The Last Charm

by Ella Allbright

  ***

  ‘This is lovely,’ I breathe, a very tiring seven hours later, staring out of the car window at the lush forest surrounding both sides of the curving grey road.

  Jake just smiles, rolling his shoulders and stretching his neck from side to side to work the kinks out.

  ‘You’ve been driving for ages. You must be exhausted.’

  ‘I’m used to long hours.’

  By mutual consent we drove straight through St-Quentin and Reims, past Metz, and arched over the top of Strasbourg so we could reach our hotel in time for a late dinner. It’s been a long day, and while I’ve only sat here staring through the windows, listening to music or occasionally playing a game with Jake to stave off boredom, I’m desperate to eat and fall into bed. There’s something about sitting in a car for so long that makes you lethargic.

  ‘Thank you.’ The words come out of my mouth on impulse. ‘You’ve been brilliant today. It can’t have been an easy drive, but you haven’t moaned or grumbled once. Even when I thrashed you at Animal, Vegetable, or Mineral,’ I joke.

  ‘Well, there’s loads of other stuff I’m better at than you,’ he quips.

  ‘True,’ I concede. ‘Except painting.’

  ‘Except painting,’ he agrees.

  As we fall silent, he slows down and turns into a wide driveway. Winding along it, we arrive in a small car park on an incline, cars lined either side, with a chalet-style hotel sitting at the top with a turning circle out front. Jake slots the car neatly between an Audi and another BMW, and I climb out, massaging my lower back. Gazing up the hill, I take in the multi-tiered building, all rectangular boxes and sharp corners but with terraces of colourful flowers to soften the look. The overall effect is quaint and pretty, and it fits perfectly into the surrounding landscape.

  I love it even more inside, once Jake’s grabbed our cases and we’re checking in at reception. It’s all warm tones and chandeliers, antler horns and dark wooden furniture. A hunting lodge with a modern twist.

  ‘What do you think?’ Jake nods at the lobby and the seating area I can see leading off it.

  ‘I love it.’ I smile. ‘Shall we eat?’

  ‘Sure,’ he says easily, ‘do you want to go and get changed first?’

  ‘It’s nearly nine. I’d rather just grab a drink at the bar and have dinner, if that’s okay?’

  He staggers back, clutching his chest in a pretend heart attack. ‘You mean you don’t want to shower, change, do your make-up, and style your hair? Put some heels on and make an entrance?’

  ‘Like a normal woman would, you mean?’ There’s an edge to my voice. ‘You should know by now I’m not that type of girl.’

  ‘Well, I definitely know you’re not normal.’ Jake comes over and slings an arm around my shoulder. ‘But what’s normal anyway, and who is? As far as I’m concerned, your lack of vanity makes you the perfect travelling companion. Not like some of my ex-girlfriends.’ He mock shudders.

  As we stroll through the carpeted rooms into a small but perfectly formed bar with mint tones and antlers hanging on the wall, I try and ignore the weight and warmth of his arm. He’s just being friendly.

  While we wait for our table I climb onto a barstool, which takes me three galling attempts. I turn to him once there’s a chilled half pint in my hand. ‘Do you think I don’t make an effort with my appearance?’

  ‘What?’ He looks surprised, then shakes his head. ‘No, I just mean you don’t go overboard like some women. I prefer natural beauty any day and you really don’t need make-up to look good.’

  ‘Oh. Thank you,’ I whisper, swallowing back the instinct to push away his words, never having been comfortable with compliments. ‘I guess I feel I look washed out sometimes because of my colouring, like you said once.’

  ‘Your colouring is gorgeous,’ he says immediately. ‘Loads of women would kill to have your hair, and the only way they can come close is from a bottle. And yes, you’re fair but with your dark grey eyes it makes you look like a fairy. So ethereal. Like the girl in the wonderland, right?’ We share a smile at the thought of the creation under my old bed.

  His words warm me, making me feel special. No other guy has ever described me like that, or made me feel this way about myself.

  ‘All I meant that time was that pastels –’ he points at my light-yellow top ‘– don’t do you any favours.’

  ‘Go on then, Gok Wan,’ I say, amused, ‘what colours should I be wearing?’

  ‘Well, on the basis that Dan’s girlfriend would probably say you’re a “winter”, I’d go with bold or strong colours – deep purple, turquoise, navy, black, hot pink.’

  Nodding, I hold back a grin. He’ll approve of my bridesmaid dress then.

  Gesturing at my baggy jeans, he carries on, ‘I also notice you wear a lot of T-shirts and don’t really wear clingy stuff. You do like your figure, don’t you, Jones?’

  ‘Jake!’ Hissing it at him, I look around to see if anyone heard, but there’s only a lone businessman sitting on the other side of the room, frowning at his phone. ‘You can’t ask things like that.’

  ‘Why?’ His black eyebrows draw together.

  ‘Because,’ I splutter, ‘it’s rude.’

  Shaking his head, he puts his drink down and gazes at me. ‘I just want to make sure you’re not underselling yourself, that’s all. I know you’re not a big fan of dresses, but you seem to hide yourself.’

  ‘I hardly think denim cut-offs and a vest top is draping myself in fabric from head to toe.’

  ‘True, and you look really sexy in those, but other times …’

  He thinks I’m sexy?

  ‘I’m explaining myself badly.’ He pushes a hand through his thick hair, leaving it stuck up in tufts. Idly, I wonder if that’s what it looks like when he rolls out of bed in the morning. ‘All I mean is, you’ve got a lovely body and loads of girls would kill to have it.’

  Battling a blush at the comment, I blurt out, ‘You think I should show off my non-existent bum and tiny chest?’

  ‘Not every bloke is in love with the Kardashians, Jones.’

  ‘Whatever. It’s easy for you; you’ve got bags of confidence. You’re fit and you know it.’

  Tilting his head, he leans towards me. ‘You think I’m fit?’ he crows, his eyes gleaming. ‘Jones, is that a chink in your armour?’

  ‘I mean physically fit,’ I race on. ‘Don’t go getting cocky again.’

  ‘I wouldn’t dare.’ He slides from his stool as the barman indicates our table is ready.

  We wander through and settle at a table. It’s romantic, replete with white tablecloth, silver cutlery, wine glasses, and a burning candle, and I tell myself not to get carried away into a world which doesn’t exist for us. We’re friends.

  ***

  Jake sets aside the wine glass and puts his elbows on the table. ‘Do you really still think I’m cocky?’ His face is troubled, eyes inquisitive.

  As much as I’d love to keep him guessing, it’d be mean. ‘No.’ I play with my fork, aware we’re the only people in the restaurant as it’s so late. ‘I don’t. I only say that to wind you up. I mean, you’re confident, but you haven’t been cocky for a long time. It’s just that you’re so tall and well-built, and women stare at you. You definitely know it.’

  ‘Not always,’ he mutters. ‘And you’d be surprised. People aren’t always as confident as they seem.’

  ‘You?’ I say, surprised. ‘You’re the most self-assured person I know. And you’re always telling me what to do!’

  ‘I know who I am; I have that core of resilience, but I’m not confident about my looks. Women stare at me because I’m different. I’ve been told more than once I’m a nice bit of rough.’ He laughs, but there’s pain behind the sound rather than joy. ‘As for the well-built thing, it’s part of the job, and –’ he hesitates, ‘– when I was growing up, I promised myself I’d be big and strong one day.’

  ‘Your dad,’ I murmur, not needing to say anything else. ‘
Oh, Jake.’ I’ve never seen this vulnerable side to him before, not really, but rather than making him seem weak, I admire the strength it takes to confess his biggest fears. Things feel more equal between us at his admission, because I’ve always been the one telling him about the things I’m scared of.

  Leaning forward, I study the curve of his eyebrows, the dark stubble, his unusual eyes, and the scar. How can he not think he’s attractive? No matter what it costs me, I can’t let him keep carrying that around with him. ‘Jake, you’re a good-looking guy. And if women make those ‘bit of rough’ comments, it’s only because your scar gives you a rakish air, and because you were in the Marines and it’s a profession seen as big and tough. You have nothing to worry about, believe me.’

  He goes quiet at my words, but after a moment murmurs, ‘Thanks.’ Straightening in his seat, he picks up the menu and studies it, before clearing his throat. ‘As for telling you what to do, I just want to make sure you’re happy. I want to protect you from all the bad stuff life can throw at you.’

  ‘Oh.’ I’ve always felt, or assumed, that his being overbearing was part of the cockiness, of thinking he knows best because he’s older. But when he talks about protecting me … something clicks. ‘Like you’ve always tried to protect your mum?’

  Raising his eyebrows from the menu, he winces. ‘Tried and failed.’

  ‘Oh,’ I repeat, slowly, drawing the word out. So, it’s not bossiness, or control, or thinking he knows better than me. All these years, he’s been trying to look after me. I’ve always felt so suffocated by it, so hemmed in. But the whole time he was just trying to make sure I was happy … and protect me from harm. The realisation loosens something inside me, uncoiling a knot of tension I hadn’t realised was there. ‘Thank you,’ I say impulsively, reaching across the table to hold his hand. ‘You’re a good friend.’

  Looking at me strangely, he sighs. ‘Sure.’

  ‘As for your mum,’ I race on, ‘you did everything you could, Jake! You were barely more than a child, and then as an adult you tried to get her out. She just wasn’t ready yet. You can’t beat yourself up about it.’

  ‘You managed to save her.’

  ‘She saved herself. I just opened the door and put the choice in her hands.’

  ‘And I’ll never stop being grateful for that.’

  I shrug his comment off, wondering if gratitude is what’s really kept him by my side these last few years.

  ***

  ‘What a view,’ I comment to Jake the next morning, standing at the wooden balcony and gazing out across the lush forest which goes on for miles in every direction. After a solid night’s sleep and a speedy breakfast so we can get on the road early, we’re about to check out.

  ‘We’ll have to come back another time, for longer,’ he suggests, leaning on the railing and taking a deep breath. ‘It’s peaceful here. I like it.’

  ‘Yes.’ It’s not clear whether I’m agreeing about coming back or that it’s peaceful, but I’ll leave him to figure out the ambiguity. Ever since our conversation in the bar last night I feel off balance, and a tiny part of me wants him to feel the same. ‘Do you need peace?’ I ask, curious. ‘I mean, are there things you saw overseas you need headspace to deal with?’

  Gripping the railing, he keeps his gaze on the forest. ‘It was tough, and I lost people and saw some horrific things, but I was one of the lucky ones. I found ways to cope, and I didn’t come back with PTSD.’ He pauses, admitting, ‘Sometimes it makes me feel guilty, like I got off lightly.’ Pushing back from the railing, he brushes past me. ‘Time to get on the road.’

  I grab his arm. ‘I didn’t mean to pry or upset you. I’m sorry.’

  His eyes darken. ‘I don’t like to talk about it, Jones. I prefer to focus on the future. Don’t you?’ Placing his hand over mine, he squeezes it and then moves away. ‘I’ll meet you in reception.’

  ***

  A few hours later, after we’ve traversed the western edge of the Black Forest Nature Park, swooping along winding passes and roads Jake took great delight in putting his foot down on – making me alternatively grimace and laugh – we cross the border into Switzerland. Jake goes off the planned route with my agreement, turning towards the centre of the country so we can drive through the Swiss Alps.

  ‘It’s not the quickest route, but it’ll have the best views. We’ll probably arrive at two, rather than noon. Do you think Chloe will mind?’

  Feeling reckless, I nod. ‘Probably, but we’ll just say we set off late and hit traffic. I’m willing to take the heat if you are.’ We grin at each other like naughty schoolchildren as Jake flicks the indicator, steering us off course.

  We stop at a gravel parking spot at the top of a snow-capped mountain. ‘It’s absolutely stunning.’ I gape at the panoramic view.

  ‘It really is,’ he agrees in a quiet voice, standing next to me, our arms brushing.

  I shiver in my denim cut-offs and white T-shirt, a pendant hanging round my neck and the charm bracelet on my wrist jostling with the movement. I can’t bring myself to spend time rifling through my case for a cardigan when I can take all this in instead. I don’t want to miss a moment. ‘I could stay here for ever. It’s so … breathtaking,’ I whisper, ‘so vast and epic. Photos can’t do it justice.’

  We’ve driven up grassy knolls on zig-zagging roads and swept along craggy passes, climbing ever higher, peering down at the hints of civilisation getting smaller and smaller. We’ve seen goats and cows lazily chewing grass on the sides of hills and watched birds of prey circling on the air currents above us.

  But this. This. Staring at the mountains and valleys surrounding us, I shake my head in wonder. Not all the mountains are snow-capped; some are green and have rows of trees running along their ridges and dips, with boulders sitting in piles at cave mouths. The one straight across the valley from us has a sparkling waterfall running down from its peak, wending a bubbling, splashing route down the mountain and into the alpine village at its base. Along with the view, there is a profound sense of peace and a deep calm. A resounding quiet. In this moment, I know that none of the petty worries back home really matter.

  ‘I’m not a spiritual person,’ I murmur, ‘but this high up and being part of something so awe-inspiring, I can believe in God.’

  ‘Like it’s been touched by the hand of God,’ Jake says.

  ‘Yes.’ I can’t help it. I burst into tears. Messy, noisy sobs.

  ‘Aww, Jones, what’s the matter?’ Alarmed, he grabs me in a hug, holding me against his hard chest as he strokes my hair.

  ‘I’m sorry, it’s just so amazing … I don’t know, it’s made me emotional, I guess.’ Leaning back, I wipe my face with one hand, ‘And to think I almost didn’t see it. I would’ve just caught a glimpse of the mountain range from the air if my flight hadn’t been cancelled.’

  ‘Are you crying because you’re sad, or happy?’

  ‘Both, I guess. Happy that I came here, sad we don’t have more time.’ Stepping back, my arms drop to my sides. ‘And scared I’ll never come back here again.’

  ‘You just need to make a promise to yourself you will, and then make it happen.’

  ‘Right, because life is that easy,’ I say with a snort.

  ‘It can be.’ He looks serious. ‘If you want something enough you can make anything happen.’

  My eyes are tearing up again and I open my mouth, but he gets there first.

  ‘Now –’ Jake pats me on the back ‘– sort yourself out, you soppy mess, and let’s take a selfie of us standing in front of the Alps. You’ll want a memory to take home with you.’

  But I know I don’t need a photo. This memory will stay etched in my head – and my heart – for ever. The fact I’m with Jake makes it feel even more special. Which confuses me, because for some reason it makes perfect sense.

  ***

  Spinning the BMW’s wheels along the shingled driveway, Jake turns into the car park and I read the sign. Le Palace De Menthon. We made g
ood time so hopefully I’m not in too much trouble with Chloe. I texted to let her know we were a little delayed.

  Jake climbs out of the car and pushes his Oakley sunglasses further up the bridge of his nose. ‘Go on. You’ll get points for turning up earlier than anticipated.’ Clicking open the boot, he unzips my case and stands back. ‘If you grab the stuff you need for this afternoon, I’ll take your case to reception. Have fun.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Rooting through my luggage, I find a bag of goodies I packed, plus my bikini and wash-bag, assuming the spa will supply towels and robes. I step back, holding them against my chest. ‘Don’t you want to come down to the spa and say hi to Chloe?’ For some reason, I’m reluctant to leave him.

  ‘Nope, I’ll say hi to the bride-to-be at dinner,’ Jake replies. ‘I’d better find Owen and see if I have any best-man duties to catch up with.’

  ‘I guess I’ll see you later then.’ I go to leave and then stop. ‘Thanks, Jake. It was a lovely trip. I’ve enjoyed spending time with you. Thanks for the mountains too.’ I’m not just saying it out of politeness – I really mean it.

  ‘Sure, Jones. See you this evening.’

  ‘Yes.’ The thought of that makes me happy.

  ***

  ‘You made it!’ Chloe races along the side of the pool and flings her arms around me, hugging me tight. ‘I’m so glad you’re here.’ Her eyes are sparkling, skin tanned and glowing, and her dark brown hair is hanging in a ponytail down her back.

  ‘Sorry I’m late,’ I say, easing back. ‘You look amazing. All twinkly. I don’t need to ask if you’re having second thoughts about marrying Owen tomorrow.’

  Grinning, she bounces on her heels, reminding me more of Eloise than the sometimes dour Chloe I shared my teens with. ‘Nope, none at all,’ she sings. ‘No cold feet for me, no siree!’ Slapping her hand over her mouth, she giggles, ‘I may also be a bit twinkly because El brought four bottles of champagne.’

  ‘Oh, God. She’s not showing me up in bridesmaid duties, is she?’

  ‘Nope, and anyway, I’m just happy you’re here. And she may have said something about divvying up the bill between you, her, and Shell.’