Remember Me at Willoughby Close (Return to Willoughby Close Book 4)

by Kate Hewitt

  “And maybe you do, but that’s okay,” Chantal returned. “Right?”

  “Right.” Laura let out a shuddery breath. She felt utterly drained, both emotionally and physically, as if she’d run a mental marathon, but it felt good. From the outside this looked like grief, but it felt like healing.

  “Thank you,” she said softly. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

  “And I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Chantal returned robustly. “Because I know if our positions were reversed, you’d be talking me down from the ledge and baking me some banana bread, too. Sorry I don’t bake.”

  Laura laughed and mopped her face some more. “I love you, Chantal.”

  “Love you too, sweetie.”

  *

  The next two weeks seemed to hurtle past, as Laura finished up her half term of teaching at Wychwood Primary, and prepared to get both Maggie and Sam ready for a skiing holiday, which required the purchase of a lot of expensive kit that Pamela and Steve had not offered to pay for and which Laura felt she couldn’t ask about.

  “Two hundred quid for a parka?” she’d yelped when Maggie had shown her the one she wanted. “What about the one you have?”

  “It’s not meant for skiing, Mum,” Maggie said in her well-duh voice. “It’s going to be freezing up in the Alps.”

  “Right, well let’s find one that’s slightly cheaper, shall we?” A few weeks ago Laura might have caved in just to see her daughter smile, but she was doing her best to take a harder line now, out of love.

  So far she had no real idea if it is working; Maggie was less stroppy, it was true, but she wasn’t exactly exuding warm fuzzies, either. When Laura had worked up her courage to ask again about the self-harming, Maggie had just rolled her eyes. But Laura hadn’t seen any new marks on either of her daughter’s arms, which she took as some encouragement.

  In between the silences and the flounces there were a few good times to be had; after the usual Monday night dinner, James stayed for an epic game of Monopoly that had both Maggie and Sam more animated than she’d seen them in a long while.

  They’d also gone for a long walk along the river with Perry, just the three of them; it was the first time Maggie had agreed to go on a dog walk in ages. And all right, she’d been on her phone for most of the time, but she’d still been there, walking alongside the river, the ground carpeted with delicate snowdrops.

  As the days counted down towards the February half-term, Laura felt an increasing sense of excitement about her date—and one of dismay about leaving the school. She’d become used to seeing James each day, to having their friendly chats in the schoolyard, or even a quick, knowing smile in the corridor. They hadn’t shared another kiss since the one on the bridge, but it almost felt as if they had.

  She’d also enjoyed the chats with other teachers, the jokes and camaraderie in the staffroom that she hadn’t yet taken part in, but she’d still felt included. It was going to be hard to go back to staying home alone.

  The second Monday night dinner, right before Sam and Maggie left for their holiday, didn’t go quite as well as the first. Maggie had a meltdown about having nothing to wear for the trip, despite all the new winter things Laura had bought, and Sam was whinily demanding James to pay attention to him and his iPad. Laura suspected they were both feeling anxious about a week alone with their grandparents, never mind how fun it was meant to be. She could hardly expect James to understand that, and yet somehow he did.

  “That’s how life is sometimes,” he’d replied with a shrug when she’d stumbled through an apology at the end of the evening. “It’s okay, Laura.”

  His relaxed acceptance of the mayhem in her life both touched and unnerved her, because it seemed so easy for him, and she feared that one day it wouldn’t be. One day he might decide he didn’t actually like having two teenagers—well, one almost-teenager—hanging around, cramping his style. One day he might decide she wasn’t worth the effort, the complexities.

  When she’d confided as much to Chantal, her friend had given her the usual tough-talking advice. “Let’s get past the first date before you start worrying about the break-up, okay? Meanwhile I’m trying to remember the last date I had. I think it was in the Palaeolithic Age.”

  “I don’t even know when that was,” Laura had replied with a laugh.

  “A long time ago,” Chantal replied tartly.

  “Maybe you should join a dating app,” Laura suggested hesitantly, to which Chantal snorted.

  “Which one haven’t I tried?” She paused. “I know Tim dying was rubbish but you were lucky, Laura. You found someone. You might be finding someone again. I’m not envious—well, I am, but I’m happy for you, as well. But realise you’ve been lucky.”

  “Oh, Chantal.” Laura had been overcome by an entirely different kind of guilt. “I’m sorry. I feel like a cow now. You’re right, of course—”

  “And I didn’t mean for you to feel like a cow. Just…realise. That’s all.”

  “I do,” Laura whispered. “I do, really.” She sniffed and added in a brighter voice, “Do you know, there is a single guy out here who might be up your alley.”

  “Oh? I’m all ears.”

  “His name is Dan Rhodes. He’s the head teacher at the primary, and I’m pretty sure he’s single.”

  “Divorced?”

  “I don’t know, actually, but he’s mentioned that he lives alone, so… And he’s really nice.”

  “Is that code for ugly?”

  “No,” Laura said with a laugh. “It’s for real. And he is good-looking, in a chilled, bearded sort of way.”

  “I like a guy with a beard,” Chantal replied musingly. “Let me know when you want to set me up.”

  “Deal,” Laura agreed. “Let me get through this date first and then we’ll all have dinner together, okay?”

  “Sounds good.”

  *

  Finally, the day—as well as the evening—came. After school had broken up, Dan Rhodes had given Laura a bouquet of flowers, thanking her for pitching in for the half term, and Laura had, haltingly, mentioned having him over for a meal, something that had surprised but delighted him. Laura drove Maggie and Sam to Burford to spend the night at Granny and Grandad’s before they were to take an absurdly early flight to Geneva the next morning.

  They’d had a couple of Saturday afternoons or Sunday dinners at her in-laws over the last month and a half, and they’d all gone as they always had, with Laura doing her best not to react to the little barbs and stings, even as she couldn’t help but count them up in her head.

  To her surprise, Pamela gave her a rather effusive hug when Laura was about to say goodbye. “I really appreciate this, Laura,” she said, her eyes suspiciously bright. “I know it’s not easy for you, in so many ways. Thank you.”

  Laura had returned the hug, her arms closing around her mother-in-law with clumsy unfamiliarity. She couldn’t remember the last time they’d embraced. She was glad Pamela had thanked her, grateful that she’d acknowledged what Laura was giving up.

  “Have a fabulous time,” she told them all, her throat tightening only a little, and then they were all waving, and she was in her car, feeling fragile and hopeful and excited all at once. She had an entire week on her own, and dinner with James tomorrow night, and she missed her children already.

  Laura spent all of Saturday blitzing the cottage and making food—she’d deliberated far too much, spending a good hour on the phone with Chantal, debating what to make for dinner, as well as telling her about Dan Rhodes, to which Chantal had made approving noises. If they did get together, Laura thought, it would be wonderful. To have Chantal in Wychwood-on-Lea, neighbours even, both of them with significant others or even husbands…

  It was a very rosy daydream, as well as a dangerous one. Like she’d told Chantal, she needed to get through this first—or rather, second—date first.

  James had, very kindly, suggested he could bring a takeaway so she wouldn’t have to cook,
but Laura didn’t want to eat out of foil containers on their date, first or second. She wanted things to be a bit more romantic than that, and besides, she thought she was actually a pretty good cook.

  “But I don’t want to try too hard,” she told Chantal. “I mean, no oysters or caviar or strawberries dipped in champagne.”

  “You have been thinking about this,” Chantal answered with a laugh.

  She settled on chicken cutlets in a tarragon cream sauce with roasted potatoes and minty peas, and an apple tarte Tatin for dessert. Deceptively simple, considering the tart had taken her most of the afternoon to make.

  At four o’clock she nipped out to take Perry for a walk, hoping a little exercise would mean he would be docilely sprawled out in front of the wood burner for the whole evening instead of thrusting his nose between James’s knees or worse, desperate for affection.

  As she mulched through the carpet of damp leaves in the Willoughby wood, excitement warred with total panic. This was an honest-to-goodness date. They would have hours to spend together, to chat, to laugh, to flirt. They would almost certainly kiss. She was starting to hyperventilate again.

  As she came back into the close, she saw Lindy with a tall, good-looking man who held himself a bit stiffly. It had to be the famous Roger. She waved at them both, and Lindy came forward to make introductions.

  “We’re just off to get a takeaway curry,” she said as she linked arms with Roger. They did seem rather ridiculously loved up. “What are you up to, with Sam and Maggie gone for the week?”

  Laura didn’t know if it was the sight of them so obviously a happy couple, as were her other neighbours, but she heard herself replying, “Actually, I have a date.”

  Roger looked understandably nonplussed but Lindy goggled at her. “You do?”

  “Yes, first one.” Her laugh was a little manic. “Here’s hoping.” She started walking towards the door of number three before Lindy could ask any more questions, like who it was with.

  “Let me know how it goes,” Lindy called, and Laura managed a nod and a wave before she unlocked the door and stepped inside. Time to get ready for her big date. For this she needed Chantal.

  Chapter Sixteen

  James resisted the urge to tug at his collar as he stood on Laura’s doorstep, a hand-tied bouquet of roses and lilies clutched in one fist. He’d debated whether to all go out with the romantic gestures, and then had recklessly decided why not?

  In addition to the flowers, he had a bottle of wine in a shiny gold bag looped around one wrist, and he was wearing a freshly pressed button-down shirt and his best pair of cords. Plus he’d worn aftershave. He felt as green as a boy, swallowing nervously, wondering if he’d overdosed on the aftershave. He pressed the doorbell.

  Perry gave a half-hearted bark and he heard Laura shush him before she answered the door, looking…well, frankly, looking insanely gorgeous, yes indeed. He could use those words now.

  Instead of one of her fairly sensible skirt-and-blouse combinations, or a pair of wide-legged trousers paired with a modest jumper, the kind of things he’d seen her in at school, she wore a dress. A soft, wraparound dress in eminently touchable cashmere, the deep blue colour setting off her eyes perfectly. Her hair was in loose waves about her face and she had, he saw, a flick of eyeliner, a touch of lipstick. He didn’t feel so bad about the aftershave now.

  “Hello,” he said, feeling suddenly shy. She smiled back, looking lovely and just as shy.

  “Hello. You scrub up nicely, I have to say.”

  “So do you.”

  She laughed and ran her hands down the sides of her dress. “You wouldn’t believe how long it took me to decide what to wear. I had a two-hour conference call with Chantal.”

  “I think the two of you came to the right conclusion.”

  She dropped her hands from her dress as she gave him a direct look. “I’m nervous.”

  “So am I. Can I come in, by the way?”

  She laughed again as she shook her head. “Sorry, sorry, of course. What a welcome.”

  “It was a lovely welcome.” He handed her the flowers, which she took and buried her nose in, breathing in deep.

  “Heavenly. Lilies are my favourite.”

  “I could pretend to know that, but I didn’t. I just like them too.”

  She glanced up from the flowers, a smile curving lips that looked even lusher than usual, no doubt thanks to the lipstick. “That’s even better.”

  James managed a smile, even though he felt like groaning. He was already longing to pull her into his arms, to kiss her again, to bury his face in her hair, to…

  Stop. He really, really needed to stop that line of thinking. Otherwise this was going to be an incredibly long evening, and not in a good way, as much as he was looking forward to Laura’s company.

  She turned away to put the flowers in a vase, and James took the bottle of wine out of the bag and set it on the table.

  “Smells delicious,” he remarked, and she let out another laugh.

  “That required another long conversation with Chantal. I’m afraid this date has the military planning of—of the Battle of Thermopylae!”

  “Thermopylae?” James raised his eyebrows, bemused. “Geek I may be, but I’m not familiar with that one.”

  “No, I wouldn’t expect you to be. I studied ancient history at uni, in case you couldn’t tell. And that wasn’t actually a good comparison, because the Greeks lost the battle despite their good strategy, although they did take quite a few Persians down with them.”

  “So in this scenario am I a Persian or a Greek?”

  She shrugged, smiling helplessly. “Honestly, I have no idea. The whole analogy breaks down pretty quickly.”

  “Most analogies do. So do you think you’ll look for a position teaching history, now that you’re finished at the village school?” A prospect that made regret sweep through him. He would miss her brightening his days.

  “I’d like to. I haven’t taught history since before Maggie was born.”

  “Why not?”

  She paused thoughtfully, her hands still full of flowers as she arranged them in the vase. “When she and Sam were little, I didn’t really have the brain power or the energy. And as they got older it just felt easier to stay in a job that had no marking to bring home, no parent-teacher conferences in the evenings. But I think I’m ready for more of a challenge now.” She grimaced wryly. “If I can get a job.”

  “I’m sure you can.”

  She smiled and finished with the flowers, and James struggled to find something else to say. Why did he feel so nervous, so awkward, as if every remark jarred, at least a little? He’d been so looking forward to this evening but here he was, standing around, shuffling his feet and wondering what to say.

  “I was worried this was going to be weird,” Laura said quietly, a wry smile curving her lips although her eyes looked a little anxious.

  “What do you mean?” he asked, although he thought he knew very well what she meant.

  “We talked about going on a date for so long and now we’re actually doing it. It feels weird. Like—whoa.” She held up both hands in front of her, eyebrows raised, and he smiled.

  “Yeah, I know what you mean. But it doesn’t have to be weird.”

  “The more we talk about it being weird, the weirder it becomes.”

  “That’s a problem.”

  “Indeed.” She slanted him a humorous look. “Why don’t I open the wine? I’m sure everything will seem easier once we’re slightly sozzled.”

  “That sounds like an excellent idea.”

  Laura did just that, pouring them both full glasses and then handing James one before raising her own. “To first dates.”

  “Technically, this is our second. But yes. To dates, first and otherwise.” He clinked his glass with hers and they both drank.

  As she lowered her glass, Laura gave him a teasing smile. “Still weird?”

  The wine had already snaked its warmth down to his belly.
“Getting better.”

  “Good.” She put her glass down and went to busy herself with something at the stove while James took another sip, relaxing that little bit more. “Tell me about Helen,” she said over her shoulder, and he tensed right up again.

  “Sorry…what?”

  “I’ve told you about Tim,” she replied with a shrug as she turned to look at him. “Tell me about Helen.”

  James didn’t really want to talk about his ex on a first—or rather, second—date, but he could see Laura had a point. “What do you want to know?”

  “Anything. Everything.” She gave a little grimace. “Well, no, not everything. But let’s start easy. How did you meet?”

  “At a party.” Which sounded so boring. He took a sip of wine as he shuffled through the memories like a deck of old cards. “Thrown by one of my old uni friends. It was summer—one of those surprisingly hot nights.” Sultry, even, so the air felt damp. He pictured himself standing in the corner of a crowded kitchen in a tiny flat in Wimbledon, sipping cheap wine and sweating through his shirt.

  “And?” Laura continued, a small smile playing about her mouth.

  “Someone had put music on, and people were starting to dance in the living room. I wasn’t. I am not, and never have been, a dancer.”

  “I have trouble believing that.”

  “Believe it.” He gave a slightly hollow laugh as he recalled various discos and dances throughout his school days where he had been dragged out onto the floor by some well-meaning—or not—friend. “I am the definition of the white man’s shuffle. Rhythm is not my thing.”

  “And so Helen.” Laura put her hands on her hips. “Let me guess. She asked you to dance.”

  “She didn’t ask me, she dragged me onto the floor.” Even now he could see the look of laughing challenge on her face as she’d taken him by both hands and pulled him forward. It had charmed him at the time, even if he’d been a bit alarmed to find himself grooving, or attempting to, to ‘Dancing Queen.’

  “She was like that,” he continued. “Determined. I liked it at first. She was—is—the kind of person to get out on a weekend, going to some festival or fair when I would have been happy at home with a book or a movie. Not that I’m a couch potato,” he said quickly and Laura smiled.