by A J McDine
‘They had the room next to mine. I wish I could remember their names, but it was so long ago. Anyway, they’d heard about a party on a beach further up the coast and invited me along.’
‘And that’s where you met Noah?’
Kate nodded.
‘What was he like? Tell me everything you remember. Everything.’
There was a hunger in Chloe’s eyes that tugged at Kate’s heartstrings.
‘He was tall. About six foot two. And his hair was even blonder than yours.’ She picked up a strand of Chloe’s hair and twisted it around her fingers.
‘What colour were his eyes?’
‘Dark blue, like new denim. And he had a dusting of freckles across his nose.’
‘Like me,’ Chloe said.
Kate nodded.
‘What did you talk about?’
‘We swapped stories about our travels. Noah was a couple of years older than me and was taking his gap year after college, before he started work.’
‘What did he major in?’
Kate cast her mind back. Although they’d talked about travelling, they hadn’t discussed their lives back home. No self-respecting backpacker liked to be reminded that on their return they’d have to step back into the real world, where degrees had to be studied for, jobs found, rent paid. It was easier to forget about it. Out of sight, out of mind.
‘I’m sorry, Chlo. I don’t think he told me.’
‘Did he say where in California he was from?’
Kate let her memory transport her back to that sultry Thai beach, a cold bottle of beer in one hand, her other entwined with Noah’s and the sound of the waves lapping at the shore a few feet away. A heavily-tattooed boy with ginger dreadlocks and an Australian accent had taken an acoustic guitar from a dusty black case smothered in travel stickers and had started strumming.
‘Do You Know The Way To San José,’ Kate said softly.
‘What?’
‘The song. By Dionne Warwick, I think. There was a lad at the party playing it on his guitar. Noah said that’s where he lived. San José. I’ve just remembered.’
Chloe grabbed her laptop and began typing. ‘San José, capital of the Silicon Valley,’ she read. ‘Close to San Francisco. It has a Mediterranean climate and a population of more than a million.’ Her face fell. ‘That’s still loads.’
‘Try googling Noah and San José.’
As Chloe’s fingers flew over the keyboard, Kate felt her pulse quicken. What if, after all these years, they did find Noah? Would she have the courage to contact him? Tell him he had a daughter he knew nothing about? Would he even remember her, a girl he’d made love to on a starlit beach so many years ago?
‘There’s a pizza restaurant in San Jose called Noah’s,’ Chloe said. ‘Look, here’s the website.’ She swivelled the laptop around so Kate could see and clicked on the About us tab. There was a photo of the owner, Noah Bianchi, smiling in front of his pizza oven. He had a shiny bald pate, twinkling brown eyes and a generous paunch. He was sixty if he was a day. Even allowing for the chance that Kate’s Noah had really let himself go, there was no way this was him. Kate shook her head.
‘Thank goodness for that,’ Chloe grinned. She returned to the search results. ‘There’s a pro ice hockey player called Noah Sanders who plays for the San José Sharks. It would be cool if he was my dad.’ She pointed to a photo of a square-jawed, black-haired man with the physique of a heavyweight boxer, wearing a turquoise team jersey with a shark emblazoned on the front.
‘He’s not much older than you,’ Kate said.
‘He could be our Noah’s son? My half-brother.’
‘Why would he call his son Noah?’
‘They do in America, don’t they? This could be Noah Junior.’
Kate pretended to study the photo, even though she’d known from one glance there was no resemblance. Chloe was motionless, like a sprinter in the blocks waiting for the starter’s gun.
‘I’m sorry, Chlo, but he looks nothing like him.’
‘Are you sure? Take another look.’
Kate closed the laptop and placed it carefully on the coffee table. ‘I know it’s not what you want to hear, sweetheart, but the fact is Noah could be anywhere in America. He could still be backpacking around the world for all I know.’
‘Why didn’t you think to get his contact details so you could keep in touch?’ Chloe wailed.
‘I’m sorry. And if I could turn back the clock… ‘ Kate stared at her hands, which still smelt faintly of the white vinegar solution they used to clean the cutlery at work. ‘But I can’t. Like it or not, it’s you and me, Chloe. Isn’t that enough?’
‘It used to be, Mum,’ she mumbled, so quietly Kate had to bend her head to hear. ‘But I’m not sure it is any more.’
Chapter Thirty-Four
CHLOE
Chloe stood outside Patrick’s office and knocked.
‘Come in,’ he called.
Steeling herself, she pushed the door open. Patrick was sitting in his black leather office chair with his hands clasped behind his head. On the desk was a silver fountain pen, an unopened pad of paper and an old-fashioned blotter that looked like a seesaw in a children’s playground.
‘Kaz said you wanted to talk to me,’ Chloe said, playing with the straps of her apron.
Patrick jumped to his feet, darted around the desk and pulled out a chair. ‘I did,’ he said jovially. ‘Please - sit down. There’s something I wanted to discuss.’
Chloe did as she was told, perching on the edge of the low-slung seat, designed, no doubt, to give anyone visiting the office a height disadvantage.
‘Coffee?’ he asked, popping a pod in the Nespresso machine on the antique walnut sideboard before she had a chance to answer. ‘No sugars, I’m guessing,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘You’re sweet enough as it is.’
Chloe mimed a gagging action then stuck her tongue out behind his back. As he busied himself with mugs and milk, she wondered why he’d summoned her. Kaz had found her in the kitchen where she’d been helping Pete prep the individual sticky toffee puddings for that afternoon’s wedding breakfast.
‘Patrick wants to see you in his office, Chloe. Something about the rota for the next quarter?’ she’d said.
‘Are you sure he didn’t mean Mum?’ Chloe said, bemused.
‘He definitely asked for you,’ Kaz had said.
Pete had taken the tray of puddings from her and given her a reassuring smile. ‘Don’t worry. He probably wants to check whether you’ll be doing any shifts during your A-levels. You know how busy we get in May and June.’
‘Of course,’ Chloe said, her face clearing. ‘That must be it.’
Patrick was full of bonhomie as he handed her a mug of coffee and sat back down behind his desk. Perhaps today was a Henry day, Chloe thought.
‘Two things I wanted to discuss,’ he said, steepling his fingers and watching her carefully. ‘First, I fear we may have got off on the wrong foot. I get the impression you feel a little… uncomfortable around me.’
Chloe’s eyes widened. She hadn’t been expecting this. ‘Not at all. It’s my first job, and I’m a bit shy,’ she said, inwardly berating herself for not having the guts to stand up and say, Yes, you do make me feel a bit uncomfortable. In fact, you’re a total sleazeball.
‘Good, good.’ Patrick said. ‘I like my girls to enjoy working at The Willows. I wouldn’t want anyone to feel awkward.’
The silence stretched between them like a taut elastic band until Chloe could stand it no longer. ‘And the other thing?’ she asked.
‘That’s a rather more delicate matter,’ Patrick said. ‘Adam Sullivan. What do you know about him?’
‘Adam?’
‘You met him at a university open day, I believe?’ Patrick picked up his pen and twirled it in his fingers like a majorette’s baton.
Chloe nodded. ‘He was there with his son.’
‘And he latched onto your mother?’
‘Not at all, h
e just -’
‘And suddenly he’s taking her out to dinner and wooing her with expensive wines and acting like the big I Am. To be perfectly frank with you, Chloe - and I hope I can be, because I know we both have your mum’s best interests at heart - I’m worried for her. She’s led a very… sheltered life.’
‘She has?' Chloe thought about her mum backpacking across South East Asia when she was still a teenager. Spending the night on a beach in Thailand with a boy she’d just met.
‘She’s unworldly and impressionable. This Adam Sullivan has wormed his way into her affections in the blink of an eye. Yet I seem to be the only one with misgivings. Because I’m worried about her, I really am.’
‘He seems genuinely fond of her,’ Chloe began.
‘He’s a player.’ Patrick stabbed his fountain pen on the desk as if ramming home his point. ‘I can spot them a mile off.’ He pushed his chair back and gave a businesslike smile. ‘So you’ll have a word with her?’
‘A word?’
‘I doubt she’d listen to me. She’d think it was sour grapes on my part, even though I’ve known her since she was your age and my feelings for her are purely fraternal.’
Chloe almost choked on her coffee. Yeah, right.
‘I’m not sure she’d listen to me, either.’ Chloe placed her mug on Patrick’s desk, stood, smoothed her apron and made her way to the door. She turned to him and smiled sweetly. ‘But even if she did, I wouldn’t try. Adam’s lovely. He’s the best thing to happen to her for years. So why don’t you butt out of her life for once and let her be happy?’
Chloe was still seething as she walked home at the end of her shift. How dare Patrick think he had the right to dictate who her mum could and couldn’t date? He didn’t own her. It was jealousy, pure and simple.
Her phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen. Talk of the devil…
‘Chloe? Can you talk?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Thanks for sending the photo,’ Adam said. ‘I wanted to let you know that I’ve been onto Snapchat’s head office and they’ve agreed to take the picture down.’
Chloe closed her eyes. ‘Thank you.’
‘And I’ve made an application for a Right to be Forgotten. I thought I might as well fight the fire on all fronts.’
‘That’s so kind of you.’
‘It’s nothing, honestly. I’m glad I can help.’
‘Well, I really appreciate it. You’ve restored my faith in human nature.’
‘Oh dear, that sounds serious. Is something wrong?’
‘It’s Patrick being a tosser again.’ The words tumbled out before she could stop them.
‘Why, what did he do now?’
Chloe was quiet.
‘You can tell me, you know.’
The desire to confide in Adam was overwhelming, but Chloe could hardly tell him that Patrick, a man whose reputation as a sleaze preceded him, thought he was a bad ’un who was going to break her mum’s heart. Adam would, quite rightly, be furious. Best not to say anything.
‘Chloe? What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing,’ she told him. ‘Everything’s fine. I’m over-reacting as usual. He hasn’t done anything.’
Chapter Thirty-Five
CHLOE
Chloe stomped up the drive, her head tucked into her chest and her hands deep in the pockets of her coat. Her mum was right. She should have stayed well clear of The Willows and got a job at the pub instead. Patrick had some neck, slagging off Adam of all people. Adam had been brilliant, contacting Snapchat and making sure she didn’t show up on any search engines. She wasn’t naive enough to think there weren’t still photos of her circulating, but the fact that he was looking out for her made the knot of anxiety in the pit of her gut unwind itself a fraction.
A little way ahead the gravel crackled. Chloe stopped and listened, her head cocked to one side.
‘Who is it?’
Her call was answered by a low woof. Max bounded out of the dark, his tail wagging. He thrust a wet nose between her legs, and she gave his ear a playful tug.
‘Are you supposed to be out?’ It was nine o'clock, and he wasn’t usually let out for his last wee until ten.
Ignoring her, he wandered over to a hebe and cocked his leg. Chloe whistled, and he followed her, tail still wagging, to the back of the house. The security light flashed on and Chloe was surprised to see the back door wide open.
‘Mum? Grandpa?’ Chloe yelled, kicking off her loafers and shrugging out of her coat. The kitchen was empty and bitterly cold, and the air was thick with a sickly-sweet smell that Chloe recognised but couldn’t place. Her eyes fell on a bunch of Cellophane-wrapped flowers on the counter. A huge bouquet of lilies the same ivory-white as the bride’s wedding dress at The Willows that afternoon. So much for Patrick’s misgivings about Adam.
A floorboard in the hallway creaked, and her grandfather appeared in the doorway in his dressing gown and slippers.
‘Hello, favourite grandchild. How was your shift?’
‘Only grandchild,’ Chloe automatically corrected him. ‘Deadly dull. Grandpa, did you leave the back door open?’
His unruly eyebrows knotted. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘It must have been Mum. Where is she?’
‘She disappeared into the bathroom an hour ago, muttering something about clay face masks and waxing strips. I haven’t seen her since.’
Chloe giggled. ‘She does have it bad. I’m guessing the flowers are from Adam?’
‘What flowers?’
Chloe crossed the kitchen and picked them up. ‘These flowers. You can hardly miss them.’
Her grandfather frowned. ‘They weren’t here earlier.’
‘Are you sure?’
He looked round him, a baffled expression on his face. ‘I think so.’
‘Don’t worry. They were probably delivered before Mum had her bath.’ Chloe fished around for the small, square envelope half-hidden in the waxy petals, careful not to get pollen on her fingers. Bewildered to see it was addressed to her, she ripped the envelope open and skimmed the typed message inside, her eyes growing wider.
My beautiful Chloe, it said. More perfect than any flower. And then a quote. ‘I loved her against reason, against promise, against peace, against hope, against happiness, against all discouragement that could be.’
Anger swept through her, her fingers itching to hurl the flowers into the bin and tear the envelope and its contents into a hundred tiny pieces. But, aware her grandfather was watching, she left the bouquet on the counter and slipped the card and envelope into the pocket of her work trousers.
She forced a smile. ‘Just as I thought. They’re from Adam. Mum’ll be blown away.’
‘He does seem as keen as mustard,’ her grandfather agreed. He held up a mug. ‘Bournvita?’
‘No thanks, Grandpa. I’m going to head up. I’m shattered.’
It wasn’t until she was safely in her room with the door closed, that Chloe let out a howl of frustration. Bloody Ben and his bloody lilies! When would it sink into his thick skull that she didn’t want to go out with him? But the more she said no, the more he chased her. And now this. It was beyond belief.
She reread the quote. She was sure she recognised it. It tugged at her memory, like a lyric from a long-forgotten song. She typed it into the search engine on her phone. Of course. It was from Great Expectations. Pip, talking about the beautiful Estella. The book had been one of the texts for her English Lit GCSE, and she’d used the quote in an essay on unrequited love in the exam. Ben must have studied the book, too.
Without considering the consequences, she found his number and called him.
‘Ben, this has to stop. Now.’
‘Chloe? What are you talking about?’
‘The lilies, Ben. Why are you sending me flowers when you know I don’t want to go out with you? It’s creepy, and it’s wrong, and I don’t want you to do it ever again.’
‘But I didn’t -’
‘D
on’t lie, Ben. I’m not stupid. First, you spy on me, then, as if that wasn’t bad enough, you send a picture of me to all my friends, and then you send me a bunch of bloody lilies. I’m not having it.’
‘Chlo,’ he began.
Chloe’s voice rose. ‘Don’t “Chlo” me, Ben Sullivan. Because of you, I’ve messed up my mocks, I’m a laughing stock at school, and I’ve had a shitty day at work with Patrick up to his usual tricks. The last thing I need is more hassle. So take a hint and piss off. Otherwise, I’ll call the police and have you arrested for stalking, all right? Take the hint and leave me alone!’
She ended the call, slammed the phone on her desk and massaged her throbbing temples. A knock at the door made her start.
‘Chloe?’ said her mum. ‘Can I come in?’
‘I guess.’
Her mum padded in, bringing with her a waft of cocoa butter body lotion with faint undertones of Veet. ‘I thought I heard raised voices. Everything all right?’
‘Fine.’
‘So, who were you talking to?’
‘Annie.’ The lie tripped off her tongue. ‘She wanted to check when our history essay needed to be in.’
‘At half-past nine on a Saturday night? She's keen.’
Chloe shrugged.
‘How was work?’
‘Boring.’
Her mum sighed. ‘Well, as long as you’re all right, I’ll leave you in peace. Night night.’
‘Did you know some more flowers have been delivered?’ Chloe asked as her mum was halfway out of the door.
She shook her head. ‘Grandpa must have taken them in while I was in the bath.’
‘He said he didn’t. And the back door was wide open when I arrived home.’ Chloe fiddled with the seam of her duvet. ‘Have you noticed how he keeps forgetting things lately?’
‘Don’t be fooled by the wily old fox. Your grandfather has a selective memory, same as his selective hearing. It’s funny that he never misses an episode of Eggheads but can’t remember which day is bin day. Were they for me?’