poking and prodding that bothered me, rather the enforced idleness – the best part of an hour
to be spent doing nothing, vulnerable to every stray thought that might choose to attack me.
But they must have been potent essential oils they were spraying into that room, because the
time rushed by, and far from having unpleasant thoughts, I couldn’t remember having any
thoughts at all. My mind was a total blank, and I felt more relaxed than I had done for months.
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I’d already filled in the next two vouchers, and decided this was definitely the best use of them
so far.
BE KIND TO YOURSELF
VOUCHER FOUR
I, Eve Roberts, have been kind to myself by having a facial and massage!
BE KIND TO YOURSELF
VOUCHER FIVE
I, Eve Roberts, have been kind to myself by taking afternoon tea with Gran Gran!
I was soon brought back down to earth by Gran.
‘Your face is shining like the moon,’ she said, as I wandered back into the reception
area to collect her. ‘You should have brought some powder.’ She stood up and patted my arm.
‘You needed that. The frown line between your eyebrows isn’t as obvious. I’m glad. Shall we
go for tea now? I’m peckish.’
Afternoon tea was being served in a lavish dining room, decorated in rich creams and
beiges and exuding the same air of quiet refinement as the rest of the hotel. It was a far cry
from the package holiday hotels I had occasionally stayed in with Caitlyn, where the furniture
had shown the scuffs of generations of rampaging children, and the dining room was more like
the school canteen than a fine restaurant. I wondered who would choose to stay in a place like
this – and who could afford it.
‘Those with more money than sense,’ Gran remarked, when I repeated the question out
loud. ‘All you need are clean sheets and a decent breakfast, not all this malarkey. White linen!’
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she said, scrunching the pristine tablecloth between her gnarled fingers. ‘I wouldn’t want to be
responsible for the laundry bill round here.’
She had equally scathing remarks to make about the pale carpet and the silk fabric on
the chairs, but she didn’t fool me. She was loving every second of it – that was obvious from
the sparkle in her eyes and the way her head twisted round in every direction so she could take
in every detail. The story of this afternoon was going to keep her in conversation for weeks at
The Chestnuts, and I was delighted that we’d decided to come.
My delight was short-lived. As Gran was exclaiming over the velouté – ‘why can’t they
call it cup-a-soup instead of a fancy foreign name?’ – my heart sank as some new guests were
ushered to a table only a few metres away from ours. I recognised Jo Blair among them, and I
could feel the relaxing effects of the spa swiftly dissipate.
She caught sight of me at much the same time and we exchanged a reluctant grimace.
‘Don’t you like it?’ Gran asked. ‘It’s a bit thick but the flavour’s not bad.’
‘No, it’s lovely,’ I said, putting down my empty cup. ‘I just spotted someone I didn’t
want to see.’
I should have known better.
‘Who’s that then?’ Gran peered round, swivelling in her chair to stare at every table.
‘Anyone I know? Have you had a falling-out with someone? That’s not like you.’
‘No.’ I leant back as the waitress took my plate. ‘It’s the new head at school. The new
interim head, Jo Blair.’ I lowered my voice. ‘She’s at the table over there.’
I jerked my head to the left and Gran immediately stared that way.
‘Which one is she? The po-faced one with the short hair? She looks like a …’
‘Gran!’ I hushed her just in time; whatever she was about to say would neither have
been polite nor quiet. She was temporarily distracted by the arrival of the main afternoon tea:
tiers of neat rectangular sandwich portions and lamb Scotch eggs; tiny hot cross scones,
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chocolate egg nests, cupcakes decorated with rabbit faces, slivers of simnel cake and iced
gingerbread chicks; and the one that was going to challenge my healthy diet the most –
miniature chocolate éclairs, topped with a fondant carrot. It was an impressive display, and
Gran was silent for the best part of ten minutes while she made inroads into the food.
‘I’ve not seen her crack a smile yet,’ she said at last, picking up the conversation where
we had left it. Her memory could be disappointingly good for her age. ‘Is she one of those who
never smiles in case it gives her wrinkles? She’s younger than I expected. Not much older than
you. I can’t say as I’d like to work for her, from all you’ve said.’
‘I wasn’t given a choice.’
‘Make your own choice. I’ve always said you were wasted at that school. You’ve years
of work left in you. Why do you want to spend them on a job you don’t love? You get to my
age and there’s nowt to do but regret what you’ve done and not done. It’s not much fun, let me
tell you. If you don’t like the path you’re on, try another while you still can.’
And in those few minutes, Gran showed me again why she was so special. She could
ramble for hours on inconsequential topics, and then cut you to the quick with such a sharp
insight that it felt as if she’d seen through all your bluster.
‘I’m not qualified to do anything else,’ I said.
‘You weren’t qualified to do what you’re doing, but you got qualified. You can do it
again. Or why not use that degree you were once so keen on?’
Why not? Because that degree was now tainted by unhappy memories. Not just because
of the obvious connection with Paddy and my heartbreak over him, but because it would always
remind me of my dad, who had driven me around the country to visit various archaeological
sites and museums and who had made me believe that I could do anything I chose. I had loved
those road trips the two of us had undertaken together. What would he think of me now,
clinging on to a job that no longer made me happy? Had my confidence dropped so far that I
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didn’t dare try something different in case I failed? I had once been braver than this. Could I
be brave again?
We were lingering over the dregs of our tea, probably both reluctant to exchange this
rarefied place for real life, when Cheryl hurried over to our table. I started to thank her for
arranging the tea, but she shook her head and interrupted.
‘Have you finished?’ she asked. ‘There’s something in reception that would be perfect
for the sponsored walk.’
I stifled a groan, because Gran had been cross-examining me for the last twenty minutes
about our progress, and I’d had more than enough for one day. But Cheryl was twinkling with
enthusiasm about something, so I pushed my chair back reluctantly.
‘Hang on,’ Gran said. ‘These aren’t going to waste, not when we’ve paid for them.’ She
pulled out the silver foil from her handbag, that she’d so carefully salvaged from the ham and
egg sandwiches, and wrapped up the leftover cak
es. ‘The Chestnuts gang will be glad of these.
It’s pork goulash tonight and that never goes down well.’
It was hard to imagine egg-scented éclairs going down well either, but I helped Gran
pack away her goodies and we linked arms as we followed Cheryl from the dining room and
back to reception. I was idly speculating on what could have made Cheryl so excited –
something in a magazine? Branded water bottles? – when a familiar laugh assaulted my ears
and my eyes gravitated to the sight of Paddy Friel sprawled on a sofa.
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CHAPTER 10
I blinked several times, but it was no use. He was still there, still real, and still in the way of
our direct route to the front door. And I thought Jo Blair had been an unwelcome sight! I would
happily turn round and join her at her table if it meant avoiding Paddy. After our last meeting
– after the humiliating realisation that he had rejected me, not Caitlyn, all those years ago – he
was the last person I wanted to see.
My steps faltered and my grip on Gran’s arm tightened.
‘Ooh!’ she said. ‘Is that …’
‘Yes. Yes, it is.’ I tried to draw her back, but the quietness of the hotel that I had admired
on our arrival now proved an enemy as our voices carried over to Paddy and caused him to
look up from his magazine. His smile was instant and appeared genuine.
‘Eve!’ He jumped up and made short work of the gap between us. ‘This is great!’
‘Is it?’ That wasn’t the word I would have chosen. How annoying was this? Seventeen
years without him, and now he was turning up all over the place. ‘You’re like the bad penny,
aren’t you? What are you doing here?’
‘The White Hart was full for Easter.’ That didn’t really answer my question, but he had
already turned his attention to Gran.
‘And would you look at you, Phyllis, not changed at all from when I last saw you.’
‘Get on with you and your blarney. I bet you’re surprised I’m still here, aren’t you?’
Gran said. ‘You always were a smooth talker, Paddy Friel. It’s no wonder you ended up on the
telly.’
‘You’ve watched the show?’
‘I tried it once. It wasn’t for me. I’ll be under the earth soon enough without wanting a
sneak preview of what’s down there.’
Paddy laughed and leant forward to kiss Gran’s cheek.
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‘You’re invincible,’ he said, and taking Gran’s other arm, he gently pulled her away
from me and towards a chair. ‘Come and sit down and tell me what you’ve been up to. You’re
looking ravishing in that fascinator.’
‘See?’ Gran called, turning back to me. ‘Even he knows it’s not a hat.’
Paddy grinned at me, and I had to look away, because it appeared that my heart still
retained the memory of loving that grin, whatever lessons my head had learnt since then.
‘Do you all know each other?’ Cheryl asked. I’d forgotten she was there. She smiled.
‘Mr Friel is our guest for the weekend. I was going to see what you thought about asking him
to open the sponsored walk, but if you’re already friends that’s even better!’
‘I wouldn’t say friends,’ I muttered, but that grin flashed up and silenced me again.
‘What’s that about a sponsored walk?’ Paddy asked. ‘Don’t tell me, Phyllis – you’re
trekking across the Sahara for Age Concern. I wouldn’t put anything past you.’
‘Perhaps next year.’ Gran laughed, and settled down on a sofa. Paddy perched beside
her on the sofa arm. I hoped Gran didn’t think we were staying, now Paddy had turned up.
‘Talk to our Eve. I think you’re exactly what she needs.’
‘Not what I need,’ I corrected, not liking Paddy’s speculative look. ‘But a group of local
pensioners might. We’re holding a sponsored walk to raise money to buy a new minibus for
Gran’s nursing home. All donations are welcome. I have my sponsorship form here.’
I plucked it out of my handbag and passed it over to him. It wasn’t an impressive total
so far: I hadn’t even reached £50 and Tina had donated £20 of that. I hadn’t intended to involve
Paddy at all, but if he could afford to stay at the Fairlie, I decided he could afford a decent
sponsorship. He studied the form for longer than seemed necessary, tapping the pen against his
leg, before scrawling something down and handing it back. He had matched Tina’s donation.
‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘Very generous.’
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I hadn’t actually meant to be sarcastic – although it was disappointing that a TV star
could only contribute as much as a teacher – but perhaps Paddy took my response that way,
because the look he gave me appeared, even to my biased mind, genuinely apologetic.
‘I’m sorry, funds are tight this month …’
‘Yes, of course.’ Hardly surprising that funds were tight if he had splashed out on a
weekend at the Fairlie. What had Gran said? People stayed here who had more money than
sense. Lucky Paddy to be in that position.
‘Is there another way I can help? You said something about opening the walk?’
‘We can’t afford to pay. We’re trying to raise money, not spend it.’
‘I don’t need to be paid. I’ll do it gladly if it helps Phyllis.’ There was reproach in
Paddy’s voice as he reached out to take Gran’s hand. She smiled at him with obvious pleasure.
They always had got on well, and Paddy’s affection for Gran was the one thing I had never
doubted, even looking back through my bitter-tinted glasses. I softened – or perhaps I hardened,
as the practical advantages of having Paddy on board took precedence over everything else. He
would be a draw, I couldn’t deny it, and raising money was the priority, by whatever means. I
could put my own feelings aside, couldn’t I?
‘Are you free on the third Sunday of May?’ I asked. I even managed what I hoped was
a friendly smile. Cheryl gave me an encouraging thumbs-up from behind Paddy. I mentally
gritted my teeth. ‘The weekend before the Bank Holiday? If you are, you’d be welcome to
come along and officially start the walk.’
‘Would I be expected to finish this walk as well? How far are you going? You crack a
mean pace …’ Paddy was tapping at his phone as he spoke but looked up at these words,
smiling as if we had a shared joke. I didn’t respond. Our days of shared jokes were in the past.
I didn’t want to start creating new ones. ‘I can do that day. I’d be happy to help. We’ll get you
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that minibus, Phyllis. What are you going to do with it? An epic road trip? I might be tempted
to tag along.’
‘I’m not sure you could keep up with our pace …’ Gran cackled with laughter and
nudged Paddy’s arm, although he needed no encouragement to join in. It was a joy to see her
having fun. ‘What are you doing up here, anyhow? And staying in this fancy place! Have all
those parties in London got too much for you?’ She shot a mischievous look my way and I
braced myself. ‘You’re not after our Eve again, are you? Only, you’ll have your work cut out
to win her back after …’
�
��Shall we get going?’ I said, not letting Gran finish the statement, or letting Paddy give
the inevitable denial. I hardly needed more humiliation from him. ‘You won’t want to be late
for the pork goulash.’
Paddy jumped up and held out a hand to help Gran off the sofa.
‘You are one of the reasons I’m here,’ he said, glancing at me. ‘I’ve come to have
another look at that field near the river, where there was the possible bowl barrow. If we get
the go-ahead for a new series of the TV show, it might make an interesting location.’
‘Have you found anything?’ The question slipped out before I could think better of it.
‘We had a look through the local archives today. There don’t seem to be any aerial
photos of that field, or anything else that could help. We’ll go on site tomorrow and have a
proper look, see if it’s worth doing more detailed investigations. I’ve got a good feeling about
this one.’
I had missed this; not Paddy, although his enthusiasm was infectious, and was one of
the things – beside the obvious – that had made him so attractive to me. No, it was the subject
I had missed: the glory of the unknown that lay all around us; the excitement of the discoveries
that were waiting to be made; the life of uncertainty, not routine. And as I stood idle, listening
to Paddy’s words, the regret flew in, soaring over the mental barricades I had tried to construct.
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This could have been my life. And remembering Gran’s words from earlier on, I wondered:
could this still be my life?
‘Why don’t you come along tomorrow?’ Paddy said. ‘You always had a better eye for
detail than I did.’
Gran gave me an encouraging nudge. Paddy smiled. Despite everything, despite
Paddy’s involvement, I was tempted – tempted so far that I had started to return his smile, on
the brink of accepting. But then a stylish redhead sashayed across the reception from the
direction of the stairs leading to the bedrooms, making an undoubted beeline for our group.
A Dozen Second Chances (ARC) Page 11
