Chapter Thirteen
Although Dodie had been hopeful for a response from the newspaper story, its swiftness took her completely by surprise. When she really thought about it, being hopeful for a response hadn’t meant she’d necessarily been expecting one. It had always been a long shot as far as she was concerned, a last-ditch attempt to solve the mystery of Margaret and George before she gave in and went to plan B with the letter, whatever plan B ended up being. So when Sally Chandra called her that Wednesday morning with news that someone had contacted the paper, Dodie didn’t quite know how to feel.
‘It’s all very exciting,’ Sally said, as if to signpost to Dodie exactly how she ought to feel. Dodie listened, phone clamped to her ear, gaze trained on the street outside where two motorists were arguing over a parking space. ‘We couldn’t have hoped for a better result!’
‘But I was told the baby died,’ Dodie replied doubtfully. ‘My gran’s friend said Margaret’s baby died at birth.’
‘Do you know for sure the baby died?’
‘Well, no, but…’
‘Perhaps Margaret’s family spread that rumour to cover up what they’d done. They could have even told Margaret that before they sent the baby away. It wasn’t unheard of in those days. Who knows what happened, but we might soon find out.’
‘I just don’t know.’
‘Isn’t this what you wanted? I thought the object of this exercise was to find the family.’
‘Yes, but I was thinking cousins, nephews, nieces, that sort of thing. Not secretly disposed of children who may or may not be who they say they are. How do we know this woman is telling the truth?’
‘Her story does add up,’ Sally said. ‘I don’t really see what she has to gain by lying.’
‘She might be a bit…’ Dodie’s gaze went to the window again as she searched for the most delicate way to express her thoughts. ‘A bit of a fantasist,’ she said. ‘Perhaps a bit taken with the story and wants to play a role in it by saying she’s someone she’s not.’
‘A nutter, you mean?’
‘Not quite how I would have put it but, yes.’
‘But our newspaper story has been passed to her from someone who knows she has a legitimate interest, don’t forget. She hasn’t just randomly come across it; she’s living out of the area and the details have been deliberately sent to her. She says she has legal proof, too. I think it would be very interesting to meet with her and see her documentation.’
‘Where did you say she’s from?’
‘Some little place up north. Never heard of it… Cleveleys or something like that.’
‘Can’t say I know it either,’ Dodie said. ‘I’d expected to find someone a bit closer to home, if I’m honest, so this has thrown me… but I suppose the adoption might explain how she ended up moving so far away.’
‘Well,’ Sally said briskly, ‘it’s not that unheard of for people to move around the country of their own accord.’
‘Yes, I know. I just wasn’t expecting to find someone so far out of the area.’ Dodie paused, weighing up the new developments. She’d expected perhaps a name, an address to send her letter on to, at best a little family history from the newspaper story. But a woman claiming to be Margaret Vincent’s supposedly dead child? Of course, family was what Dodie had hoped to find, right at the start, but something about the circumstances of Julia Fleet’s birth, the woman who had contacted Sally off the back of the newspaper story, made her feel uneasy. A cosy family with fond memories of their ancestor, that was fine. But a woman with a fractured past and unanswered questions about her heritage? Did she expect Dodie to have the answers with one old, faded letter? It felt like a situation she would do well to steer clear of.
‘I think you should meet her,’ Sally said into the pause. ‘It would make fantastic copy. And of course, I’ll sit in with you so there’s no need to worry about being alone with her.’
‘Oh, it wasn’t that. I’m not worried, it’s just…’ Dodie sighed. Obviously Sally wanted Dodie to meet Julia considering the trouble everyone had gone to in order to make the story public. She’d most likely want to cover the result of the meeting too. Dodie just hoped that Ed wouldn’t get dragged into the proceedings as well, because she knew for a fact that he’d be desperately unhappy about that. On balance, the only way to stop Ed getting dragged into it was probably to go and meet Julia herself, to save Sally having to get another angle on the story and falling back on Ed’s connection. ‘Of course I’ll meet with her. It’s just difficult, with the shop and everything.’
‘I thought you’d say that, and I told Julia as much. She’s happy to drive down in the next couple of days and I’m completely flexible so I can bring her to see you at a neutral venue one evening if that helps.’
Dodie drew a deep breath. She wasn’t getting out of this now. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘Let’s fix something up.’
Her finger hovered over the send button. Ed had told her to stay away, but surely this wasn’t overstepping the boundaries, was it? He’d want to know that there’d been developments in the story of George’s letter when he’d been so deeply involved. And she wasn’t exactly hassling him; she’d done him a favour by keeping him off Sally’s radar and this was just a short, friendly text to tell him there might be developments. Shaking her doubts away, she jabbed her finger on the screen and the text whooshed off.
Putting her phone on the kitchen table, she turned back to the pan of tomato soup she’d been heating for supper. Ryan had wanted to come over this evening, but she’d made excuses about feeling unwell and put him off. His message in reply sounded far from happy or sympathetic. True, it was a made-up illness, but the fact that he hadn’t even asked after her welfare had made her bristle. This meant she hadn’t felt the need to apologise in the slightest, something she would have done at any other time, real or fake illness. Besides, it was Wednesday night and Ryan being over on a weeknight always left her groggy and irritable in the shop the next day because he insisted on keeping her up so late – hardly conducive to a great customer experience. Ryan knew this only too well because she’d complained about it enough. Despite her reservations about him moving in, at least that was one upside she’d hoped would come from it – that them being together would become so commonplace the novelty of staying over would wear off and they’d start going to bed at a proper time, like normal people. Whenever Dodie thought about it that way, she realised it sounded boring, but then, life was often only small bursts of excitement breaking up the boring. Boring meant the shop opened on time and she was bright enough to run it efficiently.
The sound of a message hitting her phone broke into her thoughts, and she rushed to the table to check it. But it was Isla, letting her know that she’d arrived in France after an uneventful flight and was on her way to the hotel. Happy as Dodie was that everything was going smoothly there, she couldn’t help but be disappointed that it wasn’t a message from Ed. But then, did she even want a reply from him? Perhaps it was easier not to get one – not having to deal with whatever he wrote would lead to? Perhaps it was enough to know he’d seen the message and her obligation to keep him updated on a chain of events he was invested in had been fulfilled.
Sally had arranged a meeting at a quiet coffee shop in town for Friday evening after Dodie had closed Forget-Me-Not Vintage. All Dodie had so far was a name: Julia Fleet. A woman from a little place up north, claiming to be the baby Margaret had supposedly lost, not dead at all, but put up for adoption instead. It was all at once exciting and terrifying to think of meeting her; after having this tiny keyhole view into Margaret’s life for so long, it felt like the door was about to be opened at last. But if Dodie’s stomach did somersaults at the thought of the meeting, she had to wonder what poor Julia was feeling.
The vague, perhaps misplaced, hope that she’d still get a reply from Ed refused to leave her, and Dodie checked her phone once again before settling down to eat her soup. But there was nothing. For better or for worse, it looked as tho
ugh he was gone from her life and she’d just have to get used to it.
The following evening Ryan wasn’t taking no for an answer and Dodie relented. On reflection, it was the least he deserved and perhaps she was being too hard on him. Moving in together was a huge commitment and, despite her doubts, it was one they’d both agreed to embark on. Recently, her time had been so filled with other things and other people that perhaps she couldn’t really blame him for feeling neglected. And Christmas was coming, so things would only get more hectic before they got quieter again.
She had, however, stressed that they were going out, not sitting in front of the TV while their brain cells quietly died. Perhaps her reservations about Ryan, about their ultimate compatibility, needn’t exist. Perhaps, if she introduced him to the things she liked with a little more conviction, he might discover they weren’t so bad after all? Even if he didn’t love what she loved, if he could like it enough to tolerate it then maybe sharing more would bring them closer together.
He arrived at seven, and Dodie was already in her coat.
‘One of your second-hand jobs?’ Ryan asked.
Dodie looked up from fastening the buttons on Margaret’s green coat and blushed, though she couldn’t say why. ‘This, you mean?’ she asked as she unconsciously smoothed a hand over it.
‘Yeah, I haven’t seen you wear that before.’
‘I’m pretty sure you have seen me wear it actually.’
He shrugged. ‘Don’t recall.’
‘Do you like it?’
He paused for a moment, as if weighing up what response he was expected to give rather than the one he wanted to give. ‘It’s nice, yeah. Old fashioned, but you like old fashioned, don’t you?’
She plunged her hands into the pockets and instinctively her fingers searched for the soft, weathered parchment of George’s letter. It wasn’t there, of course, it was safe in a locked drawer, but somehow her brain was wired to search every time she wore the coat, as if remembering the moment she found it and yearning to repeat it. It was the moment when her life began to change into something she was hard pressed to recognise these days, a moment that felt huge for reasons she still couldn’t fully identify yet.
‘Where are we supposed to be going?’ Ryan asked as they stepped out onto the pavement and Dodie locked the door behind her.
‘Pub, restaurant, gardens, Christmas markets… anywhere as long as we’re not vegging on the sofa while our brain cells slowly abandon the will to live. Honestly, if I have to watch one more person throw a dinner party while their guests score them, or video clips of people falling off boats on holiday, I think I’ll go into a coma.’
Ryan dug his hands into his pockets and sniffed. ‘Right then. It’s just background noise, though, isn’t it? While we have tea and talk and stuff.’
They didn’t talk, and what was supposed to be background noise usually became the main attraction. But Dodie didn’t say a word about that; she just began to walk.
‘I haven’t got much money on me,’ he said as he fell into step beside her.
‘That’s OK. Looks like the food stalls at the market then, nothing swanky. And then we could go to the seafront, see what’s going on down there.’
‘It’ll be freezing.’
‘It won’t be that bad if we keep moving. And we can always get a hot chocolate if we get too cold.’
‘Hmm.’
‘I can buy you a hot chocolate if things are that bad!’
‘I’d rather be drinking a can or two by the fire.’
‘You can do that at the weekend. Come on, where’s your sense of adventure?’
‘I’ll have a sense of adventure in the summer when it’s warm, thanks.’
Dodie reached for his hand. ‘Well then, do it for me?’
‘Only because I won’t hear the end of it if I don’t,’ he said, sounding like a child who’d just been told meals didn’t start with pudding.
‘Right then, so let’s see what goodies are on offer at the market stalls.’
As their footsteps echoed over the frozen street, Dodie babbled about customers in the shop, about the mouse problem in the restaurant down the road, about the newsagent’s daughter having a new baby… about anything except what really mattered. Because if she spoke about the things that really mattered, she couldn’t be sure that her relationship with Ryan wouldn’t be in tatters by the end of the night. So the letter, Ed, Sally and Julia; she kept it all in. Most of it would go over Ryan’s head anyway. Practical Ryan, who wouldn’t know a flight of fancy if it slapped him in the face. He wouldn’t understand why Dodie was getting so involved in a quest that made no difference to her life, and she’d get frustrated trying to explain it to him. A million times she’d meant to tell him and she knew she ought to. But the way she felt right now, it was best to leave it alone and concentrate on things they could see eye to eye on.
They were at the bratwurst stall, its fulsome aromas of meat and spice clinging to the smoke rising from the griddle, when Dodie heard her name being called. She turned to see Nick give her a wave from the steps of a nearby shop.
‘Alright, sweetheart?’ he called.
‘Hey, Nick!’ Dodie replied with a broad smile. She pointed to the stall then pointed at him and mimed eating a hot dog. He nodded eagerly.
He grinned. ‘If you’re offering!’
‘Who’s that?’ Ryan asked, sending a look of deepest distrust in Nick’s direction.
‘Oh, that’s Nick,’ Dodie said amiably. ‘Lives around here. I have told you about him before.’
‘Have you?’
Dodie nodded while Ryan clamped his mouth shut. Clearly there was something he wanted to say but Dodie pretended she hadn’t noticed. They shuffled forwards and took their turn in the queue to be served. Dodie ordered three and paid, and as Ryan began to unwrap his to eat, he followed in silence as she took the spare over to Nick.
‘You’re a star!’ Nick said, taking it with a grateful smile. ‘Just what the doctor ordered.’
She smiled. ‘Enjoy!’
‘I’m sure I will!’
They turned to go, but then Nick spoke again. ‘You’ve got a good girl there, Ed! Make sure you look after her!’
Dodie froze, a terrified smile fixed to her face as she turned back to Nick. ‘It’s Ryan,’ she said, the calm of her voice hiding the sudden disquiet inside.
‘Oh, sorry, love,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Must have got mixed up—’
‘That’s OK,’ Dodie replied carefully. ‘See you later.’ She began to walk again, heart beating wildly as she shot Ryan a furtive glance. He didn’t seem perturbed, more interested in his hot dog. Perhaps she’d got away with it. But after a couple of minutes he spoke, the words he’d so clearly been trying to hold back now tumbling out.
‘Is he homeless?’
‘Yes.’ She wanted to add how obvious that should have been but it didn’t seem wise to antagonise him right now.
‘You shouldn’t keep giving people all your stuff,’ he said.
‘It’s not like that. Sometimes I share my dinner with Nick or I give him something I have left over. It’s either that or the poor bloke’s fishing things out of bins.’
‘You just bought him a hot dog.’
‘He doesn’t get much hot food. It didn’t cost a lot.’
‘That’s not the point; people will take you for a soft touch.’
Dodie was silent for a moment. ‘Well, maybe I like being a soft touch,’ she said. ‘There are worse things to be.’
‘They’ll screw you for every penny.’
‘I hardly think a hot dog is screwing me for every penny.’
Ryan shook his head. ‘I don’t like it, that’s all. I don’t want you talking to every Tom, Dick and Harry around town.’
‘I don’t.’
‘You even know that guy by name. And he knows yours.’
‘I don’t see why that’s an issue. We chat occasionally and actually he’s very sweet. Just because he’s homeless does
n’t mean he should be nameless and identity-less as well.’
‘Is Ed one of your homeless mates, too?’
Dodie’s bratwurst halted halfway to her mouth. She paused. ‘No,’ she said finally, wishing her breaths would steady and hoping he wouldn’t notice how shallow they were. ‘I don’t know who that is.’ And even as she said it, she couldn’t understand why she’d felt the need to lie. She had nothing to hide, but the longer she continued the more it would look to everyone else like she did.
‘I don’t like it,’ Ryan repeated. ‘I don’t think you should be so friendly with them.’
She rammed her hot dog into her mouth and chewed like a robot. She wasn’t hungry any more, but it would stop her having to say anything else.
‘Ooooh, look!’ Dodie squeaked as they walked past the old art-deco cinema. ‘A special Christmas showing of It’s a Wonderful Life!’
‘What’s that then?’ Ryan asked, glancing over at the posters at the entrance. Dodie watched as his expression changed from one of curiosity to one of recognition and vague disappointment. ‘Oh. Black and white. And that bloke’s in it.’
‘I wonder if Gran wants to come and see it with me – before they take it off,’ Dodie said, if only to reassure him that she wasn’t going to subject him to the torture of a showing. ‘Do you mind if I go and check the dates it’s on?’
He followed as she made her way across the road and peered up at the posters. ‘It’s only on until tomorrow night,’ she said. She’d agreed to meet Julia and Sally then. It didn’t matter, she had the film on DVD anyway, but she loved this little cinema and it would have been fun to see it here.
A Very Vintage Christmas: A Heartwarming Christmas Romance (An Unforgettable Christmas Book 1) Page 17
