The Telephone Box Library

by Rachael Lucas

  She popped in to see Bunty, who was grumbling about an unexpected visit from Gordon and Margaret.

  ‘Honestly, I wish they’d give me some advance notice. I was quite happily minding my own business when they turned up.’

  ‘Maybe they wanted to say hello.’ Lucy was feeling amenable towards everyone.

  ‘Humph.’ Bunty made a face. ‘More likely Margaret wanted to see if I’d croaked.’

  Lucy gave a gasp of horrified laughter.

  ‘You’re in a good mood today. What have you been up to? Or –’ Bunty peered at her through narrowed eyes – ‘who, perhaps I should say?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Lucy took a step back, protesting innocence. She noticed Stanley coiled on the dresser beside her and took another hurried step sideways.

  ‘I’m not as green as I’m cabbage-looking. I know that look.’

  Lucy cleared her throat. ‘I thought I’d pop in and see if you needed anything. Do you want me to put some washing on, or . . . anything?’ she tailed off, lamely.

  ‘I do hope you and Sam have stopped dancing around and realized you’re made for each other.’

  Lucy felt herself blushing. It was such an irritating habit. She couldn’t hide a thing from anyone without her face giving her away.

  ‘Heh.’ Bunty slapped the table with a triumphant noise. ‘About bloody time, too.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Oh for goodness’ sake. Anyone could see it.’

  ‘But I’m only here for –’ Lucy began.

  ‘Nonsense. My goodness, when I showed you my diary I hoped it might make you realize that life is for living. I could have turned down the chance to walk out with Harry because he was Canadian, or because it was too risky, or because – oh, a million reasons. But I will never regret grabbing those moments of happiness.’

  ‘Even though you ended up married to Len, and never had any more children?’

  ‘Even though. Len was a nice man, and he treated me well. I loved him, and he loved me, in his own way. But I knew what it meant to be truly adored.’

  ‘You still love him – Harry, I mean?’

  Bunty nodded. ‘After all this time. Yes.’ She smiled wistfully. ‘And that’s precisely why I think you and Sam should blooming well get on with it. Mel and I have been placing bets on how long it would take for the two of you to realize what was right in front of your noses.’

  Lucy put a hand to her mouth. ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes.’ Bunty chuckled. ‘Now get over there, and don’t waste any more of your precious time worrying about me.’

  Lucy ran a hand through her hair and swallowed hard before knocking on the door of Sam’s cottage.

  ‘I’ll get it,’ came Freya’s voice from inside.

  ‘Hi,’ Lucy said, smiling. ‘How was the school trip?’

  ‘Amazing.’ Freya looked almost feverish, her usually pale cheeks flaming and her eyes sparkling bright. Perhaps she hadn’t slept.

  ‘I thought I’d pop in and –’ Lucy took a sharp intake of breath as Freya opened the door wider.

  ‘Come in and meet my mum,’ Freya said, beckoning her inside. ‘Lucy, this is – Stella. My mum.’ The colour in her cheeks rose further.

  ‘Hi,’ said a tall, slender woman with long, sleek, dark hair.

  ‘Lucy,’ said Sam, emerging from the kitchen. He hadn’t shaved, and his cheeks were shadowed with stubble which was echoed in the shadows beneath his eyes.

  ‘I think maybe . . . this isn’t a good time?’ Lucy took a step backwards, bumping into the sofa.

  Stella didn’t say anything more, but looked at her, steadily and calmly. The expression on her face suggested that she knew she had a role as Freya’s mother, and that she felt Lucy was surplus to requirements. Lucy sidestepped, avoiding the sofa this time and, apologizing for her bad timing, hurtled out onto the street.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ Mel said, opening her door. A sea of dogs milled around her feet and she shooed them backwards, letting Lucy inside. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

  ‘Not a ghost.’

  Mel stood for a moment, hand hovering between the bottle of sherry that was sitting on the kitchen worktop and the kettle. The sherry won.

  ‘Won this in a raffle. I think you need it more than tea.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Lucy took a large gulp. It was disgusting, but it helped slightly.

  ‘So what’s happened?’

  ‘Oh my God. Well.’

  And it all poured out. Their night together (‘I knew it,’ Mel said triumphantly) and going home feeling like she was on cloud nine, and then knocking on Sam’s door to discover –

  ‘No way. In his house? Bold as brass?’

  ‘She seemed perfectly normal.’

  ‘What were you expecting? Horns?’ Mel tipped more sherry into their glasses. ‘What the bloody hell is she up to? She must be after something. She can’t just turn up out of the blue after all this time.’

  ‘It’s not, though.’ It must be all right to break Freya’s confidence now, surely. ‘Freya told me she’d found her. She searched for her online. I think she’s been trying to track her down. I think she’s hoping they’ll get back together.’

  Mel gave a bark of laughter. ‘Not a chance in hell.’

  ‘Not even for Freya?’

  Mel shook her head again. But Lucy thought of Bunty, staying married all those years to a man who wasn’t the one she loved, just for the sake of giving Gordon a stable background. Sam loved Freya fiercely. Did he love her enough to forgive Stella’s behaviour and take her back?

  ‘I think you might be wrong.’

  Mel’s face clouded over. ‘I think it’s extremely unlikely.’

  Sam was wrestling with his conscience. Freya had admitted that she’d been the one to get in contact with Stella, and Stella had admitted over lunch in the restaurant that she’d chickened out, leaving Freya stranded in the shopping centre. ‘I thought you might have guessed then,’ Freya said to him, picking up a piece of pizza thoughtfully, ‘but you didn’t have a clue.’

  When Freya went to the bathroom, he seized his chance.

  ‘So why now?’

  He looked at Stella’s sharp, foxy little face and thought how different she looked to Lucy. ‘I’ve spent the last couple of years in therapy. When Freya got in touch, it felt like a sign.’

  Sam raised a dubious eyebrow. ‘Therapy?’

  ‘Expensive therapy.’ She lifted a long, slim hand. It took a second for him to register that she was wearing both an expensive-looking diamond and a wedding ring. ‘I’m not coming back to claim what’s mine, if that’s what you’re wondering.’ She gave a catlike smile. ‘Or hoping.’

  He laughed drily. ‘You’re fine, thanks.’

  ‘The girl who turned up earlier?’ Stella looked at him.

  ‘Lucy. She’s called Lucy.’

  ‘Seems nice. Very – wholesome.’

  ‘Don’t.’ He could hear the warning in his tone.

  ‘I wasn’t.’ She smirked slightly. ‘Just, you used to be more – well, let’s put it this way. You’re far more settled than I ever expected you to be.’

  ‘I didn’t have much choice,’ he said levelly, picking up a napkin and folding it. ‘I was left holding the baby – literally.’

  ‘You’ve done a good job.’ Stella inclined her head in the direction of the restaurant loos. Freya was standing, head down, looking at something on her phone.

  ‘She’s a good kid.’

  ‘You’re a good dad.’

  He felt a sick sensation rising inside him. ‘You’re not about to waltz in here and demand custody or something?’

  Stella shook her head. ‘Hardly. I think Gavin might have something to say about that.’

  ‘Your husband?’

  She looked at him, her voice quite steady. ‘I promise you, I’m not planning to stage a coup.’ This was a new Stella, he acknowledged, looking at her as she fished in her bag for a lipstick. She flipped open a mirror and applied
a layer, looking at him for a moment. ‘Don’t worry. You – and your sweet-looking Lucy – are quite safe there.’

  Not completely new, then. She lifted an eyebrow slightly. The sharp tongue he’d once found amusing just left him with a sour feeling in his mouth.

  ‘Lucy?’ Freya had appeared at the table without either of them noticing. She slid into her chair and looked from one parent to the other. ‘What’s Lucy got to do with this?’

  ‘Nothing,’ he and Stella said in unison.

  That was one thing they both agreed on, at least. Stella sipped her drink and looked out of the window. He took the opportunity to size her up, slightly loathing himself for doing so. She looked good – hair perfectly styled, the sort of understated accessories that were inevitably expensive, and of course that ring. A diamond that size didn’t come cheap. He felt a wave of something – relief, perhaps? He’d always wondered what he’d do if she reappeared, wanting to be part of their lives again.

  ‘It would feel weird calling you Mum,’ Freya said, chewing a lock of hair and looking at Stella, thoughtfully.

  ‘You don’t have to,’ Stella said. ‘Stella is fine.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Freya shrugged. ‘It might just take some getting used to.’

  ‘Whatever makes you happy,’ Stella said, reaching across and touching Freya gently on the arm. He watched her face light up briefly, and an expression on Stella’s face that he couldn’t read. Regret, perhaps? It can’t have been easy for her. He could hear Mel snorting with derision at that, telling him he was a soft touch. But the truth is that Stella was Freya’s mother, and they were going to have to find a way to be a family of some sort – or to work together as one – despite what had happened in the past.

  He splayed his hands, running them through his hair as he tried to think what was best. Freya looked at him from beneath her hair, which she’d allowed to drape over her face. She always did that when she was uncomfortable. And she was biting her thumbnail. Stella sat poised, back very straight, eyes wide. For a moment it felt as if the tension and their silence were ballooning out, filling the whole restaurant. But then a waiter dropped a knife on the floor with a clatter and apologized to them, and it was as if someone had broken the spell. He could hear chatter and laughter, the clattering of plates. Freya looked from him to Stella, still not speaking. Stella raised an eyebrow.

  He’d have to take control of the situation.

  ‘I think we need to sit down and work out the practicalities of all of this, don’t you?’

  ‘That sounds very wise,’ Stella said. ‘Maybe we should do it over pudding and coffee?’

  ‘That sounds even better,’ said Freya, with a slightly unsteady smile.

  Sam reached out and encased his daughter’s small hand in his own, squeezing it gently. ‘We don’t have to rush into anything. You call the shots, darling.’

  Stella nodded agreement, and he allowed himself the tiniest flicker of hope that this might work out in the end.

  ‘In that case –’ Freya gave him a mischievous look – ‘can we have the super double chocolate layer cake?’

  ‘I think that would be a very good start.’

  Chapter Twenty-four

  It would have been easier if it hadn’t been for Stella, Lucy reflected, standing back from the cottage window and looking out.

  Stella’s car was parked outside Sam’s cottage again, as it had been the day before when Lucy had girded her loins to go and have the ‘look, it was very lovely that we slept together but clearly it’s not going to go anywhere’ conversation. So that’s another day when I can’t do it, she thought, sighing and turning away. She pulled the covers up over her bed and left the bedroom, with Hamish scampering down the stairs behind her.

  In the little sitting room there were stacks of papers and notepads from the work she’d been doing on the WI anniversary booklet. If nothing else, she could get that sorted and out of the way.

  She’d been working hard for an hour when there was a knock at the door. Hamish leapt across her legs, scattering pieces of paper and barking with excitement. She pulled back the latch, heart thudding in the hope that it might be Sam, to find Susan standing there with a big leather satchel slung over her shoulder. She was holding a cardboard box from the village shop.

  ‘Hoped you wouldn’t mind the interruption, dear – but I thought as we’re almost there with the booklet, I’d pop round and see if we can just go through it together?’

  Lucy cast a glance around the little sitting room, which was covered in books and papers. ‘No, that’s lovely,’ she said, sounding more convincing than she felt. ‘Let me just clear a space for you.’

  ‘Oh good,’ said Susan, brandishing the box. ‘I hoped you’d be fine with it. I brought some chocolate brownies from the shop as brain fuel.’ She beamed, setting them down on the little coffee table between the sofa and the log burner.

  Lucy swooped in. ‘I’ll move them, or Hamish will snaffle them before we even sit down. He’s already had to visit the vet once in Brighton after getting hold of a bar of chocolate and wolfing the lot. Now, shall I make us some tea?’

  ‘Lovely.’

  ‘This looks really quite wonderful,’ Susan said a couple of hours later.

  Lucy had popped into town and bought a cheap printer, so they’d run off a rough copy of the booklet.

  ‘Eighty years of the WI here in Little Maudley. Just imagine.’ Susan leaned over, looking at one of the photographs they’d been given by people from the village. ‘I think that’s my big brother Joseph in that one.’ She picked it up, frowning. ‘It is. How funny.’

  ‘I thought we could do a display of all of these,’ Lucy said, indicating the whole collection of photos.

  ‘That’s such a lovely idea. Yes. I don’t remember the war, of course – I was only very young. But I do remember we had a little fete to celebrate VE Day, over there on the green. They decorated the telephone box with bunting and hung it from the trees, and we all had cake and sweets.’

  ‘The telephone box really does seem to have been a focal point here, doesn’t it?’

  ‘It has, dear, yes. I’m personally very glad that Helen didn’t get her way about having it removed.’

  ‘Not that you’d know it. She’s taken over completely.’

  They laughed.

  ‘Not long now. Sam’s got the shelving under control, I believe, and then we can get all the books in and have a grand opening.’

  ‘I thought Bunty could be the one to cut the ribbon.’

  Susan nodded. ‘Well, yes – she’s the oldest villager, so that would be rather nice.’

  Lucy gathered up the papers. ‘I think we’ve pretty much got this all sorted.’

  ‘It’s a shame we couldn’t persuade Bunty to talk about her war, isn’t it?’

  ‘Mmm.’ Knowing what she did now, Lucy could appreciate why Bunty wanted to keep her war story to herself. ‘I’ve done a lot of reading about people from that time. For every one that wants to share their memories, there’s another who would rather forget, or keep them close to their heart.’

  ‘I think we have to respect that, don’t you?’ Susan looked thoughtful.

  ‘Definitely.’

  ‘Now, if you email those finished pages over to my nephew Matthew, he’ll get them printed up and then we can have our little celebration on the thirty-first.’

  ‘Don’t you mean the thirtieth?’

  There had been signs around the village for the last couple of weeks, reminding everyone that Hallowe’en was coming.

  ‘Gosh, yes. How could I forget?’ Susan picked up her big bag and hefted it over her shoulder. ‘Will you be taking part? The village does rather go to town for Hallowe’en. And then for bonfire night, too.’

  Lucy shook her head. ‘I’m going to see my brother in Brighton on the thirty-first, but I’ll definitely be around for bonfire night. I love fireworks.’

  ‘Well, you’re in for a treat. The cricket club do a wonderful event every year – it
’s their fundraiser.’

  ‘I’ll look forward to it.’

  As she was seeing Susan out, Sam opened the door of his cottage. He looked momentarily confused, as if he couldn’t quite work out what to say. He rubbed his chin, glancing back over his shoulder, and then stepped out hesitantly. ‘Lucy.’

  ‘I’ll let you young ones get on,’ said Susan, cheerily. ‘See you at the village hall for the meeting and the unveiling.’

  ‘You’ve got all the photographs?’ Lucy turned round to check inside the cottage.

  ‘All here in my bag,’ Susan patted it. ‘The next time you see them, they’ll be up in the hall for everyone to admire.’

  With that, she beetled off up the road. Sam was standing, as if frozen to the spot, outside his door. After a moment he stepped forward, crossing the road. He pushed the sleeves of his flannel shirt up, rubbing his arm as he spoke.

  ‘About the other night. I’m really sorry – I didn’t want to just send you a message, but –’

  ‘It’s okay. I guess with everything that’s happened, you’ve had enough to think about.’

  ‘It’s not that – I mean, there’s nothing going on with me and Stella, if that’s what you’re thinking.’

  Lucy felt a wave of relief, despite herself. She hadn’t wanted to think that Sam’s ex had suddenly sprung back into his life and they’d decided to play happy families, but when she’d been lying in bed at night, unable to sleep, wondering . . . well, the thought had crossed her mind once or twice. Or more.

  ‘I didn’t think you had.’

  ‘But you’ve got – well, I mean you’ve got other stuff – and I need to make sure Freya’s okay.’

  She nodded. The truth, which Sam didn’t know, was that she’d pretty much decided that the other stuff – by which he meant a life and a job back in Brighton – wasn’t what she wanted. But that had nothing to do with Sam. This was about her future; it was a decision she’d made for herself.