‘Sure!’ I reply brightly.
I’d felt pretty useless sitting there as Charlie confided in me, giving details about his and Louisa’s break-up. I’d tried to say all the right things, but it was hard; I could only imagine how he was feeling. I’d been lucky in that I’d never suffered such loss as he had over the last few years: first his father, then his baby and now his marriage. But I wanted to make up for the fact I hadn’t been here when he needed me, and I had tried to be the best listener I could.
‘I have a surprise for you!’ Charlie says as we descend the spiral staircase.
‘What is it?’
‘Ah, you’ll have to wait and see!’
‘The last time you said that, you’d bought this place!’ I say.
‘Ah, it’s not quite on that scale!’ Charlie grins. ‘Come on, I’ll show you.’
This sounds more like the old Charlie. In the last few minutes I’ve seen a Charlie I don’t ever want to witness again: a broken Charlie, a distressed Charlie, a Charlie that life had swung a huge wrecking ball at, and it had left a very large hole.
We head out of the offices and over to Lighthouse Cottage. As I wait for Charlie to unlock the door, I feel a bit awkward being here. I’m not sure why; maybe because this had been Louisa’s home with Charlie. But I needn’t have worried. No sooner has Charlie opened the door than a bundle of chocolate fur comes tumbling out on to the step in front of us.
‘Meet Winston!’ Charlie says, rubbing a chocolate Labrador’s tummy, as it immediately rolls over on its back in greeting.
‘You have a dog!’ I cry in delight, kneeling down next to the puppy. ‘Another thing you didn’t tell me about!’
I rub Winston’s tummy like Charlie had.
‘I haven’t had him that long. I got him after Louisa left. She was never a dog person – a bit frightened of them actually. So the minute she was gone, Winston came to stay.’
‘He’s wonderful!’ I say, watching Winston race madly around the cottage’s tiny back garden while I wonder how Charlie ever ended up with Louisa. Not a dog person! What was wrong with her?
‘Do you like his name?’ Charlie asks.
‘Winston – yes, why wouldn’t I?’
‘I named him after out dear departed old friend Wilson – another prime minister’s name,’ he reminds me. ‘Churchill didn’t quite suit this ragamuffin. So Winston it was.’ He ruffles Winston’s coat as he runs up to us and rubs his head against Charlie’s jeans.
‘Of course! I get it now. That was lovely of you to think of old Wilson.’ My throat tightens as I think of him.
‘I still miss him too,’ Charlie says. ‘It’s like when you lose a human you love: it never completely goes away, just gets a little easier every day.’
I nod.
‘So where does Winston like to go for a walk?’ I ask, addressing Charlie and the dog currently rolling on my feet.
‘Where do you think?’ Charlie winks at me.
We walk a dog along the sand, just as we used to as teenagers. Winston, although nowhere near as big as my Wilson, behaves in much the same way on the beach: racing after a ball, then when something else grabs his attention, stopping to sniff at it before lifting his leg to add his own scent and running after the next thing.
‘What time are you getting to Danny’s do tonight?’ Charlie asks, picking up and throwing Winston’s red ball for him.
‘We thought around eight? And it’s not Danny’s do, it’s a fundraiser for his charity.’
‘I know, but that’s the reason you’ve come back, isn’t it – to support him?’
I look at Charlie. Now thirty-one years old, he’s a fine-looking man, tall, broad and muscular. His strawberry blond hair – which had a tendency to be a bit wild – is short and closely cropped; his face is extremely handsome, if a bit pale, but that only serves to make his bright blue eyes sparkle even more.
‘What?’ Charlie asks, seeing me looking at him.
‘You can’t still be jealous of Danny after all these years, can you?’
‘Me? Jealous of Danny – no way!’
I raise my eyebrows at him. ‘You used to be.’
‘No I didn’t… Well, maybe a little, when you two were dating.’
‘See?’
‘But I’m not jealous of him now. Why would I be?’ Winston has retrieved his ball; he drops it at my feet.
‘Thank you, Winston. Now, fetch!’ I call, throwing the ball along the sand into the water. ‘Then don’t say I’ve only come back to Sandybridge to support him,’ I tell Charlie. ‘I’ve come back for many reasons.’
‘Such as?’
‘Well… I’m here to support Danny, yes, I can’t deny that. But I’m also here to see my parents, and catch up with a few people, and… what else…’ I pretend to think. ‘You of course, you silly thing!’ I give Charlie a hug. ‘I’m here to see my best friend because it’s been too long.’
I can’t tell Charlie that Simon and I are getting married, not after what he’s just told me about Louisa.
‘I’m glad to hear that, Gracie. I’ve missed you. Sandybridge isn’t the same when you’re not here.’
‘Aw, that’s sweet of you.’ I give him a friendly nudge. ‘But you’re hardly here yourself these days, are you, with all your wheeling and dealing around the country.’
‘No, that’s true, I do spend a lot of my time elsewhere, but I always come home to the cottage, and now Winston. I can’t imagine living anywhere else. There’s something special about Sandybridge, something I can’t altogether put my finger on. It’s like I belong here. Does that sound weird?’
‘No, not at all. You’ve always been happy here; anyone who knows you can see that. You and Sandybridge are a good fit.’
Winston has moved on along the beach carrying his ball, so we follow him.
‘Unlike you and Sandybridge, eh?’ Charlie asks as we walk. ‘You couldn’t wait to get away.’
‘That may have been the case when I was younger, but now when I return I can definitely see the benefits of life here.’
‘Really? I never thought I’d hear you say that.’
‘I never thought I’d say it. I love London – don’t get me wrong. But I can see the positives in coming to live in a place like this when I’m older.’
Charlie nods. ‘That’s good to hear. Maybe I can persuade you back when we’re both old and grey, and we can walk along the prom together holding each other up!’
‘That would be lovely, Charlie Parker,’ I say, putting my arm through his. ‘Perhaps we can sit on one of those benches on the seafront in the sunshine watching the world go by?’
‘You have a deal!’ Charlie says, smiling. ‘I’ll be here waiting for you.’ He hesitates for a moment. ‘Only problem is, what will the infamous Simon think?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Come on, Gracie, when are you going to tell me the real reason you’ve come back?’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ I say innocently. ‘What real reason?’
‘This reason!’ Charlie grabs my hand and we both look down at my engagement ring. ‘Did you think I wouldn’t notice?’
I look up at him, but I’m relieved to see he’s smiling.
‘Sorry, I was going to tell you.’
‘And you didn’t because…?’
‘I didn’t want to thrust my good news on you, when you were still so obviously upset about Louisa.’
‘Gracie, don’t be silly! Did you think I wouldn’t be pleased for you just because my own marriage failed?’
I shake my head, and I’m about to apologise again when Charlie continues: ‘I’m pleased for you, of course I am…’ Then he hesitates, as if he’s unsure whether to go on.
‘But…? I demand. ‘There’s a “but”, isn’t there?’ I know Charlie too well. I know when he isn’t telling me everything.
‘Have you really thought this through properly?’ he asks. ‘Are you sure this Simon will make you happy?’
I sta
re at Charlie for a moment, puzzled by his words. ‘Of course I think he will, otherwise I wouldn’t be marrying him, would I?’
Charlie merely nods and begins to move away across the beach in the direction of Winston, who’s strayed a bit too far.
I watch him walk away.
‘Come on, say what you want to say,’ I call after a few moments, as I chase him across the sand. ‘There’s obviously more to this.’
‘Not at all,’ Charlie says as I catch up with him. ‘As long as Simon is the right person for you, then everything will be fine. I haven’t even met him yet, so I can’t comment, can I?’
‘But you already have. What’s bugging you, Charlie? Come on.’
Charlie stops walking and turns to face me. ‘Make sure he is the right one for you, before you commit yourself to marriage,’ he says in a solemn voice. ‘I’ve been there, Grace. I stupidly rushed into marriage when it wasn’t the right thing for either of us. And now I’m living alone, waiting for the inevitable divorce papers to arrive. By all means marry him, if you think he’ll make you happy. But if you’re not one hundred per cent sure…’ Charlie’s pale blue eyes look straight into mine, ‘then please don’t, or you’ll regret it, just like I did.’
Twenty-Three
I’m still thinking about what Charlie said as I make my way back to the shop to find Simon.
Why would Charlie say that? I know he’s only looking out for me, and wants me to be happy, but he’s got me worried now. What if Simon isn’t the right man for me? I do love him, I know that because when he’s away on business I feel so lonely at our flat on my own, and I miss him a lot. But is that really enough reason to marry someone – because you miss them?
‘Come on, Grace,’ I try to reassure myself as I walk. ‘You love Simon, you know you do, you both get on so well, he’s virtually your best friend!’
Virtually, that’s a telling word. Shouldn’t your future husband actually be your best friend? I have colleagues who would describe their husband as their best friend and their worst enemy at the same time – but they’re only joking; in the next breath they’ll tell me they don’t know what they’d do without them.
Simon isn’t my best friend, and never will be; no one could ever oust Charlie from that spot. Even though I don’t see him as much as I’d like to these days, we keep in touch all the time. Charlie will always be my best friend; I can’t manage without him. But could I manage without Simon if I had to?
I think carefully about this before I give myself an answer. I wouldn’t like it if Simon wasn’t a part of my life any more. In fact I’d probably hate it, but eventually I’d get used to him not being around, I guess.
Arrgh! This is madness! Charlie’s got me doubting my own relationship now, a relationship I’d been quite happy with until today.
What is Charlie’s problem? It can’t just be that his own relationship broke down, surely? Does he think we won’t be as close if I’m married to Simon? Yes, maybe that’s it. But he should know that won’t happen; nothing changed between us when he married Louisa, I’m sure of it. Then again, I was living thousands of miles away across the Atlantic, so maybe our relationship did change but I didn’t notice.
Why is life never easy? I sigh. If only I had a magic ball to tell me what to do, then I’d know if marrying Simon was the right thing. I stop dead in the middle of the pavement, much to the surprise of an elderly lady carrying a wicker shopping basket who almost bumps into me.
‘Sorry,’ I apologise as she goes on her way grumbling – likely about me.
I turn and begin to walk in the opposite direction from the shop. I may not have a crystal ball, but I have something almost as good…
There’s no one at home when I get in. Mum and Dad are no doubt still showing Simon the joys of the antiques world – Sandybridge style.
I rush upstairs, and throw open the door of my old bedroom. It’s already there, waiting for me:
Dear Grace,
I know you’re worried about your engagement, and you are right to be so. Marriage is a lifelong commitment. At the risk of sounding like I’m preaching to you, it’s not something you should enter into lightly, without a great deal of thought. Which is of course why you are consulting me again!
However, all I can tell you is that marrying your current love will definitely be the right thing for your long-term happiness.
Love, Me x
I read the letter twice before tucking it safely into the drawer where all my previous letters are still hidden away amongst my old school books. Then I head downstairs and out of the front door, locking it behind me.
As I walk down the street in the direction of the shop, I feel much happier after reading Remy’s advice. But there’s still something bugging me, something that doesn’t feel quite right, only I’m not sure what.
‘Hey,’ I say as I open the door of the shop. ‘How’s everyone?’
‘Hello, sweetheart,’ Simon says, looking up from where Mum is showing him an antique brass plate. ‘Wonderful, thank you! I’ve had the most informative time in your little shop this morning.’
That’s one of the reasons I love Simon: he always knows the right thing to say, even if he doesn’t always mean it.
‘And we’ve loved having you here,’ Mum says, looking up at him with affection.
I haven’t seen Mum look like that at anyone since the vicar of Sandybridge brought in a set of antique – and as it turned out, highly collectable – bibles to be valued and sold.
‘Grace,’ she says, coming over to me and taking my hands in hers. ‘You’ve chosen well.’
Well, that was two votes for Simon in the last thirty minutes!
‘It’s not often your mother and I agree, Grace,’ Dad says, appearing from the little room out back where he did all the paperwork for the shop. ‘But on this occasion I must concur with her sentiments.’ He pats Simon reassuringly on the shoulder. ‘Welcome to the Harper family, son.’
And now a third… Obviously Remy knew what he was talking about this time.
‘Thank you, sir,’ Simon says, shaking Dad’s hand. ‘It’s a real pleasure to become a part of it.’
I sneak a glance at Mum: she looks like she might burst with pride, and for one awful moment I think she’s going to call for a group hug, but to my relief she doesn’t; instead she offers to put the kettle on for a nice cup of tea.
*
The invitation to the fundraising ball at Sandybridge Hall states ‘Black Tie’, so that’s what Simon and I are attempting to get dolled up in now in my parents’ tiny spare room.
‘Can you help me with my bow tie?’ Simon calls, turning away from the mirror on the wardrobe. ‘Wow! You look wonderful, Grace.’
I’m wearing a full-length navy gown in a soft velvet fabric. One side of the dress is sleeveless; the other covers my whole arm. The dress is quite fitted, and I think exposes every flaw, so I’m a little nervous about wearing it this evening.
‘Thank you,’ I say, walking over to him in my bare feet. I’ve never got on well with heels, so I’m waiting until the very last minute to put on the gorgeous but crippling pair of red-soled delights that Simon bought me as a gift to go with this dress. ‘You’ve made me feel a lot better,’ I tell him as I begin arranging his tie into a bow. ‘I thought it might be a bit on the tight side.’
Simon’s hands reach around my waist while my hands are still busy at his neck. ‘You look stunning, Grace, it shows off your beautiful curves to perfection.’ I feel one of his hands begin caressing my skin where the dress falls open at the back.
I shiver at his touch. ‘Lovely though that is, Simon,’ I say, placing a gentle kiss on his lips, ‘we really don’t have time for that this evening, or we’ll be late.’ I tap his lapel. ‘There, all done.’
‘Are you sure we don’t have time?’ Simon murmurs as he begins to caress the side of my neck. ‘You look so edible in that dress, I want to eat you.’
‘No,’ I insist, wriggling away from his grasp. �
�I told Charlie we’d be there at eight.’
‘Ah, the infamous Charlie. At last I get to meet this wonderful friend of yours.’
That was the same word Charlie had used for Simon – infamous.
‘Yes, you do. I’m so pleased the two of you are meeting at last.’ Pleased, and somewhat nervous after what Charlie said earlier.
‘It will be good to see if I’ve anything to worry about,’ Simon says, adjusting his bow tie slightly in the mirror.
‘What do you mean?’ I ask anxiously.
Simon turns around. ‘Well this is my fiancée’s best friend; for most men in my situation, that means a lady they’ve got to impress. But for me it’s different, your best friend’s a bloke.’
‘You don’t need to worry about Charlie, he isn’t like normal men. He’s…’ I struggle for the right word. ‘He’s different.’
‘You mean he’s gay?’ Simon asks, surprised. ‘But I thought he was married? Didn’t you tell me you went to his wedding? Yes, that’s right, it was soon after we met up in New York, I remember you telling me you’d just been back to England for a visit.’
‘Charlie isn’t gay!’ I’m almost laughing. ‘Anything but. What I meant was, he’s not the rough, tough type of bloke – you know, drinking pints and watching footie.’
‘And I am?’ Simon is grinning at me.
‘No, but you fit into a different category.’
‘I do?’ He looks highly amused by my struggle to explain myself.
‘Yes, you’re what I would call a smooth man. I don’t mean smooth as in you’ve got all the chat going on – although I do remember you chatting me up on that dig! No, I mean you care about the way you look. You like expensive suits and fancy restaurants. You’re happy to spend the equivalent of some people’s mortgage on a car if it’s what you want.’
Simon looks at himself in the mirror again. ‘I guess I do like the finer things in life,’ he says, brushing some fluff from his black sleeve. ‘But that, my dear Gracie,’ he says, spinning around, ‘is why I want to marry you. You, Grace Harper, are quality! Quality with a capital Q!’
Letters from Lighthouse Cottage Page 17
