by Kate Hewitt
Maggie drained her hot chocolate and then pushed the cup away. “Can we go now?”
By the time they got home, the brief flicker of hope Laura had felt at having something of an honest conversation with her daughter had flickered out. Dan Rhodes had given her the rest of the day off, which seemed a bit pointless considering the moment they got home Maggie flounced up to her room and slammed the door.
Laura decided to tidy up, something she hadn’t actually been able to do much of lately, and then paid some bills online, one ear cocked for any stirrings upstairs. Sam had Minecraft Club that afternoon, and had insisted he could walk home by himself, something Laura knew he was eager to try out, so with a couple of hours stretching in front of her she decided to take Perry for a walk, knocking on Maggie’s door first to see if her daughter wanted to come.
“We could get some fresh air, maybe throw a ball for Perry,” she suggested, a bit desperately, to which she received an emphatic no.
“Perry doesn’t even like chasing balls anymore,” Maggie said through the door, her voice muffled.
“We could try…”
Silence.
Laura went back downstairs, doing her best not to be discouraged. Baby steps. Patience. All that.
She was grateful for the fresh air, anyway, and Perry trotted along faithfully by her side as they wandered through the woods and then out to the landscaped gardens behind the manor house. She still hadn’t met the owners, Alice and Henry, although she’d heard from her neighbours how lovely they were.
Laura was just turning back towards Willoughby Close when someone came out on the terrace and started waving frantically.
“Are you the new tenant in number three?” she called, her hands cupped around her mouth, and Laura shouted back:
“Yes, I am.”
The woman, whom she assumed was Alice Trent, beckoned her forward. “I’ve been meaning to come down and meet you. I’m sorry I haven’t. Can you come in for a cup of tea?”
Somewhat reluctantly Laura came onto the terrace with Perry to meet Alice. She looked very young, early twenties at most, with white-blonde hair and a porcelain, heart-shaped face. There was a beautiful, tiny bump under her jumper that she cradled lovingly.
“A cup of tea would be lovely,” Laura said, “but I really should get back to my daughter. She’s home from school today.”
“Oh, dear. Ill?”
“Something like that.” Laura smiled in a way she hoped would not encourage further questions. “But thank you for the invitation.”
“Another time, definitely. I’ve been meaning to come round but I’ve had the most dreadful nausea.” She said this with pride; clearly she was thrilled to be pregnant.
“It can certainly lay you low,” Laura agreed. “But hopefully it will clear up soon? How far along are you?”
“Fifteen weeks.” Alice stroked her bump. “Do you ever stop feeling as if you’re walking on eggshells?”
“Maybe not entirely,” Laura replied with a smile. “But I think you get used to it.” Her own pregnancies had been remarkably easy, with no nausea or much tiredness, and smooth deliveries. She had no real war stories to share, but she remembered the incandescent excitement of being pregnant for the first time, the sheer wonder of it.
“And you’re settling in okay?” Alice asked with a touch of concern. “The cottage isn’t too small? Jace mentioned you’d divided the master bedroom into two…”
“Yes, it’s fine. And so quaint. You’ve done them up really nicely.”
“Oh, I didn’t,” Alice told her with a laugh. “In fact, I lived in number four for a few months before Henry and I were married.”
“Oh…”
“I wasn’t born to this life, trust me,” Alice assured her with a smile. “It still doesn’t always feel real. But do tell me if there is anything Henry or I—or really, Jace—can do to make your life easier.”
Laura knew she meant it, and she was touched. “That’s very kind.”
“And we must have you round for dinner—you have two children, right?”
“Yes, Maggie and Sam.” There was a pause that somehow felt expectant and so Laura made herself say, “My husband died a year ago, so it’s just the three of us.”
Alice’s expression was both shocked and dismayed at her potential insensitivity, which actually made Laura feel relieved. Lindy hadn’t gone round telling everyone, as she’d feared she might do. Not that she wanted to have to tell everyone herself, but she hated the thought of being talked about.
“I’m so sorry…”
“It’s all right. We’re doing our best to make a life for ourselves here.” What else could she say? And she did mean it.
“We will have you round,” Alice declared. “I’ll talk to Henry and then we can sort out dates.”
Laura nodded, noncommittal, unsure whether she wanted to agree to a whole evening, although she knew she probably would. Like Chantal kept telling her, she needed to keep trying.
It was getting dark by the time Laura got back to the house, Perry flopping in front of the fire as she checked on Maggie—still in her room—and then started on dinner. It felt cosy, with twilight stealing over the meadows and hills, to be in the quaint cottage with the wood burner going merrily and bolognaise simmering on the stove. If only Maggie wasn’t in such a state, Laura thought, and then felt guilty for not thinking of Tim first.
If only Tim were here. But he wasn’t, and he hadn’t been for a long time. It’s been more than a year, Chantal had said, so kindly, and she’d been right. Tim had left their family, or at least her, emotionally well before he’d ever got in that car.
The acknowledgement, even in the quiet of her own mind, caused Laura’s breath to come out in a shudder. She never let herself think that, because sometimes she couldn’t remember if it had actually been true or not.
Yes, he’d been a bit distant emotionally before his death. Physically, too. But they’d still been married; they’d still slept in the same bed, ate at the same table, raised the same kids. Couples went through rough patches, and looking back, Laura didn’t even know if she would have called it rough. It just was—day by day, getting on with things and not much more. The fact that he’d died on a day when they’d barely spoken, not out of anger but more out of tiredness, didn’t necessarily have to signify anything. It was just hard.
And sometimes Laura wondered if it was, for some contrary reason, easier to remember the hard times rather than the easy ones. Chantal said people had a tendency to idolise those they’d lost, but what if the opposite could be true? What if Laura was sometimes remembering a husband who had been more distant and restless in her mind than in reality? It was so hard to know. In fact it was impossible, and that was something she just had to learn to live with, because Tim wasn’t here to ask.
A light knock sounded on the door, and Laura was just turning when Sam burst into the house, a wide grin on his face.
“Minecraft Club was great!”
“I’m so glad to hear it.”
“Yes, it really went well. Fourteen kids signed up.”
Startled, Laura’s gaze flew to the doorway where James was standing, his hands in the pockets of his parka, a lopsided smile on his face.
“Oh,” she said rather stupidly.
“I walked Sam home,” he explained unnecessarily. “It was pretty dark.”
“Oh. You didn’t…” Laura began, feeling that familiar mother-guilt. Should she have picked Sam up? Had she been negligent in letting him walk home by himself? He’d wanted to, but even so she started to doubt.
“I know I didn’t,” James said quickly. “And he would have been fine. But we were having quite an interesting discussion about Minecraft, and I wanted to see how you were.”
His eyes, such a vivid blue green, were crinkled with compassionate concern.
“Oh, I, ah…” She shrugged helplessly, glancing at Sam who had already dived onto the sofa, iPad in hand. “I’m okay.”
“Good.”
James didn’t move, and Laura left the kitchen to join him at the door, lowering her voice as she spoke.
“Maggie’s been suspended,” she said, quietly enough that she hoped Sam couldn’t hear, although she supposed he would find out soon enough. “For having a bottle of alcohol in her locker, and smoking at school.” She shook her head, unable to keep the despair from colouring her voice. “She’s only fourteen. She’s never done anything like this before ever.”
“I’m sorry.” Although the words could have seemed rote, James’s tone was heartfelt. “Is there anything I can do?”
Laura hesitated, because really there was nothing he could do, and yet…it felt so nice, to have a masculine presence in her home, even if he was just standing at her door. It was nice, Laura realised, to know he’d walked Sam home, and that Sam had been able to chat to a guy about guy things for a little bit. It was nice not to feel like she was shouldering it all alone, even if just for a few minutes.
“I don’t think so,” she said a bit reluctantly, because she wished that there was, “but thank you for asking. I’m sure Sam enjoyed your company on the way home. He doesn’t have many men in his life now. Just his grandfather, really.”
“Well, I could stay for dinner,” James said unexpectedly, and Laura stared at him in surprise.
“Not to invite myself over or anything, although clearly that’s exactly what I’m doing,” he continued with a grin. “But Sam seemed to enjoy talking to someone who actually knows all about Minecraft, and as it happens, I have a fair amount of experience with teenaged girls. My youngest sister is only sixteen.”
“Oh my goodness,” Laura exclaimed before she could help herself, “you must be so young.” Younger than she’d thought. What if he was only twenty-five? Why did it matter? It wasn’t as if they were dating. Not at all.
“I’m thirty-two, actually,” James answered with a laugh. “Bella was a surprise blessing for my parents.”
“Oh, well…”
“Tell me to get lost if you want to,” he said easily. “I promise I won’t be offended. I just thought I’d suggest it, in case having a guy around for a bit could be helpful.”
Laura hesitated, torn between the oddity of inviting him in, and the desperate desire to do just that. She thought of Chantal telling her to try, and then she thought about her urging her to get back in the saddle, or at least near the horse. “Actually,” she told him, “that would be lovely. If you’re free…”
“I am,” James assured her. “And besides, do I smell bolognaise? Because that’s my favourite.”
Chapter Ten
James stepped into the comforting warmth of Laura’s cottage and felt it envelop him like a hug. Yes, it had been rather cheeky of him to invite himself over for dinner, but he was glad he’d done it. As he stood in the centre of the room he realised how much he missed being in a home, rather than a half-empty cottage full of paint samples and plywood, as he attempted to do up a house with very limited DIY skills.
But more than that, he missed the kind of home with a family in it—with something simmering on the stove, a sweater thrown over a chair, a dog by the wood burner and a pile of books tottering on the table. All of it was lovely. Lovely.
“I did tidy up,” Laura told him with an uncertain laugh. “Not that you’d know it.”
“I was just thinking how welcoming everything looks,” James replied, “especially compared to my place. I bought a wreck and I’ve been doing it up very slowly.”
“Do you live in Wychwood?”
“Yes, just off the high street. A tiny terraced cottage that hadn’t been updated in about fifty years.”
“Ah.” She went back to the kitchen to stir the sauce, and James followed her, his hands in his pockets. And here was the other reason he’d invited himself over—to spend some time with Laura. He’d meant what he’d said about being her friend, but he couldn’t deny to himself that he was attracted to her—not just her looks, which were undeniable, but the sense of steeliness and fragility emanating from her, the heartbreak and the humour mixed together. He leaned against the worktop as she turned to him with a nervous smile, tucking wisps of dark hair behind her ears.
“Is this too weird?” he asked, deciding to just put it out there.
She let out a laugh. “No. Not exactly. I told you, I’m a bit rubbish at this socialising thing. You might have to give me some pointers.”
“Okay.” He took his hands out of his pockets and folded his arms as he gave her a mock-considering look. “I’ll give you an easy one to start. How are you finding Wychwood?”
“That’s not as easy as it sounds,” she answered, her voice both tart and teasing. “I’m finding it okay, but starting over is hard. I had a wobbly the first week, when I couldn’t find the Waitrose in Witney. Dripping tears onto my trolley kind of stuff.”
“I have a wobbly every time I go to Waitrose and see the bill,” James replied. “I’m going to eat myself out of house and home if I keep shopping there.”
“So that’s why you invited yourself over,” Laura said as she turned back to stir the sauce again. “Free meal.”
“You’ve got me sussed.” Were they flirting? James wasn’t sure. It was definitely banter, but was he the only one imagining the undercurrents? Feeling them?
The dog had lumbered from his well-loved position by the wood burner to sniff hopefully at the bolognaise-scented air. James crouched down to scratch him behind the ears.
“I love golden retrievers. My parents have three dogs—one golden, a Lab, and a springer spaniel. What’s this one’s name?”
“Perry, short for Peritas.”
“Alexander the Great’s dog.”
Surprise widened Laura’s eyes and her mouth curved. “How did you know that? Did you study history at uni?”
“No, but I’m a geek.” He grinned. “I studied English, but I love history.” He straightened, and something in Laura’s look made him feel like grinning. She looked considering, as if he’d just gone up in her estimation, which could only be a good thing.
“I’d hardly call you a geek,” she said as she turned back to the stove.
“I lay full claim to my geek status,” he replied. “And I am proud of it.”
“And what is the evidence of this status? Do you carry a card?”
“I’m the youngest member of the Wychwood Chess Club by about thirty years.” She pursed her lips, considering, and then shook her head.
“Not enough.”
“I have not one but three sweater vests in my wardrobe.”
Her eyes sparkled. “Seriously?”
“They’re warm.”
“Even so…”
He leaned forward so there was no way Sam, immersed in his iPad, could hear. “You know, even geeks can be insanely gorgeous,” he murmured.
A lovely rosy blush tinted her cheeks as she kept her eyes on the sauce. “You told me you were going to forget about that.”
“I know, but it’s hard not to remember.”
The blush deepened, and for a second she risked a glance at him, and James felt as if the very air between them was sizzling. Okay, the undercurrents were real. And strong. And he was glad.
“Wait,” Sam said, clambering up from the sofa and making Laura jump, “are you staying for dinner, Mr Hill?”
James turned to Sam with an easy smile. “Yes, if that’s okay?”
“Yeah.” Sam looked so thrilled that James couldn’t help but feel a little bit like a rock star. A geeky one, of course. “Do you want to play Minecraft?” Sam asked eagerly, and James glanced at Laura who laughed and waved him away.
“Go on, then,” she said, and with a smile for Sam, James stretched out on the sofa and let the boy talk him through his complicated and admittedly genius strategy for building up his herd of cows.
He was so immersed in the game that he didn’t hear Laura come over until she was standing behind the sofa, her hands braced on the back, leaning over to look at their game. She was close enoug
h that he breathed in her lemony scent and the tip of her ponytail brushed his shoulder. Not that he should be noticing these things, never mind feeling them so acutely.
“Wow. Cows. Sam’s explained it all to me a million times, but I’m afraid I still don’t get it.”
“You’re too old, Mum,” Sam said, his eyes still fixed firmly on the screen, and Laura’s laughing gaze met James’s as she raised her eyebrows.
“Too old, huh?”
“Then I’m too old, Sam,” James said lightly. “I was twenty-one when Minecraft came out.”
Sam looked up briefly, his nose wrinkling. “Nah, you’re not too old,” he said before returning to his screen. James turned to Laura, meaning to share the joke, but she turned away quickly.
Was she concerned about the difference in their ages? The thought actually gave him hope, because it meant she was thinking romantically, at least a little. Besides, how old was she, anyway? James would guess around forty, since she had a fourteen-year-old, but not much older, maybe younger. Nothing that concerned him, anyway, although perhaps he was getting ahead of himself.
He rose from the sofa and meandered over to the kitchen area, where Laura was slinging plates around.
“Can I help?”
“I should roust Maggie from her lair, if you don’t mind setting the table.”
“Sure.”
She gave him a fleeting smile, but the relaxed atmosphere and easy banter they’d been enjoying earlier seemed to have morphed into something strained and the tiniest bit chilly. James told himself not to overreact.
Smiling back, he reached for the plates.
*
This was really weird. It had been fun at first, and Laura had enjoyed the unexpected novelty of chatting and yes, flirting, at least a little, with an attractive man. If that made her a bad mother, a bad wife, a bad person, well…so be it. She was even willing to consider the idea that it didn’t.
But then Sam had made that remark about her being too old and somehow even though she knew she should shrug it off, it had caught her on the raw and exposed all her vulnerabilities, or at least a couple of them.
