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Eve and Paddy
Half an hour later, I arrived at the semi-detached cottage where Paddy was staying. It
was in a gorgeous spot, overlooking the river from the front, but it still seemed a come-down
after the Fairlie, and even after The White Hart.
‘Not quite the lifestyle you’re used to, is it?’ I said, as Paddy let me in. ‘Was there no
room at the Fairlie?’
‘No money in the kitty for the Fairlie,’ he replied. ‘And I don’t think they’d be so keen
on us staying when we arrive back covered in mud from a day’s digging.’ He showed me into
the kitchen, a pretty room with traditional Aga and large farmhouse table. ‘You could say we’re
the lucky ones, having a house. The younger members of the team are camping.’
He hadn’t always been against camping. We’d spent many happy hours wrapped in
each other’s arms under canvas as night had fallen, when the only sounds had been our own
hearts beating and the screech of owls over our heads; hours spent exploring each other’s bodies
in total darkness, where the potency of every touch seemed magnified by the restriction in our
vision.
‘Although camping can be a pretty special experience,’ he said, and when I glanced at
him in surprise, I knew he was remembering those times too – I could see it in the warmth of
his smile and the way his eyes lingered on mine. I broke eye contact first.
‘Tell me where the leaking tap is and I’ll get to work,’ I said, and he grinned.
‘Over there – the cold tap.’
I unscrewed the handle while Paddy told me about the barrow site, and what they had
discovered so far from the local archives, an exploration of the field, and the lidar surveys.
Their initial guess was that it was a Bronze Age barrow, not a later copy by the Vikings, which
was probably disappointing news for Paddy. The good news was that there were no scars on
the surface of the barrow, so it didn’t look as if previous generations had already excavated
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and ruined the site, while hunting for the grave goods, such as pottery or jewellery, that might
have been buried with a body.
It was fascinating, and I could have listened to him all morning. I removed a worn
rubber washer from the tap and replaced it with a new one from my toolbox, and then when I’d
switched the water back on and checked that the leak had stopped, I pored over the aerial
photographs and plans that Paddy had spread across the kitchen table.
‘Why don’t you come to the site and have a look?’ he asked, as we bent over the table,
heads almost touching. ‘The proper digging starts on Monday.’
‘I can’t. I’ll be at school.’
‘I could give you a preview tomorrow?’
‘I’m visiting Gran.’ I sensed Paddy turn his head and look at me. I stepped back, away
from the table. Of course, I’d love to go – I wouldn’t have hesitated if it had been anyone but
Paddy who had asked. This was exactly what I wanted, to be back on a dig. But not to be back
on a dig with him. Memories of the past were already circling round us. Why would I be fool
enough to confront them head on like that? The good memories of Paddy brought as much pain
as the bad ones; perhaps more.
‘That’s a shame,’ Paddy said, shuffling the photos and documents back into a file. ‘How
is Phyllis? Still basking in her moment of fame?’
‘It will keep her going for years,’ I said, glad to be back on a safe topic. ‘Or at least
until the minibus arrives, and she can try and grasp a few more minutes of publicity at the
official launch. She’s got a taste for it now.’
Paddy laughed. ‘She’s an amazing woman. I can see where you get it from.’ I had no
response to that. His face gave no clue what he meant by it. ‘So what are they doing without a
minibus?’ he asked. ‘She mentioned how much they love the trips to the cinema. Are they still
managing to go?’
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‘No. They haven’t been since the minibus broke down.’
‘When’s the next film night?’
‘Every Wednesday, but they only go to see the classic films. It’s the first Wednesday
of the month, so it should be on this week.’
‘And how many from The Chestnuts want to go?’
‘About a dozen, I suppose.’ I shrugged. ‘Why all the questions?’
‘Because we could help. There are three of us staying here, plus you, and we all have
cars. Between us, we could take a dozen to the cinema.’
Was he serious? He certainly looked and sounded serious. But why would he offer to
do that?
‘You don’t need to …’ I said.
‘I know. But I’d like to.’ Paddy smiled. ‘Don’t write me off, okay? Whatever I was,
whatever I did, I’m not that person any more. I can be pretty decent sometimes, you know.’
*
Gran obviously thought Paddy’s offer was a personal favour to her. When we turned up in
convoy at The Chestnuts on Wednesday night, ready to collect our passengers, she lorded it
over the other residents, directing which car they should all go in, and generally getting in the
way of the staff members who were trying to manage the excursion safely. I expected Gran
would come in my car, but I should have known better.
‘I’m travelling with Paddy,’ she said, when I held open my passenger door for her. ‘Mrs
Pike is in with you. I spared you Mr Craig,’ she added, with a grin. ‘I thought he’d be better
off in the car with leather seats, just in case. Easier to wipe down.’
It was a short drive into Inglebridge, where the film night was held in the old playhouse
that faced onto the market square. It was one of the grandest buildings in town, built of pale
stone, and with an imposing flight of steps leading up to an entrance that featured two huge
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columns on either side of double width doors. Plays were still performed there several times
during the year – usually amateur dramatic performances, and always a pantomime at
Christmas – but a community group had started the film screenings a couple of years ago,
rotating between vintage favourites, cult classics, family choices and blockbusters. The nearest
proper cinema was fifteen miles away, so this was a popular night out; I had often come along
with Caitlyn, but had been reluctant to attend on my own since she went to Paris. Tonight was
as busy as ever: as we pulled up outside the playhouse to unload The Chestnuts gang, a decent
crowd was streaming up the steps and into the building.
The organisers always reserved a row of seats for The Chestnuts, but there was a
problem tonight: they had reserved the usual number, not realising there were additional
drivers, and if we all wanted to stay to watch the film, we were two seats short.
‘Our Eve won’t mind sitting somewhere else,’ Gran said, dispatching me without a
glance as I hovered in the aisle. She nudged Paddy, who she had initially allocated a seat in
pride of place next to her. ‘Look sharp. You’d better go and keep her company. She’ll sneak
off for a run, given half a chance, and she’s scrawny enough as it is. Send that young
cameraman of yours to sit
with me. He’s a bonny lad. He can share my toffees any day.’
‘You don’t need to stay,’ I said, as Paddy vacated his seat in favour of the cameraman,
and joined me in the aisle. ‘If you’d rather go over to The White Hart, I can ring you when
we’re ready to leave.’
‘Don’t tell me you’re rejecting me as well? I thought Phyllis was bad enough. Two
knock-backs in one night will do terrible things to my ego.’
‘I’m sure it’s big enough to survive.’ Nevertheless, I let him usher me towards two
vacant seats, a couple of rows behind Gran.
‘This takes me back,’ Paddy said, as we settled in our seats, and the lights began to dim.
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‘To the last film you saw?’ I replied, lowering my voice as conversations faded around
us, in anticipation of the film starting. ‘Surely that was a red carpet premiere? The Inglebridge
playhouse must be a come-down after that.’
I had been joking, but I saw Paddy nod.
‘It was a premiere. But who wants to watch a film, while stuffed into a dinner jacket
and sitting with people you don’t know?’ He leant towards me. ‘I meant to the last film I saw
with you.’
The opening titles of the film started to play, sparing me from answering. What had
been the last film I’d seen with Paddy? I couldn’t remember. That was the trouble with
unexpected departures – not just his, but Faye’s and my dad’s too. Significant events weren’t
given the attention they deserved – the red carpet treatment they would have had, if we’d known
what the future held. Memories that should have been savoured and preserved were allowed to
fade. Last conversations, meals, jokes, kisses, could all be lost forever. And some last
conversations could never be undone.
Tonight’s film was a classic musical, High Society, which I couldn’t remember seeing
before. Many of the songs were familiar, even if the story wasn’t, and they clearly went down
well with the Chestnuts contingent. They were all singing along, and Gran and Mrs Pike
seemed to be competing to see who could sing the loudest. I could feel Paddy shaking with
laughter beside me.
‘Who do you think is winning?’ he whispered into my ear. ‘I’d say Phyllis by a nose.’
‘She won’t be satisfied with such a narrow victory. She’ll want clear ground between
them.’ As I spoke, Gran’s voice rang out more loudly. I could hear giggles and murmuring
from a group of teenagers nearby – an unlikely audience for this film, and I hoped they weren’t
going to spoil it for everyone else. But before I could turn and see if I recognised the culprits
from school, Paddy sat up straighter in his seat and started singing as well. What on earth was
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he doing? He could just about carry the tune, but he wouldn’t win any awards for his musical
skills. He nudged me with his elbow, in much the same way as Gran might have done.
‘Come on,’ he whispered. ‘Let’s all join in.’
‘I don’t know the words!’
‘Make something up. We can’t let them be laughed at by a bunch of kids.’
I did, and soon a majority of the audience was joining in with the songs and belting out
the choruses, and for once it felt like the community cinema was just that – uniting us all in
appreciation of the movie and the music, transforming a simple film screening into a magical
event that we would all remember long after tonight. And the Chestnuts gang was at the centre
of it all, the first to launch into every song, holding the tunes through the less well-known
sections, and one elderly gentleman was even waving his arms like a conductor. They were
loving the experience – and I couldn’t stop thinking that they had Paddy to thank for it. Far
from being the shallow man I had believed him to be, he was revealing new depths every time
I saw him.
‘I hope I have half their spirit when I reach their age,’ he murmured, leaning towards
me again between songs. He was so close that his hair brushed across my cheek.
‘I hope I reach their age,’ I said. It was an instinctive response – I hadn’t meant to bring
the mood down – and I focused on the screen again, wishing I could recapture the light-hearted
feelings of a few moments ago, wishing that the past didn’t always lurk over me. And then, in
the darkness, Paddy’s hand reached out and held mine.
It was a merry group of pensioners that we returned to The Chestnuts after the film had
finished. Gran was still humming songs from the film as she hobbled over to wish me
goodnight.
‘They don’t make them like that any more,’ she said. ‘That Grace Kelly was quite
something, wasn’t she? You should take a leaf out of her book. Try to be more like her.’
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‘Blonde, elegant and about to marry a prince?’ I laughed. ‘You might be expecting too
much of me.’
‘Don’t be daft. I meant like her in the film. Didn’t it make you think, when she got back
with her first love? Some folk are better off together. There’s no point wasting time and being
stubborn about these things.’
Why hadn’t I seen this coming? Gran must have been delighted with the choice of film;
it wouldn’t surprise me if she had somehow arranged for this one to be shown. She never turned
down an opportunity for mischief. I smiled, and shook my head.
‘There’s more chance of me marrying a prince than that happening,’ I said. ‘Don’t start
looking for a new dress any time soon.’
‘Oh, I don’t need to start. I’ve already got my eye on the perfect thing.’
She actually had her eye on something behind me, and with a creeping sense of
inevitability, I turned and saw Paddy standing there. How long had he been with us? Not long
enough to hear Gran’s nonsense, I hoped.
‘Goodnight, Phyllis,’ he said, bending down to kiss Gran’s cheek. ‘Any time you want
to go clothes shopping, just give me a call.’
Great! Now they were both talking nonsense. I frowned at them, but they smiled back
with matching smiles of saucy innocence.
‘Time for me to catch up on my beauty sleep,’ Gran said. She nodded at me. ‘Make
sure you thank Paddy properly for going to all this trouble tonight. The least you can do is buy
him a drink. Or take him back home for a mug of Ovaltine.’
Smiling at her persistence, I gave her a hug, and watched as the carers rounded up all
the residents and herded them back inside The Chestnuts. Paddy waited with me.
‘She’s a marvel, isn’t she?’ he said. ‘You’re lucky to have her.’
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‘I know.’ We hovered awkwardly by my car, and I wondered if he was thinking of his
mum; probably twenty years younger than Gran, but in much poorer health. He smiled at me,
but it didn’t stretch to his eyes; sadness lingered there.
‘I can’t offer you Ovaltine, but you’re welcome to a fruit tea,’ I said, the invitation
springing from my mouth before I’d had a chance to think it through. ‘Unless you’ve got other
plans …’
‘Bath, bed and book,’ he said, his smile expanding. ‘Nothi
ng that can beat the offer of
a fruit tea …’
He followed me back to my house, and as I switched on the lamps and made our tea,
the memories buffeted me again. How many times had we done this before? It felt so normal,
to come home from a night out and share a drink with Paddy – although it had rarely been tea
in those days; it hardly felt as if the years had passed at all. It was like being back in those
initial few months after university, when we had shared our first flat and woven dreams about
our future. They had been the happiest times I had ever known. And the day that Paddy had
left had been one of the unhappiest times. How had it come about, that the man who had
brought me so much happiness and so much pain, was sitting on my sofa now, telling me about
the progress on the dig, making me smile with his stories, as if the past had been swept away
and forgotten?
He caught me staring at him, as I studied his face, trying to reconcile the two versions
of Paddy: the one who had hurt me and Caitlyn all those years ago, without any hint of remorse,
and the man here now, who had given up his evening to take old people he didn’t know to the
cinema. Who was the real Paddy Friel? Could he really have changed so much? He broke off
what he was saying.
‘Is this weird?’ he asked.
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‘Yes.’ On so many levels. It was only a few weeks since he had been staying with me,
after the sponsored walk, but this felt different; he was here because I’d asked him to be here
– wanted him here? – not because there had been no other choice.
‘Because of us? Or because you normally do this with your man, the boor? Am I in his
place?’
I’d never done this with Rich. We’d never sat in my house together as the light faded,
discussing our days and what our hopes were for tomorrow. We’d eaten together, watched
television together, had sex … greater intimacies than these quiet moments with Paddy, but my
emotions had never been engaged as they were now.
‘He’s not my man.’ I shrugged, not looking in Paddy’s direction. ‘We’re not together
A Dozen Second Chances (ARC) Page 21
