by Kate Hardy
He could almost see his father’s rolled eyes and hear the sarcastic comment.
‘I’m sorry, Dad,’ he said quietly. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t save you. I’m sorry I was too far away to help.’ He dragged in a breath. ‘I’m sorry I’ve made such a mess of my life—though at least my career is doing OK. I know you were disappointed I didn’t follow in your footsteps, but I would’ve made a lousy lawyer. I’m a good scientist. I love my job. And I think you’d approve of me being one of the youngest managers ever in the pharmaceutical company, in charge of a really big project.’
No answer. Not that he expected one. But a sudden gust of wind or an unexpected ray of sunlight would’ve been nice. A sign that his father had heard him.
‘I’m sorry I haven’t been there for Mum and Ruby,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t trying to neglect them. It was the whole idea of coming back here. Where I’d failed you. I know, I know, I should’ve manned up and driven here instead of always expecting them to come and see me in London. But, the longer I stayed away, the harder it was to come home. I couldn’t face walking into the house, expecting to see you and then seeing the space where you weren’t there—it’d be like losing you all over again and I just couldn’t bear it.’
And how he missed his father. They’d had a difficult relationship at times, but Brad had respected his father and what he’d achieved, even though they’d disagreed about Brad’s career choice. James Powell was a big bear of a man, always laughing and joking, full of outrageous stories about his days in court. Brad had sneaked into the public gallery at court one day, to watch his father at work, and he’d seen how brilliant James was—persuasive, knowledgeable, putting his client’s case in a way that the jury understood but without patronising them. He’d been spellbinding. A father to be proud of.
And he’d died way, way too soon.
Brad sighed. ‘You were right about me and Abby. We were too young to get married. Of course it didn’t last.’ And how selfish he’d been to drag Abby into his teenage rebellion. If he’d waited, maybe they would still be married now. But they weren’t. Another failure. Something else he hadn’t wanted to face, here in Great Crowmell. The place where he’d fallen in love with Abigail Scott.
The break-up had been entirely his fault. He’d been the one to push her away.
Though seeing her again had made him realise that his old feelings for her were still there. They’d never really gone away. He’d ignored them, buried them even; but now he was home and close to her, it was harder to block them out.
He couldn’t possibly act on those feelings. He didn’t trust himself not to mess it all up again, and he wanted to give Abby the chance to be happy—even if it was with someone else. But maybe they could be on better terms than they’d left it last night. When she’d told him things he hadn’t wanted to face and, instead of talking it over with her, he’d walked out and refused to discuss it.
‘Did you ever regret things, Dad?’ he asked. ‘Did you ever wish you hadn’t said things, or that you’d done something differently?’
Of course there was no answer.
Though his father had always been so confident, so sure that he was right.
Abby’s words slid back into his head. Your dad was a stubborn old coot. I loved Jim dearly, but he didn’t help himself and he didn’t listen to anyone.
She was right; and that was probably why James had been so confident. He didn’t listen to anyone who didn’t say exactly what he wanted to hear. And Brad couldn’t ever remember his father apologising; though Jim had come close to it in that last phone call, when he’d admitted he should’ve waited instead of going out on the boat on his own.
Brad sighed. ‘Abby loved you. Even though you were stubborn and didn’t listen to anyone except maybe your clients, she loved you.’
She’d loved Brad, too. And he’d been so sure he was right, not listening to her. Just like his father. Funny, he hadn’t thought that he could be as difficult as James, but maybe he was. Being stubborn and refusing to give up had stood him in good stead professionally; the flip side meant that being stubborn and refusing to talk about things had ruined his marriage.
‘I owe her an apology,’ he said. ‘For a lot of things. I need to go and talk to her. But I’ll be back. I’ll come and see you on Saturday. And we’re going to smile all day until our faces hurt, for Ruby’s sake.’
When he walked back into the florist, the assistant raised her eyebrows. ‘Back again?’
He nodded. ‘Can you wrap up six roses for me, please?’ And there was only one colour he could choose. ‘Cream ones.’
‘Going to see your mum now, are you?’
That was the thing about growing up in a small town; everyone knew you, and they knew your business, too. ‘No. Actually, I’d like a different bouquet for her, please—something with lots of pinks and purples.’ Her favourite colours. ‘Can I pick it up in an hour? Oh, and if you have one of those vases on a spike you can use in the churchyard, I’d like to buy one of those, too, please.’
‘Sure.’
He paid for everything, taking just the roses and the vase with him, then bought a bottle of water in the newsagent next door.
Then he noticed the shop next to the newsagent. Scott’s Ice Cream Parlour. That was new. He’d been so focused on visiting the churchyard that he hadn’t noticed it when he’d walked here before. So where would Abigail be today? Here, or at the café by the beach?
Inside, there was a young girl serving; he didn’t recognise her.
‘Can I help you?’ she asked with a smile.
‘Um, I was wondering if I could have a quick word with Abigail, please?’
‘She’s not here, I’m afraid. Can I take a message?’
‘No, it’s fine.’ It looked as if he’d have to catch her at home.
‘Do I hear someone asking for our Abby?’ An older woman came out of the back of the shop and stared at him in surprise. ‘Oh. Brad. You’re back.’
‘Hello, Gill.’ He remembered her from the beach café, years back. ‘Yes, I’m back for Ruby’s wedding.’
She eyed him warily. ‘I can get a message to Abby, if you like.’
It was kind of nice that Abby’s staff were protective about her, he thought, not actually telling him where she was until they’d checked with her first. Though it didn’t help him.
‘I’m not going to fight with her,’ he said softly. ‘I just wanted a quick word with her about wedding stuff.’ That last bit wasn’t strictly true, or anywhere even vaguely near the truth, but the first bit was heartfelt.
Gill frowned, and he thought she was going to stonewall him. But then she nodded. ‘OK. It’s Tuesday, so she’ll be at the beach café.’
‘Thank you, Gill.’
‘You’re welcome.’ Her gaze dropped to the flowers and the vase he was carrying, and this time there was more sympathy in her expression. ‘Going to see your dad?’
‘Yes.’ She didn’t need to know it was for the second time—or that these flowers were for Abby.
‘He was one of a kind, your dad. He’s still missed around here.’
The words put a lump in his throat. ‘Thank you.’
At the church, he sorted out the flowers he’d left at the grave earlier, pushing the spike into the earth and then filling the vase with water; then he headed for the beach café. He’d forgotten what a long walk it was from the harbour to the beach. It had always felt like seconds when he was a teenager, walking there hand in hand with Abby. Now, it seemed never-ending. And he couldn’t remember the seagulls being quite so irritating and screamy, either.
Or maybe he was just out of sorts because of what he’d been doing that morning.
As he neared the café, he saw that all the tables outside were full. Dogs were sitting next to their owners or lying half under the tables; it looked idyllic. The perfect English beachside scene.
He was pretty sure that Gill would have called the café as soon as he left, so Abby would be expecting him. Hopef
ully she hadn’t decided to leave and avoid him, or he’d have to come up with a plan B. He took a deep breath and walked inside.
She was nowhere to be seen in the café.
‘Excuse me, please,’ he said to the young man at the counter—someone else he didn’t recognise. ‘Would it be possible to have a word with Ms Scott, please?’
The young man eyed the flowers curiously.
And then it occurred to Brad that he might be causing problems for Abby if she had a new partner. A stranger bearing a bunch of roses wouldn’t go down well. Even if she explained that the stranger was her ex-husband, and he was simply trying to apologise for a fight they’d had and keep things on an even keel between them for the sake of his sister’s wedding.
‘I’ll go and get her,’ the assistant said.
Abby came out from the back and he could see the second that she spotted him, because the welcome in her face turned to wariness. He sighed inwardly. It was his own fault. He’d done that with his behaviour last night.
‘I know you’re at work, and I don’t intend to hold you up or get in the way,’ he said, ‘but please can I talk to you for three minutes?’ And hopefully she’d realise he meant not in front of other people. He didn’t want any gossip. Gossip was the thing he’d hated most about growing up in a small town.
She nodded. ‘Come into the office.’
He followed her behind the counter, ignoring the curious looks from the people round them.
She closed the door of her office behind them and gestured to a chair. ‘Have a seat.’
‘Thank you.’ He handed her the roses. ‘For you.’
She frowned. ‘Why?’
‘A mixture of things,’ he said. ‘One, to say thank you for stocking my fridge.’
She lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. ‘Barely. It’s what I do for all the guests next door.’
He ignored her protest. ‘Two, to say thank you for sorting out the water problem. Three, to say thank you for dinner last night.’ And here was the big one. ‘Four, to apologise for walking out on you last night when you tried to talk to me.’ He knew he owed her more than that. ‘Five, to ask if you’d let me take you to dinner tonight to apologise properly—that is, if it won’t cause a problem with your partner?’ Because he had to face it. A woman as warm and lovely as Abigail Scott wouldn’t be alone for long.
‘Will it cause a problem with your partner?’ she asked.
Which didn’t tell him anything. Though he could hardly call her on answering a question with a question. ‘I don’t have a partner,’ he said.
After a long, long pause, she said, ‘Ditto.’
And why did that make the day feel as if the sun had suddenly come out? Crazy. He wanted Abigail to be happy. Rekindling their relationship wasn’t on the cards, because he couldn’t risk hurting her again. He ought to want her to have a partner instead of being alone. But a more selfish part of him was glad that she wasn’t involved with anyone else.
‘And six,’ he said, changing the subject, ‘just because five roses is an odd number. Literally and figuratively.’
That last bit made her smile, to his relief. ‘Thank you. They’re lovely.’
‘I am sorry, Abby,’ he said. ‘I was tired and out of sorts last night, and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. I was rude, ungracious, and stubborn.’
‘So only part of a chip off the old block, then,’ she said.
Meaning that, unlike his father, he actually apologised? ‘Maybe.’ He looked her straight in the eyes. Today, they were sea green. ‘Abby, I meant what I said. I’d like to take you to dinner tonight. To say thank you for looking out for me, to apologise, and to kind of cement a proper truce between us so Ruby’s wedding day is perfect.’
She was silent for so long that he thought she was going to say no, but then finally she nodded. ‘All right. I won’t finish here until seven, though.’
‘Fair enough. I’ll book somewhere local for, what, eight? Will that give you enough time to be ready?’ Not that Abby had ever been the high-maintenance sort who took hours and hours to get ready. Though he had no idea how much she’d changed since their divorce. Maybe she was different, now.
‘That’s fine,’ she said.
‘And I’ll call for you at quarter to eight.’
She nodded. ‘That’d be nice.’
‘I can see you’re busy,’ he said, ‘so I won’t hold you up.’
‘Thank you.’
‘I’ll see you tonight.’
He was at the door when she said softly, ‘Brad.’
He turned round to face her. ‘Yes?’
‘Did you go to the church?’
He inclined his head. ‘And I’m going to see Mum now.’
‘That’s an awful lot to face in one day.’
The quayside. The church and the churchyard. His childhood home. ‘I might as well deal with most of the ghosts at once. I’ll live.’ It was time he stopped avoiding his past; and maybe being stubborn about it would help, for once. Doing it today would give him a couple of days’ breathing space before the wedding, so he could get his mask perfect again. ‘I’ll see you at quarter to eight.’
* * *
Brad walked up the driveway to his parents’ house—his mother’s house, he corrected himself—just as he’d done so many times before. The house hadn’t changed; although the paint was fresh the colour was the same and the flowers growing in the front garden were the same.
He paused with his hand on the doorbell. How many times he’d stood on this step as a teen, hoping that his dad wasn’t working from home, ready with a lecture about how many more opportunities Brad would have with a law degree than with a chemistry degree. Or the row over the Cambridge college he’d applied to—not the one where James had studied. Brad had never been able to get through to his father that he loved him dearly but didn’t want to follow in his footsteps; he wanted to make his own way, not trade on his father’s reputation.
And now he never would.
He took a deep breath, nerving himself to ring the doorbell, when the front door opened abruptly; his mother swept him into a hug, and Ollie the Collie bounced around, barking madly.
‘Brad, it’s so good to have you home,’ Rosie said.
Home.
‘And you know you don’t have to ring the doorbell. You’re not a guest. This is always your home, any time you need it.’
A home with an empty space where his father should be.
Brad hugged his mother a little bit tighter, then made a fuss of the dog. ‘I know, Mum.’
Her eyes were full of tears, but she blinked them away. ‘It’s so good to see you.’
‘And you.’
She squeezed his hand. ‘Last time you were here...’
She didn’t need to say it. They both knew. The day of James’s funeral.
‘I know this is hard for you, Brad.’
It was. And her understanding made him feel worse. The lump in his throat was so huge, he could barely get the words out. ‘I’m sorry, Mum. I should have come back before.’
‘You video-call me twice a week and you spoil me in London. That’s an awful lot more than some mothers get,’ Rosie pointed out.
‘I guess.’ He took a deep breath. ‘It’s weird, being back. And it must be so hard for you—imagining Dad’s going to walk in any second now.’
‘I’ve had time to get used to it. Which isn’t a criticism,’ Rosie said. ‘And I know your dad used to give you a hard time.’
‘I let him down by not following in his footsteps.’
‘You would have let me down if you’d done that,’ Rosie said. ‘You needed to live your own life, not relive your dad’s for him. And actually he was really proud of you. I know he probably never told you, but I used to hear him talking about you to his friends. “My son, the scientist. He’s going to change the world.”’
‘Seriously?’ Brad couldn’t quite square this with his memories. All the criticisms, all the witticisms, all the litt
le digs.
‘Seriously. But telling you himself would have meant admitting he was wrong, and your dad didn’t do that.’ Rosie raised an eyebrow. ‘I thought you were heading the same way, but I’m glad you’re not. I hear you’ve seen Abby.’
The grapevine hadn’t taken long to get the news to her, he thought. ‘And had a fight with her—and bought her flowers to apologise,’ he said ruefully.
‘But you’re going to have a truce for Ruby’s wedding?’
‘Absolutely,’ he said. ‘Nothing and nobody is going to spoil my twin’s special day.’
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ Ruby said, walking into the hall from the kitchen. ‘Welcome home. It’s good to see you here instead of having to trudge all the way to London.’
‘You mean the place where you get free accommodation and dinner, and plenty of time to spend at exhibitions,’ Brad retorted. ‘Not to mention theatre tickets.’
‘Yeah, yeah.’ But her smile was slightly wobbly.
‘I was never going to let you down,’ Brad said. ‘And I’ve been to the church. I’ve been to see Dad. I put flowers on his grave.’
‘That’s a lot of ghosts to face in one day,’ Rosie said softly. ‘I think you need some lunch.’
‘The bread’s home-made,’ Ruby said. ‘Though I guess we should have got you a fatted calf.’
‘Except you would have made friends with it, called it “Fluffy” even if it was a fully-grown bad-tempered bull, and it would have had a regular supply of best bovine treats,’ Brad said with a grin.
Ruby punched his arm. ‘Not only do you look like Dad, you sound like him. He would’ve been so pleased.’
‘I’m not sure whether that’s a compliment or not,’ Brad said. ‘And I wasn’t the one who kept trying to tempt you away from being a vegetarian by cooking bacon sandwiches every single day.’
‘Just as well, or we would’ve had to call the fire brigade,’ Ruby said.
And this time, when he smiled, it didn’t feel forced.
‘So you and Abby—you’re OK?’ Ruby asked.
‘We’re OK. Really.’
‘Only I heard—’
‘They’re fine,’ Rosie said, and hugged her daughter. ‘Come on, lunch. It’s good to have both my babies home.’ At the look on their faces, she laughed. ‘You might be twenty-seven, but I can assure you that you’re still my babies. You always will be.’
