The Summer House of Happiness

by Daisy James

  ‘Arggh!’

  Gabbie swung her eyes over her shoulder towards a silver Peugeot behind which the sharp grunt of agony had come, followed by a clattering of metal tools falling to the floor and spinning in all directions.

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘Not sure.’

  Max sprinted the few yards to the other side of the car with Gabbie only seconds behind him.

  ‘Jeff!’

  ‘Dad! Are you okay? Dad?’

  Gabbie rushed to her father’s side to help him up from the tangle of spanners and old rusty paint tins in which he was sprawled, his face as grey as an overused dishcloth. Max took his other arm and together they guided him to a chair at the kitchen table. With her heart pounding out a medley of anxiety, Gabbie asked if he’d hurt himself and made sure he was comfortable, while Max set the kettle to boil.

  ‘I’m fine, really, I’m fine, darling. No need to fuss.’

  ‘But what happened?’

  ‘Seems I inadvertently stumbled over a leaning tower of paint pots!’

  Jeff patted Gabbie’s hand reassuringly, then smiled his thanks to Max for the proffered coffee, adding a spoonful of sugar to his mug and taking a sip before letting out a long sigh of relief.

  ‘Ahh, that’s better. No one should even attempt to start the day without a cup of coffee – and maybe some of those delicious scrambled eggs on toast of yours. Sorry for alarming you, Gabbie, but as you can see, I’m right as rain now.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  Gabbie scrutinised the face she loved more than any other in the world. While her father’s colouring had returned to normal, there was a wary look in his eyes that put her on her guard. Was he telling her the truth, or what he thought she wanted, or needed, to hear?

  ‘Okay,’ announced Max, draining the contents of his mug and dropping it into the kitchen sink. ‘I’d better get back to work. Harriet Bradshaw’s new exhaust won’t fit itself. If you need anything, just holler.’

  ‘Thanks, Max, and sorry for the commotion.’

  ‘No problem, boss.’

  It was only when the door to the garage swung shut behind Max, and Gabbie replenished her father’s coffee mug, that she noticed with alarm the slight tremor in his fingers on the handle, and her gaze fell on the brown envelope in the middle of the table.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Oh, just some information from one of our suppliers.’

  Her father’s attempt at nonchalance raised Gabbie’s suspicions and she knew immediately that this correspondence was the cause of her father’s wobble. She reached out to pull the letter towards her, removed the paperwork and scanned the contents. Her stomach performed a swift somersault of concern when she realised the implications, and she looked up to meet her father’s silver-grey eyes.

  ‘Dad, this is a final demand – for twenty thousand pounds! Don’t we usually pay our invoices on time?’

  ‘It’s just a temporary cash-flow problem. I spoke to the bank about it yesterday afternoon – everything is in hand and there’s nothing for you to worry about.’

  ‘Sure?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Okay, but I’m still worried about you. I think you should make an appointment at the doctor’s, just to get checked out.’

  ‘I was there last week for a routine check-up…’

  ‘And?’ urged Gabbie when her father paused to take another sip of his sugary coffee.

  ‘Well, the practice nurse might have mentioned losing a few pounds, but that’s nothing I didn’t know already. They want to keep an eye on my cholesterol levels and blood pressure and I have an appointment with the dietician. It’s all pretty routine. I want you to stop worrying about me, please. If you worry, I worry, and that’s not good for either of us.’

  Gabbie made a valiant attempt to staunch the unease swirling around her chest and plaster on a smile. What she really wanted to do was abandon her stiff upper lip and howl at the director of fates for even contemplating interfering with her father’s health. Fortunately, she was saved from that embarrassment by a familiar and very welcome face appearing at the back door.

  ‘Ah, Mike, come in, come in. Want a coffee?’

  Gabbie almost laughed out loud when she saw the look of relief on her father’s face at the timely arrival of his best friend. If she hadn’t known better, she wouldn’t have put it past him to have arranged Mike’s visit at that precise moment to prevent any further cross-examination on the state of his health and the business’s precarious finances.

  ‘Thanks, Jeff, I’d love one. Hello, Gabbie, it’s good to see you back home in Oakley. What’s it been? Two, three months?’

  ‘Almost three, but Dad and I did have a fabulous couple of long weekends in London in June, didn’t we, Dad?’

  ‘We sure did, darling!’

  Gabbie pushed herself up from the table to make a cafetière of coffee. As she waited for the kettle to boil, she considered Mike’s words and although she knew he hadn’t meant his enquiry as an accusation of neglect, a loop of what ifs curled through her mind on an eternal tickertape of anxiety.

  She wasn’t daft, she knew her father was glossing over the incident in the garage. What would have happened if she hadn’t been at home? What if she hadn’t quit her job at House of Gasnier after Jules Gasnier had selected her perfume for the summer fragrance and she had been on her way to Paris to showcase her expertise to the guys at head office? Would her father still be sitting at his kitchen table discussing the benefits of recurve bows as opposed to compound bows or long bows with his best friend of fifty years?

  ‘Darling, I can see you’re going to be bored with our archery gossip. Why don’t you go get some fresh air, take a walk down to the post office and say hello to Martha? I’m in safe hands here.’

  Gabbie intended to refuse so she could personally watch over her father but didn’t want to come over like an overzealous mother hen because she knew that would embarrass him. She leaned forward to kiss his cheek, struggling to disguise her distress at witnessing his vulnerability when he had prided himself on being a tower of strength through the darkest of times.

  ‘Well, I’ll just go and tidy up the garage first.’

  She saw her father roll his eyes at her, then smile. ‘Love you, darling.’

  ‘You too, Dad.’

  Gabbie left the men to their chatter and returned to the garage forecourt where she took a moment to collect her thoughts. Outside the open doors, the birds were well into the second verse of their daily symphony, and the sun was determined to send shards of sunshine through the cracks in the clouds. The village was as picturesque as always, like something from a holiday postcard extolling the virtues of spending time in the English countryside. She inhaled a long, slow breath and knelt down to collect together the tumble of paint pots and scattered tools.

  ‘Here, let me help you.’

  ‘Thanks, Max.’

  ‘No thanks needed.’

  It only took a few minutes to separate the mechanical detritus into things to store in the lockable metal cupboard and things to relegate to the dustbin. Gabbie’s spirits edged up a notch when she deposited the final empty oil can in the recycle box.

  ‘You know, Jeff will be okay – though I’m not so sure about his super-organised daughter.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about me. I’m fine.’

  ‘Look, you’ve had a shock. Why don’t I take you for a drive to clear your head?’

  ‘Oh, no, I shouldn’t leave Dad…’

  ‘Mike’s with him, isn’t he? I heard the two of them laughing just now.’

  ‘Well, yes, but…’

  ‘Come on, a bit of fresh air will work wonders.’

  ‘That’s exactly what my dad just said!’ she giggled.

  ‘Sensible guy!’

  ‘Okay, just give me a minute to make sure he’s okay and Mike’s not in a rush to leave.’

  ‘No problem.’

  After satisfying her
self that her father was none the worse for his dalliance with disaster, she told him she would be back in an hour, snatched her coat from the hook on the back door, and followed Max to the rear of the garage where she assumed he’d parked his car. As they walked, she realised with a jolt that she hadn’t asked him any personal questions since she’d arrived back in Oakley.

  Like, where did he live? Did he have a girlfriend? Or maybe he was married, although she hadn’t noticed a wedding band. She recalled hearing Wil teasing him about someone called Scarlet, a fashion designer who had gone off to chase the bright lights in London, but that could have been an ex-girlfriend, or simply a friend, or possibly even his sister. Whatever his relationship status, even though he’d dismissed her gratitude, she knew she had a lot to thank him for.

  ‘Here we are. Hop in.’

  Chapter Seven

  ‘Is this your car?’

  Max laughed as he pulled open the door of a silver Vauxhall Astra.

  ‘Yes. I know, it’s boring, but just wait until I get the E-Type finished!’

  ‘So, where are we going?’

  ‘Wait and see.’

  Gabbie leaned against the headrest, closed her eyes and enjoyed the warm breeze licking at her fringe. Conversation didn’t seem necessary as Max skillfully negotiated the winding roads towards their secret destination. After twenty minutes, they drew to a stop in a deserted car park, its tarmac surface washed with the golden hue from the sun that had now emerged from behind the clouds to bathe the September day in warmth and brightness. She climbed out of the passenger seat and stretched her limbs, breathing in the aroma of damp grass and fresh green leaves.

  ‘This way.’

  Max pointed to a gravel footpath disappearing off into the trees to their left and, after walking for only a few metres, she found herself at the edge of a small lake with sunlight dancing on the surface like a veil of scattered diamonds. Ahead of them, the trail continued on its journey around the perimeter, meandering through tufts of long rushes and clusters of shrubbery like an elongated snake.

  ‘It’s stunning,’ Gabbie murmured, a welcome sense of calm descending over her shoulders like a lukewarm shower and washing away the earlier stress.

  ‘My uncle used to bring me up here to fish. Now I come here whenever I want to escape the mayhem of ordinary life and get my head straight.’

  ‘A perfect choice.’

  Max led her towards a cracked wooden bench, bleached silvery-grey from years of being battered by the elements, and snatched up a stone to toss into the water.

  ‘Okay, Gabbie. Talk to me. Tell me the real reason you’re back home.’

  ‘Oh, I…’

  She was about to launch into the usual speech about needing a break from the crazy work schedule she had tumbled into, her desire to spend some time at home to recharge her batteries, but from the look in Max’s eyes she knew she’d been rumbled. She had never graduated from Deception Academy so she decided to come clean.

  ‘You’re right. I’m not here for a holiday, like I told Dad.’

  Tears pricks at her eyes and her stomach muscles contracted suddenly, yet at the same time it felt good to be offered the chance to confide in Max, like being given the tools to lance a particularly ugly boil. Maybe she could accept his friendship – after all, not every relationship had to end in loss and pain.

  She fixed her gaze on a point in the distance where the sun’s rays highlighted a blue-painted boathouse moored on the opposite shore like a ship at anchor, and tried to concentrate on the task of condensing her story into as few words as possible without making her recent work issues sound frivolous. However, she realised there was no way she could explain what had led to her decision to quit without imparting the reasons behind it.

  ‘You know, I thought I had everything in my life sorted. I won a place at my first-choice university, graduated with a first in chemistry and had this great job lined up at one of the best pharmaceutical companies in the country, although what I really wanted to do was pursue my fascination with fragrance. I had fabulous parents who cheered me on from the sidelines, rejoicing in every milestone I achieved and giving me just the right balance of support and freedom. I had great friends, too. My life was just about as perfect as I could wish for. Then…’

  She paused, swallowing down hard on the avalanche of emotions flowing through her body, and forced herself to continue, aware that Max was gazing at her, silently willing her to continue until her story was told.

  ‘The week after I graduated, Mum got her diagnosis and all I wanted to do was be there for her, just as she and Dad had been there for me. I ditched my plans to join the pharmaceutical graduate scheme and found a job behind the perfume counter of a department store in Exeter – which I loved, by the way – just so I could rush home every night to be with Mum, to help with the chores and the business admin, and to keep an eye on her treatment programme.’

  This time Gabbie stopped for a while as the agonising images flashed before her, her memories of that difficult time splintering into fragments of misery. She would probably have sat there for hours if Max hadn’t gently taken her hand in his.

  ‘Breast cancer is an evil disease and it stole my mum from our family so quickly!’

  She blurted out the words – the most painful she had uttered to another person. This time she couldn’t control her emotions and a huge sob erupted from deep within her soul. Max draped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her into his chest where she remained until her tears were spent and her heart was hollow with loss.

  ‘You know, I won’t say I understand how you feel because I don’t, but maybe you could think of what happened from a different perspective? You had twenty-one years of happy times with your mum. Yes, that was far too short, and you should have had many more, but it’s more than a lot of people get to spend with their parents.’

  Gabbie looked up just in time to see a sliver of sorrow stalk across Max’s handsome face, along with a slight tightening at the corners of his mouth and hardening of his jaw. His Adam’s apple bobbed and, again, she wondered about his personal history.

  ‘Max…’

  ‘So was that your only choice when your mum died? To leave the country?’

  ‘I admit I wasn’t thinking straight. Towards the end, I was spending every spare moment I had with Mum: talking, laughing, taking silly photographs, experimenting with essential oils in our little summerhouse, making as many memories as we could. That time was so precious, yet so heartbreaking. It’s actually where my passion for designing bespoke fragrances was born. Mum discovered that certain aromas helped her to relax, or to reduce the episodes of nausea she experienced after a course of chemo. We investigated everything available and almost bankrupted Dad in the process. We experimented with all the usual oils: rose, lavender, clary sage, jasmine, but we also sniffed washing-up liquid, fabric conditioners, crushed mint leaves, even the smell of burning logs, which Mum said reminded her of her childhood in Northern Italy.’

  Gabbie paused as her memories rushed at her with a vengeance. For a while, she studied the gentle ripples on the water’s surface, rhythmic and hypnotic, strangely comforting in their perpetual permanence. In ten years, fifty years, even a century, the lake would still be there offering solace to the lonely, the sad and the bereaved, and, strangely, that thought gave her some semblance of peace.

  The silence expanded. She had no idea how long she sat there, allowing her emotions to swirl freely, never lingering on one particular episode or feeling, but she was relieved when Max pushed the conversation button.

  ‘So how did you end up in France?’

  ‘A few weeks before Mum passed away, she came across an article in one of her glossy magazines about a course run by the Grasse Institute of Perfumery and suggested I apply. I agreed – just to make her happy. We talked for hours about what kind of perfumes we would create and for whom, matching personalities to aromas. We would play this game where we would each choose a celebrity and come up wit
h three distinct fragrances that suited their characteristics. You should have heard what she thought George Clooney’s aftershave should smell like.’

  For the first time since dashing to her father’s aid that morning, Gabbie felt the sides of her mouth curl into a smile at the memory of her beloved mum drooling over the photograph of her favourite movie star and spotting the likenesses between him and Jeff.

  ‘Mum was adamant that if I was lucky enough to be offered a place at the Institute I should take it. In fact, she made me give her my solemn promise to always follow my dreams no matter where they took me. So, when the letter of acceptance arrived after the funeral it felt like a sign from my mum to take the next step to train as a perfumer – and so I went to Grasse.’

  ‘Just like that? Didn’t you miss home?’

  ‘Of course I did. But to be honest, it was a way of escaping from the bubble of anguish that had engulfed me. Every single day I would bump into someone in the village who had known Mum and wanted to offer their condolences, share an anecdote about her kindness, or offer to bake me and Dad a pie. It was amazingly generous, but it got harder to deal with their sympathy, not easier. In France no one, except my friend Jasmine and my boss at House of Gasnier, Marianne Dubois, knew about what had happened and life was easier that way. And, more importantly, I had the benefit of knowing Mum would have approved of what I was doing.’

  ‘If you’re living the dream over there in the South of France, why the sudden extended visit home then?’

  Now she had shared the most painful part of her past with Max, revealing she had quit her job was going to be much easier. There was something she needed from him first, though.

  ‘If I tell you, do you promise not to tell Dad?’

  ‘Maybe. It depends what it is.’

  She shot a glance at Max from under her eyelashes – that hadn’t been the answer she expected. Nevertheless, she forced herself to step up to the plate of truth. It was time she took control and faced her future head-on. She had to be brave – like her mum.