The Last Charm

by Ella Allbright

  Picking the easel up in a rush, I slot a canvas onto it, before grabbing my paintbrush and palette. The letter crumples satisfyingly under my feet as I begin to paint a vision of a stormy sea and a dark heart beneath it. Shame, rage, sadness, all those raw emotions pour out of me onto the canvas.

  When I stop hours later, I notice Jake sitting quietly on the floor in the corner of the room, reading a book. ‘I didn’t notice you come in,’ I whisper.

  ‘I know.’ Placing the book down, he opens his arms. ‘Come here.’

  Putting the palette aside, I check my clothing for paint before going over and crawling into his lap. He holds me close, his chin propped on my head. ‘Feel better?’

  ‘Yes. I do. And now even more so,’ I snuggle into his chest.

  ‘It’s brilliant, Leila.’

  Jake using my first name touches me, and I tip back my head to land a kiss on his mouth before gazing over at my creation. It’s colourful but dark, a chaos of explosive feeling laid out on canvas in teal, red, and black oils. The tension flows out of me, and my mouth curves, exhaustion buzzing along my nerve endings.

  Two weeks later, it’s hanging in a London gallery after much badgering from my boyfriend and a day trip to the capital. Three days after that there’s a sold sticker in the corner of it and I’ve taken an exciting phone call. Then it gets a critical review from an up-and-coming art journalist.

  The passion, love, and rage practically drip off the canvas. Leila Jones is a bold and promising new talent.

  ‘Well,’ I remark bitterly to Jake and Dad at dinner that night, ‘we may not know exactly when she’s coming back, but at least Mum’s good for something.’

  Jake

  June 2016

  The House Charm & The Champagne Bottle Charm

  Jake can’t believe over a year has passed since he and Leila celebrated their first Valentine’s Day together. In that time, they’ve also celebrated their first anniversary as a couple, Jake’s twenty-seventh birthday, and Henry’s fiftieth last month. They’ve attended weddings, baby showers, and christenings together, holding hands and then later watching each other across a packed room, and sometimes Jake still feels like he’s seeing Leila for the first time.

  He loves the concentration on her face as she talks to someone, giving them her whole attention, which he knows isn’t always easy for her because her mind often drifts off into other worlds. Even more, he enjoys the way she looks for him when he hasn’t been at her side for a while, like she misses him.

  He thinks it’s funny how people use these events and milestones to mark the time, when every moment should be lived in and feel exciting. What he can’t believe is that, while he’d put aside any thought of proposing given how skittish she’d been after his comment on their Valenversary, he’s managed to get her to move in with him. They’ve actually bought their own house together. And of all the ways in which he thought it might happen, with him just starting out in his new career and Leila’s fledgling art company getting off the ground last year, there was no way he could have predicted the path that would lead them here.

  He thinks back to when Leila’s mum turned up with no warning the previous summer. Of all days, she’d chosen Leila’s twenty-fifth birthday and the seventh anniversary of her own father’s death, although of course she hadn’t known the latter at the time. She wasn’t what he’d been expecting: a short, dark-haired woman in a sensible beige suit and lace-up shoes. The way Leila had always described her, Jake had anticipated a vivacious but flighty woman in a bold dress, a woman who was loud and talkative with a hint of wired tension beneath the surface.

  What had followed were tears of recrimination and anger on all sides.

  It’d been a long, emotional, and exhausting afternoon as Amelia described a history of severe depression. She’d known she hadn’t been coping as a wife and mother, known she was doing both her husband and daughter a disservice. She hadn’t been able to look after them, and it had been killing her to try. It’d been going on for years. She’d had to get away. The thought that Leila had been about to start secondary school, about to enter the teenage years with boys and exams and peer pressure, had been too much for her. She hadn’t felt able to ask her own father, who’d always been so stoic, for help. So she’d fled.

  ‘So, it was my fault?’ Leila had demanded.

  ‘Of course not! It was mine. I couldn’t cope.’

  It’d killed Jake to see his girlfriend and her dad in bits, held hostage by the return of the stranger they’d lost, but he’d sat quietly letting it happen as it needed to, rubbing Leila’s back or holding her hand in silent comfort.

  ‘So, what’s changed?’ Leila asked, stony-faced but, Jake knew, hopeful.

  ‘I eventually got better, and fell in love with someone who understands and helps me manage my illness.’

  ‘I could have done that, if you’d talked to me,’ Henry choked.

  ‘I know. I’m sorry. I owe you an apology, one bigger than I can ever put into words. I shouldn’t have left the both of you wondering all this time … I’m sorry. So sorry. But I want to make a fresh start. I’ve moved back to the UK with Tom, and I’d like to get to know you again, Leila. If you’ll let me. I hope we can be civil, Henry, and I hope that you’ll –’ her eyes clouded with tears and uncertainty ‘– let me go?’

  Henry paused. ‘I should have let you go a long time ago, Amie,’ he said gruffly, ‘but because I never knew where you were or what’d happened to you, I never could. Now I know you’re okay, and have someone, I think I can. I’ll give you a divorce.’ Placing an arm around his daughter’s shoulders and squeezing, he had peered down into her face. ‘Leila, love, perhaps we can have a fresh start. All of us?’

  Leila had stared back at him and then studied her mother’s tear-stained cheeks, before turning to gaze at Jake. ‘I think I’d like that.’

  During the following months, Amelia had fought hard to earn Leila’s trust, turning up every Saturday morning without fail for a visit, calling her twice weekly for a catch-up, offering to help her at the gallery before she’d quit to paint full-time. She’d also shown up alone on Christmas Day, knowing Leila wasn’t ready to meet her new partner yet, happy to be patient.

  Jake knew Leila found it difficult, and at times a bit stifling, but with every week that passed she’d thawed, letting her mum in a little at a time. She’d softened too, becoming less defensive with people, more able to see other people’s perspectives.

  Still, when Amelia had told her daughter in February she had a lump sum of money for her – thousands she’d saved up and scraped together with Tom’s help – and that she wanted to help Leila and Jake buy their own place, Leila baulked.

  ‘It will take us years to save up,’ Jake pointed out reasonably over dinner one night. ‘Why not let her help? She probably thinks she owes you after all these years.’

  Leila crossed her arms. ‘My love can’t be bought. And she owes me time, not money.’

  ‘We both know that, so you just need to tell her. Besides, she’s doing her best to make up for the lost time.’ Pausing, he’d smiled at her gently. ‘Look, it’s your decision, but why not let her make up for some of the past, by helping us step into the future?’

  A few weeks later, Leila had half-heartedly agreed to accept her mum’s gift. Initially not excited at the thought of house-hunting, she’d soon thrown herself into it, thrilled when they’d found a two-bedroom house they both loved, with a long narrow garden for Fleur and an airy brick-built conservatory with lots of windows which she could use as her studio. All just three roads away from her Dad’s.

  ***

  On the first night in their new home, Jake sits Leila on a red beanbag on the lounge floor, settling Fleur in her bed.

  ‘You’ve made me really happy,’ he says, kneeling and holding a box out to her. ‘This is for you.’

  ‘You’ve made me happy too.’ She blows him a kiss, before frowning. ‘But I haven’t got you anything.’

  �
�Doesn’t matter. Open it.’

  Grinning, she flips the lid open and then rocks back on the beanbag. ‘Oh, they’re so cute! I’m glad we’ve carried on with this.’

  She’d asked Amelia once over a Sunday family dinner why she left the bracelet for her with one charm on it, and then never sent any more.

  ‘Oh.’ Amelia had looked blank. ‘I just wanted to get you something a little more grown up, and I thought you and your dad could fill it together. It was something you could share, with me gone.’

  Later that evening, Leila had remarked to Jake that it showed just how differently she and Amelia thought about things. All that time and significance Leila had given to the bracelet and how it was binding her and her mother together, when all along Amelia had never given it a second thought.

  ‘You really like them?’ Jakes asks Leila now, bending over to unfasten the tiny house and the small champagne bottle charm from their velvet bed.

  ‘Yes! But why are you giving me two?’

  ‘Because,’ he explains as he fixes them onto the bracelet, ‘we have double reason to celebrate. Firstly, we’re now homeowners, and secondly, I get to wake up with you every day.’

  Pulling a face, she jokes, ‘Is that a blessing or a curse?’

  ‘I guess only time will tell.’ He smiles. ‘You might hate living with me.’

  He kisses her, moving forward and playfully unbalancing her so they fall onto the carpet together, wrapping their arms around each other. In their new home. Their home.

  ***

  Kodaline are singing about ‘High Hopes’ as Jake moves through the house topping up drinks and greeting people. After debate, and worrying they’d spoil their lovely new house, they decided to have a housewarming party. It’s worth it, Jake thinks, to have his and Leila’s friends and family here to celebrate this happy event in their lives, though they’ve definitely misjudged how popular they are from the numbers that’ve turned up and the gifts lined up on the counters and tables. He feels so grateful, and lucky.

  Owen’s manning the BBQ with Jonny at his side, a circle of old schoolfriends reminiscing with them as Jake reloads the outside fridge with beer. As he walks into the lounge, Eloise, face glowing and cradling her small bump, is standing with Shell and Chloe, laughing in the corner. Chloe’s arm is thrown around Leila’s shoulders.

  ‘Hey, gorgeous Jake! Aren’t you proud of your new housemate, doing so well with her art business?’ El yells across the room.

  Waving, he laughs. ‘Of course I am! The commissions are rolling in.’ Leila’s paintings are really taking off and her work is in hot demand. Jake keeps telling her she’s only a few steps away from world domination.

  As the crowd gets rowdier, Jake feels his phone begin to vibrate. Digging into his pocket to take it out, he frowns at the screen. It’s a number he doesn’t recognise. ‘Hello?’

  ‘—ou there?’ A no-nonsense voice says. ‘Hello, I’m trying t—’

  Someone beside Jake laughs, and he sticks his finger in his left ear to try and hear better. It’s no good, it’s too noisy in here. ‘Hang on, please.’ Stepping into the hallway, he moves toward the front door, unlocking the latch and easing into the front garden. He sits down on the low grey wall, bracing his feet on the pavement. ‘That’s better. I can hear you now. Sorry, I’m at a party. Who’s this?’

  ‘I’m trying to reach a Jacob Marcus Harding,’ a female voice says, her tone steady and quiet. ‘Is this him?’

  There’s a sinking feeling in his stomach. This sounds official. ‘Yes. I haven’t been called Jacob in years, but that’s me.’

  ‘Can you please just confirm a few details, so I know I’m talking to the right person?’

  ‘I guess so. But first, who is this please?’

  She pauses. ‘I’m with the Manchester Coroner’s Office. I’m calling in connection to a Terry Lee Harding. Do you know him?’

  Coroner’s office? Surely that can only mean one thing? ‘Yes, he’s my –’ the word sticks in his throat ‘– father.’

  After running through some checks, she identifies herself as calling from the Natural Deaths team.

  ‘Just tell me,’ he urges, bracing his feet more firmly on the ground in front of him. A small but strong hand lands on his shoulder and he knows without looking it’s Leila, the scent of her shampoo wafting across his face as she leans close to listen in.

  ‘Of course. I’m sorry to break this to you, but your father suffered a massive heart attack in the street this afternoon. Despite the paramedics’ best efforts, he couldn’t be revived. He died in the ambulance on the way to hospital.’

  ‘You’re sure it’s him?’

  ‘Yes.’ She pauses, ‘You’re listed as his next of kin. I am sorry this has happened. There are a few practicalities which need taking care of …’

  Jake’s not sure what type of man it makes him, but all he feels is relief. Terry is dead, and can never hurt any of them again.

  ***

  Nine days later, Jake and Leila sit in an unfamiliar church together, hands entwined, his mum on one side. He knew she’d thought twice about coming, but they both needed to say their goodbyes, for their own benefit.

  Jake’s still waiting for a shadow of grief to touch him, for a tug of regret, but it hasn’t come yet. He’s not sure it ever will.

  He’s worn a suit out of habit, but his mum’s in a bright orange wrap-dress, a silent and defiant two-fingered salute to the man who kept her in the dark for so long. She refuses to mourn. Leila has put on a more conservative navy dress, her long silvery hair pinned up in a bun.

  After the short service, as Jake leaves the church with his mum walking on ahead and his girlfriend by his side, Leila turns to face him. ‘Are you okay?’ She touches his cheek, palm resting against his stubble.

  ‘I am.’ He kisses her hand. ‘I never saw eye to eye with him, and now I’ll never get the chance to understand why he was like that, but I can live with that.’ He moves her on from the church, then cranes his head back to watch as a plume of smoke rises from the chimney. Goodbye, you bastard, he thinks.

  ‘Are you really okay?’ Leila repeats, her grey eyes soft.

  ‘Yes,’ he says firmly. Tucking her arm through his, he walks them towards the car. ‘Besides, why dwell on the bad, when you can celebrate the good? I’m happy to leave this part of my life behind and move forward with you. Now, let’s go home.’

  Jake

  30 August 2017

  It’s taken Jake hours to work out the locations he wants to use for Leila’s birthday treasure hunt, and write up the clues. He just hopes she can figure them out and doesn’t end up going around in circles. Every place is somewhere important to either one or both of them – a location she loves, or a significant part of their history. Little gems strung along the Dorset coast, like the charms on her bracelet. If all goes according to plan, they’ll meet in their favourite place so he can give her this year’s birthday gift. The best one yet, he hopes.

  He’s driven all over the county today, sticking the clues up in clear plastic wallets to protect them from any rain that may come. He can’t wait to see her face, thinking back over the last year of happiness together. He’s been working as an OT in a small practice to get some general experience before moving on to working with children, and she works from home, happily taking commissions and spending weeks on each piece of art, paint in her hair and under her short fingernails. She doesn’t like doing the publicity and interviews her agent urges her to, but overall Jake’s never seen her so fulfilled. Now there’s just the matter of their next step together and he hopes he hasn’t got it badly wrong.

  When he gets home that evening, she’s in a funny mood: excited about her birthday but quiet, brooding.

  ‘What’s up?’ he asks over dinner.

  ‘Where were you today?’ She slides into the chair across from him, studying his face.

  ‘At work. Why?’

  ‘I called the office earlier because you weren’t answering your m
obile. Gina said you had the afternoon off.’

  For pity’s sake, couldn’t Gina have said he had back-to-back client appointments? He wants the treasure hunt to be a surprise. ‘Oh, right. Well, I might have finished early to go and collect your birthday present.’ He hopes she won’t keep digging. He’s not good at lying to her. Not after the charms. ‘But that’s all it was.’

  ‘Promise?’ She looks into his eyes, as if searching for something.

  ‘Promise,’ he says solemnly. ‘You can’t get rid of me that easily.’

  ‘Okay.’ She pauses, ‘I saw that picture you liked on Facebook earlier, of El’s baby, and the comment you wrote.’

  ‘Right.’ She’s gorgeous. Can’t wait to have some bambinos of our own. He’d posted it in a rush at work, not thinking about Leila seeing it. Or perhaps wanting Leila to see it?

  ‘Is that why you still haven’t unpacked your gym equipment in the spare bedroom? Because you’re saving it for a nursery?’ Her face is pale, sweat beading her upper lip.

  ‘I just haven’t got around to setting it all up yet,’ he replies evasively, taking a deep swallow of his water. ‘But yeah, I guess in a couple of years’ time, I’d like to think we’ll be trying. It isn’t a pressure to do it now,’ he says quickly. ‘We’re still young.’

  ‘I’m not sure, Jake.’

  ‘Not sure about what? Trying in a couple of years, or trying full stop?’

  She flinches at his tone, her expression uneasy as she scans his face. ‘You must remember what I went through with the miscarriage. I’m not sure if I could go through that again.’