My Summer of Magic Moments

by Caroline Roberts

  ‘Well good for you, pet. You look well on it, I must say. Now then, what can I fetch you two? Don’t tell me … chocolate fudge?’

  ‘Has to be, it’s divine. You make the best. Two slices, please.’

  ‘I’ll bring them over.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Claire settled down next to Andrea at their window table. It was great for people-watching as well as chatting. They’d had some fun times viewing and occasionally scoring the passers-by (when Andrea was young, free and single, often rating men on looks, and butts in particular), the level of seating being perfect for a sneaky glance.

  Claire took a sip of hot cappuccino. ‘Ah, bliss … Well, how’s good old work been?’

  ‘Not too bad. Missed you though, chick. That bloody dragon Julia’s been lurking around. “Helping out”. She’s been desperate to snag your column for her latest protégée, Lisa, who’s also been trying to bag your desk, perching her skinny bum in your seat. I soon moved her on, don’t you worry. Imagine working opposite that pair every day.’

  ‘Well, I’m back now. She didn’t get offered my column, did she?’

  ‘No, no worries there – David’s not that stupid. He let Emma use the column for her health and fitness article for two weeks. It worked well.’

  ‘That’s good to hear. I’m looking forward to getting back.’

  ‘I really liked your “Magic Moments” article. David let me have a look over it. That’s such a fab idea. Wish I’d thought of it. It goes out on Monday.’

  ‘Wow, it does? That’s great. I wasn’t sure he’d go for it. Well, I just hope it strikes a chord. Being away made me realize how important those simple things are. And everyone will have their own take on it, too.’

  ‘True. Talking of being away, how was it? You look really great, by the way. You have a tan and everything.’

  ‘Hah! More like windburn! But yeah, there were a good few days this last week when I managed to sunbathe a bit. It was lovely … just what I needed.’

  ‘Oh yes, sun, sea, sand and se—’

  ‘None of that, I’m afraid.’ Claire laughed a little too loudly.

  ‘Are you sure about that?’ Andrea eyed her curiously. ‘What about that guy you texted me about?’

  ‘I mentioned nothing. You were trying to wheedle something out of me that never happened.’

  Andrea raised her eyebrows, unconvinced. ‘You’re blushing.’

  Ah, shit – she was never any good at lying. Even though nothing sexual had actually happened, a whole lot more had. She felt the heat rise up her neck. She’d have to say something or Andrea would carry on digging for information, for sure. ‘A near miss, that’s all. Well, maybe a lucky escape.’

  ‘I knew it. You can’t lie to save your life, Claire Maxwell.’

  ‘Well, that’s not such a bad trait to have.’ Though it sometimes made life rather awkward.

  ‘I bet he was hot.’

  ‘Not bad.’

  ‘A surfer-dude type? All Aussie-toned muscle.’

  ‘Now you’re getting carried away. Shush.’ She could feel the heat in her cheeks. Damn. ‘Anyway, enough about me. How’re things with you and Danny?’ Time to divert the conversation. He and Andrea had been living together for a year now.

  ‘Yeah … it’s good. We’re getting on really well. We give each other enough space to live our lives, you know, be our own people, which I like. But then when we do get it together, wow. Boy, that man is good in bed.’

  A couple of male students looked up from the table next to them. Andrea just laughed and gave them a cheeky grin. The cute one with dark curly hair winked back at her.

  ‘Spare me the details, per-lease.’ Whereas Claire tended to keep things to herself, Andrea relished sharing every snippet of information. Sometimes Claire just didn’t want to go that far – the images were way too private. But she smiled at her friend. At least someone was loved-up and happy.

  After a pleasant hour and a half, Andrea said she’d better be heading off; she had some shopping to do and had promised to visit her mother.

  ‘See you at work on Monday, hun.’

  ‘Yes! It’ll feel a bit weird, but I’m excited about going back too.’

  ‘Good. You don’t want to go all Robinson Crusoe on me and decide to live like a recluse in a cave on the Northumbrian coast or something?’

  ‘I don’t think so, Andrea. It was just a holiday by the sea.’

  As she said it, she realized she was missing it already, that glorious view, the rickety, weirdly charming cottage. But she had missed her work and her friends too.

  The house felt quiet. She made a simple supper of scrambled eggs and grilled tomatoes – after all that cake, she thought she’d better have something light and healthy. She put the telly on for company as she tootled around, thinking about what she might pack up next. Maybe her book collection, or she might sort through her journalism papers, the textbooks from uni, the many newspapers and cuttings she’d kept over the years, some of which were her own articles that had made her proud, often telling of someone’s bravery, talents, kindness. She loved finding out about those kinds of things – meeting interesting people and being able to tell someone’s story that might never have been heard otherwise. She was a feel-good reporter at heart, even though a lot of the time the news she had to deliver was heart-wrenching.

  A text pinged through from her sister: Coming for lunch tomorrow? Roast beef at 2pm if you fancy x

  Thanks, that’d be great xx

  Welcome home!

  Home. That word sounded so very hollow.

  Thanks sis. See you tomorrow x

  ‘Pass, Auntie Claire. Pass!’

  She scuffled a shot across the back garden to Jack, her nephew, who was making a dash alongside the flowerbeds. His younger brother readied himself on the goal line, which was an imaginary zone between the apple tree to the left and his jumper, which had been thrown down on the ground about three metres away. She envied the endless energy of their youth. All the world was their playground. So innocent for now, but lessons they would have to learn along the way awaited them.

  ‘Great pass!’ Jack was definitely being polite. Playing football in plimsolls was not the easiest. She might end up breaking a toe at this rate, the ball was that solid.

  Ollie was anxiously awaiting the shot, knees bent, body braced. Jack thundered the ball inside the apple tree, nearly taking his brother out and flattening a delphinium in the process. Oops, Sal would be none too pleased.

  ‘He shoots, he scores!’ He started running circles of the garden in a victory salute to himself. Ollie’s shoulders slumped as he went off into the flowerbed to retrieve the ball.

  ‘Right, you lot,’ Mark bellowed down the garden. ‘In you come and wash your hands ready for lunch.’

  Claire felt like she was six, being called back by her dad. But she looked up and obediently made the move to go in. In fact, she realized her tummy was rumbling. Mark’s voice softened as he gave her a smile. ‘That order was for the boys, not you, Claire.’

  ‘Well, it’s good to know lunch is ready. And I probably ought to wash my hands too. I’m all footballed out.’

  ‘Thanks for entertaining them.’

  ‘No worries, they’re good fun.’

  ‘Thanks, Auntie Claire,’ the boys called as they raced past her into the house.

  Roast beef, huge crispy Yorkshire puddings, a stack of roast veggies and lashings of rich gravy – Sal’s roasts were amazing.

  There was nothing quite like a Sunday lunch with the family gathered round. It was like being wrapped in a warm, delicious blanket. Claire listened to the buzz of chatter. The boys talked about their latest Xbox games, the Newcastle score yesterday – at which Mark just groaned – and her mum asked Jack about the football team he played for on the weekends. Ollie was going camping with the Scouts the following weekend, and told how he was really looking forward to that – they were going to be allowed to make a fire from scratch with no matches.
Bear Grylls was going to have nothing on them by the sounds of it – and there were general ‘mmms’ and comments on how lovely the food was. Claire felt absolutely full by the end of the meal, travelling from starving to pleasantly stuffed in precisely ten minutes.

  After a short sit-down with a cup of tea, Claire offered to do the washing-up. She soon found herself in the kitchen with Mark, who started clearing the surfaces. They both stacked the dishwasher, then Mark began rinsing the messier pans in the sink. Claire took up the tea towel.

  ‘So, how was your break?’

  ‘Good, thanks. I loved the beach and the village there. It was really beautiful.’

  ‘Yeah, went that way a lot when I was a child. We used to have a cottage inland, a bit nearer to Wooler. My parents were into hiking and biking, that kind of thing. I used to wish we could go to Disneyland or somewhere like that instead at the time. But I do remember it being beautiful.’

  ‘Yes.’ She could picture the long stretch of sandy bay … the dunes … her little cottage beside the sea.

  And she wondered if he’d be there now. It was a Sunday, the weekend. Did he get there most weeks?

  ‘Back to work tomorrow?’ Mark pulled her back from her reverie.

  ‘Oh … yes. I’m looking forward to it. I needed the break, but now I’ve recharged the batteries, I’m ready to go back.’

  ‘Working on anything in particular at the moment?’

  ‘Well yeah, the cancer blog came to a natural end. A happy one, thank God. But whilst I was away I got inspired … Actually, it was something Sally said that got me thinking, so the new column’s going to be about “Magic Moments”. You know, those contented moments in life – often the simplest things – that make you truly happy.’

  ‘Sounds good. Interesting.’

  ‘What would yours be? Your magic moment?’ She picked up a baking tray to dry.

  He popped some knives and forks into the rack as he took a few seconds to think.

  ‘Hmm. My family … the boys, the daft things they do and say sometimes that just make you grin. Like the other night when we’d just had our supper, Ollie shot off his seat, ran past and then let out a huge fart that stopped him in his tracks. He turned to us and said, “Sorry, that was my bottom saying thank you for the food.” We tried so hard not to laugh. We couldn’t help it, though – we just cracked up at that.’

  Claire grinned. That might be a good comical one for her blog. The things children say and do. It would be lovely to be able to mention plenty of different people’s special moments in her column. She’d have to ask Sally and her mum what theirs would be.

  ‘And things like an ice-cold beer from the fridge on a hot day,’ he continued. ‘Spending time with Sal, just the two of us, like old times.’

  ‘You big romantic, you. I’m glad to hear the beer came first.’ Claire gave a wry smile.

  ‘Don’t let on about that one. Mental slip, that was all.’ He grinned back.

  The very first ‘Magic Moments’ article was going to be out tomorrow, in the Monday edition of the Herald. She felt anxious, a butterfly flutter in her stomach, hoping it would go down well. Next week she would hopefully be hearing about her readers’ own magic moments if it had struck a chord with them. The idea could evolve, perhaps into something special. She so hoped her regulars would like it. And her boss. It would be thrown out pretty swiftly otherwise, and she’d have to come up with something else, and quick, if her article didn’t attract much interest.

  She’d been away a long while on this holiday, even though it was much needed, and all those on-off times with the treatments she’d had over the past year. She felt she needed to prove herself all over again. Would people still like her stories? The way she wrote? When she got back tomorrow, she’d settle back into the team and really focus on her work. Her boss, David, had been more than patient and understanding so far, but she was all too aware there were other ambitious journalists ready and waiting to jump into her shoes. Her nerves began to bite.

  11

  ‘Magic is believing in yourself. If you can do that, you can make anything happen.’

  Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

  ‘Claire, we need to talk. I tried you earlier.’

  The phone had started ringing as soon as she got in the door. She recognized the voice on the phone immediately. Paul. For a split second she had hoped it might be Ed, that he’d tracked her down, but there was no soft Scottish lilt, and of course he wouldn’t have her phone number or any idea of where she lived. Silly moo.

  ‘Oh … okay.’ She supposed they’d have to talk things through. Discuss the practical things you have to when you split up a marriage, a home, a life together, taking it apart piece by piece. The Lego marriage model – the one he’d smashed up that day he’d told her that he’d been seeing someone else, that he had just stayed to support her through the cancer, but now he was moving out. Yes, there were still lots of pieces of that Lego still hanging around, to put back in the box, ready to trip her up. Or maybe they were there ready to make something else with.

  ‘We’ve got a buyer interested in the house.’ His tone was matter-of-fact.

  ‘Oh.’ So soon.

  ‘They looked round while you were away.’

  ‘I see …’ The estate agent had spare keys. Claire wasn’t sure how she felt. There was a strange queasiness in her gut. Yes, she knew it was up for sale. And it hadn’t all been good at the house; her illness, the shock of his betrayal, but it hadn’t been all bad either. They’d had their happy times, their early years together, and it had been their home, her home. And where would she go?

  ‘They want to come back for a second look. They’re wondering if they can come round this evening – they haven’t got time in the week. Are you in? Shall I tell the estate agent that’s okay.’

  She felt a bit numb.

  ‘Claire?’

  ‘Yes. That’s okay. I’ll be here.’

  ‘Claire? Are you all right?’

  He so didn’t have the right to ask that question any more, to pretend to care about her.

  ‘Yes, I’m fine,’ she said firmly.

  A couple in their thirties were looking round her home. It felt weird as she pointed out the features and benefits of the location and the nearby amenities, let them peer into the dishwasher, open up the boiler cupboard, wander through the master bedroom. It was as if she was opening up her heart too, but as she politely closed the door on them, it also felt like a release. She had known it would have to happen – she couldn’t afford to buy Paul out. She’d only be rattling around here – too many rooms, too many memories. If the house went, it would force her move on too, physically as well as emotionally. She’d have no choice, and with half the money, she’d be able to put down a deposit on something smaller of her own. She could see it working out fine. Paul wasn’t coming back, and she didn’t want him to.

  After they’d gone, she made herself a mug of strong tea and sat on the sofa gazing out at the small back garden, fenced in, neat with shrubs, and wished she was on that balcony back at Bamburgh beach looking out across the bold North Sea. Her thoughts crept back to Ed and his kiss and that crazy stormy afternoon when they’d been so close to making love. Well, okay, having sex. It was stupid to think the love word came into the equation. Damn, though. Even if it had just been the once, a one- night stand, it would have been great to know his body, to know what it felt like to be in his arms. If only she hadn’t panicked. If only she still had a normal pair of unscarred breasts for him to see and touch, and the two of them had carried on being drawn into a bubble of love. All right, lust then. Now, that would’ve been nice. For one night only, Mr Ed … Shit, she didn’t even know his surname. No matter. This was a one-night-only fantasy, remember.

  She finished her tea and decided to pack up some more boxes. She might as well get organized in case that couple liked the house and put an offer in. She concentrated on finding things she wouldn’t be needing in the near future: old DVDs, CDs, spare
bedding, towels. You didn’t need an awful lot for one. She sectioned off a pile of Paul’s things, most of which had gone with him already, and anything that looked a little old, or worn, or she just hadn’t used for a long time she put into the bin or the charity pile. It felt quite therapeutic.

  12

  Friendship

  Walking back into the three-storey, brick-built, Newcastle-upon-Tyne newspaper offices, which were on a side road two blocks from the main shopping area of Northumberland Street, had felt strange. It was as though she’d been away far longer than three weeks. It was probably the cumulative effect of the past year’s illness, her treatments, time off for surgery, for chemo. Nothing had been normal for quite some time now. She craved normality now – she just wanted her life back how it was, though she knew it would never be quite the same. Such was life – a journey, a forwards leap, sometimes a slow crawl or a few steps backwards. This morning she was ready to leap.

  That didn’t stop her feeling a little nervous as she mounted the steps she’d been up hundreds of times before. Would she still be able to do her job well? Would her new ‘Magic Moments’ idea for her column go down okay, or would the boss think it weak or boring? What would the reader response to her new column be?

  She was greeted by ‘Hello’s, ‘Hi’s and smiles as she walked through to her desk. She waved at Jo and Emma, friends as much as work colleagues, and felt boosted by their grins. There was no sign of Andrea across the way at her desk area yet. Then Claire spotted a lovely large pink daisy-like flower – gerberas she thought they were called – a single happy bloom in a bright-pink pot that looked suspiciously like Andrea’s pen pot. An envelope was propped next to it saying ‘Welcome Back’, and next to that there was a pink-iced cupcake with tiny sugar flowers on the top. How pretty.

  She was opening the card when a head popped up over the partition screen – dark-brown hair jutting out at quirky angles and kind blue eyes that were smiling. Andrea gave her a grin just as Claire read, ‘Welcome back, gorgeous girl! Missed you! Xx.’ Andrea had signed the card, as well as many of her colleagues.