by Jane Green
“What have you got against Teslas?”
“Nothing. I haven’t got anything against them. You should come over for dinner one night. I’ll cook. I’m a very good cook. Bring Emily. Bring your children. Bring your dog. Do you have any cats? Bring them too. Let’s all be best friends again.”
The two of them started laughing as they turned the corner and wandered down the road, shortly finding themselves in front of Chestnut Hill Manor.
“Oh fuck,” said James, patting his jacket. “I don’t think I’ve got the key.”
“Ring the doorbell,” said Topher, swaying with Evvie at the end of the driveway.
“My wife will kill me,” he said.
“She’ll kill you harder if you don’t come home at all,” said Evvie with a giggle.
James paused, then rang the doorbell. Silence.
“Why isn’t your dog barking?” said Maggie.
“We don’t have a dog,” he said, and they started laughing again.
“Try again,” she said.
“It’s freezing!” Evvie called out, huddling with Topher. “I need to get into bed. I might need to throw up first.”
Topher quickly moved away from her.
“I was kidding!” she said.
“Emily’s asleep.” James suddenly looked very worried, very drunk, and very young. “I could sleep in my car.”
“I don’t think a Tesla would be very comfortable to sleep in.” Maggie turned and stared at the charcoal-gray car in the driveway. “You can come and stay at ours. We have lots of room. But you can’t sneak into Evvie’s room.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it. Thank you. I should text my wife and tell her.” He patted his jacket again. “Oh shit. I left my phone in the pub.”
“You can e-mail her from mine. Come on. Let’s go home.”
forty-three
- 2019 -
Maggie woke up first with a pounding headache. She remembered to drink a whole bottle of water before she went to bed. It was an old trick from her youth—match the amount of alcohol drunk with water, and you would be fine. She had no idea how much alcohol she had drunk, but a bottle of water ought to do it, she thought last night.
She crawled out of bed and downed three Nurofen Plus, realizing that she was far from fine, then got back into bed to wait for the headache to subside. A short while later, she heard banging on the front door, which continued on and off for a good five minutes. Eventually, Maggie heard Emily’s voice calling through the letterbox.
“James? James? Are you in there?”
Maggie cast her mind back to last night with some difficulty, before remembering that James was in fact there, and that she must be the only one awake, given the continued banging at the door.
She was still in the same clothes as last night, she realized as she made her way out of the bedroom.
Topher was emerging from his room as well, holding his head. “Who the fuck is banging on the door?” he groaned.
“I think that’s Emily, James’s wife. Where did he sleep?”
Topher paused. “He’s either on the giant sofa in the den, or in Evvie’s bed.”
“Are you serious?” hissed Maggie, unwilling to open the door to his wife.
“No, I’m not serious. He’s on the sofa. I think.”
“Can you go?”
“No,” said Topher, backing into his room and closing the door.
Maggie went downstairs and peered into the den, where she saw James, fast asleep on the sofa, covered by one of her cashmere throws. Well thank God for that, she thought, going back to the entrance hall and opening the door to find a very angry Emily in large sunglasses and a fur-trimmed parka.
“Hi, Emily,” said Maggie. “I’m guessing you’re looking for James?”
“Yes, I’m looking for James. What the fuck is he doing here?” Emily looked Maggie up and down, noting her new hair color, the flush in her cheeks. She was clearly furious, her voice loud as Maggie squinted in pain, massaging her left temple.
“It’s nice to see you as well, Emily. Would you mind keeping your voice down? Bit of a headache. And if I recall correctly, he left his keys at home, and his phone in the pub. We did try to wake you but we didn’t know what else to do. I’m sure . . .”
“Where is he?” Emily cut her off as Maggie realized she didn’t believe her.
For all she knew, James spent the night with Maggie, which must have been why she was giving her the dagger glares. Maggie said nothing, just led Emily to the den and watched as she tried to prod James awake.
“Get up!” Emily hissed. “James! Wake up! Oh, for Christ’s sake.” She stopped shaking him as tears suddenly sprang into her eyes.
“Why don’t you come into the kitchen for a minute. I was just about to make tea,” Maggie lied, concerned that if she didn’t get Emily away from her husband, she might physically hurt him.
Emily paused, blinking at Maggie before looking at her husband.
“Give him ten minutes or so and he’ll wake up. Let’s go in here.” Maggie placed a hand on Emily’s arm, amazed as she meekly followed her into the kitchen.
Maggie made the tea as Emily sat at the kitchen table, staring mutely out the window. She brought the cups over to the table, sliding the sugar bowl and milk over to Emily, who added a splash of milk and took a sip.
“I’m sorry,” she said eventually. “I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”
“It’s fine. You must have been worried sick.”
The tears sprang back into Emily’s eyes. “It’s not . . . I mean. Yes. I was worried. I didn’t know where he was sleeping . . .”
“I understand,” Maggie said gently. “I would have had exactly the same reaction.”
There was a silence as Emily appeared to be blinking back tears. “Do you think maybe we can let bygones be bygones? Things got weird between us with the trees, and now I wish we could just all be friends.”
“It’s not just you.” Maggie swallowed. “I wasn’t in a place where I could be with people for quite a while. After Ben died, I thought . . .” She stopped, seeing Emily’s eyes well up. “Emily? Are you okay?”
And Emily started to cry, this time properly, with heaving shoulders, gulping for air. Maggie’s first inclination was to put an arm around her shoulders, but she didn’t want to overstep her boundaries. She got up and brought over a box of tissues from the kitchen counter, placing it in front of Emily. This small act of kindness seemed to have a calming effect, and blowing her nose hard, Emily hiccupped a little, then looked at Maggie.
“I am so sorry,” she said again. “I didn’t mean to collapse in tears. It’s not just that he slept here. I mean, it is that, but we’ve been having problems for a while. He’s been staying in London quite a bit recently, he says for work, late meetings, but I thought maybe there was someone . . .” She sighed. “And then when he said he was here, I didn’t know what to think. I’ve seen a bunch of people staying here and I just thought I’d find him in bed with someone. I thought maybe he was having an affair with you. I know, it’s stupid. It sounds so stupid.”
Maggie smiled. “I know I probably shouldn’t say this, but I love that you think I’m someone your husband would even look at. I’m an old, boring widow. That’s the last thing you need to worry about. But your concerns sound valid. Not that I think he’s having an affair, but it doesn’t sound stupid. It sounds like you’ve been really concerned, and you have every right to be angry.”
She stared at Maggie. “I do, right?”
“Yes. Ben used to disappear all the time. I’d have no idea where he was, and I’d be a mess. I once spent all night driving around Bath looking for his car.”
“Did you find it?”
“No. Which is lucky because I think I would have destroyed it. I don’t want to be patronizing, but as someone who’s a few years older, the be
st advice I can give, if you’re willing to take advice . . .” Emily nodded. “Well, the best advice is to communicate. Ben and I stopped communicating long before he died, and I always wonder if things would have been different if we had been able to talk to each other properly.” She smiled. “On the bright side, I’m glad this gave you a reason to come over. It would be really nice to not be at war with you anymore.”
“This is nice,” sniffed Emily. “I’m really sorry about the trees. I’ll have them cut down.”
“Don’t worry about it. Honestly? There are far more important things in life to worry about than having a view.”
“I don’t mind at all. I wanted the privacy when the children were small but I’ve got a teenager now. Can you believe it? Skylar’s a teenager! Where does the time go?” Emily shook her head.
“I know,” said Maggie, thinking about all the time she spent trying to find happiness. “I’ve been asking myself the same question for years.”
forty-four
- 2019 -
Topher was out in the garden, raking the leaves and pausing every few minutes to breathe in the crisp air, grateful that the pounding headache had finally gone, and that he was doing something to contribute to the household.
They hadn’t been very good at designating jobs, treating this more as an extended vacation than a permanent living arrangement, but all that was about to change. Topher had now officially taken on the gardening, including clipping the dreaded hedgerow.
“Have you ever done it before?” asked Maggie dubiously, taking him into the shed and pointing out the hedge trimmer.
“How hard can it be?” Topher had said, immediately taking the hedge trimmer and doing a beautiful job on two small yew pillars, by the end of which his arms were so sore, he was rethinking doing anything else for the rest of the week. Although, he told himself, he hadn’t been to the gym since he moved here, and this would get his arms in wonderful shape.
He was fascinated by the garden, and by Maggie’s gardening books, which lined the shelves of the den. Topher had been poring over them, studying Penelope Hobhouse’s designs, Gertrude Jekyll’s color schemes, repeatedly going to the window and looking out, his brain ticking furiously as ideas came into his head.
Last week he found a landscape design course in Bath, taught by one of England’s master gardeners, and he was waiting for the brochure and application form to arrive. He had no idea if this was what he had been waiting for, but had a strong suspicion it might be. He wasn’t telling the others until he’d been accepted.
Evvie and Maggie were out looking at a building in Frome. It had been a butcher, and was now for sale. Topher was the one who saw the For Sale sign and contacted the estate agent. He went to see it and declared it a distinct possibility for the café they were still talking about.
Topher stayed home, determined to get the garden cleaned up before they returned, when he heard a car pull into the driveway.
It was a Toyota Prius, not a car that belonged to any of them. He wandered over to see who it was, assuming it was either a wrong address or a delivery, perhaps.
The back door opened, and a young man got out, turning immediately and leaning in to the back seat to pull out a large suitcase.
“Thank you,” he called to the driver in an American accent. “Have a great day.”
The Uber—it was clearly an Uber from the sticker in the window—took off, and the young man looked at Topher, who was about to tell him to call the car back immediately because he had been deposited in the wrong place. But there was something so familiar about this boy, Topher said nothing, just stared at him as the cogs in Topher’s brain clicked into place and he was swept back thirty years.
It made no sense whatsoever. For the boy standing in front of him was Evil Ben. Evil Ben just as he looked when they all met him.
“Ben?” Topher whispered, not understanding how this could possibly be. The boy frowned.
“What?” said the boy. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.” He waited for Topher to say it again, but Topher said nothing, just stared at him, his eyes wide, his breath shallow.
“Okay.” Jack shrugged. “I guess it’s not important. Hi. I’m Jack. I’m looking for my mom? Evvie Thompson?”
“Oh Jesus fucking Christ,” whispered Topher, the color draining from his face.
forty-five
- 2019 -
I don’t know,” said Maggie, peering through the dark spaces in the old butcher shop. “It’s pretty gloomy. I’m not sure I see this.”
“There are all sorts of things you could do,” said the agent. “Those walls could come down, and the windows could be replaced with bigger ones.”
“For a price,” said Evvie, who was as demoralized as Maggie. This was the second place they’d seen, and she had high hopes for this one, given that Topher was the one who found it. “I’m just not sure it feels right.”
“I think that’s it. I can’t see it. I don’t know,” she sighed, turning to Evvie. “Maybe we should think about it some more. I’m a bit hopeless when it comes to vision.”
“I’m not. I’ve got really good vision and I think this might just be too much money for us to get it right.”
“But it’s such a great location.”
“There will be others. We have to wait for the right one to come along.”
They were both a little blue as they left, but by the time they decided to stroll down Cheap Street, all had been forgotten, with Evvie gasping in delight at the medieval buildings—and excellent shopping.
She bought two bags from Amica, a homemade fig chutney (after trying a sample, which was one of the best things she had ever eaten), and, in Hunting Raven Books, a book for Topher on classic English gardens in the West Country.
All the while she had a smile on her face, looking up at the hanging upper balconies that lined the street, down at the crooked paving stones and the leat, the water feature that carried water from the stream beneath Saint John’s church.
“This is so charming!” she said. “I can’t believe this American gets to live here, among all this history.”
Maggie walked alongside her, delighted that Evvie was with her, that she loved it so much, that she was allowing Maggie to fall in love with Somerset all over again.
The disappointment of the butcher’s was forgotten as they stopped for smoothies in Café La Strada, and sampled pastries in the Old Bakehouse.
“If this were in America,” whispered Evvie as they stood in front of the glass cabinet admiring the cakes, “it would be Ye Olde Bakehouse.”
“Oh, don’t you worry,” Maggie whispered back. “There’s plenty of those to go around here.”
“If we open the café, we cannot call it Ye Olde anything, deal?”
“What do you mean ‘if’?” said Maggie indignantly. “Surely you mean ‘when.’”
“I did. Of course I did.”
By the time they pulled in the driveway, both were chattering excitedly about their dream vision of a café. An American-style diner, they had decided, with a twist. The twist being Evvie’s famous Jamaican breakfasts, naturally, and an updated, modern take on the classic diner—Evvie insisted on red vinyl stools in an homage.
Maggie opened the front door as Scout came clattering toward her.
“Hi, baby boy.” She squatted to pet him as Topher walked out of the hallway leading to the kitchen. He was with someone, but she couldn’t see who, the light from the kitchen rendering him in shadow, and she smiled.
“Hi, you. The place was a disaster. The only thing you got right was location. Is everything okay?” She noticed Topher’s face looked pained, and she stopped, looking first at Topher, then at the man behind him as he emerged out of the shadow.
Maggie stared, her brow furrowing as she tried to make sense of what she was seeing, but it made no sense. In front of her, in her house, was her
late husband, as he was exactly when she first met him. He stood like a ghost in her hallway, his smile as wide as it always was, the dimples in the same place, his widow’s peak as pronounced as it always was.
Evvie walked in behind her, shrieking, but Maggie barely heard.
“Ben?” she whispered, before everything faded to black and she slipped quietly to the floor.
forty-six
- 2019 -
I can explain.” Evvie looked at Jack, then at Maggie, who was now lying on the sofa, unable to tear her gaze away from Jack.
“I don’t understand,” she said. “This is your son? But he’s . . . he’s the spitting image of . . .”
“We need to talk, it isn’t what you . . .” Evvie started before trailing off. Of course it was what she thought.
“What’s going on?” said Jack, his sunny demeanor now gone, confusion written all over his face, which made Evvie catch her breath. All these years she’d worried about keeping the secret from Maggie, and now she had to tell her son. She wasn’t prepared for this, for him showing up out of the blue. Not by a long shot.
And while she knew she owed Maggie an explanation, she had to first take care of her son, whom she ushered outside, still unable to believe he was even here.
“What just happened?” Jack kept asking, but Evvie was shaking and could hardly speak as she hurried him out the front door.
“Let’s go somewhere where we can talk. There’s a lot I have to explain to you. I’ll tell you when we get there,” she said, because she needed some time to calm down.
Hauser & Wirth was a farm that had been transformed into an art gallery. It was the only place Evvie could think of that would be quiet and serene, and she needed some serenity to help her figure out what to say.
When they arrived, Evvie led Jack around the gardens, and taking a deep breath, she explained who his father was, and why she had kept it a secret all these years. Jack said nothing, walked alongside her listening, frowning as he let her talk.