‘They let you be a member under the age of fifty?’
‘Hey, history is interesting,’ he argues.
I lay a hand on his arm. ‘I’m only joking. I love looking round houses like this. My mum and I used to visit a stately home or castle every summer. My favourite was Chatsworth House.’
‘It’s stunning,’ Robert agrees, holding open the café door for me. It overlooks the gardens and we find a table by the window so we can look out. Robert buys us coffee and a slice of cake each. ‘I can’t believe you like carrot cake.’
‘Victoria sponge is so boring,’ I say, pointing to his plate. ‘My favourite is lemon drizzle, I make possibly the best one in Talting. You know, in my humble opinion.’
‘I’ll have to try it whilst I’m here.’
‘You can help me bake one.’
‘You’d let me loose in your kitchen after what you witnessed today?’
‘Hmm, good point. I quite like my kitchen.’
Robert sighs. ‘Discrimination against the clumsy, I might start a club.’
‘If we get T-shirts, I’m in.’
‘What would a club be without T-shirts?’ He grins across the table at me and holds out his fork to me. I clink mine against it with a roll of my eyes. We are just starting to tuck into our cakes when my phone rings.
‘Hello?’ I answer through a mouthful of cake.
‘Emma is threatening to make dinner, can you please come round?’
I let out a laugh when I hear John’s voice. Let’s just say that Emma is not the most talented cook. One Christmas she tried to serve still-frozen turkey and we had to have grilled cheese sandwiches, so we all agreed I’d do Christmas dinner from then on. She and John either eat out or have takeaways or pasta with a jar of sauce, which she has managed to master. ‘What is she trying to make?’
‘A lamb casserole. I’m scared, Rose,’ he hisses, as though he’s hiding our conversation from her, which it’s likely he is. ‘She has a cookbook out.’
‘Okay, I’ll come round and make sure she doesn’t put sugar in it or something.’ I glance at Robert, who mimes a protest he’s never done anything like that. I shake my head to indicate I’m not sure I believe him.
‘Is there someone with you?’
‘I’m having a coffee with Robert.’
There’s a short pause. ‘Well, why don’t you bring him too? That way it won’t be so obvious that I invited you to help save dinner.’
‘I don’t know.’ I glance at Robert, who’s sipping his coffee. Would it too much after today? ‘I could ask him.’ He raises his eyebrows at me.
‘Text me to let me know, and come round at six so it won’t be too late to avert disaster.’ He swiftly hangs up.
‘That was John. He wants me to come over for dinner to try to save him from one of Emma’s creations – she doesn’t have good precedent, shall we say. He actually wondered if you wanted to come too?’ I say it casually, because I’m nervous about it sounding like a double date.
He thinks for a moment. ‘Well, it would save me from another burger at Joe’s,’ he replies, not quite meeting my eyes. ‘If it’s okay with you?’
‘Emma will be so busy trying to find out everything about you, I can keep an eye on the dinner,’ I reply, keeping things light, but I feel a slight flicker of butterflies in my stomach and I’m not entirely sure why or whether they are good or bad ones.
‘I’ll do my best to distract her,’ he says, giving me one of his smiles that light up his face and making it impossible not to smile back.
Chapter Twelve
The closer to six the clock ticks, the more nervous I become. I sit at the kitchen table scrolling through photos on my phone, thinking how strange it feels to be having dinner with Emma and John and someone who’s not Lucas. I pause at a photo of the four of us at our house crowded round the camera, arms wrapped round one another, pulling stupid faces. It’s one tiny moment in the years we had together, a moment that passed so quickly we didn’t even think about its significance at the time. But the problem with moments is when you know you won’t have any more of them, they become infinitely more significant. In fact, everything Lucas and I did or said has become significant now. I wish I had treasured the moments more at the time but that’s the problem with moments, you never know when you are about to have your last one.
Our last moment together was in the morning that day. Lucas was about to head out for a building job and I was due at the bar late morning. We had breakfast together, which wasn’t rare but wasn’t an everyday occurrence either. We had tea and toast. There was no bacon or eggs or pancakes or something fancy, just plain old tea and toast, sitting around our tiny pine kitchen table with Radio 1 playing in the background. It was a nondescript day, really, not too cold, not too hot, with a slight trickle of sunshine coming through the light grey clouds. Lucas was in his work gear, tatty jeans and T-shirt, his hair still messy from sleeping, and I was still in my pyjamas, my hair piled on top of my head.
‘What time will you be home?’ I didn’t beg him not to go to work; it wouldn’t have even entered my head. I had no way of knowing it would be the last time he went. I wish I could go back in time and make him stay at home, but who knows whether that would have kept him with me or whether he would have been taken some other way. When your time is up, is it up no matter what?
‘Probably about seven. I’ll get changed and come to the bar,’ Lucas said. He often came by to see everyone and then walk me home once my shift had finished; he’d probably eat there as well. I nodded and he got up, putting his things in the sink and leaning down to kiss me on the cheek. He smelt of our magnolia shower gel and winked as he grabbed his car keys from the counter. ‘See you later, babe.’
We didn’t say ‘I love you’. I guess some people say it every time they leave or hang up the phone, but we didn’t. We knew it through and through; our love was wrapped around us but we didn’t say it all the time. It used to haunt me at night, the fact that I didn’t tell him I loved him on that last morning, but I know in my heart he knew that I did and he loved me right back. Neither of us could have been aware that it was our last opportunity to say it.
You never know when the last time to say ‘I love you’ is coming.
I still wish I had told him it more often. I was lucky to love someone and have him love me back. I shouldn’t have taken it so much for granted. If I ever get lucky to have love again, I will grasp it tightly because I know how it feels when you lose it. I don’t think love is about letting go; it’s about treasuring it whilst you have it in your life.
I come out of my photos and lock my phone. It’s almost time to leave.
A knock at the door startles me and when I pull it open, I see Robert standing there. He’s in a black shirt and trousers and runs a hand through his hair as he greets me. ‘I thought we could walk over together?’
Pulling on my denim jacket and picking up my bag, I lock the door and we set off for Emma and John’s. I try not to think about this feeling even more like a date now we’re going together. I know it’s not a date and so does he. I think he does, anyway. I steal a glance at him, thinking he’s quiet too. Maybe we’re both nervous.
It’s a cool evening with the sun low in the sky, and the town is still dotted with people who made the most of a dry day at the beach. Emma and John live right in the centre of Talting close to the High Street and you can see the beach from their bedroom window. It’s a three-floor town house like the one that Lucas and I used to live in. John throws open the door to us with a wide grin.
‘Thank God,’ he says, pointing behind his back. ‘She’s already in the kitchen.’ He kisses me on the cheek and shakes Robert’s hand, thanking him for the red wine he’s brought. John pushes me towards the kitchen and leads Robert into the living room.
Their house is brimming with things. The
y are always collecting more knick-knacks and have photos everywhere, lots of cushions and a strange abundance of clocks. The walls are white and the floor polished wood but everything else is cluttered. The house always smells of Emma’s perfume and tonight that’s mixed with the smell of lamb cooking. I push open the kitchen door. ‘Hey hey.’
Emma turns round. ‘He just invited you so you could help me cook, didn’t he?’
I burst out laughing. ‘You listened to his phone call again, didn’t you?’
She shrugs. ‘Have to keep an eye on him. Wine on the table. So, I think it’s okay but the recipe makes no sense. This is why it’s not my fault that things go wrong; they make recipes impossible to follow. In fact, is it written in French?’
I pour us both a glass and go over to the oven. I turn it down straight away as she has it set so high the lamb would have burnt for sure. I take the dish out and peer inside. It all looks okay, if a bit watery. I stir it and thicken it up, adding some more wine and herbs before putting it back in the oven. I reassure her it’s fine and agree not to tell John it would have burnt without me, and then we go into the living room to join John and Robert.
‘Everything okay?’ John asks, glancing at me hopefully.
‘Jesus,’ Emma says, elbowing him in the ribs. ‘I’m not that bad. Am I, Rose?’
‘It’s going to taste great,’ I say diplomatically, sitting down next to Robert on the opposite sofa to them. I take a sip of my wine and realise that Emma didn’t bring hers in. She is asking Robert about his job but their voices are muted suddenly. I remember that photo of the four of us I looked at back at home, some of that night coming back to me. The conversation about a girl we went to school with who we’d just found out was having a baby. ‘We should get pregnant at the same time,’ Emma had said. ‘You two can’t do anything on your own,’ John said. ‘I think our baby would be cuter than yours,’ Lucas had added with a grin.
I jump up and excuse myself, rushing to the bathroom. I have to get over this. I have to support Emma, but if she’s trying for a baby then it’s real. We won’t be pregnant together.
I choke back a sob and wash my face over the sink. I can’t lose it with them all out there. I feel like such a crap friend. A gentle knock makes me jump. Emma pushes the door open and I curse myself for not locking it. ‘Rose?’
‘I’m fine, just felt a bit hot, that’s all.’
‘I always know when you’re lying, remember?’
I look up at the mirror, watching her reflection behind me. She looks so worried; guilt pinches me. I don’t want this to come between us. ‘You’re not drinking, are you?’
‘I’ve heard it can help.’
‘You haven’t talked to me about it.’
‘No.’ She perches on the edge of the bathtub. ‘I see how you react when I mention anything close; I just thought you didn’t want to talk about it, you didn’t want to know. And I understand, you know. I really do.’
‘We always talk about everything,’ I say in a small voice. I hate that this could come between us but I don’t know how to make sure it doesn’t. I don’t want to be jealous of her. I don’t want to resent her for anything. None of this is her fault. And I know that, but it’s so hard to talk myself out of the way I feel.
I turn around slowly. ‘I guess we should go back in.’
Emma bites her lip then stands up. ‘Will you tell me if I can talk to you about this?’
‘When, not if,’ I promise, hoping I will find the strength soon, for her.
Emma touches my shoulder then ducks out of the room. I pat my face dry, take a deep breath and go back in. I can feel Robert watching me and I wonder what he sees. I drain the rest of my wine and try to focus on the here and now.
‘My father didn’t even consider I wouldn’t want to work with him,’ Robert is saying to John. ‘He’s a difficult man to refuse. But it did make sense after university to go into the firm; he pays well but he expects a lot. And not just at work.’ Bitterness clouds Robert’s voice. I hear real pain in his words, yet what he’s saying is alien to me; my mum was always supportive and encouraging, never pushy.
‘Doesn’t he want you to be happy?’
Robert turns to me. ‘I don’t think he’d ever think of happiness . . . I’m not sure I have, either. But this summer is making me wonder about how happy I am and what would make me happy.’ His eyes lock with mine and I suddenly see how unsure he is about everything. I thought he was polished and confident, even a bit intimidating, but right now in this moment, he just seems like a lost boy.
‘You’ll figure it out.’
‘I hope so.’
The oven timer sounds, making us both jump. I look at Emma, who exchanges a look and smile with her husband before heading out to the kitchen. Confused for a minute, I jump up and follow her, my cheeks still flushed from Robert’s piercing gaze.
The four of us eat in their small dining room, our elbows practically touching around the round table. The men and I drink a lot of wine and all four of us have seconds of the stew and mash. Emma realises she forgot about dessert and she tells me off for not bringing cake after I admit that I took a pie to Gloria and Graham’s. But I can see how pleased she is that I’m baking again. Then John finds a box of chocolates in the back of the cupboard, which we have with brandy and coffee. With a buzz of alcohol, Robert and I leave past midnight with him offering to walk me back. Emma and John shout goodbyes and wave until we are at the end of their road, and then we head for the cottage, a pool of moonlight guiding our way.
‘I had a lot of fun tonight,’ Robert says, breaking the comfortable silence.
‘I’m glad.’ I wobble a little as I step up a kerb. I have drunk way too much. ‘Can I ask you something?’ He nods but looks a little worried. ‘How come you came here all alone? I mean, it’s not a typical summer plan for someone like you.’
‘Someone like me?’ He touches my arm to steady me and I put my arm through his, leaning against him gratefully.
‘Hmmm . . . single, good-looking, rich?’
‘Oh, I’m good-looking, huh?’ He grins at me.
I wave my hand airily. ‘Come on, you know what I mean.’
‘If you’re asking why I’m not with anyone then I don’t know. I was with a girl through university, it was over three years, and I guess at one point I assumed we’d stay together and get married. Then I came home and she lived in London and we just drifted apart. Looking back, it wasn’t love. We would have made it work if it was.’
‘But why here?’ I press, still confused why he wants to be here for his summer.
‘How did you know that Lucas was The One?’ he asks softly, ignoring my question.
‘I don’t know if there’s a One, a soulmate; it sort of sounds so final. All I know is Lucas was my best friend and I loved him. We were together for a long time and I never imagined that we wouldn’t be.’
‘I’m really sorry, Rose.’
We walk down my road, my cottage standing there ready to welcome me home. I stumble again. ‘I need some lights,’ I mutter as we reach my gate. I push it open. ‘I had fun tonight.’
‘That’s good,’ he says. ‘Will you be all right getting in?’
‘I think so. Rob, do you think you get one shot at love?’
Robert thinks about that for a moment. ‘No, I don’t. I think if you’re capable of love, you can always be loved in return.’ He leans in and my breath hitches in my throat. I freeze, unable to move, scared about what he might do, but then he brushes my cheek with his lips. ‘See you soon?’
‘Yeah, I’ll see you,’ I choke out, my head swimming with confusing thoughts and my heart thumping with confusing emotions.
‘Sweet dreams, Rose. You deserve them.’
Chapter Thirteen
A couple of days later, I let myself into Emma’s paren
ts’ house. They never asked for their key back after I moved out to live with Lucas, telling me that I should always think of it as my home. When I step into the hall, I push the hood of my parka down and shake off the rain. I take off my coat and hang it up on one of the hooks by the door. I still use the same hook I used during the two years I lived here.
This house was so lively back then – Emma and I would play loud music and Emma’s sister would be dancing in her room. Their parents would have to yell up the stairs to call us for dinner and then we’d all crowd around their kitchen table talking about our days with the TV in the background, even though we mostly ignored it.
This house helped to heal me after my mum died. It looked after me when I needed it the most.
Today, the house is much quieter but I still feel the same security envelop me now as I did when I first arrived, torn by grief, needing a home and family and receiving both with open arms.
‘Rose, darling,’ Emma’s mum Sue says, rushing into the hall and pulling me into a big hug. Emma is the spitting image of her mum, even though neither of them believes it; they could be sisters. Sue had Emma when she was still a teenager so they are close in years as well as looks. ‘How are you? Thank you so much for coming to help. I told Emma not to bother you as I know it’s your day off, but she thought there would be some of your things up there too. It’s unbelievable how much stuff we’ve accumulated. Mind you, it has been over twenty years,’ she says in her usual quick-fire way. She propels me up two flights of stairs into the loft, which they converted then left as a storeroom. They’ve finally decided to use the room, so it needs clearing out. They’re still arguing about what it will be, though. Emma is sitting on the floor in the middle, surrounded by boxes.
‘Where’s Gary?’ I ask, wondering why her dad isn’t here too.
Emma looks up and grins at me. ‘He went to make tea.’
‘I’ve just come from the kitchen and he wasn’t there,’ Sue says crossly. ‘I’ll kill him; he’s gone to the pub, hasn’t he? Leaving it to us as per bloody usual. Right, well, I’m not having it. I’ll be back. Thanks again, Rose darling, you look great.’ She disappears before I can utter a word.
The Second Love of My Life Page 9