‘The someone I want is sitting right in front of me. Please, Evie, don’t walk away from me. From us and what we could be. Not again.’
‘Listen to me, Dan, please. Coming back to New York, moving on from Olivia, from all the things that were holding me back – you said it to me the other night – it’s like someone opened a window and let in the light. I can see again. I can see where I want to be and, more importantly, who I want to be. But I’m not going to get it right all the time. I’m going to make mistakes and I want to make them in private, not with the world watching. Do you understand?’
He nodded. ‘I do. Take it from someone who’s made plenty of public mistakes, from bad movies to bad relationships. I can understand you not wanting to share that with the world. I just wish you wanted to share them with me.’
‘I feel like I’m just getting a second chance to have a life,’ I said, going over to where he was standing. I touched his arm, but he pulled away. ‘The kids don’t need me. I’m free to make some big changes. I will undoubtedly fuck things up from time to time and I need to be able to do that without fear of it ending up on the Internet or in the papers. I want the freedom to figure out what it is I’m going to do with the rest of my life.’
‘And being part of my life would mean you couldn’t do that.’ It wasn’t a question; it was a statement.
‘I’m sorry, Daniel, it’s just shitty timing.’
‘And here I was thinking that you were coming here to tell me that you understood and that you wanted a future with me.’
‘Dan, I don’t even know what that future would look like,’ I said honestly. ‘Me following you around from location to location, with no life of my own?’
‘You make it sound like a prison.’
‘I think that’s how it would feel to me. A beautiful, gilded cage but a cage nonetheless.’
He took my hands in his, interlinking his fingers with mine. ‘We seemed to fit so well together, I never thought for a second that we would be having this conversation. I knew what I wanted from the minute you clattered into that coffee shop in that ludicrous red bobble hat.’
‘I like that hat,’ I said, resting my head on his shoulder. He kissed my hair.
‘I know you do and quite rightly so. It’s a real showstopper.’
We stood in silence for a few minutes, my head still on Daniel’s shoulder and his hand entwined with mine.
‘What if I told you that I would quit, give it all up? No more movies, no more plays. The press could move on to their next victim and leave us alone to live our lives together.’
I looked up into his beautiful face; his eyes were shining with unshed tears. ‘It wouldn’t work, Dan. Maybe you’d be happy for a while but eventually you’d resent me. I couldn’t bear that. I would never ask you to give up something you care about so much.’
‘That’s what you’re doing right now. You’re asking me to give you up. How can I do that? I don’t want to do that.’
‘Dan, please, don’t… I…’
‘Is this about Tom?’
The question surprised me. ‘No, this is about not wanting to live my life under a microscope.’
‘I know that’s what you’re saying but I wonder if you’re just trying to let me down gently.’
Was I? I had a sudden flashback to the old couple in the diner I’d just seen; still so in love after all those years, still sitting side by side and sharing a joke that only they knew. They had made me think of me and Tom, not me and Daniel. I knew that had to mean something.
Daniel watched me closely. ‘Tell me the truth, Evie, you owe me that much.’
‘The truth is I don’t know. I know that I’ve been thinking about him a lot, hearing his voice more clearly than I had done in the months before I came here. I’d started to feel like I was losing him a bit but for some reason that’s all changed.’ I was crying now. Daniel reached up and brushed away a tear from my cheek. He gave me a gentle smile.
‘I can probably do something about the press, but I can’t compete with a dead man.’
‘Dan, I’m so sorry… I…’
‘It’s okay, I know you don’t have the same feelings for me and it’s fine. I’m totally okay with that. Well, maybe not totally okay but I’ll get there. The problem is I just never got over you, that’s all. You were lucky – you found Tom and you had children. You built a life and you moved on. I never did.’
‘Don’t say that. It makes me sad.’
‘Hey, come on, don’t feel too bad for me. I’ve got a pretty good life. I get to do a job I love and get paid staggeringly large amounts of money to do it. I’ll be fine.’
I looked up into his face and his eyes locked onto mine; I wanted to kiss him so badly. Would it be so wrong to have one last kiss? I moved ever so slightly closer, but he stopped me.
‘Don’t,’ he said. ‘Don’t give me hope – that would destroy me. I won’t be able to stand it if you give me hope. Tell me you don’t care about me or want me and then I can let you go. Once and for all.’ He couldn’t look at me and I knew it was time for me to say goodbye. I made my way to the door.
‘Promise me one thing,’ he said.
‘Anything.’
‘Go and live a big life, Evie. If you’re letting go of the dream of what we could have been together, for the chance to live a new life, then make it the best possible life you can. That way I’ll know that this pain I’m feeling now will have been worth it.’
I opened the door and then turned back to say goodbye, but he’d gone. I heard the quiet click of the bedroom door as he closed it behind him. This was the part in our romance movie where half the audience was screaming, ‘No! What are you doing? Don’t leave him, you silly cow!’ but I’ve never believed in real life happy endings.
Twenty-Five
Walthamstow Village, London, December 2018
‘I just think that we all need to be contributing equally, that’s all.’
The murmurs of discontent rippled through the room and I sighed. This was hopeless. I’d agreed to organise the committee for the Christmas Eve Festival as a way of getting to know my fellow retailers better. I’d quickly realised why no one had opposed my appointment to Chairperson – organising the festival had been a bloody nightmare. We were just over a week away from it and the members were still arguing over things that it was too late to do anything about. The reason for this latest outcry was down to the perceived unfairness of some shop owner’s contributions to the festival fund.
‘We have the same bloody argument every year,’ said Trevor, owner of Adams and Son, the organic butchers. ‘We all benefit from the festival, so we should all contribute. No matter what size your shop is.’
‘But my little clothing shop doesn’t make nearly as much as your butcher’s, Trev. Especially this time of year. And you know it.’ Mrs Porter folded her arms across her ample, kaftan covered bosom.
Trevor threw up his hands in frustration. ‘Bloody hell.’
‘All right, everyone, let’s all just calm down. I’m sure we can come up with a solution that’s fair to everyone. Although it must be said, Mrs Porter, that it feels a little late in the day to start quibbling.’
‘Well, I just wanted my feelings to be heard. That’s all.’
‘Duly noted,’ said Trevor. I wanted to reach across my dining table and brain him with my notebook. When I’d spoken to him in his shop earlier, he’d promised me he wouldn’t antagonise Mrs Porter.
‘You know how she gets, Trevor. Just let me handle it.’
Trevor had handed me my receipt for the turkey I’d just ordered. I had a tribe to feed over Christmas and I needed supplies.
‘She’s an irritating old bag. Always pleading poverty when we all know she’s got more cash than all of us.’
This was true, Mrs Porter came from money and always took great pains to let everyone know she only ran her vintage clothes shop as a hobby. ‘My husband likes me to keep busy,’ she’d told me on the first day I met her. ‘And
I love being surrounded by pretty things.’
Despite the stress of organising the Walthamstow Village Retailers Association Christmas Eve Festival – bit of a mouthful, I know – I loved being part of this community. Walthamstow Village was one of London’s urban villages. Hidden away from the hustle and bustle of the East End, the village was home to a collection of independent shops and restaurants, great bars and a beautiful church believed to have been founded in the twelfth century. The second-hand bookshop I now owned had been in the village for the better part of forty years but had only had one previous owner. I’d stumbled on it when Rachel and I had come to the village for lunch. It was January, and after my disastrous New York trip, I’d been hiding away from the world, planning my next move. When I found the bookshop, it seemed like a sign from the universe. It had looked as if it had been closed up for a while, but it had still been packed full of books. I’d pressed my nose eagerly up against the glass.
‘Look, Rach. It’s amazing. I wonder if it’s for sale as a going concern. I’d love to own all those books. Just look.’
Rachel had peered through the grimy glass. ‘Why would you want to buy it?’
‘Why not? It’s beautiful.’
Rachel had wrinkled her nose in disgust. ‘Really?’
I’d called the estate agents’ number there and then and booked a viewing before she could talk me out of it. The bookshop had come with a deceptively large flat above it; it had three good sized bedrooms and an open plan kitchen and living space. It was dated and had needed work, but I had been excited by the idea of owning it. When I’d told the kids I was selling the old house so I could buy a bookshop and a flat, they’d been convinced I was having some kind of breakdown.
‘This is because of all that business with Olivia and Daniel Roberts, isn’t it?’ Sam had said. The three of us had been sitting at the kitchen table, not long after I’d returned from New York, and I’d been outlining my plan to them. I’d told them everything about Olivia’s disappearance and all the other stuff that had happened between Daniel and me.
‘Of course it’s not,’ I’d said. ‘This house is just too big for me on my own. I’ve been saying that to you for ages.’
‘It’s true, Sam, she has,’ Grace had said.
‘Thank you,’ I’d said, relieved to have someone on my side.
‘But why Walthamstow Village?’
‘I’ve found my dream home and job, all in one place. It’s perfect. I get to be part of something, a community.’
It had taken some number crunching but thankfully the sale of my old house had been quick; now here I was, barely two weeks away from my first Christmas in my new home.
*
I gave up trying to get the festival committee to agree on anything around the same time that Mr Nelson, from the pub by the church, suggested that Santa’s grotto could use a few more scantily clad ‘elves’ to help out. The fact that Mr Nelson was down to be this year’s Santa was obviously just a coincidence. He’d run the pub since the seventies and his attitudes towards women was still stuck in that decade.
I’d had enough by this point, so I ushered the dozen or so members out of my flat and closed the door behind them. The peace and quiet that descended was positively blissful. This was my home and I loved every untidy inch of it. Between running the shop, organising the festival and trying to finish writing my first novel, I didn’t have time to fit in regular housework. Looking around the flat now, though, I realised I would have to get around to tidying up before my guests arrived for Christmas. Everyone was coming; I wanted this Christmas to be perfect.
*
‘Are you sure you’ve got room for all of us?’ Sam had sounded concerned when I’d called him a month or so before to talk about my Christmas plans.
‘Of course I’ve got room. It’ll be fine.’
‘Where’s everyone going to sleep? The flat only has two extra bedrooms, doesn’t it?’
‘That’s plenty. The front room’s pretty big so Grace can have the sofa. Aunty Kate can sleep with me, you and Natasha can have one spare room and Rachel and Sean will have the other. All sorted, no problems.’
‘When has everyone said they’re getting there?’
‘Rachel and Sean aren’t coming until Christmas Eve. Apparently Sean is working up until then.’
‘He’s still working? I’m amazed,’ said Sam.
‘Me too, but Rachel said that ever since her and Martin decided to call it a day, Sean has stepped into the role of man of the house. He works double shifts, gives her money for his keep and he’s saved up and bought himself a car. He’s a changed boy.’
‘Good for him,’ said Sam.
‘Kate’s coming a week or so before Christmas. Now she’s freelance, she said she can work anywhere so she might as well. Grace is spending a few days with some friends once term finishes and then coming here. She says the twenty-third but you know your sister. We’ll have to wait and see. That just leaves you and Natasha. What are you planning to do?’
‘We’ll probably come down on the twenty-first, stopping at Nat’s parents’ on the way and then getting to you on the twenty-second.’
‘Lovely. I can’t wait to see you both. I’m so looking forward to everyone being together this Christmas. All under one roof. Not like last year,’ I said. I wanted this year to wipe out those memories, most of them anyway. In my quiet moments, I still indulged in the memory of the night I’d had with Daniel. Probably not very healthy but what could I do? Just forget the best sex of my life?
‘How’s everything going with the shop? Have you hired anyone to help you yet?’
‘Not yet. There’s no rush. I can manage it on my own most of the time.’
‘But that doesn’t leave you much time to write, does it?’
‘I’m writing plenty, don’t worry about me.’ As always, I wondered if what I was doing now could be described as the ‘big life’ that Daniel had told me to go out and find. I’d been in here for a few months now and I’d made new friends and tried new things. Most of the time I was happy but there were moments, usually late at night when I was completely alone, and the rest of the world was asleep, that I felt as if something was still missing.
‘We’ll see you on the twenty-second then, Mum.’
‘I can’t wait to see you, Sam. I love you.’
‘Yeah, love you too.’
*
After I’d managed to get rid of the Festival committee that night, I’d made myself a cup of tea and stood looking out of the window, onto the street below. It had been raining, and the streetlamps glittered in the puddles on the pavement. I liked looking out of this window; the view wasn’t exactly picturesque, but I liked it. Whenever I was struggling to write, and that happened pretty often, I’d make myself a cuppa and stand looking out at the view. I wasn’t sure why, but it gave me a sense of peace; something I’d struggled to find of late. I knew I wasn’t going to be able to write anything, not tonight. I was too distracted; I hadn’t been sleeping well either. I kept being disturbed by dreams of Olivia, asking me why I’d abandoned her. On some nights, Olivia would be replaced by Daniel in my dream, asking me why I’d left him in so much pain. I would wake up gasping for air, with my heart racing. I’d been through a lot of changes in a short space of time; I told myself it was natural to feel unsettled. The wind had picked up whilst I’d been gazing, unseeing, out of the window, and the soggy sleet that had been falling for the last few days appeared to have suddenly morphed into snow. Time to fill up the hot water bottle. The only thing that I had to keep me warm in bed these days. Don’t get me wrong, I was happy. I liked the life I’d started to build for myself, but I still felt unsettled sometimes. Maybe it was just the impending silly season? I had to admit, with Christmas on its way, with the shops full of decorations and the sound of Christmas carols, I kept remembering last year; I couldn’t look at a Christmas tree without thinking back to the one that Daniel had shown me that night in the Metropolitan Museum. And the enormous
balsam fir that Kate and I had dragged back from Nate’s makeshift corner lot. That tree had been left behind to shed its needles unnoticed and uncared for.
Things had happened quickly after Kate had quit her job and I’d left Daniel. I didn’t feel comfortable in New York; I was paranoid that someone might recognise me from the photos in the newspaper, so I didn’t go out. When they tracked me down to Kate’s apartment and set up camp outside, I knew it was time to go home. Kate had put in another desperate call to the mysterious Marty, travel agent extraordinaire, and blown a ton of money on two First Class flights to London. We’d spent Christmas Day together at my house, eating toast and cereal and watching movies.
*
‘I still can’t believe you had a night of passion with Daniel Roberts, movie star. I mean, look at him, that face, that body!’ Kate was sprawled on my sofa clutching the TV remote and refusing to change the channel. There was a rerun of one of Daniel’s movies on and Kate had insisted we watch it. It was late evening on Christmas Day and we hadn’t even bothered to get dressed. We’d been this way pretty much ever since we’d returned from New York. We were like two weird old hermits, but we didn’t care. We did our food shopping on line – in fact we saw more of the Ocado delivery man than we did anyone else – and we stayed home and talked and watched movies. That was when I’d started writing my novel – a romance, of all things. I didn’t let the fact that my own romantic life had been a disaster deter me – I wanted to write a story with a happy ending, perhaps to compensate for not getting one myself.
‘Can we please turn this off?’ I begged. I couldn’t believe she was being so insensitive.
‘Nope. It’s like immersion therapy. You have to surround yourself with it and then it will cease to have any effect on you.’
‘Oh, do fuck off,’ I said, lunging across the sofa and grabbing the remote before she could stop me. I changed channels, Daniel’s face disappeared and was replaced by Nigella Lawson with her hand up a turkey. ‘Much better.’
City of Second Chances Page 30
