The Year of Taking Chances

by Lucy Diamond

  So there are five (okay, six) glorious moments in the history of Gemma and Spencer for you to smile over. I could have picked a thousand, though, because my whole life has been about you for so long now. And I don’t know what’s going to happen in the future – nobody can say. But I do know that we’ve got the most fantastic shared past together, a past that nobody can take away. I would like to make a few more happy memories together, wouldn’t you? I want to put all the arguments behind us, and ride off into the sunset with you.

  We’re all here, Spence, when you’re up to coming home again.

  Love Gemma x

  She had tears rolling down her cheeks by the time she’d finished the letter and was looking up Jonny’s address. It was quite the most romantic thing she’d ever done. But would it be enough?

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Since the night in The Partridge when they’d seen non-mother-to-be Jade getting completely sozzled with her mates, Caitlin had been wondering what, if anything, she should do about Harry Sykes. ‘It’s probably too soon,’ she said the following Monday at work, when Gemma brought up the subject. ‘If he’s just lost a baby, he’ll need some time to get over it.’

  ‘True,’ Gemma replied, ‘but according to my sources – i.e. the playground mums – she wasn’t even pregnant in the first place. She was angry at being dumped and was trying to stick it to him.’

  ‘She sounds a delightful sort of person,’ Saffron said, rolling her eyes.

  ‘I know. Completely the wrong woman for Harry, right?’

  Not this again. Caitlin squirmed on her chair. ‘Look, I barely know the guy. There was this weird kind of chemistry at New Year and then he was lovely, taking me to Cambridge that day, but . . . ’ She shrugged. ‘That’s pretty much the sum total of my dealings with him. He might be a complete twat, for all I know.’

  ‘Spoiler-alert: he isn’t,’ Gemma said, stitching a black lace trim to the hem of the scarlet cocktail dress currently in progress. ‘He’s a good one, Cait. Take it from me.’

  ‘It sounded as if he was keen on you, too,’ Saffron pointed out. She glanced down at her bump. ‘One thing I’ve learned this year is how important it is to make a move, sometimes – to take a chance and put your cards on the table.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ said Gemma. ‘I’m all about taking chances these days. Look where it’s got me!’

  ‘Quite,’ said Saffron. ‘I’m not saying go and offer yourself up on a plate, Cait, but . . . ’

  ‘I am,’ Gemma put in.

  ‘But just take a deep breath and be brave. What’s the worst that could happen? He says no. And, okay, that would be a dent to your ego, but at least you’d know.’

  ‘Mmm. And it wouldn’t be embarrassing at all, every time I bumped into him around the village, would it?’

  ‘I agree with Saffron,’ Gemma said. They were ganging up on her now. ‘You have to try. That’s all anyone can do, right?’ Her mouth twitched suddenly, as if an idea had occurred to her. ‘In fact,’ she said, grabbing her phone and skimming through the contacts list, ‘I’m going to help you out here.’

  And before Caitlin could say or do anything to stop her, she’d pressed a button and had the phone to her ear. ‘Harry? Hi, it’s Gemma. Yeah, good thanks . . . No, still no word. That’s why I was ringing, to see if you’d heard anything from him? . . . Oh, okay. No worries. It was just on the off-chance.’ She winked at Caitlin. ‘Sounds quiet where you are. Not onsite today? . . . Oh, right. No, no reason, just being nosey. Anyway, I’ll let you get on . . . Will do. Cheers, Harry, bye.’

  She jabbed at her phone to end the call, then smirked at Caitlin.

  ‘What? Why are you looking like that?’

  ‘Well, that’s interesting. He’s at home. Not working today.’

  ‘Very convenient,’ Saffron said innocently.

  They were ganging up on her. She couldn’t help spluttering with laughter. ‘Er . . . hello? I can’t just go round to his house and knock on the door.’

  ‘Oh, I think you can,’ said Gemma.

  ‘I think you can take the afternoon off,’ Saffron said.

  ‘Yes, do – we don’t need you here today,’ Gemma said.

  ‘Laptop closing down in ten . . . nine . . . eight . . . ’ Saffron chanted.

  Were they for real? Caitlin lunged to press Save on the work she’d been doing that morning – a site update for the Yummy Mummies – as Gemma joined in the counting.

  ‘Seven . . . six . . . five . . . ’

  ‘You two have lost the plot,’ Caitlin told them, frantically pressing buttons.

  ‘Four . . . three . . . two . . . one . . . Oh dear, we have no power,’ Saffron said, leaning over to switch it off.

  Caitlin’s laptop made its farewell tune and the screen went blank.

  ‘Do you want to borrow a dress to go round there in?’ Gemma asked sweetly.

  ‘No!’

  ‘I could do your make-up?’

  ‘No! God, you two!’ She got to her feet, feeling flustered. ‘Okay, I’ll go. All right? Satisfied? I’ll go and probably make a gigantic pillock of myself, and it’ll be all your fault.’

  ‘Okay, whatever.’ Gemma looked unperturbed.

  ‘I mean it. I’ll hold you entirely responsible if this goes wrong.’

  ‘Yep, got it.’ Saffron was back to typing at her laptop, equally unruffled by Caitlin’s threats.

  There was absolutely nothing else for it but to get Harry’s address and go. And so she did.

  This is ridiculous, Caitlin thought, walking down the road five minutes later. This is completely bonkers. Since when did Gemma and Saffron start telling me what to do about my love-life?

  It didn’t take long before her own annoying brain came up with the answer. Since you started being such a wuss about it, maybe?

  Yeah, all right, she thought crossly. Who asked you, anyway?

  Oh, this was going to be embarrassing. Her toes were already curling at the thought of her imminent humiliation. Harry would greet her with a blank, quizzical sort of look – a look that said What the hell are YOU doing here? – and she’d stammer some nonsense in reply, and then he’d probably think she was a stalker, or some kind of obsessive weirdo. Before she knew it, he’d have a restraining order on her, and she’d have to move out of Larkmead with the shame, and . . .

  Slow down, Cait. You are actually sounding quite mad. Stop it. Shut up. Just get this over with.

  Although . . . well, she didn’t seriously have to go through with this, did she? She could sit on the village green in the spring sunshine for half an hour instead, then go home and tell them it had been a disaster and she didn’t want to talk about it any more. She could even go to the pub and kill some time with one of Bernie’s famous Bacon Butties. Now you’re talking, she thought, slowing to a halt. It was nearly one o’clock after all, and she was hungry.

  Her phone buzzed with a text just then. Don’t get any ideas about bottling it, Mrs, it said. Gemma, of course, the bloody great stirrer. She was seriously going to kill her for this. And Saffron. A double murder.

  She was two streets away now and starting to feel jittery, so of course her subconscious chose that very moment to remind her of all the nasty things Flynn had written in his last letter, the words sinking into her skin like little fishhooks. You stupid bitch, you are MENTAL. Seriously, you have major problems . . . You’re not even attractive. You’re a fucking JOKE.

  She stopped walking in the middle of the street, her mind buzzing with the put-downs. Oh God. No. This was madness. This was insane. What was she doing?

  Then a new voice piped up in her head. A soft, Scottish voice, rich with warmth. You’re the loveliest girl, do you know that?

  Her lower lip wobbled. Oh, Mum. Jane . . . whatever she was supposed to call her now. She remembered sitting on her mum’s knee as a little girl, crying hot tears because the boys in her class kept calling her Lanky Long-Legs, and it made her feel like an ugly, spindly insect.

  You really are
. The most beautiful, funny, sweet girl. My goodness, I feel sorry for those other mummies sometimes. Because I know I got the best little girl in the world.

  Caitlin lowered herself onto a nearby garden wall, the memory sweet and fresh in her mind. Her mum had always made her feel better. Maybe it was time to start focusing on Jane’s words, rather than wasting another second beating herself up with Flynn’s.

  You can do anything you want to, Caitlin. Anything! Whatever makes you happy.

  That was what she’d said when Caitlin had gone, cap in hand, one Sunday lunchtime and mumbled that she didn’t want to be a nurse any more, she wanted to do something artistic. Jane’s face had gone a little pink, and her eyes had been sad, but once she’d got over it, she’d given Caitlin her blessing, supporting her and cheering her along through her college course and her first new job.

  That was love, wasn’t it? A proper mother’s love, regardless of biology.

  The thought gave her courage. So, she wondered, what would Jane say if she could see Caitlin now, sitting on a wall, trying to decide what to do about Harry?

  The answer came so quickly to mind it was as if Jane was right there beside her.

  You go for it, hen. Stop shilly-shallying around and be brave! But mind you get off that wall soon, eh? You’ll get piles if you don’t hurry up.

  Well, then. She’d better do as she was told.

  Jumping down from the wall, she set off again, rounding the corner onto Bridge Street. Harry’s road: a terrace of red-brick houses, each with a different-coloured front door. His was number seventeen, a bright-red door. Red for danger, she reminded herself with a sudden attack of nerves.

  Okay. This was it. She would knock on the door and ask if he’d like to go for a drink sometime. Or maybe she’d pretend she needed to talk to him about another electrical job around the house? Yes. That was a much better idea. That was definitely what—

  What?

  The front door had opened before she’d even knocked. ‘Hi,’ Harry said with a grin. ‘Come in.’

  That was weird. That was completely weird. It was almost as if he’d been expecting her. Had he been expecting her? No, you idiot. How could he have known?

  She followed him into a small, cosy dining room, where a square table had been laid with a white cloth. There was a cheese board and some ham from the butcher’s, a jar of pickles, a dish of green salad and a crusty loaf. ‘Oh – tomatoes,’ he said. ‘Wait there, I’ll just grab them. What would you like to drink?’

  She felt as if she’d wandered into a strange dream, or maybe a scene from a play. ‘Er . . . are you expecting someone over for lunch?’ she asked. ‘Because I was only knocking to see if . . . ’ She struggled to think of some other electrical appliance she could ask him to fix, but her mind went annoyingly blank.

  He returned with a small bowl of halved plum tomatoes, their glossy skins sprinkled with sea salt and black pepper. ‘Have a seat,’ he said, before she could come up with anything.

  She looked at him, and the tomatoes, and the wine glasses he was setting out and shook her head. ‘I . . . I don’t understand,’ she confessed.

  ‘Well, I thought I’d cut to the chase,’ he said. ‘Yes. Great idea – I’d love to go out with you.’ He grinned at her and a dimple flashed in his left cheek. ‘Now, I hope it’s not outrageously presumptuous of me, but I thought I’d go ahead and sort out our first date. This is it, by the way. You’re not vegetarian, are you?’

  ‘N-no,’ she stammered. ‘No, I’m not vegetarian. But how did you . . . ?’ And then the answer became clear. Of course. ‘This is Gemma, isn’t it, sticking her oar in?’ She should have guessed from the start. Had they planned this whole thing together?

  He uncorked a bottle of Pinot Grigio. ‘Yes and no. I was all set to declare my hand a few weeks ago – until Jade went and mucked that up, with her imaginary pregnancy.’ His eyes darkened at the memory. ‘Then I bumped into Gemma on Saturday morning as she was posting a letter off to Spencer. The most romantic letter ever written, she reckons. She just gave me a bit of a nudge to do something romantic about you, that’s all.’

  Caitlin remembered then how Gemma and Saffron had gone off to the kitchen together earlier that morning and taken a suspiciously long time to return again. She’d thought at the time they must be talking mum-stuff, but maybe not. Maybe all three of them were in on it. ‘Yeah, Gemma gave me a nudge, too,’ she said. ‘A nudge right out of the door of my own house!’

  He sploshed wine into their glasses and passed one to her. ‘You’re not mad, are you? That we hatched a plot? I couldn’t resist giving it a go. I swear I’m not a tosser, like your ex. I don’t have any huge portraits of me around the house, either.’

  He had such blue eyes, Harry. But they were a steady warm blue, rather than the cool, emotionless eyes of Flynn.

  ‘No, I’m not mad,’ she said, feeling her heart give a happy bounce. He had freckles, she noticed, a light sandy sprinkling across his nose. She felt like leaning over and kissing every single one of them all of a sudden. Then she laughed. ‘The only thing I’m wondering is, does the Ten-Date Rule still apply?’

  ‘The what? Oh, shit. I’d forgotten all about that.’ He grinned at her. ‘I might have to amend it to a Five-Date Rule. Don’t tell my sister.’

  ‘I wouldn’t dare.’

  ‘Or maybe even a Three-Date Rule . . . ’ He held her gaze and she felt as if she was melting inside. Three whole dates? She wasn’t sure she’d be able to wait that long, personally.

  ‘I couldn’t possibly comment,’ she said demurely. ‘But thank you. This looks lovely.’ She held her glass in the air. ‘Here’s to first dates.’

  ‘First dates,’ he echoed, clinking her glass.

  First dates, interfering mates and lunchtime drinking. Put them all together and it was a pretty irresistible combination. Caitlin leaned across the table, feeling heady after a single mouthful of wine. She had a good feeling about this. A good, sweet, happy feeling. ‘Do you know what? I think I’m going to have to kiss you,’ she said before she could stop herself

  His eyes crinkled as he smiled back at her. ‘Do you know what? I think I’m going to have to let you,’ he murmured.

  And then her lips were on his, and his mouth was soft and sweet, and all of a sudden lunch was entirely forgotten.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Will was given detention for getting into a fight and leaving school unauthorized, and Gemma was called in to discuss the issue the following week with his head of year, Mr Shaw. Mr Shaw was tall, affable and tracksuited; a PE teacher who had always got on well with Will in the past. ‘Between you and me,’ he said confidentially to Gemma, perched on the edge of his desk, ‘he had it coming to him. Sam West, I mean – the lad your Will punched. One of those kids who’s always got it in for someone or other, can’t keep his gob shut. Just so happened to be Will who was his target this year.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Gemma uncertainly.

  ‘Obviously the school has to take a hard line on this sort of thing. We don’t condone any kind of violence or fighting, self-defence or not.’ He folded his arms, looking stern for a moment, then winked. ‘But let’s just say there were a few smiles in the staffroom when word got out that Sam West had taken a bit of a slapping.’

  Gemma goggled. ‘Right.’

  ‘You didn’t hear me say that, though, did you?’

  ‘Didn’t hear a thing.’

  ‘Good.’ He fiddled with the silver PE whistle around his neck on a cord. ‘Otherwise, Will’s been doing really well. Working hard, well liked, getting on with the job. And don’t worry, Mrs Bailey, we’ll come down on Sam West like a ton of bricks if there’s any more trouble.’ He stood up and stretched his long legs. ‘Not that I think it’s likely, mind. Kids like Sam are cowards at heart. Nothing like a smack in the chops to shut them up.’

  Gemma was still mulling over this rather unexpected slant to the conversation as she drove back from the school. She hoped Mr Shaw was right, an
d that there’d be no more aggro with Sam. Poor Will. It was hard being a teenager, she remembered – but even harder to be the mother of one sometimes. It had been so much more straightforward when the children were tiny and her job was to keep them safe from sharp corners or tumbles, to feed and clean them, to lower them into their cots to sleep at night, with a soft rendition of ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star’. These days they talked back and asked awkward questions, they had strong feelings and railed against perceived injustices or sank into silent, seething furies. Worst of all, they went around punching people when they couldn’t control their emotions.

  That said, after talking the other night, she felt as if she and Will had a new understanding now – and, more importantly, he knew she was on his side. With a bit of luck, she’d have this teenager malarkey nailed by the time it was Darcey’s turn. God forbid.

  Coming back into Larkmead, she had to brake behind the village bus, an endangered species around these parts and therefore to be respected. She drummed her fingers as she waited for it to disgorge its clutch of passengers, already thinking ahead to the new dress she was working on: a gorgeous evening gown of cranberry-coloured silk with a daring criss-crossing ribbon back. A million times more satisfying than making curtains or altering bridesmaid dresses, she thought with a little smile. She definitely wasn’t ‘just a mum’ any more, either.

  In the street two elderly ladies were being helped down from the bus by a dark-haired man – what a gent, she thought approvingly. Then she nearly stopped breathing in shock as she realized that the dark-haired man was actually Spencer, leaning on a stick as he took the first lady by her pastel-clad arm, and then the second. He had come back!