A Place To Call Home (Willowbury)

by Fay Keenan

  ‘He’s good,’ Rachel said as she, too, seemed glued to the screen.

  The custom was for other members of the house to interject, and for the keynote speaker to ‘give way’, and, sure enough, a few minutes into his speech, Charlie did just that for others to offer their perspectives and opinions. Charlie remained on his feet during these, and Holly found herself examining his expressions closely, watching every blink and frown as colleagues from both sides of the House spoke. Sometimes it was a brief, supportive point that was made, but sometimes they were more involved and intricate, and Holly began to realise that there was a real skill in both remembering your own arguments and responding coherently to others’ points on the floor, all under the twin gazes of the television cameras and the Speaker himself, who, Holly thought, seemed like the head teacher of a particularly rowdy school, and who had to keep order among the students.

  As another of his colleagues gave way, Charlie continued with his speech. Holly knew he was roughly two thirds of the way through, and she found herself muttering along with him, willing him to the finish line. Just as he was nearing the closing paragraphs, a member from the opposite bench, seated a couple of rows behind Charlie, rose to his feet.

  ‘Will you give way?’ the Speaker asked.

  Charlie glanced behind him in the direction of the new potential speaker, and for a moment there was a look in indecision on his face. ‘I will,’ he said, eventually, after a pause.

  ‘I am grateful to my honourable colleague for giving way.’ The voice, obsequious in tone, rang around the chamber with just a little undertone of sarcasm. ‘I would ask, at this point, if the Honourable Member for Willowbury and Stavenham is at all concerned that the adverse publicity generated by his own actions in this case might affect the government’s willingness to push forward with negotiations with the drug companies. After all, as a result of adverse media coverage of his very close association with one of the key figures in the campaign, it was very nearly derailed. Does he not feel as though his very presence in this debate will do more harm than good?’

  There was a collective intake of breath from the Willowbury pub crowd, before a boo went up from the back of the bar.

  ‘Below the belt,’ Mike muttered as he topped up a pint of Guinness for a regular.

  Charlie took a moment to compose himself. ‘I am surprised by the Honourable Member’s point, to be honest,’ he began. ‘Given that the issue we are discussing is of such importance and any adverse news reporting is entirely peripheral. As I was saying…’ And he picked back up with the last quarter of his speech.

  ‘Well played,’ came a call from the back of the pub.

  Holly breathed out again. As Charlie finished his speech and, at last, seated himself back on the green bench, Holly saw a tissue being thrust into her hand. It was only then she realised she was crying.

  54

  It was around six thirty by the time Charlie stepped off the train at Willowbury. All the way back from London, he’d been reliving the two hours of the debate, which had been the most exhilarating and terrifying two hours of his life. The sheer adrenaline rush of presenting the information, and then thinking on his feet, had kept him buzzing long after he exited the chamber, picked up his paperwork and decided, on impulse, to head back to Willowbury for the night. It would mean an early train back in the morning, but he didn’t care; he wasn’t sure he’d end up sleeping, anyway, he was so wired. And, in truth, there was only one place he wanted to be tonight, and one person he wanted to see.

  As he approached the High Street, the sound of revelry from The Travellers’ Rest was drifting on the early-evening air, which was humid, although admittedly fresher than London. Drawing closer, he saw Jack Winter sitting out on one of the picnic benches in the front of the pub, who waved at him and then raised his glass with his other hand.

  ‘Ah,’ he said, when Charlie was in speaking distance ‘here’s the man of the hour. Well done.’

  Charlie grinned, still high on adrenaline. ‘Thanks. I did my best.’

  ‘Virtually the whole town watched it in the pub,’ Jack continued. ‘And it seemed only right to carry on the party after you’d finished.’

  Charlie glanced inside the open door of the pub and saw that the bar was still pretty packed. ‘Is, er, Holly in there?’ he asked.

  Jack grinned. ‘Somewhere.’

  Feeling a most unaccustomed flutter of butterflies in his stomach, which, he considered, was ridiculous after leading the Adjournment Debate today, Charlie took a deep breath and headed into the pub.

  A cheer went up as he crossed the threshold, and a pint of Carter’s Gold was thrust into his hand in moments. He took a sip quickly, as his mouth had gone suddenly dry as he caught sight of Holly standing with Rachel at the bar. She was waiting for another drink, her long red hair distinctive in the crowd of punters that thronged around the pub. Negotiating his way carefully towards her, pint in hand, his knees started to tremble more violently than they had in the chamber. Winning Holly’s stamp of approval was even more important now than ever before.

  As he drew nearer, she turned in his direction, and, visibly surprised he should appear so swiftly in the pub, having only been on screen a few hours ago, she put her glass back down on the bar.

  ‘Hey,’ she said softly as he drew a little closer to her. The crowd parted slightly to let him through, and Charlie noticed quite a few glances in their direction.

  ‘Hey,’ he replied. The pause, the long list of things not yet spoken, hung in the air between them. It was as if both were just trying to reconnect to the reality of being in the same room after an emotionally charged day.

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’ Rachel, relaxed after a few glasses of wine, butted in between them and gave Charlie a huge hug. ‘She’s obviously incapable of speech, or starstruck or something, but I’m not. Well done. You did brilliantly.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Charlie said, glancing from Holly, who was still quiet, to Rachel. ‘That means a lot to me from you, of all people. I hope I’ve done something that will, actually, help this time.’

  ‘Whatever happens over the next few weeks, you can be sure you’ve done your best,’ Rachel replied. She glanced at her watch. ‘I’d better get going, now you’ve come to walk my sister home – Mum and Dad picked up Harry from nursery so I could stay a bit longer and celebrate, but much as I’ve enjoyed it, I wouldn’t wish Harry’s bedtime routine on them.’

  ‘Is it complicated?’ Charlie asked, imagining a rigmarole of drugs and inhalers.

  Rachel laughed. ‘The medications are the least of my worries! It’s wrestling him into bed that’s the problem – he gets a second wind at about six thirty.’

  Charlie joined in the laughter. ‘I’ll have to come and help out sometime.’

  ‘I think he’d like that.’ Rachel turned to Holly, ‘I’m just going to pop to the loo. Can you keep an eye on my bag?’

  ‘Sure,’ Holly replied as Rachel wandered off.

  Turning his attention back to Holly, Charlie’s heart flipped again. ‘Was it OK?’ he asked, feeling like a teenager seeking approval.

  Holly shook her head. ‘No. It wasn’t.’

  ‘Wh-what?’ Charlie’s stomach turned. He thought he’d done the very best he could; seemingly, that wasn’t good enough. Then, as Holly smiled and put her arms around him, his knees went weak.

  ‘It was bloody brilliant,’ she whispered. ‘I know you couldn’t have done any better. And there’s no one else I’d rather have speaking for Harry.’

  Charlie tightened his embrace and buried his head momentarily in Holly’s shoulder, feeling again like he was going to lose the battle against tears. ‘Thank you,’ he murmured gruffly. Holding Holly in his arms, knowing he had her seal of approval, was worth all the votes in his majority.

  They were both distracted a moment later by the ping of the email notification on his phone.

  ‘Excuse me a minute?’ he said, releasing Holly. ‘I think I have to look at this.’ />
  ‘Probably the PM offering personal congratulations!’ Holly teased. ‘And a Cabinet job?’

  Charlie shook his head. ‘That stuff tends to happen by letter, still, I’m afraid.’ He swiped his phone, and, a moment later, he felt his knees going weak again. ‘Oh my God…’ he murmured. Blinking, he reread the text on the screen.

  ‘What is it?’ Holly’s face, so recently euphoric, paled. ‘Is something wrong?’

  ‘No, not at all,’ Charlie said guardedly. He read it again. ‘In fact, I don’t think it could be better if we tried.’

  ‘Tell me!’ Holly grabbed his arm.

  Charlie looked up from the screen, and he could feel the schoolboyish, beyond-happy grin that Holly had so often evoked in him spreading across his face.

  ‘Cora Mellish, the Secretary of State for Health and Social Care has just emailed me. As a result of the Adjournment Debate, and the passion of the campaigners on College Green over the past few weeks, the pharmaceutical company has been in contact with a better, more viable counter-offer for the pricing of the CF drugs.’ He paused, unsure if the middle of the pub was the best place to announce such news, since it wouldn’t be going public for a week or two.

  ‘And?’ Holly prompted him. ‘Is the offer an acceptable one?’

  Charlie exhaled. ‘Cora seems to think so. They’re going to get around the table next Wednesday and hammer out a contract.’

  ‘Wow…’ Holly put a hand to her mouth, and then she turned back to Rachel, who’d come to collect her bag before heading off. ‘We did it, sis. The three of us. We did it.’ Quickly she filled Rachel in on the details of the text from Cora Mellish.

  Rachel, clearly unable to speak, nodded. As she did so, the tears fell. Charlie, who’d had such a tense day himself, felt near to the edge as well. He watched as Holly turned and enveloped her sister in a warm, tearful hug.

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ Rachel said once Holly had released her. ‘This is the best, best news.’

  ‘Cora also says that, subject to contract, it’s going to be rushed through over the summer recess, if she can swing it, which means the first tranche of medications should reach patients by September.’

  Rachel shook her head. ‘That’s amazing. It’s going to make such a difference, Charlie. I can’t think you enough.’ She started. ‘Can I tell Mum and Dad?’

  ‘Of course, but try not to put it on Twitter until it’s officially public.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Rachel said. ‘I’d better go.’

  Charlie smiled a little shakily. ‘I’m so glad I could help.’ Then, he was nearly knocked sideways as Holly careered into him, wrapping her arms around him again so tightly he gasped for a breath he wasn’t sure he could draw without breaking down and crying himself. When she released him, she drew back so she could look into his eyes.

  ‘You once told me that in order to make a difference, you had to have the support and backup of the donors and those with the economic power. That whatever I did was fine, but it didn’t really make a difference.’ She paused, and he felt as though she was looking into his soul with her unnerving, direct gaze. ‘Do you still believe that?’

  Charlie brushed a teardrop from Holly’s lower lashes. ‘We did this together,’ he said softly. ‘And that’s the way I always want to do things.’ He glanced around him at the punters in the pub, who, drawn by the drama unfolding in front of them, were all gazing in their direction, holding their drinks. Suddenly, he knew exactly what he wanted to do. There was a small voice telling him that it was too soon, that there was no way Holly would respond in the way he wanted, but a far bigger one was shouting at him to seize the day. If getting to know Holly, Rachel and Harry had taught him anything over the past couple of months, it was that he needed to seize the day: to make each one count.

  ‘You once told me you could never imagine being a politician’s wife,’ he said carefully. ‘That it would be too much, having to hold your tongue and toe the party line.’

  ‘Yes, I remember saying that,’ Holly replied wryly. ‘But then I say a lot of things.’

  ‘So, if I asked you, now, in front of all of these good people of Willowbury, to reconsider that opinion, and instead of holding your tongue, to give me your uncensored opinion on all things, do you think you might see your way to becoming a politician’s wife after all?’

  ‘Well,’ Holly replied, a teasing note in her voice. ‘That depends…’

  ‘On what?’ Charlie’s heart thumped.

  ‘I’m not really that keen on the name tag,’ she said. ‘So instead of me being a politician’s wife, perhaps you could see fit to be a shopkeeper’s husband instead. What do you say?’

  Charlie laughed in relief. ‘I would say yes, yes and all things yes.’ He dipped his head and kissed her. ‘So long as the wedding ceremony is right here in Willowbury. I wouldn’t want to be accused of taking you away from your roots and principles.’

  Holly cocked an eyebrow. ‘Are you sure? Weddings in Willowbury tend to be a little… alternative.’

  ‘I wouldn’t want it any other way,’ Charlie said. And the deal was sealed with a long, sweet kiss, and a cheer from the residents of the weirdest and wackiest town in Somerset.

  Epilogue

  Midsummer’s Day – A Year Later

  The day could not have been planned any more perfectly, Holly reflected as she smoothed down the skirt of her ivory lace dress. The flower wreath in her hair, created for her by the florist on the High Street, was, for the moment, sitting nicely in her freshly curled dark red tresses. Eschewing any thoughts of a veil, the only other adornment to the dress was a long string of pearls, which trailed down the deep V of the dress’s back and were casually knotted to carry the weight. Despite her mother’s slight stiffening of her lip when she’d tried the dress on, one delicate wing of Holly’s shoulder tattoo peeked out as usual.

  ‘Are you ready?’ Rachel called from the other bedroom. ‘We’ll have to go in a minute.’

  ‘Yup, just finishing off,’ Holly replied, adjusting the stem of one of the early roses that sat in the wreath on top of her head.

  Rachel appeared at the door of the bedroom, slightly flushed from having to wrestle the now four-year-old Harry into his shirt and trousers. An increasing bundle of energy as he grew older, in part due to the course of new medication that had made a huge difference to his life, he was turning out to be as wilful as his aunt Holly, and had expressed his opinion loudly on the choice and colour of his clothes.

  ‘You look amazing,’ Rachel sighed as she caught full sight of Holly.

  ‘It’s incredible what you can find second-hand on Gumtree!’ Holly quipped. ‘And you look pretty cool, too, Harry.’

  Harry, who was still to be convinced over the bright purple trousers and white shirt he was wearing, giggled. ‘Mummy says I can put my shorts on after the wedding.’

  ‘Of course you can,’ Holly replied. ‘As long as you don’t forget to give me back my flower bouquet at the end of the ceremony.’ Holly hadn’t chosen any bridesmaids, so Harry was going to be official holder of flowers while the service was carried out.

  At that moment, her phone pinged. Swiping the screen, she smiled. ‘Charlie’s arrived at the Priory.’

  ‘You’d better get going, then.’ Rachel hugged her sister but carefully enough so as not to dislodge the flowers in their hair.

  They stepped out onto Willowbury High Street and were greeted by the sight of rows and rows of fabric bunting, which stretched from one shop front to the next, all the way to the Priory. With, Holly noted wryly, Fairbrothers Bakery being the dishonourable exception. Miles had shut up shop, claiming that he was off on holiday for the week. Holly didn’t believe in coincidence, but she let it lie. She’d found a far better baker for her wedding cake anyway.

  ‘I’m glad you insisted on sensible wedding shoes,’ Rachel said as she took her sister’s arm and began to wander up the street. As they passed the shop fronts, waves went up from those who were staying open during the
wedding and joining them in the Priory gardens later. Holly’s parents were also meeting them at the ruins, and as they reached the Priory, Holly could see her father, looking as pleased as punch to be accompanying his daughter on her wedding day.

  ‘Are you ready?’ he asked softly as she reached his side.

  ‘Absolutely,’ Holly replied. She took his arm, and Rachel followed behind as they took a stroll towards the ruined nave, where their guests were waiting for them. At the end of the nave stood Charlie, conventional in a morning suit but wearing a substantial buttonhole of spring flowers.

  ‘This may not be legally binding, but it certainly feels special,’ Holly murmured to him as she reached the nave. She drew a quick breath as she saw up close just how gorgeous Charlie looked in his morning suit, the purple waistcoat a vibrant splash of colour, and a perfect match for Harry’s trousers. They’d had a quieter ceremony in the chapel at Westminster last week, with just their parents in attendance. This blessing in the grounds of the Priory was less formal, but meant just as much to them both, taking place, as it was, in the heart of the town they’d both come to love. As Holly handed her small bouquet of freesias to Harry, who scuttled off back to the chair Rachel had saved for him next to her and his grandmother, Holly once again marvelled at the change in the little boy. His ‘off’ days were substantially fewer since he’d been on the new medication, and the hope that he could now live a longer, more healthy life filled her with gratitude and joy every time she looked at him.

  Mariad O’Flaherty, the reader and cleaner of auras, also doubled as a priestess in her downtime, and, resplendent in the robes of her Pagan office, she drew Holly and Charlie closer together on the bridge of the Priory nave. ‘I bring you together in the grounds of this sacred space, sacred not just to Christians but to all faiths and followers, to bless your marriage and sanctify it in the eyes of those you love and care for.’ Mariad smiled around at the assembled guests, and then took Holly and Charlie’s left hands. Binding them together with a long, silken scarf, she whispered, ‘Your turn.’