about the way forward for the Havenbury Arms.’

  ‘He is?’

  Ben nodded. ‘He is. Now, I’m not saying what’s going to come of it, but believe me when I say Jonno is a decent man. His intention is to find a way for the Havenbury Arms to go forward with Patrick – and the community – taking some sort of role in its future.’

  ‘Why all the secrecy, then?’

  He tutted with irritation. ‘He’s a businessman,’ he said. ‘It’s how these things go. The situation with Top Taverns was seriously dodgy and Jonno had an opportunity to get control. He took it. Now you,’ he pointed at her, ‘have to relax and let him sort stuff out.’

  She took a deep breath and let it out. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Fine.’

  ‘So, can I take you home, please?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Because … ?’

  ‘I want to be here,’ she said. ‘In London. Like this. Being my London self …’ she trailed off, helplessly, but Ben nodded.

  ‘I get that,’ he said. ‘I do.’

  ‘You’ve got your psychologist face on.’

  ‘It’s just my face,’ smiled Ben. ‘Honest. Although, I do admit, I’ve been talking to Duncan …’

  ‘About me?’

  ‘Yep. About the drink spiking. And the door being locked on the inside.’

  ‘What about them?’

  ‘Duncan thinks it’s about time we sorted it out,’ said Ben. ‘And so do I.’

  ‘I know how to do that too,’ said Maddy. ‘Be here. Do my London life thing. I’ve been fine here.’

  ‘You mean going back to Simon?’

  ‘Not exactly, no.’ She explained briefly.

  ‘And how does that make you feel … oops, sorry,’ he said. ‘I mean, well, what do I mean?’

  ‘It was okay,’ said Maddy. ‘It was fine.’

  Their eyes met. In the end it was Maddy who looked away. ‘You’d sleep with me now, wouldn’t you?’ she asked. ‘Now your scruples about Simon have been dispensed with.’

  ‘Mm,’ said Ben. ‘It’s not quite as simple as that.’

  She sighed and then, without warning, she sank to the floor in the little exhibition stand, putting her head on her knees and wrapping her arms around them. Ben crouched down next to her, not touching her. Not speaking. Just waiting.

  ‘I’m so tired,’ she said at last, fat tears of self-pity welling up.

  She didn’t just mean the last few nights of broken sleep, either. She was bone-tired. Tired of months where nightmares haunted her every night, where the fear of a panic attack dogged her, where she was responsible for the happiness of so many people: her mother, father, Serena and the Bespoke Consortium, even Ben … Down there on the floor, she almost drifted off to sleep, somehow feeling that with Ben beside her she could finally hand over – or at least share – everything she had been carrying since she first received the call that night in the autumn, telling her Patrick was so gravely ill.

  Eventually, he pulled her gently to her feet.

  ‘Come here,’ he said, leading her over to the little cafe. He sat her down at a table in the corner and went to the counter. In magically quick time he returned with a steaming cup of tea and a chocolate muffin.

  ‘Give me your car keys and get that into you.’

  She handed them over and watched, in a daze, as he deftly and methodically deconstructed the stand.

  She found that giving in to her fatigue had led her into a near-catatonic state. She could see her teacup but the strength and motivation to actually lift it to her lips had deserted her. She could barely feel her body as she sat slumped in the chair. She was vaguely aware of Ben lifting unfeasible numbers of boxes in his arms and disappearing to load them into the car before returning for more. He also took a load for Camilla, who turned to Maddy to give her a conspiratorial wink and thumbs up before staring blatantly at Ben’s bum as he walked away.

  ‘Let’s go,’ said Ben, suddenly in front of her. She must have drifted off. The stand was stripped back to its original state and many of the exhibito
rs had already made their escape.

  He took her hand and she allowed him to lead her to the car.

  She went to get in the driver’s door.

  ‘Erm, I don’t think so,’ he said, steering her around to the other side.

  ‘I like your duck,’ he observed, picking it up off the passenger seat so Maddy could sit down and lobbing it into the back without ceremony.

  ‘I can drive,’ she protested.

  ‘I highly doubt it. You’re exhausted. In no fit state …’

  ‘What about your car?’

  ‘I slipped that nice man in the booth a twenty,’ said Ben. ‘He’s going to look after it for me. I’ll pop up on the train tomorrow.’

  ‘I can’t let you do that.’

  ‘I insist,’ said Ben who, bored with Maddy’s protests, had inserted her into the passenger seat, taken up his position in the driver’s seat as they discussed the matter and was already manoeuvring Maddy’s car out of the car park.

  ‘Please,’ she said desperately, her words slurring with fatigue. ‘Please don’t take me back there.’

  He didn’t answer for a moment, concentrating on the mammoth roundabout he was negotiating in heavy traffic, having to change lanes repeatedly to follow his route out of London. The usual commuter traffic was augmented by all the people who travelled into town by car to do Christmas shopping. The Christmas lights were up and everywhere the shop windows had taken up the Christmas theme with enthusiasm.

  ‘Look,’ he said, ‘I appreciate what you’re saying about taking yourself out of the environment that you find so triggering but I truly, truly believe we can do something better than that for you.’

  He reached over and took her hand. Such was her exhaustion it just laid limply in his, like a dead fish.

  ‘Let us try and help you. Me and Duncan. Make it so you can make the choice for yourself. London or Havenbury. You decide where you want to be, don’t let this crap decide for you. In Havenbury you have people who care about you. Don’t turn your back on that.’