A Very Vintage Christmas: A Heartwarming Christmas Romance (An Unforgettable Christmas Book 1)
Page 7
‘I’m sorry,’ she said finally. ‘You’re right and I’m out of order. It’s just that I feel like a prize plum already doing this without doing it on my own. I probably ought to just forget about it.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Isla said, her tone softening now. ‘I know it matters to you and if I could be there you know I would.’
Dodie smiled thinly. ‘I know that and I shouldn’t have doubted you. Do you want to tell me what’s going on?’
‘I can’t yet.’ Isla sighed. ‘It’s sort of complicated and I don’t even know myself what I think about it right now.’
‘That sounds bad. I can leave this here and come over to yours if you need to talk.’
‘I’m better off alone this evening. Mum and I need to talk and she’s probably not going to like what I have to say. Which is all the more reason to get it over with as soon as I can. Thanks, but not tonight. Sorry.’
‘Don’t be sorry, although I’m worried now about you more than anything else.’
‘Don’t be. I have Mum here and we’ll work it out between us. When I can say more I’ll let you know. And I promise I’ll try to get over soon. Maybe you want to put your little door-to-door exercise off until I can get to you?’
Dodie was silent for a moment as she mulled it over. ‘OK,’ she said finally. ‘That’s probably a good idea. I don’t suppose it will make any difference what day I come.’
‘Right then. I’ll call you tomorrow if I can and let you know more.’
‘OK… I’m sorry for sounding annoyed at you.’
‘I’m sorry for not turning up. If there was any way I could have avoided standing you up I would have done. Hey, maybe you want to call Ryan to go with you? It’s about time he shifted his slovenly arse and did something useful.’
‘No… Can you imagine him walking the streets with me asking about a letter from a couple who are both probably dead by now? I’m sure he’d think that was a cracking night out.’
‘You could try explaining to him why it’s important.’
‘I could, but I honestly don’t think he’d understand.’
Isla was silent for a moment. ‘Probably not,’ she agreed finally. ‘So I’ll call you tomorrow and hopefully I’ll be able to tell you more.’
‘OK. But don’t stress about it.’
‘I won’t,’ Isla replied, and Dodie could hear the fond smile in her voice. ‘Take care out there, won’t you?’
‘Always,’ Dodie said. ‘You too.’
She ended the call and slipped her phone into the pocket of her coat as she stared along the rows of houses flanking Wessex Road. Shadowed shrubs hung over garden walls and windows glowed yellow or flickered with lights from television screens. She was here now and she could still do this, but somehow she didn’t have the heart. Isla was clearly in a state about something and she couldn’t even discuss it. What kind of friend was Dodie to have been so quick to judge? Isla had never let her down before and Dodie had been completely unfair. What had felt important just ten minutes ago now seemed not to matter. George and Margaret – their time had been and gone, but Isla needed Dodie now. Her friend was right – this obsession over the letter was stupid and nobody else cared. They were right not to, because who had time to care? Her first instinct earlier that day to ignore Ed’s well-intentioned suggestion was probably the right one. The best thing Dodie could do was to hand it to a museum or a local historian to see if they wanted it. They’d decide if it was valuable and, after that, what happened to it was none of her concern.
Pulling her collar up against the cold, she sank her hands into her pockets and turned to leave. But she hadn’t gone more than ten steps when she heard her name being called. She turned to find Ed Willoughby jogging towards her, wrapped in a thick double-breasted coat, a beanie hat pulled tight over his head.
‘Where are you going? Wessex Road is that way!’ With a wry smile he flung an arm out in the direction she’d just come from.
‘I know,’ she said, stopping to wait for him. ‘I’m going home. At least, I was about to.’
‘You’ve done the street already?’ he asked, coming to a halt in front of her. ‘What did you find out?’
‘Nothing. I’m not going to knock on anyone’s door – I doubt anyone knows anything and it’ll only annoy people.’
‘You don’t know until you try. I thought you were desperate to find out about this couple? You want to give the letter back, don’t you?’
‘I know but who cares really? It’s nearly Christmas, people are having their tea and nobody wants to know.’
‘You’ve changed your tune.’
‘Yeah, I suppose so.’
He scratched his head, glancing up the street and then turning his gaze back on Dodie again. ‘So… I was going to come with you,’ he said awkwardly.
‘You were?’
‘I thought… I wasn’t up to much and I knew you were coming tonight, so I thought I’d keep a look out for you.’
‘You waited for me to arrive?’
‘Sort of… Does that sound creepy?’
Dodie smiled. ‘I think the fact that you recognise it might sound creepy means it’s not. It’s sweet.’
‘I’ve been called a lot of things but sweet has never been one of them. So… I guess I’ll just go home then.’
Dodie hesitated. It was strange, but he looked disappointed. ‘I suppose I’m here now. It wouldn’t take more than an hour I expect…’
‘Less when most will take two seconds to slam the door in our faces.’
‘Probably,’ Dodie said. ‘So even you admit that everyone will hate us?’
‘Maybe. But why let a little thing like unpopularity get in the way?
‘OK then,’ Dodie laughed, suddenly feeling brighter and strangely fired up again. ‘Let’s do this!’
It felt a lot safer knocking on doors with someone, especially when that someone was a six-foot-tall man who already knew the street. Although Ed clearly didn’t know his neighbours well, some of them recognised him and it meant they were more willing to engage in a conversation about Dodie’s query. There wasn’t a lot of help, though. Most had no idea who’d been in their house before them, let alone seventy-odd years ago, and even the older ones struggled to give much useful information. People simply hadn’t lived in the street long enough to know anything about a girl who’d walked the pavements in 1944 or a boy who might have called at her house with flowers every Sunday afternoon before war had taken him away. It was beginning to feel like Dodie’s quest was every bit as stupid as Isla had told her, even though it had been uttered in a fit of pique.
Eventually they ran out of houses to visit and they both had to concede it had been a futile exercise.
‘I’m sorry I dragged you out here,’ Dodie said as they walked the length of the road to his house, breath curling into the night air, footsteps echoing strangely on the frosty pavement.
He gave a slight shrug. ‘Hey, it was my idea – no need to apologise. Anyway, I quite enjoyed the excuse to be out.’
Dodie shot him a sideways glance. ‘I’m not sure what to make of that. You must have more exciting reasons to go out.’
‘I don’t bother much to be honest. For a start I don’t really know anyone here and my mates are all up north.’
‘Sad.’
He grinned. ‘I know. No need to feel sorry for me though – I’m happy enough with my own company.’
‘Where are you from?’
‘Blackpool.’
‘Blackpool? And you came to live in Bournemouth? Wasn’t there enough sea for you in Blackpool?’
‘Mad, eh?’ He laughed. ‘One seaside resort to another. There are more palm trees in Bournemouth.’
‘So what made you move?’
‘I haven’t actually lived in Blackpool for a few years now. Not properly anyway. I’ve been posted abroad with my unit for most of the last five years so I’ve been backwards and forwards but never stayed at home for long. I suppose that’s why…’
‘So you like it here?’ Dodie asked, aware of a sudden tension and desperate to diffuse it. ‘You don’t regret leaving your home?’
‘It’s nice.’
‘As nice as Blackpool?’
‘Yeah. Posher, that’s for sure.’
‘It’s not actually that posh… I live here for a start.’
‘You sound posh compared to me.’
‘That’s down to the circumstances of my birth and nothing else. Believe me, I’m not.’
At Ed’s gate, they halted. Dodie looked up at the house. A light burned behind the blinds of the downstairs flat, but the upper floor was in darkness.
‘Looks as if Albert’s in,’ he said, angling his head at the lit window, though Dodie suspected that he was simply filling the awkwardness of their parting with words – any words would do.
‘Hmm. Thanks for helping me tonight. It made things a lot less scary to have company.’
‘It’s just a shame it didn’t work out in the end. We could try some of the surrounding streets if you wanted to have another go—’
She shook her head forcefully. ‘I don’t think so. It doesn’t seem very productive, does it? In fact, none of this is very productive; I should probably just forget about it.’
‘Maybe. So what are you going to do now?’
She gave a vague shrug. ‘Home, I suppose. I came straight from work and didn’t manage to eat so I might get something on the way back… Know any good takeaways nearby?’
‘Depends what you want. There’s a decent chippy around the corner. Although they don’t do gravy and what’s with that?’
Dodie blinked. ‘Gravy? Why would they need to serve gravy?’
‘That’s what they said when I asked. You’ve never had chips and gravy?’
‘God, no!’
He grinned. ‘It’s like I’ve moved to another planet.’
‘So what street am I looking for if I want this decent chippy?’
‘You’re going there now? I’ll walk with you.’
‘There’s no need, I—’
‘Don’t be daft. To be honest I could eat some chips too so we might as well walk together.’
‘OK,’ Dodie replied uncertainly. ‘I suppose it couldn’t hurt.’
‘I’d feel better knowing you weren’t wandering around alone anyway. I mean, I know you have your hairspray and everything but…’
She smiled. ‘Yeah, I have my deadly hairspray. You’d be surprised how much it stings if you get it in your eyes and you’d be laughing on the other side of your face if I had to use it on you.’
‘I imagine my face would be stuck solid if you had to use it on me.’
‘Nah, it’s only light hold,’ she laughed. ‘I think you’d survive.’
‘I don’t think I want to put it to the test. Shall we?’ He motioned for her to start walking and fell into step alongside. She was used to independence since she’d moved to Bournemouth and it didn’t bother her one bit walking around alone after dark, but oddly she did feel so much safer in his company. It wasn’t just that he was a man, but there was something solid and dependable about him, and not in a boring way – like with your dad or favourite uncle, who were obliged to look out for you – but in a way that you knew if you ever needed help he’d have your back and it would be totally because he wanted to. Maybe it was the fact he’d been a soldier that put the notion into Dodie’s head. They’d got off to a less than auspicious start, and at first he’d seemed rude and arrogant, but the more time she spent in his company, the more she liked Ed Willoughby.
‘So if you can’t have gravy,’ she began as they turned the corner and emerged onto a busier road lined with shops and cafés, ‘what are you going to have with your chips?’
‘I expect I’ll just have them au naturel.’
‘In my opinion the best way.’
‘Lots of vinegar, though.’
‘Oceans of the stuff.’
‘So much you’re almost choking on it.’
‘Eyes watering like crazy.’
‘Best chips ever.’
She turned to see him grinning. But then it faded just as quickly and he stared resolutely ahead. The mood had changed in an instant. Had she said something wrong? What the hell was it now? She could have asked if he was OK, because it felt very much as if he wasn’t, but how to approach that without making the change more obvious and awkward? Was it best to just ignore it and hope the cloud passed?
She was spared the agony by him breaking the silence. ‘Just ahead there on the corner. You’ll be OK from here?’
Dodie blinked up at him. ‘I thought you were getting some.’
‘I don’t think I’ll bother after all… I’ve got some soup in the cupboard…’ He pulled his hat down around his ears and hunched into his coat pockets.
‘You’re not hungry?’
‘That’s it… weird, not so hungry now…’ Without another word, he turned to walk back the way they’d come, lifting a hand in farewell.
‘Right…’ Dodie replied, more confused than ever. ‘Thanks for everything.’
He didn’t look back, merely bowed his head in acknowledgement, and Dodie watched for a moment as his figure grew smaller before going to get her chips.
Chapter Seven
She’d walked slowly back with her chip paper open, the sharp tang of vinegar trailing into the air, munching solemnly as she went. They were good chips – worth going back for in the future – and they warmed her hands as well as providing just the stodge she needed to feel human again. It didn’t bother her to walk home alone but Ed’s strange behaviour did. Try as she might to identify the cause, she couldn’t think of any reason why he would have taken off so suddenly when they’d been getting on so well. She certainly couldn’t think of any insult she might have given or any upset she might have caused and, if anything, she’d felt as if they could end up becoming good friends. If it was going to be like this every time they met up then it really wasn’t worth bothering again. But then, if the manner of their parting was anything to go by, perhaps that was the last she’d see of him anyway.
Later, back at the flat as she cleaned down the kitchen surfaces ready for bed, her phone had bleeped the arrival of a message from Isla, apologising again for her no-show. Dodie had sent an immediate reply telling her not to think of apologising and that she hoped everything was OK. Isla hadn’t replied, and so it looked as though Dodie was going to be kept guessing for a little while longer. When her friend was ready to talk, Dodie knew she would be the first to hear about it.
Then it had been Ryan’s turn to text, the message coming through just as she was about to set her alarm and turn in for the night. He asked if he could come over to see her again the following evening. It wasn’t like she had anything else to do, although Friday nights were never full of partying for her as she had to open up the shop on Saturday morning just like she did every other morning. In fact, she was even thinking about opening up on Sundays during the Christmas build-up. Though she wasn’t sure how much more custom that would bring in, the spectre of those reminder bills kept floating around in front of her face and perhaps even an extra fifty quid was better than nothing. Maybe it was something she needed to work out properly with a notepad and sums and all the weighing up that grown-up business people did, and her evenings were just about the only time she had free to do that. But in the end she’d sent him a reply saying that she’d see him around eight and decided that, out of weighing up her odds against bankruptcy and listening to Ryan harp on about the latest Premier League signings, the latter was probably the lesser of the two evils.
The following evening she was turning the key in the shop door to close after an uneventful Friday, during which she’d managed to sell two handbags, a belt and a jacket, when her phone rang.
‘Hey,’ she said bri
ghtly, determined that whatever cross words she’d had with Isla the night before would be put firmly behind them. ‘Everything OK?’
‘I can’t honestly answer that, but I could do with a chat. You got time?’
‘Always for you. Fire away.’
‘It’s a long story that I think would be better face to face. Can I come over?’
‘Sure, when?’
‘Are you free tonight?’
Dodie was about to explain that Ryan was due when she checked herself. She could hear something in Isla’s voice she’d never heard before, and it almost sounded like desperation. Whatever it was, she clearly needed to sound off. How could Dodie say no? She’d have to call Ryan and explain, but she was sure he’d understand, and it wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen her that week anyway. He could come on Saturday night instead, or even Sunday, and it wouldn’t make any difference.
‘Tonight’s OK,’ she replied. ‘Can you give me an hour to cash up and sort the shop?’
‘I’m about that far away anyhow,’ Isla said. ‘I’ll pick up some Chinese on the way if you like.’
‘Sounds good.’
‘Your usual?’
‘Perfect. See you soon.’ Dodie ended the call and dialled Ryan’s number. There was no reply, so she left him a voicemail to explain and then sent a text to do the same. It wasn’t really good enough, and she’d try again after she’d cashed up to speak to him in person, but hopefully the messages meant he wouldn’t start driving out before she’d had a chance to speak to him.
Once the till had been emptied and the money stowed in her tiny safe, she switched the lights out, save for the security lamps, and retreated to her upstairs flat. Halfway up the stairs, Ryan’s smiling photo lit up the screen of her phone. But his voice as she answered suggested that the real-life version wasn’t doing much smiling.
‘What’s happened?’ His question was brusque. ‘I thought we had plans.’
‘I’m sorry, something’s come up.’
‘What?’