New Beginnings At Glendale Hall

by Victoria Walters

  Heather nodded. ‘It’s hard sometimes, yes. I’m tired, like, most of the time. But I wouldn’t do any of it if I didn’t enjoy it. I’ve always worked and I really didn’t want to stop once I had Harry. I mean, it’s a personal choice, I think, isn’t it? Like the whole marriage thing.’

  I smiled, remembering our conversation about how she and Rory were in no rush to get married.

  ‘You just decide on your priorities, really, and go from there. I have decided, like I said, that something does have to give. I’m going to leave the library in September and focus on the farm and Harry. Then once he goes to school, the plan is to set up my own design business. Creating things like logos for companies – business cards and invitations, too. That kind of thing. I’m going to do a calligraphy course as well. So, lots of plans and that’s how I like it. I like trying new things.’

  ‘I think it’s great. I was so worried that I couldn’t do it – open this bakery and raise this baby – and I’m still really nervous about it, and I think if I didn’t have everyone in Glendale around to help, I’d probably run a mile.’

  ‘There’s so much support here, that's why I’d never leave. The community is so strong, and so is our family.’

  I smiled, liking how she saw me as part of the family too. ‘So, you think we can have it all?’

  Heather thought for a moment. ‘No one can have it all. And that would be really greedy of us if we did, but I think we can have everything we want.’

  I couldn’t stop Brodie flashing in my mind then. I quickly dismissed it. Heather was right – I had more than enough to be getting on with; I certainly didn’t need to add any more complication to my life. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that he wouldn’t be a complication, that if anything, it felt like he was the missing piece to it all.

  That was just crazy though, wasn’t it?

  * * *

  I had moved into the cottage in the grounds of Glendale Hall with Aunt Sally. She was currently spring-cleaning, although John was very tidy, and was rearranging the kitchen to suit her. I had taken the front bedroom, and through a gap in the trees I could see the main house in the distance, rising up grandly from the lawn. It was even more peaceful out in the cottage than it was in the Hall, a million miles away from my house in London with its neighbours on either side, and road traffic at most times of the day. We either had meals at the main house with the others, or we just sat down the two of us to home-cooked food on our small outside table.

  The bakery was taking up so much of my time but I knew that the days were ticking by and once summer ended, the baby would not be far away and I should really start planning for her arrival as well.

  Fortuitously, Caroline stopped me after dinner one evening, as I was about to walk back to the cottage, to talk about just that. ‘Emily, I was thinking… we have a lot of baby things in the loft. Beth’s, and even some of mine. I kept everything for when Beth had a child but obviously, as she went to London, I wasn’t able to pass it all on to her.’ I saw sadness flash in her eyes. It was still upsetting for her to talk about when Beth ran away to London at sixteen, pregnant with Izzy, even though their relationship had healed and Beth had finally come home ten years later. It was particularly awkward because Beth had lived with me at college at first. Caroline composed herself quickly, however. ‘I wondered if you’d like to take a look? Anything you want, you can have.’

  ‘That’s really kind of you,’ I said. ‘I’d love to see it.’ I was really grateful she had thought of me, and it showed the past had been as put to bed as it could be. I had always wondered if she felt any animosity towards me for giving Beth a place to stay but I hoped she had been relieved that Beth had been looked after. It had been Beth’s decision to leave, after all. I had done my best to support her, as my Aunt Sally had done too, and all was well that ended well, after all.

  She smiled. ‘Let’s go now then.’

  Eagerly, I followed her upstairs and then to the end of the corridor where a hidden staircase led to the long, narrow loft. Caroline switched on the bare overhead light and coughed a little as she disturbed the dust, walking across the floorboards. Plastic storage boxes lined the walls; there were Christmas decorations, piles of old books, a few paintings stacked in the corner and then, at the end, an area covered with thick sheets.

  ‘Here we are,’ she said. She reached for them, and I leaned forward to help, pulling off the sheets to reveal a cot and baby’s pram. We both coughed then as the dust settled around us.

  Once I could see properly, my eyes widened. ‘Oh wow, these are beautiful.’ Despite the dust, I could see that both the cot and the old-fashioned pram were obviously expensive when bought, and sturdy and solid even after the years spent up here.

  ‘They’re probably not the “in thing”,’ she said, making quote marks with her fingers. ‘But they are well made. There’s all of this, too.’ She gestured to boxes labelled as baby clothes and toys, and a pile of baby blankets.

  ‘Are you sure about this?’ I asked. There was so much up here and to be honest, I could have done with it all. What with the bakery costs, it would really help if I didn’t have to buy all of it myself, and there was something special about the idea of passing down these much-beloved family items to my daughter too.

  ‘I’d love you to have anything you need,’ she said. ‘I know that we don’t really talk about what happened but I was grateful, you know, that Beth had somewhere safe when she got to London, and that she had you as a friend. I don’t know what would have happened otherwise. You took care of her back then, and Izzy too, so please let me do this for you now. I promised Sally that I’d always take care of her. And I want to do the same for you, and your baby, too,’ Caroline said then, not quite meeting my eyes. It still hard for her to shake off their family reserve.

  I was touched. ‘Oh, Caroline.’ I had no such reserve. I threw my arms around her and although she stiffened at first, she hugged me back before pulling away quickly. ‘That honestly means the world to me,’ I said when I was able to speak. Pregnancy really did make you feel everything more potently, I was sure of it.

  She waved her hand, dismissing my thanks. ‘I will be pleased to see it all being used again.’

  I looked at the cot again. Suddenly it became all the more real that soon there would be a real live baby sleeping in it. My baby. Something I had wanted for so long. I wiped at a tear rolling down my cheek when Caroline couldn’t see. I sensed me crying on top of the hugging would have been a little too much for her to handle.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  July sprang into August without warning, and that meant that there was just a month to go until I wanted to open the bakery. Every day, I was in there working to get everything ready, supervising the installation of the new oven and equipment, trying to find the exact shades of blue and lemon that I wanted for the décor, hiring contractors, making them all tea, and looking at Heather’s draft logo designs.

  Most evenings, I was at the cottage hunched over a meal Aunt Sally had made, barely noticing it, re-drafting the menus over and over again, and trying out the recipes until everyone at Glendale Hall was sick of cake. ‘And that’s something I never thought I’d say!’ Beth said, after refusing the fifth sample of cake I tried to make her taste.

  ‘You’re doing too much,’ Aunt Sally scolded when she walked into the kitchen after working at the Glendale Hall shop to find me icing cupcakes.

  ‘There’s so much to do,’ I replied, somewhat defensively. My feet were killing me though, and I did feel quite weary. ‘I’ll stop once these are done,’ I promised us both.

  She tutted and walked past me to the fridge. ‘I’m making us something to eat. And you’re going to sit down all evening.’

  ‘Okay,’ I said a little absently as I started to stick roses on the cupcakes. I had decorated them in blue and lemon, hoping they looked sweet and it wasn’t overkill to match the cakes to the bakery décor. Sometimes it was hard not to get a little bit too carried away with it
all.

  ‘You haven’t even looked at your post after I brought it over from the Hall,’ she scolded again, waving a couple of envelopes at me that had been sitting on the table.

  ‘Give me one minute,’ I said, focusing on the cupcakes. ‘There.’ I stood up and looked at the four I’d made. ‘What do you think?’

  Aunt Sally paused in the act of chopping an onion to look up. ‘They’re just as perfect as the exact same batch you made last night. Seriously, Emily, sit down now.’

  I put them on a plate and sighed, carrying them over to the table. I had to get them just right. She handed me a glass of iced water as she went back to her chopping, muttering something under her breath. I thought it was wise not to ask her what she was saying. I was tired, admittedly. But it was that good kind of tired that came with throwing everything you had at something you loved. I felt a fluttering in my stomach and smiled. I was certain my baby could feel the adrenaline pumping through me. She was getting quite squirmy.

  Picking up my post, I saw that along with my credit card statement, there was a hand-addressed envelope for me. ‘What’s this?’ I wondered aloud, opening it up curiously. I couldn’t remember when I’d last received an actual letter. I pulled it out, unfolding it and realising that I recognised the writing, quickly scanning down to the bottom to check who it was from. ‘Oh,’ I said.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Aunt Sally asked, turning, immediately alert.

  ‘It’s from Greg. A letter from Greg,’ I said, looking at her. I was immediately nervous. Why had he written me a letter?

  She raised an eyebrow. ‘I wonder what he has to say? Why don’t you take it outside? It’s lovely out there, and I’ll bring out the pasta in a few minutes.’

  ‘Okay,’ I agreed, glad to have instructions to follow as I was so stunned. Picking up the letter and glass of water, I stepped out of our back door to the small garden and sat down at our white, round table. It was a warm summer’s evening and the only sound in the garden was a chorus of birds up in the trees nearby.

  Taking a sip of water, I picked up Greg’s letter and tried to prepare myself. We hadn’t spoken since before I left again for Glendale, although I had rung his mum to find out what she knew. Sue told me that his therapist said his treatment was still progressing well and they were expecting him to remain at the rehab centre until September.

  Dear Emily,

  We talked in group therapy today about apologies. How reaching out to people that we’ve hurt through our addictions is really important. How recognising that we’ve hurt someone is a step towards a time when we won’t hurt the people we love. My therapist asked me to go to my room and write down the people that I had hurt so we could talk about it, and the person at the top of my list was you. She asked me what I would say to you if I could and got me to write it all down and then she said I could decide if I wanted to send it to you or not.

  I wasn’t sure at first. But I’m learning that being honest is one of the key ways I can get through this, and I want to be honest with the people I love from now on. And you’re still the person who means the most to me. I know that this letter can’t even begin to make up for everything I’ve put you through, but I just hope that it might show you just how sorry I am.

  I’ve lied to you for a long time. When we met, I wasn’t in a good place. I know that now. But I pretended that everything was fine. Back then, I probably should have just walked away, waited until I was capable of really, properly making a life with someone but I was selfish. I fell for you the moment I saw you and I didn’t stop to think about what was best for you, or whether I actually deserved you. I was already drinking a lot and gambling too but I never told you any of that. I made you think I was this fearless person and that that was a good thing but now I’m not sure it is. I should have had fear. Fear should have stopped me from spending our money, from drinking too much – it should have made me realise I would lose you, and lose my job, but I just became even more reckless. The problem is, the more I drank and gambled, the worse things became, which drove me to do them even more. I kept thinking I’d make the money back somehow, or that one drink would be enough but I was just deluding myself.

  I’m so sorry that I didn’t tell you what was going on. I knew from the start that I had to hide those things from you. I knew what I was doing was wrong even back then. But I didn’t think I was addicted. To be honest it took far, far too long for me to admit that to myself. For a while I got away with it. We fell in love and I want you to know that was real; it always has been real. If it hadn’t been for you, I think I would have crashed and burned a long time ago. You kept me afloat without knowing it. I didn’t seem to need things as badly if I had you. I could keep things just about under control.

  But when we started struggling, when we couldn't have a baby, I started to reach for a gambling fix and the booze more and more. The debts started to pile up but I just kept on ignoring it, drinking more to keep myself in denial, and then borrowing money, telling myself I could sort it out, that it would all be okay.

  And then I brought you into it. And I can’t even begin to say sorry enough for that. I made my debts our problem, and then when I woke up in Steph's bed…

  I had to lift my eyes then. They were blurring with tears. I wiped at them and took a deep breath. It was so hard to read it all in black and white. I could feel his pain, his torment coming through the page, the way his pen dug into the paper at times revealed that anguish, but laying it all bare like this was reminding me of my own hurt too. Composing myself as best as I could, I read the rest.

  When I woke up in Steph’s bed, I knew I had lost control. I didn’t even remember going to her flat from the club. I would never have done that to you sober. I don’t know if that’s any excuse but I am so ashamed of that night. I hope you know that.

  I knew that it had all fallen apart when you went to Scotland. I knew I had to tell you and get myself some help. But I know that I did this too late. I should have told you so much earlier. I should not have kept on denying that I was losing my grip on everything.

  Most of all I’m sorry that I’m not there for you during the most important time of our lives. I feel like the worst father in the world before our daughter is even born. When my therapist first told me that you were moving to Scotland, I was angry and full of self-pity. I was upset that you’ll be so far away with our child but I know now that I have no right to feel that way. I left you with nothing. Of course you need to grab this opportunity. And I’m proud as hell that you’re doing it. That you’re going to make your dreams come true. Our little girl is going to have the best mother in the world.

  I’m trying, Em. I’m trying so hard to be someone that both of you can be proud of one day. I hope that I can do it. But I know that if I can’t, our little girl will be just fine with you.

  Take care of both of you. I hope that you’ll let me see you both one day soon. When I deserve it.

  I’m going to do everything I can to deserve it. I promise.

  Greg

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Aunt Sally came out then, carrying two bowls of pancetta pasta. She looked at me, tears streaming down my face, and sat down, reaching out to hold my hand. ‘That bad?’ she asked.

  I sniffed loudly in the quiet garden. ‘It was just hard reading it, remembering everything, going back to that place when I found out that I didn’t know the man I loved. And I feel for him. He hurt me, yes, but I know he was ill. And it’s painful to read about how broken he is. He really doesn’t know if he’ll ever be a good enough father to our baby girl, and I just wish so much, so hard, that he will be.’

  She nodded. ‘Of course you do. He’s getting the help he needs, we just have to hope that it works. It will still be hard for him, though. It will always be hard, I imagine.’

  ‘I think maybe I’m only just realising that. I know it sounds stupid but I saw this rehab as the fix, you know? But reading about how broken he still is, I know now that it’ll be a really long road ev
en after he comes out. I find it hard to put myself in his shoes. I’ve never been addicted to anything, I don’t think. I mean, maybe, cake…’ We both smiled a little at my weak attempt at a joke. ‘But it is a disease and he’ll have it forever. Can he be a good dad, do you think?’ I picked at the creamy pasta. As usual, it was delicious, but I had lost my appetite.

  ‘If he really wants to be then he will be,’ Aunt Sally said, firmly. ‘Everyone makes mistakes and I think as long as you do something about them then why can’t your children know about them? I think reaching out for help when you need it is something to be proud of.’

  ‘I hope he doesn’t blame me for coming up here. That by moving away, I’m somehow saying he can’t be a good father to our baby.’

  ‘Well, why don’t you write back and tell him that?’

  I looked up from my plate at her. ‘Do you really think I should?’

  ‘I think it could only help.’ She tucked into her food but I continued to pick at mine. Greg’s letter was so honest and heartfelt, I did feel as if I should respond to it. If he wasn’t up to reading it yet, I knew they wouldn’t let him.

  ‘I’m going to do it,’ I said, finally.

  Aunt Sally smiled. ‘Good. Now eat some food. You’re wasting away when you should be eating for two. And don’t tell me that’s a myth, young lady. I’m supposed to be looking after you but I can only do that if you stop being so stubborn and do what I say, okay?’

  I shook my head. ‘I’m not a child,’ I mumbled but I picked up a forkful and swallowed it just to keep her happy.

  ‘You wait until your daughter turns out to be as stubborn as you are,’ Aunt Sally said with a sigh.

  That did indeed shut me up.

  * * *

  It was Brodie that I wanted to speak to about how to reply to Greg’s letter. I had long since learnt to both seek and trust his advice, so I went to the church where he was practising his Sunday sermon to the empty building, and walked up to the altar. ‘Hey,’ I said.