The Second Love of My Life

by Victoria Walters

  It was money from selling my childhood home that let me buy a house with Lucas, and then my own cottage. Sometimes I sit at my kitchen table and wonder whether, if my mum were still with me, she’d be there painting beside me, Lucas smiling at us lost in our world of art. But this new cottage will never know either of them.

  I feel another bout of melancholy coming on and look out towards the sea. Talting’s stretch of beach is golden sand rolling out to the deep blue water; in the distance is a curve of rugged coastline, a cliff where you can see for miles if you walk to the top. The waves are crashing against the shore today, the sea sparkling from the sun high above it and the beach is peppered with walkers, although soon it will be packed and everyone who lives here will try to avoid it. I have painted this scene a hundred times, sitting on the beach with my sketch pad, Lucas taking his surfboard in the sea, his wetsuit showing off the muscles and year-round tan he got from labouring on building sites, coming to join me for beers as the sun started to set against the horizon. When you grow up by the coast, it is your playground and then your sanctuary.

  Lucas and I had travelled to some of the world’s most famous beaches but it’s this one that will always have my heart.

  I pause briefly to take in the view and then trace the curve of the beach towards Talting Inn. I walk a hell of a lot more than I ever used to. I never learned to drive. Lucas drove if we wanted to go anywhere, and within Talting, everything is so close. The irony is, now he’s gone, I could do with having a car, but his car took him away and I’d never want to learn to use the thing that snatched him from me. I have been in a car, and on a bus, in the past year but I’m nervous about it now. I never used to be.

  Emma is waiting outside the Inn in a black maxi-dress with large red flowers on it, with her hair billowing out from the sea breeze. I wish I had worn sunglasses as a look of dismay crosses her face when she sees me, although she quickly pulls on a smile and hugs me. I must look like crap. She doesn’t have time to ask about it, though, as someone clears their throat behind me. I turn around and my stomach drops as two of the guys from the bar last night walk up to me. They’re both in sunglasses and look worse than me. I hope they have hangovers from hell. Beside me, Emma puts her hands on her hips.

  The one who was going to drive last night clears his throat again. ‘I just wanted to say I’m, um, sorry about last night. I drunk way too much and . . . uh . . . thank you for stopping me.’ He glances at his friend, who gives an encouraging nod. ‘We’re leaving later today but I couldn’t go without apologising.’ He takes his sunglasses off and meets my eyes. ‘I’m really sorry.’

  ‘It wasn’t your life she was worried about saving, it was other people you could have hurt,’ Emma tells him sharply.

  I wince a little at her words but she’s right. ‘I just hope you think in the future. I lost someone because there wasn’t anyone to stop a drunken idiot from getting behind the wheel,’ I say, my voice breaking at the end. I look away from them.

  ‘We really are sorry,’ the other guy says.

  I hear them walk away and I let out a breath. Emma touches my arm and I nod to let her know I’m okay. Hopefully they won’t do anything like that again. I look over my shoulder and watch them walk back to the Inn.

  ‘Well, I’m glad they’re going,’ Emma says. ‘Come on, they’re not worth thinking about anymore.’

  She takes my arm and steers me away. We step up on to the terrace and sit at the table Emma has already commandeered for us.

  Emma is bossy, she always has been, but I don’t know what I would have done without her by my side. Her family took me in after my mum died. She let me share her room for two years, becoming a second sister and part of her family. Once I was eighteen, I used the money my mum had left me to put a deposit on the townhouse for Lucas and me. I took the job at Joe’s to pay for art classes at college, and Emma joined me. She said she didn’t want to go away to university without me. She hadn’t done that well at school but she could have gone somewhere. She met John on holiday in Devon a couple of years later and he followed her back here, so, like me, she’s never lived anywhere but this town.

  Despite living in the same place all my life, I’ve had a fair few homes, and I sincerely hope that nothing else happens to make me have to leave another one.

  Mick, the owner of the Inn, bustles outside with a pot of tea and two glasses of orange juice on a silver tray for us. Mick is Joe’s age, with thick grey hair, and is wearing his usual smart grey suit. He runs the Inn with his wife Joan and has done for as long as I’ve been alive. He gives us both a big smile. ‘Well, well, I finally have you here for breakfast,’ he says, only slightly joking. He knows we’ve always gone to Mrs Morris’s café if we’re having breakfast out, and there’s more than a bit of rivalry between them over who does the best full English. Most of us stay wisely quiet when asked for our opinion. ‘That refurbishment of hers is really boosting our trade. Now, Rose, I’m glad you’re here, have you heard about my new guest?’ Mick says, casting a quick check over his shoulder to make sure no one’s there.

  I see Emma raise her eyebrows at me. ‘Mrs Morris just said something . . .’

  Mick rolls his eyes. ‘Of course she did. Well, he checked in yesterday and apparently he’s come to Talting just to buy art from the sale at the Fair. I said, “Do you mean our Rose Walker’s work?” and he said he did. What do you think of that then?’

  Emma claps her hands. ‘I think it’s bloody brilliant. He’s come here just for your work.’

  ‘He can’t have seen it before, though.’

  Emma sighs. ‘When will you get some self-belief, for goodness’ sake? He must have seen that article – there were two pictures of your paintings in it – plus if he’s an art collector I’m sure he’s heard about you before. I think you should put your prices up for the sale.’

  Mick nods. ‘You should listen to Emma. Right, I’ll be back with your food,’ he says, not even bothering to check what we want, and disappears back inside.

  I think about it, wondering if I could make more than I’d expected. ‘I guess I could use the money; I think the cottage needs a new boiler.’

  ‘Or you could do something fun with it. How about a holiday?’

  Emma has been trying to get me to go away for ages. She thinks I need a change of scenery but I just want to stay where I’m close to Lucas.

  ‘There’s nowhere I want to go.’ It’s not like I’ve never left Talting. The six months that Lucas and I spent travelling before we got engaged was really fun and we saw a lot of the world, but we both felt like there wasn’t another place that could be our home. We were content here. No, happy. We were happy here. I need to believe I can be happy here again. I just wish the thought of being happy without him didn’t fill me with both fear and guilt.

  ‘Can we talk about something else now?’ I ask hopefully, picking up my orange juice and taking a long sip.

  ‘Fine. Actually I do have some news – John might be getting promoted,’ she replies.

  ‘Oh, that’s great, Em.’ John is an accountant in Truro. He’s been with Emma for six years now although he still finds it funny that he’s referred to as a newcomer here. It took him a while to be accepted by the town after he followed Emma back here after their holiday romance, which still amuses him. He became Lucas’s best friend and the four of us were always together.

  Lucas’s death affected us all. Emma and John went away for the weekend three months after the funeral and came back married. They had seen first-hand how fragile life can be and they didn’t want to wait. It is hard sometimes seeing their happily married life knowing that I lost my own, but I always feel guilty for thinking like that. Because they so deserve it. And I know how happy Lucas would have been for them too.

  ‘Yeah, we were thinking that if he does get it, then, well, it might be time to . . .’ She trails off as Mick emerg
es from the Inn carrying two plates for us. I understand Emma shutting up – you have to be so careful in Talting of saying anything private in public. I know Emma so well, though, I can guess what she was going to say. It has been in their plans for a while to try for a baby, and a promotion means money for a family. It’s something Emma’s always wanted.

  I’m actually relieved that Mick has arrived. It gives me time to think about what to say. I have to support her. It’s just that I always thought it would be Lucas and me who would have a family first. I hate the selfishness of that thought.

  ‘Here we are,’ Mick says, putting our plates down with a flourish. I look down at the huge pile of bacon and eggs in front of me. I have almost double Emma’s portion. What is it with this town and keeping an eye on my eating habits?

  Mick suddenly leans down, pretending to check my teapot. ‘It’s him,’ he hisses in a stage whisper. He turns around to smile at the man stepping out from the Inn on to the terrace.

  Emma nudges me with her leg under the table. It’s obvious what she’s thinking. He’s tall, definitely over six feet, wearing chinos and a black polo shirt. He runs a hand through his dark hair and I can’t help but watch the movement before quickly looking away, instantly feeling guilty at agreeing with Emma that he’s good-looking. It feels disloyal to Lucas.

  ‘Rose, can I introduce you to the guest I was telling you about? This is Robert,’ Mick says, waving Robert over to our table. ‘Robert, this is our renowned local artist – Rose Walker.’

  I meet the stranger’s eyes and I feel a jolt of recognition. The man who helped me to stop the drunks from driving last night is the man who’s apparently here to buy my paintings.

  Chapter Three

  ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you properly, Rose. I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself last night; everything happened rather quickly,’ he says in a deep, cultured voice, his lips curving into a gentle smile. I frown, wondering how he’d known who I was last night, and then remember the photograph of me taking up far too much space in our local newspaper. I don’t think I’m ever going to be able to put that article behind me. Robert holds out his hand and I shake it, relinquishing it quickly but not before some of the warmth from his skin transfers to mine. I introduce him to Emma. ‘Thank you for your help last night,’ I say.

  ‘We’ve had two of them apologising just now,’ Emma says with a scornful look.

  ‘Good, you deserved an apology.’ Something flashes in his eyes and I instantly sense that their apology was on his suggestion. ‘Well, I’m glad I’m getting the chance to meet you before the Fair. I’m sure you’re going to be very busy there,’ he says, smoothly changing the subject.

  ‘I told you the article would be good publicity,’ Emma says to me. ‘So, do you collect art?’ she asks Robert, giving him a rather blatant look up and down.

  ‘Not officially, no. I’ve just bought a flat, so I’ve been on the lookout for some pieces to hang there. I saw the ones in the article and thought you had really captured this place; your work is beautiful. I knew it was what I’ve been looking for. You’re very talented, Rose.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I stutter, embarrassed by his praise. I always suspected the people who bought my pictures did so because they thought they were pretty and wanted to take souvenirs of Cornwall back home with them, not because they knew anything about art.

  ‘How long will you be staying in town for?’ Emma asks, picking up her knife and fork.

  ‘I’m not sure yet, a few weeks, I think,’ he replies, keeping his eyes on me. ‘It depends how long my father will let me have off work.’

  ‘What do you do?’ I ask him.

  ‘I’m a lawyer, back in Plymouth.’

  ‘How did you see the article about the Fair if you live in Devon?’ Emma asks him.

  ‘I keep track of local news for my clients. It’s useful to know what’s going on,’ he replies.

  ‘You don’t expect a lawyer to be interested in art,’ I say, speaking my thought before I can stop myself.

  He smiles and doesn’t appear to be offended by my comment. ‘I suppose not. It was my mother who taught me; she did art history at university and took me to far too many galleries when I was growing up.’ I suppose you could say I inherited my appreciation of art from her. He glances at our food. ‘But enough about me. I should let you two finish your breakfast. It was lovely to meet you.’

  ‘You too,’ I reply, returning his smile. Mick goes back inside with him and Emma breaks out into a grin.

  ‘Sorry, but that’s the fittest art freak I’ve ever seen.’

  ‘You’ve met so many art collectors, of course,’ I say with a roll of my eyes.

  ‘Okay, fine, but you’re going to make a killing out of this guy this summer. You are going to put your prices up, right? He looks rich,’ she says, her mouth full of bacon.

  ‘He looks rich?’

  She nods. ‘Sure, his job, his clothes, his voice . . . trust me, you know I can spot one.’

  I laugh. ‘You should add that to your CV.’

  ‘I think I will.’

  I shake my head and have some of my eggs before asking Emma if John will be in the bar tonight. ‘I feel like I’ve hardly seen him lately.’

  ‘Yeah, he’s persuaded some guys from work to come. They seem to want to sort stuff out after work over drinks lately and it’s always in Truro, but if they give him more money at the end of it all it will be worth it.’

  ‘It’s so weird you have such a career man,’ I tell her.

  ‘Hey, he’s with me for my mind,’ she protests, at which we both snort. Neither of us ever really had any grand career plans. I was happy painting and Emma wanted to raise a family. Lucas preferred more practical pursuits. And yet John fitted in with our group as soon as Emma brought him here.

  ‘Remember when we went for breakfast at Mrs Morris’s the first time you two met John,’ she says, ‘and he dropped his plate and all the food went on to the floor because he was so nervous?’

  I smile at the memory. ‘Well, you told him you couldn’t be together if we didn’t approve; he was scared stiff.’

  ‘I told him Lucas knew karate. He soon worked out what a softie Lucas was, though.’

  I nod, thinking about how Lucas would make me take spiders out because he was so scared of them. Once I chased him around the room with one in my hand. He always pretended that had never happened.

  ‘I told him we should buy a guard dog as he would probably welcome the burglars in.’

  Emma shakes her head. ‘He actually probably would have. I don’t think he would have liked your cottage; he would have said it’s creepy, too.’

  ‘It’s peaceful, not creepy. And you just pretend to hate it because I moved out.’

  ‘Sometimes I wish you were still with us. I hate you not being in town.’

  ‘I am in town.’

  ‘Barely.’

  ‘I couldn’t live with you forever,’ I tell her quietly.

  She looks at me sadly for a moment then grins. ‘I know, poor John was starting to realise that I love you more than him.’

  I smile back and eat another mouthful of scrambled eggs. I don’t think she’ll ever realise how much she cheers me up some days. I look out to the beach as a wave rolls in and wonder what Lucas would make of the flashy newcomer wanting to throw his money at my work if he was here having breakfast with us. I hear his voice in my head whisper, ‘Milk him for everything, babe, I think I’d suit being a kept man.’

  After we’ve finished eating, Emma drives me back to my cottage to pick up some of the supplies for the Fair. Everything save the paintings, which will have to wait for the actual day to be taken over and are currently stacked up in my supposed painting room waiting for me to pull them out. I’ve been putting that task off for days now. I know it will be painful to
look at them again and remember where I was when I painted them, so many with Lucas by my side.

  As we drive towards the green where the Fair is held each year, he surfaces anyway. It’s strange how some days I search for memories – I actively think of him and try to remember things he said or the way he held me – whereas other days I try desperately to shut them out, certain that if I think about him I’ll break.

  As the vast expanse of green comes into view, I think about how the Fair has always played such a role in our lives. I can’t help but smile at the memory of when we were fifteen, sneaking off hand in hand whilst everyone we knew was there, so we could both lose our virginity.

  It was naturally awkward but I wasn’t nervous because I was with Lucas. He had this way of making me feel safe but fearless at the same time.

  The green is full of activity as Emma drives over the bumpy, muddy grass towards the centre. I take a deep breath to try to feel that way again – safe but fearless. I imagine Lucas giving my hand a reassuring squeeze. I can do this for him. I can do this because of him. He loved taking part in this Fair, and I owe it to him to continue our tradition of being here.

  Emma pulls up outside the tent marked for me and we start unloading the supplies from the boot.

  ‘Need some help?’ Joe strides over with a couple of boys from town and they help us to lift out the easels and large corkboard which will be displaying my paintings, and three chairs for Emma, John and me if we need them. Emma has also made a large sign with my name on to hang at the front of the tent, and I need to make some cards with prices on later, once I decide what to sell them for. Maybe I should listen to Emma and mark them up slightly. If these are the last paintings I might ever sell, I need to make as much as possible.

  I want to believe that I can paint again, though. I need to believe it. I feel like I’ve lost so much of my identity since losing Lucas, I can’t give up this as well. I just need to find a way out of my block.