The Second Love of My Life

by Victoria Walters

Adam finds me alone in the kitchen on Tuesday getting ready for my next shift at the bar. ‘So, I heard you had a good time at the Fair?’ he says in a bitter tone, brushing past me to hang his coat up.

  ‘I can’t believe Robert bought all of my paintings,’ I reply, thinking that’s what he meant.

  He spins around to glare at me. ‘That’s not all he did, though, right? It’s all over town that you spent all of your time there with Robert. You supposedly weren’t ready to go on a date but it was fine to be with him?’

  I lean against the counter for support. ‘I didn’t go with him, it wasn’t a date; after he bought my paintings, we just hung out. With Emma and John as well. Not that it’s any of your business, Adam.’ Even though what I’ve told him is true, I know that hanging out with Robert felt okay whereas the thought of doing the same with Adam felt very wrong. I’d thought I was worried about it being too soon to spend time with another man, but maybe it was just the thought of being with Adam that had worried me. Because being with Robert didn’t make me feel that way. I don’t want to make things worse by telling Adam that, though. And I do feel bad that he seems so upset. I never meant to upset anyone.

  ‘Whatever, Rose. You could have just been honest with me,’ he replies, marching past me again and out into the bar. I sigh. I hate that he’s pissed off with me but I can’t make it better because there will never be anything between us. And he has to accept that.

  Emma breezes in then. ‘What’s with Adam?’

  ‘He’s annoyed because he thinks I went to the Fair with Robert when I said I wouldn’t go with him.’

  She rolls her eyes. ‘So what if you did? You don’t have to go out with him if you don’t want to. Blimey, has he never been rejected before?’

  ‘Rejected? Oh God, have I been a bitch to him?’

  She touches my shoulder. ‘No, of course not. You know the truth about what happened. Besides, it’s none of his business anyway. Just because he likes you, doesn’t mean you owe him anything. I know I’ve teased you about his crush but seriously, he needs to get a grip. And I’ll tell him that.’

  ‘He also said it’s all over town that I was with Robert. Is it?’

  ‘Of course not. Everyone was so happy to see you there, that’s all.’

  I give her a sceptical look; I know what people are like here. But maybe I shouldn’t have been there with Robert. ‘It’s too soon after . . .’ I trail off and bite my lip. ‘What must everyone think of me?’

  ‘Stop torturing yourself. I promise you no one has even mentioned it to me. It’s no one’s business anyway who you hang out with. The man paid a fortune for your art, the least you could do was have a burger with him, right?’ I have to smile at that. She pats my arm. ‘Rose, you haven’t done anything wrong, I promise. But you know what, even if you had gone on a date with Robert, that would have been okay too.’

  I sigh, wishing I could stop the nagging tug of guilt pulling on me. ‘I don’t know about that. I feel like I don’t know anything right now.’

  ‘You need to stop being so hard on yourself.’

  I wish it were that easy.

  Joe comes in then, putting an end to our conversation, with invites to the grand reopening of Mrs Morris’s café now that the refurb has finally been finished, but still the whole shift passes with Adam throwing me filthy looks and me worrying that I’ve done something wrong. Because if Robert had asked me to the Fair like Adam did, I’m not sure what I would have said. That makes me feel guilty not just about Adam but Lucas too, and more confused than ever about having such a good time with Robert.

  I think back to Robert wanting to tell me something that night and Emma thinking he was going to tell me that he likes me. Suddenly, I’m grateful that he left before saying anything. I couldn’t handle having to form a response to anything like that right now.

  I take a deep breath and focus on pulling a pint, because if I give Greg the Grocer too much foam on his beer, he’ll never let me hear the end of it.

  I don’t see Robert for a few days. Mick says he left him in Plymouth to sort out my paintings and get them hung in his flat, as well as catch up on some business. Apparently he has the penthouse apartment in a flashy high-rise building on the edge of the city. I can’t quite picture him there. Although I have to remind myself that I don’t really know him. And he is a corporate lawyer after all.

  It’s warm on Friday afternoon when I walk with Emma and John into town for Mrs Morris’s reopening party. As we walk there, I congratulate John on his promotion being confirmed, which I know because Emma had texted me about it the day before. They walk hand in hand, beaming, and I can’t help but think about her plan for them to try for a baby now he’ll be making so much more money. I wonder when it will happen, but I don’t want to ask her because I’m scared of how I’ll react to her answer.

  The whole town has turned out for the event as expected, and most of the tables inside and out have already been taken by the time we get there. We go to the door to peep in and the place looks brighter with extra tables and booths, the walls now bare of art with just a blackboard of specials hanging up. The new colour scheme is cream and light blue and works really well for a seafront café. My paintings would have cluttered the new space although it’s sad not to see them up there. I was just seventeen when Lucas arranged for Mrs Morris to hang one in here as a surprise for my birthday. My paintings sold consistently after that, but she always refused to take any commission for displaying them for me.

  Amanda, Mrs Morris’s fifteen-year-old granddaughter, appears with a tray of free coffees and we grab one each.

  Mrs Morris joins us. ‘Well, what do you think of the place?’

  ‘It looks fantastic, Mrs M,’ Emma says. ‘They did a great job.’

  ‘I had to keep a close eye on them, that’s for sure. I’m glad you like it, I need my regulars back. Now, love, have you asked her yet?’ She looks at Amanda, who shakes her head, blushing and glancing nervously at me. Mrs Morris turns to me. ‘She has an art project to do for school that she wondered if she could pick your brains about. What do you think?’

  I hesitate, not knowing if I can help when I’m so stuck myself, but Mrs Morris has always been good to me so I find myself nodding. ‘Sure. Do you want to talk about it now?’

  ‘Go out the back, we can handle things here,’ Mrs Morris says, taking the tray from Amanda and giving it to Emma, who gives me an amused look. I follow Amanda through the café into the kitchen and we sit down on the stools by the counter. I ask her what she has to do for the project. She explains the assignment is to capture something you love. ‘Do you have any ideas?’

  She explains that she wanted to choose the beach but her teacher said she had to put herself into the picture. ‘I’m not sure how.’

  ‘Well, how does the beach make you feel? Does it make you remember anything? You have to make it feel personal to you, not just a beach scene that could be anywhere, you know?’ I remember my own art teacher telling me that a beach scene I drew didn’t make her feel anything. I think about the mother and daughter I saw building a sandcastle together the other day and how it reminded me of doing the same thing with my own mother, and I realise now that I know what she meant back then.

  I wonder if I’ll be able to take my own advice and paint something really personal.

  I leave Amanda thinking over some ideas and go outside to find Emma and John, when I feel a hand on my back and I turn to see Robert. ‘You’re back,’ I say stupidly.

  He grins. ‘I am. Your paintings look perfect on my walls,’ he says. ‘I’m very happy to own some Rose Walker originals.’

  ‘I’m glad you like them. You’ve given me some faith in my artistic skills.’

  ‘You should have faith. I know you’ll paint again, Rose Walker; the world can’t lose a talent like yours.’

  ‘It’s strange, I
never really thought of myself as talented. I loved to paint, that’s why I did it. At college, there were so many other better artists than me, I struggled to compete with them.’

  ‘There’s no point in trying to compete, you should just be yourself.’

  I like how Robert sees me. He makes me feel more confident, makes me have hope that one day I’ll get my painting spark back.

  But will I ever be able to do what I’ve always struggled with: to put my emotions into my art? How do I even start?

  My fingers itch a little with the need to paint. I feel more positive than I have in a long time. If I paint again, it needs to be something from my heart. I know that now. The only way I can be an artist again is to be a completely new one. Everything has changed for me, and my art needs to change with me.

  ‘Oh, look, Gloria and Graham have arrived,’ Emma says, interrupting my thoughts and nodding in their direction.

  I look over at them greeting Mrs Morris. I feel Robert follow my gaze in their direction. He seems to tense up behind me. ‘That’s Lucas’s parents,’ I murmur to him. ‘I’d like them to meet you,’ I say before I can stop myself. And it’s true. I want them to meet him even though I’m not sure yet what is between us. But if there is something, I don’t want to hide it from them anymore.

  ‘I can’t,’ he says quickly, turning away so he has his back to them. ‘Um, no, I’m sorry but . . . I just remembered that I need to call . . . a . . . a client.’

  ‘Now?’ I ask, surprised. ‘Didn’t you just get here?’

  ‘I’m sorry, I completely forgot about it. I was really looking forward to catching up. Are you working tonight?’ he asks. I manage to nod. ‘Great, I’ll come in to the bar later then,’ he says over his shoulder as he hurries off.

  ‘What’s up with him?’ Emma says, watching him go.

  ‘That was weird, right?’ I shake my head, confused. He obviously didn’t want to meet Gloria and Graham. I understand, though, that he’d feel awkward about it. I will too when it happens, I think. Emma pulls my arm, reminding me that Mrs Morris is going to make a speech. I follow her, not knowing whether I am more relieved or disappointed that Robert left without letting me introduce him to Lucas’s parents.

  I am starting to understand why so many artists pour themselves into their work. My emotions are so all over the place at the moment, I could do with several canvases to try to sort them out on.

  It’s a terrifying prospect, tapping into my feelings and painting them for all to see, and yet I feel as if I want to try. I have so much building up inside me that I want to get out.

  Right now, though, it feels like an impossible mountain to climb.

  Chapter Eleven

  On my next day off, I decide to walk to Hampton, a neighbouring town, to look around. Emma is having lunch with her mum and rings me in the morning to invite me along but I decline, as I’m sure she’ll want to talk about all her plans for her and John and I don’t want to put a dampener on things. I walk alongside the beach, passing the Inn terrace, which overlooks the beach. I see Robert sitting at one of the white iron tables, with a cup of coffee and newspaper. It’s a cool morning, which I’m guessing is why he’s the only person sitting out on the terrace.

  He waves me over, so I walk up the sand towards him. ‘Are you always up this early?’ he asks as I approach.

  ‘I’ve never been good at sleeping in late, even as a teenager. I like to be doing things. What about you? You’re supposed to be on holiday.’

  ‘Used to being in the office early, I guess. What are your plans today?’

  ‘I’m heading over to Hampton,’ I say.

  ‘What do they have in Hampton, then?’

  ‘Well, it’s a slightly bigger town than Talting and they have some good shops, but it’s a really pretty walk there, which is why I like it so much. And it looks like the rain will hold off today.’

  ‘My dad called earlier,’ he tells me. ‘I had to have a meeting with him about a client when I went back to Plymouth and he doesn’t think I’m doing enough on the case. He doesn’t really grasp the concept of a holiday. I could do with a walk before I start work on it, though, if you fancy the company?’

  I hesitate, Adam’s words echoing through my mind, but this doesn’t count as a date either, right? He’s just tagging along to somewhere I was already going to and he’s never been there before, so it would be nice to show him.

  It’ll be good not to be alone.

  ‘I’d like that.’

  We leave the terrace and start walking towards Hampton. It’s about a half-hour walk past fields and trees and I just love how peaceful it is. Robert strolls beside me, looking as comfortable as I feel. He sees me looking at him and smiles across at me. ‘You’re right, this walk is beautiful. I have done twelve-hour days in the office for so long, I forgot what the sky looks like, what grass looks like, how it smells outside.’

  I wrinkle my noise. ‘Right now, I can smell manure.’

  He nudges me. ‘You know what I mean.’

  ‘I’m glad you like it. I can’t imagine not taking time to get outdoors.’

  ‘That’s because you have all this on your doorstep. Plus, you’re an artist, you’re always looking for inspiration.’

  Hampton comes into view then. There are hanging baskets outside each shop in the High Street, full of vivid colours. There are a few cute gift shops here for the tourists who visit the stately home that stands at the end of the road plus a second-hand bookshop that I love to browse in.

  ‘I love bookshops, there are so few left,’ Robert says, spotting it.

  ‘I love the smell,’ I agree as we walk over to it. ‘I sniff books, is that weird?’

  Robert grins. ‘I’m saying nothing.’ He holds the door open, which jangles merrily, and we step inside, that deliciously musty old book smell enveloping us. I can get lost in a bookshop; there are so many worlds to discover in the pages of a book, so many stories for you to dive in to. Actually, Lucas was always bored when I came in here and would wait for me in the coffee shop rather than traipse after me. He was never a reader; his attention span was too short.

  ‘Hi, Marie,’ I say to the woman who hurries out of the back office on hearing the bell. The shop has been in her family for eighty years.

  ‘Rose, how lovely. And who’s this?’ She peers over the top of her glasses, her thick red hair moving across her face.

  ‘This is Robert, he’s in town for the summer,’ I say, moving over to the Classics section. ‘Anything new in?’

  Marie looks Robert up and down, then follows me. ‘Someone brought in some lovely hardbacks of Dickens,’ she says, showing me. There’s a couple I don’t have and they look in excellent condition. ‘I knew you’d like them. And what can I interest you in?’ She goes over to Robert, who’s looking at the crime section. ‘This is new,’ she says, showing him a book and leaning in closely.

  Robert steps back, looking alarmed at her proximity, and backs into a stand of books. As if it’s happening in slow motion, the stand wobbles before falling backwards with a loud crash, sending the fifty or so books on it flying everywhere. Robert looks horrified, his face turning pink as Marie gasps and covers her mouth with her hand. I can’t help it, I look at the mess and Robert looking so ruffled and I burst out laughing. My laughter breaks the heavy silence and Marie joins in, with Robert finally breaking into a smile.

  It feels good to really laugh and once I start, it’s hard to stop. I have to lean against a bookshelf for support as I’m finding it hard to breathe.

  ‘I’ve always been clumsy,’ Robert admits sheepishly. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he says to Marie and goes over to start picking the books up. It’s kind of reassuring to see him looking so embarrassed, his polished exterior shattered. Marie pulls herself together to help him lift the stand back up and I take a deep breath and grab some b
ooks to put back on it. I hiccup loudly and Robert grabs my shoulders, making me jump. ‘A scare stops them,’ he protests when I give him an annoyed look.

  ‘No, you have to drink water,’ Marie says.

  ‘I think I just have to stop laughing.’

  When we’ve finally cleared up the mess, Robert and I both buy a bunch of books each, trying to make up for it. Marie gives us both a hug goodbye, Robert’s cheeks turning slightly pink again, and we leave the shop promising to come back soon. Outside the sky has turned grey and a breeze ruffles my hair.

  ‘I need a coffee after that,’ I say, rubbing my bare arms, which are pricked with goosebumps.

  ‘Good plan. That was so embarrassing.’

  ‘Sorry about laughing so much.’

  He looks across at me. ‘No, you’re not, but I’ll let you off; most people laugh at me.’

  ‘It happens a lot, then?’ I ask, trying not to laugh at him again. I lead us in the direction of the stately home, which has a lovely café in the gardens.

  ‘Once I knocked over a statue in this really posh hotel when we were on holiday, and my dad didn’t speak to me for the rest of the holiday. He thought I did it on purpose. Sometimes I just don’t see things.’

  ‘You’re worse than Bella Swan.’

  ‘Who?’

  I shake my head. ‘Why doesn’t it surprise me that you don’t know who that is?’

  ‘Have I met her, then?’

  ‘Doubtful.’ We walk into the grounds of Hampton House, which is a tall, imposing stone building surrounded by manicured lawns lined with rose bushes. ‘I used to come here a lot as a kid; they’d have things like Easter egg hunts and people dressed like the men and women who lived here when it was built.’

  ‘I’ve always loved to imagine how people lived back then,’ he says, gazing up at the house as we walk past it.

  ‘Me too. Like, was this a happy house or sad, you know? What kind of things happened here? It’s so fascinating.’

  ‘Is this a good time to tell you I’m a member of the National Trust?’