Why is it easier to help someone else and not yourself?
As I walk home, more slowly this time, I wonder if that’s why Robert acted the way he did. Was he trying to help me because he can’t help himself? Maybe helping me is a way of putting off looking at his own situation.
I stop at the top of my road as I see Robert walking towards the cottage. Sensing me, he turns around, so I go over, stopping a few feet from him.
‘I didn’t mean to upset you,’ he says softly. ‘I honestly was just trying to help. I think you’re really talented and I’d love to spread the word about your work. But I should have asked you first, I realise that. Sometimes I get so excited about something, I don’t stop to think. A bit like when I knock everything over in a bookshop without looking where I’m going.’ He smiles tentatively.
It’s very hard to stay angry at that smile. ‘Look, I do get you want to help, I don’t doubt your intentions, but it’s hard for me right now, I’m really struggling.’
‘I can see that. I’m really sorry. I thought it might, I don’t know, spur you on to know that she really loved your work. She thinks you have real potential.’
That’s kind of flattering, I have to admit. I haven’t had any contact with anyone in the art world since I left college. I have never sought it, not thinking I was good enough. ‘I’ve never been in that gallery before.’
‘It’s a lovely space, I really think she has a good eye. I . . .’ He looks nervous again. ‘I did give her your number . . .’
‘You’re a piece of work, Rob,’ I say, walking past him. ‘I need a drink.’
He follows me inside the cottage and stops in the doorway, looking around as I start pulling out things for tea then change my mind and go to the fridge and pour out a glass of wine. He watches me take a sip then steps inside a bit further. ‘I’ve imagined what this place looks like inside . . . it’s really you.’
I lean against the counter and close my eyes. ‘What if I can’t paint again?’ I whisper.
‘You can do anything,’ Robert whispers back, closer than I thought he was.
My eyes flick open and there he is, just inches away, his eyes meeting mine, a small smile on his face. I swallow hard and he steps even closer.
‘I . . .’ I start to say something but I have no idea what, as my mind is suddenly clouded as if I’ve been covered in a thick mist. I try to move but the counter presses hard into my back and then I freeze, unsure if I do want to move. He reaches out to touch my cheek, which burns under his fingertips. I can’t tear my eyes from his. My heart starts to speed up. I’m struck by indecision. Do I want to stop this?
I don’t have time to work out the answer as he brings his face closer and, keeping his eyes locked on me, brushes his lips against mine. I let out an embarrassing gasp and his hand moves to my hair and he pulls me closer, giving me a longer, lingering kiss. My lips have missed being kissed. They return his touch eagerly, clinging to his lips, but they feel so different to what I’m used to. His kiss is gentle but passionate and I can feel some of his stubble brush against my chin. Lucas never really had stubble.
Robert pulls back before I make the decision to and his eyes search mine. I don’t know what he sees there. I don’t know what I feel. My fingers move to my lips, which still tingle from his. I grip the counter, feeling weak suddenly. I just kissed someone else. I have only ever kissed Lucas.
‘I’m sorry, Rose, I shouldn’t have . . .’ Robert says, stepping back from me as if I’ve burnt him.
Is he sorry for kissing me? Do I want him to be? A sob escapes my throat. ‘You should go,’ I say, trying to disguise it.
He walks out quickly, shutting the door behind him and leaving me alone in my silent house.
I walk shakily to the table and sit down on a chair. I’m so confused. I don’t understand the pull I feel towards Robert. It’s as if he feels the same pull towards me, but then he looked so guilty after kissing me. Is it because of Lucas? Does he think it’s too soon for this? The worst part is it felt good. I’ve missed kissing. And I liked kissing Robert.
I need to let all these conflicting feelings out somehow. It’s as though they’re stuck inside me and the weight of them is starting to squeeze my heart, making it hard to breathe.
I go upstairs and grab a sketch pad from my art room. I go into my bedroom and sit cross-legged on the bed with the pad in front of me. I pick up a pencil. My hand shakes a little as I close my fingers around it. There is an actual pain in my chest. I touch the pencil against the paper and start shading. I have to concentrate hard as my eyes start to build up with unshed tears. I press frantically into the paper, creating dark lines and rubbing at it. The eyes are formed quickly. I pour all my confusion into the paper, close to tearing through it. Then I gasp and drop the pencil, exhausted. The two almost finished eyes stare back at me.
Robert’s eyes.
What is he doing to me?
But I can’t deny it feels good to have drawn something. I think about what Robert said about the woman at the gallery saying I need to tap into my feelings. Clearly he told her about me losing Lucas. How can I even begin to put down all I’ve felt on to paper? It seems impossible, but just drawing Robert’s eyes has steadied me slightly. He has steadied me. He says I need to get over my fear and paint again and I know he’s right. I want to. I really do.
But how do I do it?
I’m tempted to ignore my phone as it buzzes beside me the following morning but I don’t recognise the number and my heart instantly starts racing. I am still terrified by the possibility of hearing bad news. But when I answer it, a woman introduces herself immediately as Heather from the art gallery in Plymouth and my heart continues to pound in my chest for a different reason.
‘The reason I’ve called you, Rose, is a friend of mine is running an art retreat in the first week of June up in Scotland. He is amazingly talented and there is a great group of artists going. I think you’d benefit hugely from being there with them. Your . . . friend . . . Robert, isn’t it? He came into the gallery and showed me your work and I think you have great potential to create something beautiful at the retreat. Dan is very skilled at getting artists to put their emotions into their work. I don’t think you could fail to be inspired by them and your surroundings there.’ She tells me it’s run by Daniel Smith, a British artist who I have admired for years. I have a print of one of his paintings hanging in my living room – of a woman lying on a sofa. I can feel the love he had for the subject as if it’s burning through the painting.
I can’t believe I’m being offered the chance not only to meet him but also to be taught by him. ‘He is, of course, very selective about who comes on these retreats but trusts my judgement and will welcome you, I’m sure. What do you think?’ Heather has a brisk way of speaking that makes me think she gets exactly what she wants from life. I feel a little in awe of her.
‘Can I . . . can I think about it?’
‘The group is at the maximum number that Dan usually allows so I would need time to convince him to let you join, so please don’t take too long. This could be a real opportunity.’
Her words echo what Robert said to me. But I’m left lying in bed long after she has hung up, wondering if I’m ready for this opportunity or not.
I spend the rest of the day unable to think about anything other than Robert and my art. I’m relieved when it’s time to go to work, as it might take my mind off things.
But as soon as I see Emma, I falter and drag her outside to fill her in on what’s happened.
‘Spill it,’ she says, shaking a ketchup bottle at me.
I glance around to make sure we’re alone.
‘I . . . well, Robert he . . . we . . .’
‘You slept with him?’ she shrieks at a pitch that would send dogs crazy.
‘No, of course not, but . . . he kissed me.’
I bite my lip and hiss the words out. I sag against a table. ‘He said he was sorry . . . I told him to go. And now I don’t know what to think or how to feel about it,’ I tell her in a rush.
She looks at me for a moment. ‘Okay, let me ask this, did you enjoy the kiss?’
I close my eyes and feel Robert’s lips on mine again. I swear mine are still tingling from his touch. ‘Yeah, but—’
‘But nothing. You guys kissed, so what?’
‘But I haven’t seen or heard from him since.’
‘You will,’ Emma says firmly. ‘He’s a good guy, he was probably worried about how you would feel about it. He’ll be back, he really likes you.’
‘Should I feel bad about it?’ I ask her.
Emma shakes her head vigorously. ‘No way. You, more than anyone, deserve to be happy and you should do what makes you happy. Robert is gorgeous, let’s face it, and he’s here for the summer, this doesn’t have to be your next big love, Rose. Just see what happens. If you liked kissing him and you want to kiss him again then go for it, but if you don’t want to, that’s okay too. It sounds to me like he really cares about your feelings and won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with.’ She pats my arm. ‘It will never feel like the perfect time. You will always worry that it’s too soon and you’ll always think about Lucas, it’s completely natural. But no new love you have in your life will take away what you had with Lucas, you know that.’
I nod. I do know that. ‘You would have thought kissing a guy you like would make you happy, right?’
She smiles. ‘It will make you happy. You just need to let it.’ Joe comes out to find out what we’re doing as it’s time to open up, so I don’t have time to tell her about Heather’s offer yet.
The first person in the bar is Robert. He watches me from the doorway like he’s not sure if I want him to come in or not. I smile almost involuntarily over at him and he smiles back, the relief clear on his face. He walks inside and I meet him in the middle of the bar. ‘I’m sorry,’ we both say at the same time.
Robert pushes his hair back. ‘You have nothing to be sorry for, it was my fault.’ I experience a pang of disappointment that he sees our kiss as a mistake, but then he smiles and adds, ‘I shouldn’t have left you like that.’
‘I shouldn’t have let you go,’ I say softly, a little embarrassed. Feeling the need to change the subject from our kiss, I tell him that Heather phoned me and invited me to go on a retreat. ‘I’m not sure what to do.’
‘No one can tell you what to do, Rose. It’s terribly clichéd, but I think you just need to follow your heart.’
Emma brings Robert a drink and I’m called to a table, so we part for now, but I feel his eyes on me from across the room and I sneak just as many looks at him. I think about his words most of the night.
Follow your heart.
I know what my heart wants, but the idea of doing what it wants is terrifying.
Chapter Fifteen
Robert and I spend a lot of time together over the next couple of weeks but he doesn’t kiss me again. I am a bit disappointed but I enjoy his company and I don’t want to rush anything anyway. I just hope he doesn’t think it was a mistake. He calls to say he has a surprise for me and we arrange for him to pick me up later.
Before that, I head to Gloria and Graham’s for my usual Sunday lunch. It feels strange to have this thing with Robert but not know whether they would want to know about it.
‘You look really well,’ Gloria tells me as I stir the gravy for her. ‘I’m glad.’
I instantly feel guilty for keeping our communication just to the weekly Sunday lunches the past couple of weeks when before I’d usually call them as well. It’s been so hard to know what to talk about without talking about Robert. It hasn’t felt right to say anything. Not yet anyway. Because they’ll always be Lucas’s parents. But I hate feeling as if I’m keeping things from them, or worse, lying to them. ‘How have you both been?’
‘Well, actually we had a message on Lucas’s Facebook page from one of your old friends. Sam?’
I picture Sam with his short, spiky hair and shake my head. ‘God, Sam thought he was the ultimate ladies’ man. He was very deluded.’ I turn to look at her. ‘So, you still look at his page?’ I couldn’t bear to log on to Facebook after Lucas’s death. Emma said there were tons of sympathy messages on both of our pages, but I didn’t want to see them and face the reality of him being gone, so she thanked them all for me. Sometimes I look back at his old statuses, smiling when he was being silly or looking at the photos of us on there and remembering when and where they were taken, but I haven’t posted anything on my page for a long time. I haven’t known what to say, I suppose.
‘He wanted to let us know he’s getting married and to say he would love us to come. He said he would have asked Lucas to be an usher. It was sweet of him to think of us.’
‘I can’t imagine him getting married.’ They kind of lost touch when Sam left Talting for university and never came back, but they were close at school and I think Lucas would have wanted to go to the wedding. Sometimes you forget how the world is moving on around you when all you think about is the person you miss. ‘But I’m glad people are still thinking about Lucas. It means he made a mark on the world in some way, you know.’
She takes my hand in hers. ‘He made a very special mark on our world, and that’s all that matters.’
A lump forms in my throat as I look into her eyes and I worry I might start crying. I’m so grateful to have known Lucas and she’s right – what matters is that we knew and loved him. Graham comes in then to tell us an old movie they love is on TV later and Gloria turns away to check the potatoes. I go back to the gravy, glad to have something to focus on.
We dish up the roast and have some of my lemon drizzle cake for dessert. I have kept half for Robert to try. Graham is keen to watch the film after we’ve cleared up and when I check the time, I realise I should get going.
Gloria follows me to the front door and opens it, watching me step down. ‘What are your plans for the rest of the day?’
‘Robert’s picking me up from the cottage, he wants to show me something. It’s a surprise, apparently.’
‘He could have picked you up from here.’ I nod but I imagine we would all have felt awkward if he had. ‘The village seems quite taken with him,’ she says evenly, not meeting my eyes.
‘He’s become a good friend,’ I say quickly.
Gloria looks out at me for a moment then pulls me into a quick hug. ‘Thanks for coming over, Rose, we do appreciate it.’
‘Don’t be silly, you know I love it here,’ I tell her, returning her hug tightly. ‘We’re family,’ I say, my voice breaking a little. I have thought of them as my parents too for so long and it’s heartbreaking to think that they might worry things will change between us.
Gloria smiles. ‘We love having you. Now off you go and have a lovely time.’ She pats my hand and her eyes pause on my rings there. ‘Take care of yourself.’
‘You too.’
Robert is parked outside my house when I get there so I climb straight in to his car – a black BMW. ‘So, where are we going?’ I ask him.
‘I told you – it’s a surprise.’ He winks at me and pulls away. A blast of air conditioning cools my warm legs and the radio plays softly.
I lean back against the seat, ready to enjoy the drive. I actually love surprises. Even when I was young, I didn’t ask for anything or hunt for my presents, I liked to see what people chose to get me. Lucas wasn’t a fan of this, though; present buying wasn’t really his forte. One year I remember he got me a tool kit. After that, Emma stepped in to help him. He was better at cards, picking ones that would make me cry and always adding a sweet message of his own to the soppy poem. It actually became his mission to make me cry with them, and I always did.
When
Robert pulls off the main road and takes us down a gravel track, I try to crane my neck to see ahead. He just smiles. Finally, we get to the end of the lane and turn into a small animal rescue centre. I turn to look at him and raise an eyebrow.
‘Do you remember what you said to me at the Fair?’ he asks, parking his car outside. ‘That you wanted to get a cat one day. I drove past this place the other day and thought you’d like to look around – what do you think?’
‘You remember that?’ I ask, marvelling that he can remember that early conversation between us. ‘I’d love to look around,’ I say, feeling excited already. We get out of his car and go inside the centre, paying a donation fee at reception and heading into the cattery building.
There are rows of glass pens for the cats, leading to small outside enclosures, and we walk slowly down, reading the notes about each cat and seeing the said cat either sleeping, sitting in the sun or staring back at us, some giving a meow in greeting to us through the glass.
‘You just want to take them all home, don’t you?’ Robert says, smiling at one cat standing on his hind legs to try to get to him. ‘I’m not allowed a pet in my flat, though, sadly.’
I pause by one cat that’s sitting in the middle of his enclosure looking out at me. He’s black and white with large eyes and he puts two paws against the glass, giving out a low meow. I stand in front of him and touch the glass with my fingers and he tries to swipe them, getting annoyed that he can’t get to them. I laugh. ‘Are you trying to attack me?’
Robert comes over to see. ‘He’s really cute, Rose.’ He checks the information card next to me. ‘His name is Taylor.’
‘Really?’ I check for myself. I look back at the cat that is now rubbing his head against the glass and is purring so loudly we can hear him out here. This cat is so cute and, although he’s male, he has the same name as my favourite singer, who loves cats herself. ‘It seems like fate.’
The Second Love of My Life Page 11