My Summer of Magic Moments

by Caroline Roberts

  ‘Hah, and in the meanwhile I’ll not be able to walk let alone get into the missionary position.’

  They laughed a little and then managed to put on a pacy walk to the end of the Town Moor. They agreed to jog again once they got back to the pavements of Gosforth. It would help their street cred if they looked like they were running at that point, or so they hoped. Though Claire’s and Andrea’s bedraggled appearance and wobbly legs – Lou still looked fresh, believe it or not – as they got back to Claire’s street probably gave the game away!

  15

  A kitten to curl up with

  Buzzzz. She was knuckle-deep in dough again, having decided to have another dabble at bread baking. She was making a couple of ciabatta loaves, one of which she was going to give to Sal as a thank-you for having her over so much recently. Damn the doorbell.

  Claire hastily rinsed her hands and headed down the hall to open the door. It was Paul. It seemed a bit odd seeing him standing there on the doorstep. It was still half his house, after all, but she had to admit it was more polite than just barging in. That would have definitely annoyed her.

  ‘Hi.’ He seemed slightly awkward.

  ‘Hi. Come on in … You okay?’

  ‘Yep, fine. And how are you keeping?’

  ‘Good, thanks.’

  It was a little dance in polite words, masking the pain and hurt they had been through in the past months. The truth of what had happened between them was better laid to rest, but they would both always know.

  He was still on the step. ‘Come on through.’

  He followed her to the kitchen. She wasn’t quite sure why he’d come. She smiled. He looked like he’d put on a bit of weight – as he smiled back, his cheeks looked pudgier. And yes, there was a definite paunch round his belly. He must be living comfortably with his new partner, she mused. She felt the rawness of hurt still there, but weirdly no envy. All she noticed was that his hairline had receded a touch more at the temples.

  ‘Tea or anything?’

  ‘Ah, thanks, but no, can’t stay long. I just wondered if you’d got the message?’

  ‘Message? About …?’

  ‘The house.’

  ‘No, but I was out food shopping earlier on.’

  ‘I tried both your mobile and the house. Left a message on both.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry. My mobile needed charging so I left it here. I haven’t looked at either since I got back.’

  ‘Right. Well, I’ve had a call from the estate agent. We’ve had an offer.’

  ‘Oh … right.’ She’d known this was coming, but it still felt odd. She really would be leaving this place soon.

  ‘The couple from the other week. It’s an offer, but it’s ten thousand less than our asking price. I was trying to contact you to see what you thought. Anyway, as I couldn’t get in touch, I’ve gone back trying to negotiate an extra five grand. I hope that’s okay. I didn’t want to miss out on their interest.’

  ‘That sounds fine, and if we can get a bit more for it, all the better.’

  ‘I’m just waiting to hear back now. I thought I’d pop in and get some more of my stuff. If things are likely to be moving ahead soon.’

  ‘Okay, well, go ahead. I’ve actually put some things in a couple of bags. Your music collection and your favourite DVDs.’

  ‘Okay. Thanks.’ He seemed relieved that she was being so reasonable.

  ‘Go and pick up what you need. We’ll have to talk about the bigger stuff like furniture later, I suppose. Have a think if there’s anything in particular you’d like. I’ll be somewhere smaller for sure … in my next place.’

  She tried to be polite – staying bitter and angry with him wouldn’t get either of them anywhere. She found the box of DVDs, handed them over and then went back to the kitchen to get out of the way while he went upstairs to find the other things he needed. Soon the house would become a part of someone else’s lives. She stared out at the garden from the kitchen window and felt a quiet sense of loss.

  Splitting up a house, a marriage, a life – no, two lives – was inevitably painful. Even when you knew in your heart it was over.

  It was the nights that were the hardest. The days seemed to fill themselves. There wasn’t so much time to think. But in the dark hours, in a double bed, on her own, her mind would roam not back to Paul, but to the two cottages by the sea, and Ed. She just couldn’t help herself. She wondered what he was doing. Did he ever think of her? Was she just an annoying neighbour for a couple of weeks that he nearly made a fool of himself with? The sad truth was that he probably didn’t think about her at all.

  Just let it all go, Claire, push him out of your head, she urged herself. Get on with your life here, get the house sold, find a cosy place of your own, get a kitten – hell yes, she’d love a kitten, something to curl up with when she watched telly in the evenings. A girl kitten. She’d have nothing to do with the male species any more. Hah, she might end up a mad cat lady, but at least she’d be content.

  And then no one would ever have to see her scarred left breast ever again. Only her, but that didn’t count as she’d already seen it. Problem solved.

  But night after night with it all tossing around in her head, and five weeks since leaving her cottage on the coast, the problem didn’t feel very solved at all. It felt like there was a big, muddy puddle in her heart. It was time to jump into it.

  16

  The view of the Cheviot Hills, the valley below, and the feeling of coming home

  Harry, Leeds & Northumberland

  She came off the phone with a silly grin on her face. The weekend of the 20th of August was free. Surprisingly, the Bank Holiday the following weekend in August was booked up. The poor devils – some unsuspecting family trying to hire a cottage in Bamburgh, no doubt, with no accommodation left bar the neglected Farne View cottage. She’d booked herself in for a long weekend, Friday to Monday; she’d taken a lot of this year’s holidays already so it was all the time she could get for now. And the cheque was ready to go in the post; old Mr Hedley didn’t ‘do’ bank cards. He also didn’t do regular hot water, central heating, clean mattresses and a lot of other home comforts. Maybe she ought to warn that poor family. She was heading back to that wreck of a cottage, and yet, crazily, her heart was doing a little leap.

  There were a couple of weeks to go yet, time to get the sale of the house sorted and get down to work, give her ‘Magic Moments’ column plenty of attention besides all the other articles she needed to work on. Her ‘Magic Moments’ idea seemed to have struck a chord already. Her story was getting so many hits on the newspaper website. Her email inbox was bulging at the seams and Facebook had gone ballistic after she’d posted an online video about the background to the feature. It was hard to keep up with all the interactions – though she tried to read every single comment. Some stood out in her mind: ‘Fishing on a secluded Scottish loch on beautiful serene water surrounded by tall scented pines and curious wildlife, my lovely husband retrieves from his fishing bag a cake and champagne to celebrate my birthday’ – how lovely. And one from a child via their parent: ‘My mum’s smile which warms me more than any radiator.’ Lucy, aged 9.

  In the past few days she’d received over two hundred replies, a combination of lovely comments and new magic moments, some funny, some that brought a tear to her eye, which was just wonderful. Her professional Twitter feed had gone nuts, with so many likes, retweets and comments, and a fab new hashtag, #MagicMoments, created by her followers, which made her feel extremely proud.

  She’d even been invited to speak on local radio. She hadn’t figured quite how nerve-wracking that would be: when the red light went on for ‘live’ she’d had a brief moment of panic and thought her voice wasn’t going to work. She was used to being the one doing the interviewing, not the one being interviewed. Luckily her professional instincts kicked in – this was an amazing publicity opportunity and the chance to reach even more people with her feature, and it was actually quite an honour to be
asked. The radio presenter soon put her at ease, and they chatted about the inspiration for the idea, a little about her past, the cancer, the way forward. Claire wanted the audience to know that it wasn’t about money or the big things people thought they might need to make them happy, but the everyday things we could all have and enjoy, and find that little bit of magic in.

  The snowballing success also meant that big boss Dave was going to let her carry the feature on for a few more weeks at least, and it kept Dragon Julia off her case too. In fact, Julia had popped across to Claire’s desk with a magic moment of her own, which was when they’d found out they’d won the North-East Newspaper of the Year award last November and she could put a new frock down to expenses for the ceremony – little did Dave know she was planning on Vivienne Westwood.

  Though all the professional buzz was great, Claire was also aware that she’d soon have to find and fund a place of her own and all the bills too. She’d need to keep her eye out for some extra freelance work to boost her income. The North-East’s lifestyle magazine had shown some interest in the past, so she’d write something up, maybe on places to stay or dine in the area – that would be a nice thing to research – and target them once more. There was plenty to keep her busy.

  And in just over two weeks, she was going back to her cottage by the sea. She hoped it would still seem as special; that she hadn’t gone home with rose-tinted spectacles. She didn’t want to find there was no magic there after all.

  She could see Bamburgh Castle rising up ahead of her, all pink stone and powerful. Little flutters of excitement skipped inside her, making her hands twitch on the steering wheel. Then she was passing cream-coloured stone cottages, the butcher’s, Lynda’s deli – she gave a mental wave – the village green with its tall trees, tourists strolling the pavements, no doubt deciding whether to have tea in the pub, the hotel or the Copper Kettle tea rooms. There was the cricket pitch in its stunning location right below the towering castle walls, and then she was on the coastal road, skirting the low dunes for a further mile or so.

  Would he be there? She couldn’t stop herself thinking about him now she was so close. It wouldn’t really matter, she told herself. She’d come back for the place, the sea air, those wonderful views. But in a corner of her mind, she hoped. Glutton for punishment or what! False hope and false starts, she chided herself.

  In fact, would he think her a bit stalkerish, turning up again? But one awkward moment shouldn’t stop her coming back to a place she loved, surely. If he was here, she could just keep out of his way. Keep a low profile.

  And there it was, the driveway entrance to the two cottages. It seemed odd arriving in her own car – not such an isolated feeling this time. She made the turn, instinctively scanning the parking area by the bigger cottage. No black 4x4. No Ed. Ah well, there was never any guarantee that he would be here. So she could just enjoy a proper man-free chill-out at her cranky seaside escape. That was just fine, and much less complicated, to be honest.

  She emptied the car, carrying in her suitcase and a box of provisions; this was so much better than coming on the train. This time she had wine – rosé and white – coffee, tea and, as she’d kept her baking hobby going back home, there were freshly made rolls and a quiche Lorraine, as well as bacon, some cheddar, fruit, a large bag of Kettle crisps and some fizzy water. She was set up nicely, though she’d still have to make a trip to the deli for a few local treats and to catch up on all the news with Lynda.

  She checked the cupboard in the kitchen to make sure the water heater was on; hopefully it would behave itself this weekend. Then she made up her bed with fresh linen from home. It felt quite cosy. Right – she grabbed her latest read, a glass of rosé, and set herself up in a chair in the patch of garden. The sky was turquoise, with just a few puffy clouds, and the sun was playing fair today, warm on her face even though it was late afternoon. Bliss.

  She had just closed her eyes with the book propped in her lap when a crunch of gravel from the driveway disturbed her.

  Could it be? But he might not be the only one who stayed there; he might well have let the place out to friends. There was no point getting excited over nothing. In fact, she shouldn’t be feeling excited anyway. It was all a bit of a disaster last time. She opened one eye, scanned next door, but there was no sign of anyone. Whoever it was had gone quietly inside.

  Oh well. She was determined to stay relaxed and enjoy her chill-out time. She was going to keep a low profile, she reminded herself. But she could always get up early tomorrow and see if there was a small pile of clothes on the beach, or even better beat him to it and catch the whole strip-down. It would be worth setting her alarm for that! She grinned to herself. Hmm. She’d forgive him his running away and everything for just one more glimpse of his naked body. To see those firm, peachy buttocks jogging down to the sea. She closed her eyes and lay back in the chair, felt the warmth of the sun on her face and allowed herself to dwell on that image a little longer.

  ‘Hey … hi.’ A soft Scottish lilt. Her heart lurched. Dream a little dream, or what. She opened one eye. It was! She must have a guardian angel hanging around somewhere after all.

  ‘Well … hi.’ She drifted back to being sixteen and all of a flutter in an instant, especially with those thoughts still dancing in her head.

  ‘You’re back,’ he continued.

  Well, pretty obvious, that. But hey, at least he seemed pleased to see her and had actually come across to say hello.

  ‘Yep, it’s me.’ What a stupid response, but her voice seemed to be working without her brain.

  ‘Well, great, good … Nice to see you.’

  ‘You too.’ She managed a smile. Probably a goofy one, if the racing of her heart was anything to go by. Come on, Claire, you’re thirty, not thirteen, she scolded herself.

  ‘Okay, well, I’ll see you about.’ He turned to go back to his house.

  ‘Yes, see you about.’

  She couldn’t help the silly grin that spread wide across her face.

  She was in the kitchen an hour or so later, putting together a supper of quiche and salad, when there was a knock at the cottage door. She supposed it might be Mr Hedley checking on the place or something. Though he hadn’t appeared the whole time on her last visit. She headed for the hall. The door was solid wood, no glass, so there was no clue as to who it might be. She opened it.

  ‘Hey.’ Tall, dark-blond, handsome Ed.

  ‘Hi.’ She sounded coy, she realized.

  He was holding a book out to her.

  ‘What’s this?’

  ‘Just a little something I picked up for you.’

  She was curious, scanned the front cover. Ooh, the latest baking bible from Paul Hollywood.

  ‘I remembered you were into making bread and suchlike.’ He sounded almost shy.

  ‘Well, yes … That’s really kind, thoughtful of you.’ She looked right into his lovely green eyes. ‘Thank you.’ Then it dawned on her. ‘How did you know you’d see me again?’ It was only on a whim that she’d rebooked the cottage.

  ‘Well, I didn’t really. I just bought it on a hunch. Saw it in my local Waterstones. And you never know, I might have ended up using it myself if you hadn’t turned up. Maybe I’d have turned into a baking genius and ended up on the British Bake Off . . . giving that Hollywood chap a run for his money.’ He grinned. ‘No, it’s definitely for you.’

  She took it. A peace offering? A friendship token? ‘Thank you,’ she said again, flicking through a few pages. Images of scrummy just-baked bread greeted her, of pain-au-chocolat oozing with melted chocolate. Divine.

  ‘I may just have to try some of the results, of course.’ Again he smiled. God, he had a melt-you-down smile. But what the heck had happened to Mr Grumpy?

  ‘Naturally.’ She grinned back. Was there a little bit of flirting going on?

  It was as if he’d had a personality transplant whilst she’d been away. Oh well, she’d enjoy it while it lasted. Was it too much to hope that he�
�d missed her in some way, that he had been thinking about her too?

  ‘Are you here for long this time?’

  ‘No,’ she replied. ‘Just a long weekend. I’ve got to get back to work on Tuesday. I’ve used up most of my holiday. And you?’

  ‘Just the weekend. The world of Scottish architecture waits for me. I’m working on some designs for a new library for the university, and some apartments on the seafront at Portobello. It’s pretty full-on at the moment.’

  They were still standing on the step. She ought to invite him in – that would be the polite thing to do – but something held her back. It might get way too confusing after the last time’s turn of events. She should just head back in on her own for her supper and a glass of wine; that would be the sensible thing to do.

  ‘Claire … would you, maybe, like to come over to mine for some supper tomorrow evening?’ He looked slightly awkward. ‘I mean … I’d understand if you didn’t want to, after last time and everything …’

  ‘Ah …’ So it had reared its ugly head.

  ‘It’s okay. I shouldn’t have asked. Look, just forget—’

  ‘Yes.’ What was she saying? Mouth engage brain, per-lease. Remember the disaster last time.

  ‘Yes?’ He looked surprised.

  ‘Yes, supper would be lovely, Ed. Thank you for asking.’ What are you doing, woman?

  He let out a long, slow breath, ‘Well, great. Okay, right, well is seven-thirtyish okay?’

  ‘Yes. I look forward to it.’ For once she seemed like the calm one. ‘And thanks again for the book.’

  She stepped back from the threshold and slowly closed the door. Only then did she let the huge grin that had been bursting to get out spread across her face. Ha-ha, now that, Claire Maxwell, sounds very much like a date! Was he sorry nothing had happened? Was he wanting to put things right – desperate to rediscover what they had started that day in the rain? Or was it just to be friends? A little frown of confusion crossed her brow. Well, friends would be fine too – wouldn’t it?