The Second Love of My Life

by Victoria Walters

  She looks at the painting again. ‘I was pregnant there. I look so happy. All lit up inside.’

  ‘You will find that light again, I promise.’

  She smiles at me. ‘So will you.’

  I think about the star that shone through my darkness, but I don’t know if I’m meant to find that light again.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Everyone in Talting seems to retreat in August. It’s peak tourist time as all the families arrive for the obligatory summer holiday, more now than ever thanks to the supposed glamour of a ‘staycation’. The serious surfers make way for people trying it out. If you run a business you work your socks off and bring in as much money as you can; if you don’t, then you avoid the town centre as much as you possibly can if you want to stay sane.

  So I retreat into the garden of my cottage to work on my third painting. I realise I’ve painted significant people in my life so far but there are more who I’d like to represent. This exhibition is already incredibly personal, and it feels right that it should continue to be.

  I’m painting the pieces of my heart.

  I didn’t only lose Lucas but my mum too. I wish she could be part of this with me. She would have been a perfect sounding board for all of my ideas, she was so creative herself. But I know that I’m lucky still to have mother figures in my life without her. Gloria and Sue are Lucas’s and Emma’s mothers, but they have always been there for me too.

  Three strong women in their own different ways. All three have shaped the woman I am and the woman I want to be.

  Without struggle, there is no strength.

  I draw three lines and start to shade them in. I realise they look a bit like feathers and with a rush of excitement, I add in more lines and curve the tips so they are wrapped around each other. I want to symbolise my mother no longer being here. It’s difficult when you’re not sure if you have faith to know where someone has gone after they die, as I know Gloria does. Part of me would love to think my mum is with Lucas in a lovely place of peace, watching over me and the people they loved in life, but I just don’t know if I believe that or not. But my mother was such a free spirit; I’d love to think of her in the sky somewhere. That’s when inspiration strikes and I sketch one of the feathers turning into a bird. One doesn’t seem enough, though, so I imagine the feather blowing in the wind and turn the bits floating outwards into birds flying. I stop and look at the quick sketch. I can picture a burst of birds that will fill up the top of the painting, flying across a startling sunset.

  Once again I’m not sure how thinking about my mum, Gloria and Sue has transformed into this picture, but I can envisage what it will look like, and excitement flows through me as I think about how stunning this will be on canvas.

  When the painting is finished, I want to show it to Gloria. It’s her and Graham’s wedding anniversary tomorrow, and I found a lovely distressed-looking photo frame online for their present. I dig out my photographs and find one of them with Lucas and me. I think we’re at the Fair based on the background, and we look like a family. I look at our smiling faces and I smile. It still hurts to see Lucas and myself like this, but I want to cherish our memories, and I know that Gloria and Graham do too. Graham is playing golf, so Gloria comes round for lunch on her own.

  ‘Thirty years,’ she marvels as we finish up our lasagne, salad and garlic bread.

  ‘You should be so proud; it’s pretty rare nowadays,’ I say, raising my wine glass. ‘To you guys.’ We both take a sip. ‘You two inspire me,’ I tell her, almost shyly. ‘I wanted Lucas and I to last as long.’

  ‘You would have. You were best friends, and that’s what matters.’

  I nod, swallowing the small lump that has appeared in my throat. She’s right, and God, I miss my best friend. ‘I wanted to give you both this,’ I say, handing over the frame wrapped in tissue paper.

  She unwraps it and breaks into a smile when she sees the picture. ‘We all look so young.’ She runs her fingers over the photo. ‘You two were so young, though, I always forget somehow.’

  ‘I forget sometimes that I’m still young,’ I say softly. ‘I feel kind of middle-aged.’

  ‘You were too young to have to . . .’ She reaches for my hand. ‘We are all so proud of how you’ve moved on, Rose. This cottage and your painting – you’ve dealt with everything amazingly. It makes us all forget how young you are. Lucas would be so proud of your exhibition, you know.’

  I take Gloria into the living room to show her the latest painting, which I finished in the garden earlier. ‘You helped to inspire this. The three feathers are you, Mum and Sue. It’s called Without struggle, there is no strength.’

  Gloria sinks on to the sofa. ‘It’s beautiful. I helped inspire it?’

  I sit down next to her. ‘You’ve been like a mother to me, you know that. I admire how strong you’ve been these past two years. I can’t imagine what it was like losing a child.’

  ‘It was so hard, but I still feel as if I have a daughter.’ She pats my hand, her eyes filling up. ‘You’ve given me something beautiful. I was going to give you this before your exhibition, but I think perhaps it would be better now.’ She goes to her handbag and pulls out a small velvet box, which she places in my lap. ‘I didn’t actually get it for you; this was mine and my mother’s before. It’s been passed down to me and I wanted to pass it on to you now.’ She bites her lip and watches me anxiously.

  I stare at the box, the enormity of it hitting me. She’s passing it on to me like her mother passed it down to her, as though I really am her daughter. I take a deep breath and open it up to reveal a delicate silver chain.

  ‘It’s really beautiful,’ I say, remembering seeing her wear it before. I lean over and kiss her on the cheek ‘Thank you so much.’

  ‘Actually, there’s a reason I thought you should have it,’ she says, lifting the chain out of the box for me. I look at her and see tears forming in her eyes. ‘I was going to get you a pendant to hang on it, but then I thought . . .’ She pauses to clear her throat. ‘You already have something that would be perfect for it.’ She taps the rings on my finger.

  I look down at my hand in surprise. ‘My rings?’

  She takes my hand in hers. ‘I remember when I first wore my wedding ring. It felt so strange to have something there all the time, but soon it became an extension of my hand, I couldn’t imagine not having it there. It starts out as a symbol of your love but it quickly becomes a habit.’ She wipes away a tear that has rolled down her cheek and I try to remember to keep breathing; my throat feels like it may close up completely. ‘Why do you still wear your rings?’ she asks me gently.

  I know what she’s saying. Yes, it is a habit to keep wearing the rings that have been part of me for so long, but it’s more than that. ‘Because if I take them off it means I have to let him go,’ I whisper, a tear escaping my eye now as I look down to my hand entwined with hers, and the diamond and white gold band Lucas gave me, promising a future that he can’t give me now.

  ‘Darling, you never have to let him go. None of us do. He will always be with us, but sometimes you have to let go of things that are stopping you from moving on.’ She reaches up and wipes a tear from my cheek. ‘There will never be a right or a good time to do it, but this way you won’t have to put it away in a drawer like it never happened. Lucas will always be part of you, and the life you had with him will always be part of the life you’re going to have. We’re all scared of moving on, and you know how scared I’ve been of watching you do it, but I’ve realised it’s a lot less scary when we do it together. Shall we try it?’

  I nod, furiously wiping away the tears and trying to pull myself together for her. Her tears have stopped and her voice is no longer shaking. She’s being so strong, and I have to be strong like her. She’s had to say goodbye to a son and I know she’s doing this for me so she never has to say goodbye t
o a daughter. She is the bravest woman I know.

  She slides the rings off my finger and threads the chain through them. I turn so she can hang them around my neck, lifting my hair out of the way. She helps me up from the sofa and leads me to the large mirror hanging in the hall. I touch the chain and the diamond glistening next to the plain band on my neck, looking beautiful hanging from the simple chain. Somehow they look even more stunning there than they did on my finger.

  ‘I love it,’ I whisper.

  Gloria touches my shoulder with her hand, smiling into the mirror at me. I smile back, so touched that she did this for me. I know it has helped us both. Never letting go, but hopefully moving on.

  ‘He’ll always be with us,’ she says again. I turn around and fling my arms around her, pulling her close to me. She squeezes me back silently and we take strength from one another. Which I know is exactly what Lucas would have wanted us to do.

  When we pull away, Gloria goes to the bathroom and I touch my heart where Lucas’s rings hang and I know he will always have a place in it. I think that’s what I was so worried about – that somehow he wouldn’t be part of my life anymore, that taking off his rings was so final – but our love will never be final, it will carry on with me.

  I’ll carry it, and him, with me. Always.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Summer reaches its peak and then starts to fade. Emma comes back to the bar and we’re working with Joe and Adam on one of the last nights of the season. I go outside to clear some of the outside tables and Adam follows me. I look out on to the dark beach, hearing the waves gently rolling on to the sand. It feels as if this summer has gone by in the blink of an eye and yet it feels as if nothing is the same.

  ‘Can I talk to you?’ Adam asks from behind me.

  ‘Okay,’ I agree wearily. We step off the terrace and on to the sand, out of earshot of the patrons.

  ‘I’m leaving tomorrow to get ready for university, and I didn’t want to leave without saying I’m sorry. I was upset that you didn’t like me the way I wanted you to,’ he says quickly and carries on before I can say anything. ‘I didn’t understand why you chose him over me, but when I saw you together, I got it. He inspired you. I’m sorry if I made you feel bad when you shouldn’t have, it was all my fault.’

  ‘But you know what happened with Robert.’

  He nods. Everyone here does. ‘I still think if he made you happy, you should be with him. When you find someone who’s right for you, logic goes out the window.’ He gives me a wry smile.

  Is he right? ‘I don’t know. Even if I forget who he is, I don’t know if I could forgive him lying to me about it.’

  ‘I think when the moment comes then you’ll know.’ He smiles. ‘You deserve to be happy.’ He leans in to give me a quick kiss on the cheek, before hurrying back inside the bar. I watch him go, hoping that any pain he feels about me will be over soon. I know what it’s like to like someone you shouldn’t. I look out to the dark sea and wonder how love can be so complicated. I’m not used to it. I was so lucky with how easy it was with Lucas and now I just feel adrift. I wonder where Robert is and what he’s doing, and then I feel guilty for thinking about him. His brother took Lucas from me, how I can move past that? And yet I miss him. I want to know what’s happening in his life. Is he missing me? Does he think about me? Does he still love me? I send these questions out into the dark void, hoping that one day it will carry the answers to me somehow.

  I walk home after my shift, turning down offers of a lift as I want to breathe in the fresh sea breeze. I put in my earbuds and play Kacey Musgraves softly as I walk slowly back to my cottage with just street lights and the stars in the sky to guide my path. I walk past all the familiar sights, feeling blessed that I live somewhere that feels so comforting. I can feel annoyed sometimes at how closely knit this town is, but I am grateful at how everyone has looked out for me these past two years. I know then that I’d like to pay homage to the town in my final painting.

  I’ve painted landscapes of the area so often, but I’ve never painted how I feel about this place. The way it gets under your skin but also fixes itself in your heart. No matter what I’ve been through, I am still happy to call this town my home, and its people, my people. I’ve lost family and my husband, but in a way Talting is my family and it’s still looking after me, and I hope it always will. It seems as though I make it through anything because I am part of this community. And not everyone has such a place to call home.

  I think about Robert again as my cottage comes into view and the fairy lights he left me light up my way with a warm glow. He fell in love with this place. I saw it. He has never had a place that’s felt like home. His family life has always been difficult and I imagine their mansion as being cold and empty. Perhaps if they had had a home like I have, things would have turned out very differently. I don’t want to make any excuses for his brother, or for him lying to me, but I suppose I have a flash of empathy for the boys they were growing up in their world.

  So very far removed from mine.

  I let myself into the cottage and scoop up Taylor, who has rushed to greet me. I carry him on to the sofa and turn on a lamp so I can start sketching ideas for the final painting of my exhibition. Taylor promptly curls up on my lap and falls asleep. We stay like this for most of the night as I work on my drawing.

  I draw a figure standing at a crossroads with two signs – one pointing left says ‘lost’, and beyond it are the bright lights and skyscrapers of a city, and the sign pointing right says ‘found’, and behind it you can see Talting with its golden beach and crashing waves, the colourful beach huts, and behind them on the hill the church looking down on everything. I finally fall asleep in the early hours, exhausted but happy with what I’m creating and the title of it coming to me as my eyelids close.

  Without being lost, you won’t find your way home.

  I keep the final painting under wraps. I don’t want anyone from the town to see it before the exhibition. I want it to be a surprise and so I hide it up in my painting room and refuse to let anyone up there. As I finish it, hints of autumn start to appear around me. The foliage around the cottage starts to change into oranges and reds and I need to wear a cardigan when I leave the house. I see the tourists packing up their cases and heading back to where they come from. The evenings draw in earlier as summer starts to become a memory.

  I have to make my first visit to Heather’s gallery in Plymouth to show her my pieces. John borrows a van and he and Emma drive me there with my paintings. Heather and a colleague come out to help me carry the paintings inside. Emma and John go for a coffee whilst we prop the paintings against the wall and uncover them.

  Heather walks up and down the long, narrow room, her heels clicking on the polished wooden floors in time with my rapid heartbeat. She has an infuriatingly serene expression that makes it impossible to guess her thoughts. I look around to try to take my mind off her pacing. Above us are steel stems with exposed light bulbs hanging down, giving the space a modern, almost industrial edge. At the front is a smaller room with the reception desk and paintings for sale. I imagine this place on the night of my exhibition. The space will be blank save for my work, and I’m nervous and excited to see how the pieces will look hanging here.

  Heather clears her throat. I turn around slowly and fearfully to meet her unwavering gaze. She is dressed in another power suit today, not one strand of hair out of place, and I completely admire her look, but to be honest the thought of having to wear tights is enough to make me feel happy to stay in my jeans and T-shirt, my hair hanging loose, wavy from the drizzle outside. She bursts into a wide smile.

  ‘They are completely perfect. When I first saw your work I could never have imagined how much you would blossom. They are full of light and life and love. They are thought-provoking and inspiring, and they work perfectly together. “Pieces Of My Heart” is going to be o
ne of the most talked about exhibitions this year, I can feel it.’ She holds out her hand for me to shake but I can’t be satisfied with that and grab her shoulders and pull her in for a hug.

  ‘Thank you so much,’ I say, hoping I don’t cry. She doesn’t seem like she could deal too well with crying.

  She laughs and pulls back, a bit embarrassed. ‘The show is going to be a huge success, trust me.’

  ‘Really?’ I feel a strange mixture of bewilderment, happiness, hope and fear, but above all I’m so pleased I took a leap of faith with my work, because I have never been so proud of something I’ve created before.

  ‘Yes, really. This room will be packed and everyone will be fighting over these pieces. I just know it.’

  ‘Just don’t sell the one of Emma and John; I’ve told them it’s theirs.’

  She shakes her head. ‘Far too generous of you, in my opinion, but I promise. Now, if we hold it in the first week of November then we need to get the invitations out in a couple of weeks. I will start publicising it online, as should you on your social media. I’ll need a list of everyone you’d like invited and I’ll draw up one of critics, industry people and buyers, the people you want creating a buzz about your work. Let’s sit down with a coffee,’ she says, sensing I’m a little taken aback by her brisk words.

  Sitting on the small sofa with a strong black coffee, I feel better, ready to discuss the evening with her. Heather gets out a notebook and starts jotting down everything we need to arrange. She asks me to think about some quotes I could give her to use on her website about the ‘Pieces Of My Heart’ exhibition. ‘I think people would like to know how the collection was conceived and your inspirations for the pieces. It would be interesting to focus on this being your most personal work to date – what do you think?’

  I nod. ‘That’s a good idea. And it really is my most personal work. Thanks to you and Daniel.’