The Mill on Magnolia Lane: A gorgeous feel-good romantic comedy

by Tilly Tennant

  Gwendolyn dunked the teaspoon into her cup and began to stir again, and Lizzie resisted the temptation to ask her if she thought she might be able to stir right through the porcelain and into the table beneath. ‘Your dad will be turning in his grave.’

  ‘But he’d have been happy at the prospect of a grandchild?’ Lizzie said softly. ‘Don’t you think we ought to focus on the positives? Gracie has said what she wants, and maybe that will change, but perhaps for now we ought to respect her wishes?’

  ‘Whose side are you on?’ Gwendolyn said, shooting Lizzie a sideways look.

  ‘Nobody’s. I’m on the side of reason and common sense.’

  ‘And for heaven’s sake, Mum,’ Gracie cut in, ‘that tea is stirred! You can’t possibly stir it any more without changing its molecular make-up!’

  ‘Don’t snap at me just because your hormones are all over the place!’

  ‘Now you sound just like Frank! That’s his favourite line—’

  ‘Whoa!’ Lizzie shouted. ‘Just stop for a minute, you two! Aren’t you supposed to be on the same side? Aren’t we family? Mum, I know you don’t agree with the way Gracie is handling this but it’s her choice. And, Gracie, Mum is doing her best to get her head around this, and she’s finding it as stressful as you so cut her some slack. OK?’

  Gracie pouted, throwing her mother a black look. But then she nodded and their mother did too.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Gwendolyn said. ‘I just want what’s best for you.’

  ‘I know,’ Gracie said. ‘I’m sorry I shouted at you, but I don’t want to involve Frank.’

  ‘You do realise, however,’ Lizzie cut in, ‘that Frank is bound to find out sooner or later, and he won’t be happy about being kept in the dark when he does.’

  ‘Good!’ Gracie reached for a flapjack and rammed it into her mouth. Her mum broke into a small smile.

  ‘I don’t think you mean that either,’ Lizzie said.

  ‘Well, no. I mean yes.’ Gracie’s eyes misted and she sniffed back tears, sticking a defiant chin out again. ‘He broke my heart, but he only gets to do it once. This time, I call the shots, and he’ll find out how it feels to be the last to know something and to be shut out.’ Gracie popped the rest of the flapjack in her mouth and chewed rapidly.

  ‘But won’t you need some support when the baby comes?’ Gwendolyn asked.

  ‘It’s a baby and lots of people have them – how hard can it be?’

  ‘I don’t think it’s the having them that’s the hard bit,’ Lizzie said with a small smile of her own. ‘I think it’s the raising that might cause you some headaches.’

  ‘Well, I can do that too. And you’ll help me, won’t you?’ Gracie looked from Lizzie to her mum and back again. ‘So I don’t need to worry about anything, do I?’

  Lizzie forced her smile to stretch. Whether she wanted it or not, it looked as if she was going to be a big part of this baby’s life.

  ‘I’m more concerned about the emotional impact of bringing up a child who’s the result of a relationship where you can’t even bear to look at each other anymore, let alone take joint responsibility for it,’ Gwendolyn said.

  ‘I don’t know why you’re so anxious about Frank being involved,’ Gracie replied. ‘Honestly, he’d be so useless that I might as well do it alone, and he really wouldn’t care either way.’

  ‘I think you’ll find he cares more than you might imagine.’

  Gracie crossed her arms. ‘If he finds out and he wants to be involved then fine, but I’m not going to tell him, no matter what anyone says. And…’ she added, wagging a finger at her mother, ‘you’re not going to tell him either. If he’s upset that he didn’t know then perhaps he might reflect on the fact that if he hadn’t shagged that barely legal girl we would have been together still and he would have known about his baby.’

  ‘I think,’ Lizzie began slowly, ‘that this is more about getting back at Frank than you thinking he wouldn’t be interested in his baby.’

  ‘Well, you’re wrong, so it shows what you know,’ Gracie returned tartly.

  ‘Don’t be like that; I’m only trying to help.’

  ‘I know,’ Gracie said, her front crumbling now and tears filling her eyes. ‘But it’s not helping so please stop trying to psychoanalyse me. I’m just getting used to the idea that I’m going to have a little person totally relying on me for everything and the last thing I want is to think about the bastard who caused it all.’

  ‘You don’t really think he’s a bastard, do you?’ Lizzie asked softly.

  ‘No,’ Gracie said. ‘That’s why it hurts so much to think about him. Please, understand that him being involved would only make things ten times harder. It’s better this way.’

  Lizzie glanced at her mother. Their silent exchange was the product of many years of fine-tuning their instinctive understanding of what each other was thinking, and this occasion was no different. Neither of them thought that keeping Frank in the dark was the best course of action, but in the end it was Gracie’s choice. She wasn’t changing her mind any time soon and there was no argument on earth that would do it for her.

  ‘You’ve got us,’ Lizzie said, trying to make her smile as encouraging as she could. ‘Whatever you need, we’ll be here for you.’

  Gwendolyn nodded agreement and then dusted off her hands. ‘So, to practical matters. Have you registered with a GP nearby?’

  Gracie shook her head.

  ‘You’re going to have to, so they can get you on the books of a midwife. How far along do you think you are?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘When was your last period?’

  ‘I haven’t really been keeping track.’

  Gwendolyn rolled her eyes.

  ‘Sorry,’ Gracie said. ‘I don’t suppose I can be very far along – it must have happened just before Frank left me.’

  ‘Well, in that case I’m sure you’re going to need to see the midwife sooner rather than later so she can work all that out and make sure you get what you need right now.’

  Lizzie smiled. For a moment they’d reverted back to mother and daughter, and Gracie nodded eagerly, obviously grateful for her mum’s advice and guidance, as she once would have been as a young girl when mothers knew all and always knew best. With their capable mum on her side and a family who wanted to help, Gracie would be alright… eventually.

  * * *

  How Lizzie wished she’d tried a little harder to persuade Gracie to come along tonight. She could understand why her sister – under normal circumstances most likely to be found glowing at the centre of any social gathering – had feigned tiredness to get out of this. After all, why would she want to sit like a gooseberry in between two couples when it would only serve as a cruel reminder that she was no longer part of one? Nonetheless, Lizzie couldn’t deny being a little hurt that Gracie hadn’t understood her own predicament.

  As she dressed, despairing that anything she tried on would compete on any level with Harriet’s easy style and effortless sex appeal, she couldn’t deny that she was nervous. It made no sense – it wasn’t as if she’d never socialised with Harriet and Damon before – but it was almost as if the very intentional nature of this get-together was the problem. She’d only ever been thrown into Harriet’s path by chance before, but tonight had been engineered by Jude with the express purpose of helping her and Harriet to become friends. If she was completely honest, Lizzie didn’t want to be friends with Harriet, and she suspected that Harriet might feel the same. It was nothing personal, it was just that the last hobby Lizzie wanted to take up was that of sizing herself up in comparison to Harriet on a regular basis, with the likelihood that she’d always come away feeling lacking.

  Still, she mused as she fastened the buttons of her trusty old tea dress, Jude had asked her, and it seemed really important to him, and how could she have said no to that? Having Gracie with her would have helped, though. Her sister was so good at diffusing tension, so much wittier and sharper and cl
everer than Lizzie, so accomplished entertaining a room full of strangers that she would have had the situation in hand five minutes after they’d walked in. She’d have taken the pressure off Lizzie and they’d have left the gathering a triumph. Now Lizzie was going to have to deal with it alone, and she just knew she was going to cock it up somehow.

  Harriet and Damon were already there with Artie when Lizzie arrived. Lizzie had relied on a lift from Gracie to get there, who warned that she’d probably be asleep by eleven and if Lizzie wanted a lift home again she’d have to find it elsewhere. It was good to know that Gracie had her back, she’d mused wryly, but it was pointless to complain and so she hadn’t bothered. Charlie was rushing back and forth, carrying glasses and bowls of peanuts and crisps to the table. Jude kept telling him there was enough, but Charlie seemed so happy to be useful that nobody made any huge effort to stop him, even when the table was so full that he’d started to put things on spare chairs.

  Harriet was dressed in a black pencil skirt and a fitted black top with long lace-up boots. She wore winged eyeliner and a tiny ruby in her perfectly pert little nose, like Audrey Hepburn gone punk. Lizzie, on the other hand, was like Audrey Hepburn in no capacity whatsoever. As soon as she walked in she felt on the back foot, somehow woefully inadequate against the practically perfect Harriet. Even though Jude greeted her with an enthusiastic compliment, it was a feeling Lizzie found hard to shake.

  Damon was in his usual uniform of residual teenage angst, hair over his eyes, dirty black jeans teamed with a lumberjack-style shirt and his distressed trainers. His sleeves were rolled back today to reveal a tattoo that ran the length of his left forearm. It looked like a character from a comic or something; Lizzie couldn’t really tell and she didn’t like to ask. The more Lizzie saw of Damon, the more she wondered at Harriet’s complete turnaround in taste – he really was nothing like Jude at all. Lizzie noted a guitar case standing against the wall of the conservatory where they’d decided to sit to enjoy the last of the sun. Knowing that Jude didn’t play any instrument, Lizzie was wondering who it belonged to until Damon leapt up and moved it away from Artie’s wandering hands. The look on his face was one of such irritation that she could only assume it belonged to him.

  Jude took Artie in his arms and carried him over to Lizzie. ‘Say hello to Lizzie, Artie.’

  Lizzie couldn’t help the way her heart squeezed at the sight of them. Jude looked so good and right with Artie in his arms, such a natural dad, so obviously happy, and she forced herself not to dwell on the thought that he’d already had a life before her, one that was full of love; perhaps one that was better, one he hadn’t wanted to lose.

  ‘Hi, Artie,’ Lizzie said with a brave smile. ‘It’s good to finally meet you.’

  Artie disappeared into Jude’s neck, thumb in mouth.

  ‘I can’t believe you’ve turned shy,’ Jude said with a chuckle. ‘Come on, Lizzie’s not that scary.’

  Jude ran a hand over Artie’s dark curls. A moment later, the little boy peered out at Lizzie, thumb still in his mouth, his blue eyes almost a carbon copy of Jude’s as they measured her up. He didn’t speak. Lizzie tried again. It was important that she make a good impression on Jude’s son.

  ‘I really like your T-shirt,’ she said, pointing to the picture on the front. ‘Is that a stegosaurus on it?’

  ‘Ah,’ Jude said. ‘See, Lizzie knows her dinosaurs too. What do you think of that?’ He gave Artie a quick tickle under the chin, which caused the little boy to giggle.

  Lizzie smiled as Artie turned to her with a shy one of his own. But then Harriet came over and took him from Jude.

  ‘He can stay up with us for half an hour longer, but then he needs to go to bed,’ she said.

  Jude nodded, though it was easy to see the disappointment he was trying to hide. Perhaps he’d wanted to give Lizzie more time to get to know his son. She gave him a reassuring smile, trying to telegraph silently that it didn’t matter, that they had all the time in the world for that.

  As they took their seats, the room balmy from the day’s sun, Harriet sat Artie down in between her and Damon on the rattan sofa. Lizzie could have sworn she saw another look of irritation from Damon, but if it was there at all, he smoothed it away quickly. Her attention was drawn to the door, when George the little terrier trotted in. He headed straight for Lizzie, his tail whirring madly, licking her hand as she reached to stroke him.

  ‘Someone’s got a fan,’ Harriet commented carelessly.

  ‘He must be a good judge of character,’ Jude said, smiling warmly at Lizzie, who returned it.

  Lizzie then turned to Harriet to reply to her comment, but she was thrown by an expression that said Harriet might not be in total agreement with George’s opinions on Lizzie. Lizzie tried to ignore the look – maybe she was seeing too much in it. Harriet seemed so hot and cold towards Lizzie that she couldn’t figure out where they stood with each other. But Harriet soon turned back to Artie, fussing over a stain she’d found on his sleeve.

  The next half hour was taken up in polite, careful conversation. It was strange, because they’d all met before, but it was almost as if the very act of deliberately pulling them all together had changed the dynamic somehow. A couple of drinks might loosen the mood – at least hers if nobody else’s – Lizzie decided, so she took full advantage of Jude’s earlier offer to stay over and began with a Malibu and Coke.

  Jude had gone into the kitchen with Charlie to mix it, and when he came back and handed it to Lizzie, he had a wicked smile on his lips. As soon as Lizzie tasted it, she realised why, and she gave a grin of her own. There had to be at least a triple measure in there – not that she was complaining. Jude was clearly as keen for Lizzie to stay over as she was. Even better, Harriet was drinking beer watered down with lemonade, just as Charlie had been allowed to do (very watered down for him), saying that she and Damon would be driving back to his place after the party, leaving Artie to sleep over at Jude’s place too. Lizzie wondered how much of that had been Damon’s idea. He didn’t seem to be all that keen on Artie. There was no specific incident that Lizzie could point to that made her think so, just a general lack of engagement that seemed to say it.

  Then Artie was duly put to bed in Charlie’s room. Charlie had been charged with the task of listening out for the baby monitor that was still in use on the odd time that Artie stayed over. It was a responsibility he took very seriously as he kept leaving the conservatory every ten minutes to listen to it out in the kitchen. He’d return and report the exact sounds he heard, even if that was just snuffling and shifting.

  Jude had been in an excitable mood, and the more he drank, the more animated he became. Lizzie could see he was happy to have everyone together in his house. He was up and down – making sure there was enough wine in the fridge, that the beers he’d bought were the brand Damon liked, that Charlie was OK, that Charlie was happy that Artie was OK, that the bowls containing crisps and nuts were constantly overflowing, that the music was loud enough, that it wasn’t too loud, that they were warm enough, cool enough… that just everything was perfect. Lizzie was exhausted simply watching him dart around. She’d thought Gracie could get overexcited at the mere sniff of a soiree, but this was something she hadn’t expected from the usually laid-back Jude. She supposed it really did show just how much it meant to him that the evening went well, and she resolved to do her bit, no matter what she felt about Harriet.

  So she painted on a smile and she tried to be witty and bright, she laughed in all the right places and gave out compliments, and then, as the night wore on and they got drunker, she tried not to notice how close Harriet was sitting to Jude, and how often she touched his leg or his arm as she laughed at a joke, and how they’d lapsed into exclusive anecdotes again, just as they had that day by the river, so that she and Damon could only sit and listen and pretend they got the joke.

  But on this occasion, she noticed that Damon wasn’t quite as relaxed about it as he’d been the last time she’d met him
. When Harriet leaned over Jude and pulled him into a tight hug, Lizzie could have sworn she saw the muscles of Damon’s jaw twitch, his smile becoming a little more glassy-eyed than it had been. The thing was, they were all tipsy except for Harriet, so whatever she was playing at, she was doing it stone cold sober. Damon must have realised that too.

  ‘Wanna see my new guitar?’ Damon asked.

  Harriet offered a withering look. ‘Not now – you’ll wake Artie. I don’t know why you brought it with you.’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind seeing it,’ Jude said generously. ‘You could play it quietly – right?’

  ‘Sure!’ Damon leapt from his seat to get it. Lizzie didn’t think she’d seen him move so fast all night. He returned a second later with the case and undid the clasps almost reverently to reveal a glossy hardwood guitar. Lizzie didn’t know much about guitars, but if it looked that beautiful to her, she could understand the look of absolute love on Damon’s face.

  ‘I’ve never heard you play, you know,’ Jude said.

  ‘I didn’t realise,’ Damon replied. He looked to Harriet, who simply rolled her eyes and shrugged.

  ‘If you must,’ she said. ‘Better keep it down, though. If you wake Artie I will kill you.’

  ‘I won’t wake him – chill,’ Damon said, looking and sounding more like an angsty teenager than ever. He shook his fringe from his eyes before taking the guitar from its case.

  Jude sat forward expectantly. Charlie almost gasped with anticipation, while Harriet threw a look towards the kitchen, where the baby monitor was sitting on the worktop, listening in on Artie. Lizzie waited with interest. She didn’t know anyone who played guitar and really, rock had never been her sort of thing, but she was interested now and a little bit impressed that Damon could play.

  Damon stroked his fingers down the strings and then frowned. ‘Needs a little tuning,’ he said. ‘Sometimes they lose it easily while they’re still new.’