by Rosie Blake
‘We had a bit of a row, not major, well, quite major, I mean, he sort of moved out for a bit but, you know, nothing that can’t be fixed.’ My voice sounded strangled, around ten tones higher than normal. Oh God, could it be fixed? I’d said that so easily but felt a crushing weight as I realised I wasn’t sure. Had I lost him? Of course, these thoughts made me well up and then it was easy for Amy, detective extraordinaire, to worm the rest of the story out of me. By the end of my confession I was dabbing at my eyes, pouring myself a second glass of wine and feeling as if my world was slowly coming to an end.
‘I’m not sure when he’ll come back and I don’t dare phone him and find out. It’s my fault. I need to give him time.’ Amy scooted across the sofa.
‘Oh, love, why didn’t you say anything?’ she said, looking upset herself.
I sniffed and wiped my eyes. ‘Um, hello? Because I had managed to completely screw up our friendship as well. I have been on full self-destruct mode for months now. I totally deserve it, honestly, Amy. I just spent so much time moaning at the poor guy and taking out all my frustrations on him.’
Amy held my hand. ‘But we all do that. I know Will has to put up with me biting his head off after a long day of some shitty teenager being shitty.’
‘But not every day,’ I said, refusing to be cheered.
‘Luke gets it. He knows you love him. You guys are so strong. I don’t know a better couple.’
This only tipped me over the edge more. We had been a great couple. Luke was my best friend, we had travelled together, lived together, laughed all the time. I wondered when that had ended, when had I started to take it all for granted?
‘So,’ Amy said, business voice on, ‘how are you going to fix this?’
‘What if I can’t fix—’
Amy held up a hand. ‘Of course you can,’ she said in the voice that I knew to be her no-nonsense voice. I needed that voice. I needed someone to give me strength. ‘Right, I think I have an idea. You have got some work to do, woman.’
I looked at her, hope flooding my face. ‘I’ll do anything,’ I said.
Amy grinned at me, lifting up her wine and raising it at me. ‘Excellent.’
Chapter 28
Love is your wife offering to do the drive home after a boozy lunch
ARNOLD, 81
Amy left just after midnight and for the first time in ages I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep and woke the next day feeling refreshed. Even the hangover didn’t affect me as I stepped into the shower, feeling a renewed buzz. Relief that Amy had forgiven me coursed through me and I was now determined to fix other things in my life, to make things right again. I phoned Grandad.
He told me he would meet me there and I dressed quickly for the occasion, not absolutely sure of the right attire. Gym wear coupled with thick knee-length socks and a peaked cap seemed about right. I wasn’t sure if there were rules at the driving range but I knew golf was one of those sports where you had to look a bit strange to play. I think I’d nailed that look nicely.
The moment I parked I realised my mistake as Grandad was waiting for me outside, his golf clubs propped up next to him, looking 100 per cent normal. He gave me a brief hug and didn’t comment on the sock-hat-leggings combo, and I was grateful.
‘So, thanks for meeting me here,’ I said, feeling strangely nervous.
‘Of course, you know I love the range.’
‘I thought it was about time I learnt.’
Grandad couldn’t disguise the glow as I said the words. I had never shown any interest in golf before.
‘And now they’re going to let women join . . . ’
‘Don’t let Howard hear you. Right’ – he rubbed his hands together – ‘let’s get you set up.’
I followed him inside and we paused at a big steel box where Grandad leant down to pick up a small wire basket. ‘We stick it under here,’ he said, popping the basket in a large hole and inserting pound coins into the slot machine. The thud and rattle made me jump and suddenly the basket was filling with a thousand golf balls. ‘Right,’ Grandad said, lifting the now-full basket and moving down a thin corridor. To our left people were standing on small squares of green artificial grass, striking balls off the square out into the field beyond. Numbers on distant markers announced the distance they’d travelled and every now and again the air was filled with the swish of a club and the loud tink when someone connected with their ball.
‘We can take the two booths at the end,’ he said, pouring half of the balls into a separate basket. ‘You take these and I’ll lend you an iron.’
I knew enough about golf to understand this referred to one of his clubs. I couldn’t identify which one but that was what this lesson was for.
‘Why don’t I show you the rough idea and you just have a crack at it?’
‘Great,’ I said, happy to be here, showing an interest and seeing Grandad’s animated face. This had been a good idea. He clearly had no clue it was a guise to ensure I got things back on track with him.
Grandad showed me what a tee was, where to put the ball, how far back to stand and how to swing through. It looked reasonably straightforward and I felt pretty confident walking into my booth. How hard could it be?
This outing was my way of making amends. I knew this probably wasn’t going to be an emotional make-up scene with lots of hugs and apologies like my session with Amy. I was glad for the thin plywood wall that separated our booths and the distraction of attempting to hit a tiny white ball with a really long stick to show him I was sorry.
‘This is haaaaarrd,’ I said after the fifth swipe, the ball stubbornly remaining on the small tee in front of me.
‘’Tis a bit,’ Grandad said, popping his head over the partition. ‘Do you need me to watch your swing?’
‘Hmm, I think I’ll just keep having a try, thanks,’ I said, not wanting an audience to my humiliation.
He nodded and disappeared back to his side.
It seemed to take an agonisingly long time to get rid of the balls in my basket. At one point I made the whole range cry out as I hit a ball into the steel rutted roof above our heads, and later, when Grandad wasn’t looking, I picked up three balls at a time and simply lobbed them into the field. Annoyingly, two of them travelled further than the majority of the balls I had hit with the club.
Grandad appeared behind me as I struck the last ball, actually managing to connect with it and send it zipping off at a 45-degree angle. ‘At least it got into the air,’ I said, turning with a small triumphant smile.
‘Not bad for a first go, Lottie. It’s a damn difficult thing to do. You just have to keep at it.’
I was under no illusions that this would be my only foray into golf. I was here simply to ensure that Grandad and I had cleared the air. I’d missed him.
‘Time for a break?’ I asked, handing him back the club.
‘Absolutely.’
We headed into the clubhouse and I was grateful to see no familiar faces. Hushing Grandad as he tried to pay for our order I handed over my card and then moved to the table in the corner with two pints of beer.
‘Well, this is an unexpected pleasure,’ he said, raising his glass to me.
I could have left it there, I knew he would let me, but I suddenly realised I really did need to say something. Taking a breath I looked at him and in a small voice simply said, ‘I’m sorry, Grandad, about before.’
He tried to wave me away but I wouldn’t let him. Now that I had started it was important that I finished.
‘No, I need to say it. The things you said before – well, you were right, and I was rude and stubborn and trying not to listen to you. I didn’t want to hear it, and I’m sorry I said such unpleasant things when you were just trying to point out what I knew really. And I’m sorry I didn’t trust you, about Luke. I know you wouldn’t hide things from me.’
Grandad was casting around for somewhere to look and his self-conscious avoidance made me stop and giggle. ‘OK, I’ve finished now, you can
relax,’ I said.
He took a sip of his beer. ‘You don’t need to apologise, Lottie. I love you and just want to see you happy.’
These were pretty big words from Grandad, I was fairly sure I had only heard him tell me he loved me three times before. (When he won £240 on a horse I picked for him on the Grand National in 1996; when I ended up in hospital after falling out of the wheelbarrow he’d been pushing me in, promising to tell Grandma he knew nothing, and when I’d solemnly offered to give him my ‘life savings’ when I’d overheard him talking to Grandma about money worries.) So, of course, as was my way in recent hours, I found the never-ending well of tears I’d barely known I had fill up once more.
Grandad looked stricken. I was fairly sure there was a stringent ‘No Crying’ policy in the clubhouse.
‘Did you see they are banning children from sitting on Santa’s lap in the mall? Has the world gone mad?’ he said, obviously hoping to distract me from melting in a pool of saltwater in front of him.
I let him. ‘Really?’ I said, and he brought me back from the brink, one quick hand patting mine, and we were off talking about Santas and the sweet innocence of childhood.
Getting up to leave an hour later he folded me into a hug, smelling of toast and cedar wood. ‘You take care, Lottie, you’re a wonderful girl.’
I gave him a squeeze back, feeling lighter and loved. ‘Thanks for teaching me how to play golf.’
‘Any time. And you’ll get better,’ he said, giving me an uncertain pat. I couldn’t help but laugh as we walked out to our cars.
Darling Cora,
We were standing in the car park and the reunion had gone well. How my heart had leapt this morning when Lottie had suggested we meet, and at the golf range no less! What a morning ahead, golf and Lottie, my cup overfloweth!
Desperate to get things back to normal I was early as I pulled into the car park. Lottie appeared looking rather strange. I honestly have never understood fashion, but it was good to see her looking more relaxed and happy as she stepped out of the car and greeted me.
The golf was hopeless, she really is dreadful, but it was wonderful to talk with her and make things right again.
And I almost managed it but moving out to the car I realised I needed to be braver. Things were right with us but I was worried about her and Luke, about what she thought. I knew I had to break Arjun’s promise.
Lottie was about to leave and I stopped her with a hand on her arm. ‘You said earlier that I wouldn’t keep things from you.’
Lottie’s eyebrows lifted in surprise.
‘Well, that wasn’t completely true. I did keep things from you about Luke, things you should know.’
Oh, Cora, the look of betrayal. It was terrible. I thought I might start weeping at her reaction. She put an arm out on her car as if righting herself. ‘What is it?’ she whispered, face draining of colour.
Worrying her knees would buckle I knew I needed to say things quickly, get it over with. ‘I did know Luke was spending time with Storm.’
She let out the smallest whimper and I almost thought my heart would break.
‘No, it isn’t what it sounds like. He has seen her because Arjun has recruited them to work on something with him. An app. They’re working on the practical aspects of it.’
Lottie’s face was a picture: confusion, relief, questions. ‘Oh . . . ’
It was clearly not what she had been expecting.
‘An app?’
I nodded. ‘It’s given Arjun something to look forward to because, well, I know he’ll tell everyone in his own time and I don’t want to break another promise today.’
Lottie looked up at me sharply. Had she noticed the changes in Arjun too? Instinct told me she knew exactly what I was hinting at and I quickly continued. It wasn’t my news to share.
‘It’s a good idea really. The app. It was actually inspired by our ridiculous challenge. Doing all those events and getting you and Luke doing a lot of new things gave Arjun the idea. It’s an app that tells you about events in your area aimed at an older crowd, people wanting some company and some fun. We want to be active and social and so it is a place to advertise painting classes, dance lessons, trips to the theatre. He’s running the first outing next week too, getting others to organise things and upload them. Luke thinks it could take off.’
‘That does sound good,’ Lottie said slowly, clearly struggling to keep pace with the conversation now that she realised there was no terrible, dark secret.
‘It’s a chance to forge new friendships, new relationships. A chance to intervene if someone is lonely. It’s given Arjun a real boost at a time when he needs it.’
‘Right,’ Lottie said, her shoulders lowering, hands unclenching.
‘So I wanted you to know. Luke has been instrumental and there is nothing going on with this Storm character. She can’t hold a candle to you anyway,’ I added.
Lottie couldn’t help smile at that.
Oh, Cora, I felt so much lighter watching her getting into the car after that, seeing her face clear of troubles as she waved at me before starting up the engine.
I hope I have helped. I hope they can see things right. Oh, Cora, how we love her.
And how I love you.
Teddy x
Chapter 29
Love is like throwing yourself out of an aeroplane – giddy, reckless, amazing – you just have to trust you’ll land safely
MAISIE, 81
I had basically spent the last forty-eight hours apologising to people and I was exhausted. Grandad’s reveal had made me feel so much lighter and I was excited about seeing Luke at Amy’s wedding. It was worrying to hear about Arjun and I was so grateful Luke was helping him on such a wonderful, positive project.
Picking up the phone I called Luke to make plans. It hadn’t been the big, tearful reunion I had in my head. It was a somewhat stilted conversation made worse by the fact he immediately launched into practicalities and I was distracted by trying to get a sesame seed out of my teeth.
‘So, Amy’s wedding – we’ll travel separately because you’re needed earlier.’
‘OK.’
‘I need to come and pick up my suit.’
‘OK.’
‘So I’ll do that on the morning of it and then get on a train.’ Aware I had said ‘OK’ too much already I plumped for, ‘Sure.’
‘Right.’
‘Right.’
‘Well, I’ll see you there then.’
‘OK.’ Gah. This was harder than it seemed. I should have said, ‘I miss you’, I should have said, ‘Luke, I’m a prize idiot, you’re awesome and I shouldn’t have pushed you into leaving and Grandad told me what you’ve been doing, which I think is fantastic, and I know Storm is just a Little Mermaid Wannabe who you aren’t sleeping with and I wuv you so baaaaaadddd’, but I said nothing, just sat, scraping at my teeth and feeling tongue-tied.
‘Sleep well.’
‘You too,’ I said miserably, waiting for him to hang up first.
Chinese takeaway abandoned, sesame seed from tooth removed, I swept around the whole flat ensuring it was spotless. Although I wasn’t going to be in the flat when he returned at least I knew where he was going to be. In a careful round hand (so many emails and texts meant my handwriting still surprised me), I spent an age composing a letter for him. That had been Amy’s idea. Her big plan. And she was always right. So with no excuses, no explanations, I just sat and wrote a simple letter outlining how sorry I was, how much I cared for him and how I missed him and hoped he could forgive me. It felt like the most weighty, important envelope in the world as I tasted its rank, salty edges and sealed it shut. Placing the small box that contained cufflinks I had engraved with his initials on the top of it I stood back. A small gesture for him to find.
Leaving the house early on the morning of Amy’s wedding, her mum’s car waiting for me in the street outside, I laid out his dry-cleaned suit and put the two items on the top. Nerves fluttered inside me as I stare
d back at my offering, and then I pushed through the door carrying bags and hangers with me as I clattered down the stairs to help my best friend get married.
Five hours later I was standing outside a church in a small village in West Sussex where Amy’s parents had retired, wearing a blush pink chiffon maxi dress and trying to herd errant pageboys and flower girls into some kind of order. The guests had all filtered inside and we had arrived in a car just ahead of Amy and her father. Amy’s sister Natalie was bent down negotiating with Tom, who had refused to give up his Spiderman figurine in favour of a basket of rose petals. A full-scale row was ensuing and it was eventually deemed acceptable that Spiderman would be making an appearance too.
Amy drew up in the car outside and as she appeared through the lychgate with her dad I couldn’t wipe the big grin from my face. She looked spectacular, the lace overlaying the satin making her dark skin look even smoother, her eyes glittering as she looked at the church ahead. The cream veil lifted in a passing breeze as if she was a Disney princess. The photographer was snapping from every angle. Even Tom had stopped scowling.
Moving down the aisle, clutching tiny hands on either side and trying not to scan the pews for Luke too obviously, I felt grateful to be there. Amy and I had shared champagne as the make-up artist had done her hair and make-up and everything had seemed comfortable and relaxed. She had laughed over the blue lace garter I had given her, insisting on wearing it underneath her dress. Now Pachelbel’s Canon in D was playing and I was walking down the aisle, staring straight ahead, leading the rabble of children like a well-dressed Pied Piper.
Will looked grey as he waited for his bride and I tried to give him a reassuring smile before slinking into the pew opposite him. He turned, caught sight of her and his face relaxed, colour flooding back into his cheeks.