‘He didn’t deserve a chance. He had guilt written all over his bloody face.’
‘Okay. Well, best left well alone, then. I imagine he had a fit-looking body – it can’t have been a totally bad experience.’ She gave a wicked smile, trying to lighten the mood.
‘Sal …’
‘Okay, enough said. I was only trying to cheer you up. Staying for some supper? It’s just cold chicken and some salad for when the boys come back, if you fancy it.’
‘Sounds lovely, if you’re sure. I feel I’m gate-crashing a lot at the moment.’
‘How can it be gate-crashing, you wally – you’re my sister. You are more than welcome.’
‘That’s a yes, then. Thanks.’
At home in her half-empty house the next evening, everything felt very real, very final suddenly. The solicitor had advised that the sale of the marital home was going ahead and would all happen in a week’s time – cash buyers, no chain involved. The time had come to leave the house that had been home for six years.
She’d been looking around in the area and found a lovely quirky flat for herself at the far end of Gosforth where it merged with Jesmond. It was nearer to the city centre and on the bus route – ideal. It had a small courtyard garden out the back, two bedrooms, a compact but newly painted living room – three walls cream, one teal, which she actually didn’t mind – and a decent-sized kitchen with a good oven, ideal for her baking hobby, which she’d kept up. She’d hung on to the ‘Hollywood’ bible – no point wasting a good cookery book, even if the purchaser was a tosser.
She’d been packing in earnest every evening this week so she’d be ready to move when the day came. Most of Paul’s belongings had gone now; he’d arranged to come in with his set of keys whilst she was at work. It would have been an uncomfortable experience having to watch that. But then he’d wanted to chat about the main furniture items and turned up again once she’d got home to discuss practicalities. The sofa – hers (it was really comfy), the marital king-size bed – his (he was welcome to it, the cheating bastard). She’d opted for the kitchen table and chairs, whilst he’d have the dining-room furniture. It had all come down to that – the splitting of goods, furniture, CDs, DVDs, lives. It left her with a heap of mixed emotions.
So here she was in the kitchen, starting to box up her cookery books, and there in her hand was the Paul Hollywood bread bible that Ed had given her. She paused, flicked through its pages, a weird nagging ache in her gut.
Her sister’s comments niggled in her mind. It had felt so lovely with Ed, so genuine at the time. Could she have got it so very wrong? She hadn’t given him a chance to explain, Sal was right. Did he deserve one? Was she so afraid of getting hurt again that she’d jumped to conclusions? Or was she just clutching at straws again even now?
Ah, sod it. Her intuition was probably right. She wouldn’t be going back to that seaside cottage again, ever. And, she certainly wouldn’t be giving Ed a second chance to hurt either her or his own family again either. Just let it be, her conscience told her. She didn’t need any more upsets in her life.
The doorbell rang. She put the book into the box with the others and went to answer it.
‘Need a hand with your packing?’ It was her mother. ‘I thought you’d have a lot to do, and it might be a bit grim doing it all on your own.’
‘It’s not so bad – I’m getting there. But I’ll not say no to some help.’
How did mums have the knack of knowing when you needed them, even when you hadn’t thought about it yourself?
Late the next morning, she got a phone call on her mobile from her sister. ‘Hi, Claire. I’m just in town. I’ve managed to escape for a couple of hours. Mum’s got the boys. It’s nearly lunchtime and I wondered if you might be able to nip out and join me?’
‘Actually, I’m not quite back at the office yet.’ She’d been out that morning interviewing Reece, the lad with cancer, and his family. It had been quite emotional. ‘Where are you?’ It would be her lunch hour in twenty minutes. She may as well carry on and take it now and head back to work afterwards – no-one was expecting her just yet. And chatting with her sister might be just what she needed.
‘Centre of town, near Grey’s Monument. I’ve just been in Waterstones.’
‘Right, I’ll head that way now. Meet you at Carlo’s in, let’s say, ten minutes?’ Claire suggested.
‘Perfect.’
‘Well this is nice,’ Sally greeted her in the foyer of the bistro.
‘Yes, it’s worked out well for me too. Another ten minutes and I’d have been back at the office and probably have been collared by Dave off-loading some urgent task on me.’
They were ushered through to a cosy table by the window, where they took their seats. Sal ordered a glass of Pinot Grigio, Claire a cup of tea.
Claire sat quietly, thoughtfully.
‘Everything okay, Claire?’
Her gaze was fixed on a brightly coloured painting of the Tyne Bridge on the opposite wall. ‘It’s not bloody fair. I’ve been to the hospital today, interviewing that lad Reece and his family. The one with lymphoma. Sal, he was so brave, all wired up to that chemo line and chatting away talking about his charity. The lads in his football team are doing all sorts of things in support – car-washing, grass-cutting, cake-baking. And his school’s putting on a big summer fete.’
‘Well that sounds good. That there’s so much going on for him.’
‘But he shouldn’t even be there. He was so pale, no hair, all wired up and putting on a brave face. He should be out playing football with the other lads, running around like your Ollie and Jack.’
‘I know … God knows how I’d feel if it was one of my boys in there. It seems so cruel, doesn’t it? But Claire, life’s like that sometimes. Shit happens, and often to the best of people, people who don’t deserve it. You know that well enough.’
‘But a little kid.’ Claire drummed the tabletop with her fingertips. ‘He’s never smoked or had a drink or done anything. He might not even get the chance to, bless him. Might never drive a car, have a girlfriend, have kids, even bloody grow up …’ Claire’s eyes were misting now.
‘I know, it’s crap. Cancer’s so fucking arbitrary.’
Claire looked up. Her sister hardly ever swore.
‘It doesn’t discriminate – young, old, class, colour, creed,’ Sal continued. ‘But it is what it is. An illness. An awful, horrible illness.’
‘It’s a bloody bastard.’
‘It is that. There were many times I cursed it when you were going through all those treatments.’
‘But at least there were treatments, and I got through, didn’t I.’ Claire was trying to see the bright side. ‘God, I hope that little boy gets better.’
‘Yeah … Fingers crossed for him and his family. But he’s fighting it, Claire, and doing so much more. All this charity stuff. He’s got support from his family, friends, strangers, and you. You can make a difference by telling everyone about it, putting it in the newspaper. Your article can make so many more people aware of his charity. And that’s all you can do, sis. Make something positive happen from it.’
‘Yes, I can do that much for him. You’re right – life isn’t always so bad, is it? It’s just been a hard few days.’ And she let her mind drift to a better place, to Bamburgh and the sea, the views and the quiet, special moments she’d had there, at least before the latest incident. Life could be harsh, but it could also be beautiful and awe-inspiring, scenic, peaceful, playful. All the good stuff really did outweigh the bad stuff. It had to.
The waitress appeared with their drinks. ‘The tea?’
‘Thank you.’ Claire raised a smile.
‘And the wine.’ The girl placed the glass down in front of Sally. ‘I’ll be back in a moment to take your order, unless you already know what you’d like?’
‘Well, I’m ready. I’d like the brie and bacon panini, please,’ said Sal.
‘And I’ll have a smoked salmon and cream chees
e baguette,’ Claire added, suddenly realising how hungry she was.
When the waitress had gone, Sal placed a comforting hand over Claire’s. ‘You go back to work this afternoon and write the best article you can. Let everyone know about that brave little boy.’
‘I will.’
‘And why don’t you pop round to our house later and we can carry on with a large glass of wine out in the garden.’
‘That sounds lovely.’
20
A smile across a dance floor
Norman, Newcastle-upon-Tyne
‘Hey, you okay?’ It was the next day. Friday, back at the office.
She raised her head. Refocused. ‘Yeah, fine. Sorry, I was off in a world of my own there for a mo.’ Claire smiled at Andrea; she’d been feeling really tired of late.
‘Well, hun, ’spect you’ve been busy and you’ve got a lot on your mind. When’s the move? Do you know yet?’
‘We’ve got the actual date now. A week to go. And yes, it has been busy, but I’m pretty organized now.’
‘Ooh, house-warming time soon then!’
‘Hah, I haven’t really thought about that yet, to be honest.’ She was still trying to get packed up in time. Hadn’t imagined having a party or anything, was just hoping to move in quietly and collapse for a day or two! The way she was feeling at the moment, a onesie and a mug of hot chocolate in the evenings might be in order for the next few weeks. What she was thinking about, however, was getting herself a kitten to celebrate. A cute cat friend to cosy up with at nights.
‘So …?’
‘Ah, I’ll think on it. Maybe. But I’ll definitely need a week at least to find my feet, get the main stuff unpacked and all that. It’ll be something small, if I do do a party.’
‘Fine by me. And let me come round and help you with the unpacking. Lighten the load. I could call in after next week’s training session. We need to keep them up, Claire. We missed last week’s. I know you’ve been busy and all that.’
‘Yes, you’re right – we must,’ she agreed. ‘We can catch up a bit tonight, at least.’ The Bella’s Babes team had been trying to keep up a regular run, but for the past two weeks life had got so hectic, it had drifted.
‘How does the following weekend sound for a celebratory girls’ night at yours? Or we could tie something in after race day? Our little gang from the office and a few bottles of Prosecco? A joint celebration.’ Emma and Jo were looking across, smiling hopefully. So they’d been scheming.
‘Actually, that does sound quite nice. I might still be in chaos, mind, but yes, I could do something at my new flat. I’ll do a few nibbles if you lot bring the booze. After all, it is a time to celebrate.’
Andrea was grinning from ear to ear. Her plan had obviously worked.
Claire was warming to the idea. Once she’d settled in. She could invite Lou and a couple of her other friends too.
‘Has no one got any news articles to write up round here? Is there nothing happening in the North-East at the moment?’ Julia’s boom of a voice came from the end of the aisle. Oops.
‘Just on it.’ Andrea marched back to her desk, raising her eyebrows as she left Claire’s and pretending to crack a whip behind her back. Claire stifled a giggle, then quickly got on with checking her emails. There were always tons of emails in her work inbox. Approaches for articles, often from the same batty people. Complaints about parking charges in the city centre, or requests to post an image of a lost dog – even if it had been missing for about a year.
Then she spotted one entitled ‘My Magic Moment’. She opened that first:
Dear Claire,
My granddaughter, Sarah, is kindly helping me to write this email. My magic moment was when my Valerie smiled across the dance floor at me at the Oxford Galleries Hall in Newcastle fifty-nine years ago. It gave me the courage to go and ask such a pretty lady to dance. I remember it was a waltz, and boy was I beaming when I held her in my arms. We never looked back. We were married for fifty-eight years, very happily, may I add. I lost my lovely Valerie last year. But never a day goes by when I don’t think of her, or her beautiful smile at me across that dance floor that day.
Yours sincerely,
Norman Jones
Claire’s eyes filled up, and her fingertips trembled at the keyboard. How lovely, how very sad. Life and love and loss. And the world carries on spinning. Each of us on our own journey, sometimes a very bumpy ride, journeys of happiness and sorrow, of love and of pain. Magic moments along with the sad.
Where was her journey taking her?
Another message pinged into her mailbox. Another with a Magic Moment header.
She pressed ‘Open’.
Hi Claire,
Great column by the way. My magic moment was meeting a wonderful, beautiful woman on a rainy, windswept beach. I got to know her a little, danced with her on the sands, and she made me smile again.
E.
Her heart went into freefall. Could it be? Or had she just got all sentimental and wrapped up in Mr Jones’s romantic story and let her imagination run riot? But E … No, come on, there were loads of names beginning with E. Edwin, Elvis … and it might be a lady – who knew? Eleanor, Evie, Emma, Edwina. And even if it was an Ed, there were thousands of Eds around, and thousands of beaches. And England was not a place where rain and wind were unusual. Button the excitement, girl. It was just a flukey coincidence, that was all.
Though … should she reply? Try and suss out the sender a bit more? Nah, she’d look damned stupid and lose her journalistic credibility if it was a total stranger. ‘Oh, by the way, were you the guy that kissed me by the open fire, that slept with me after a candlelit barbecue by the beach? Were you the bastard with a family at home while you were playing away with the next-door neighbour by the sea?’ ‘Sorry, love, no, not me. I was thinking of my girl Suzanne and I’ve never played away in my life.’
No, she’d made enough daft mistakes. There was no point risking her journalistic reputation, embarrassing herself and getting a bollocking from the boss. She’d just send a polite thank-you and add the message to her list of maybes for this week’s post. Mr Jones’s was a definite.
After work that day, and with Andrea’s reminder, she’d arranged for another training session with Bella’s Babes. Yes, she was busy, but the Race for Life was only four weeks away, and they needed to up their game. They had a pre-run warm-up routine organized by Lou, you could tell she was a teacher keeping them all in check, and they had now got up to a mile and a half in one go. And, they could actually manage to breathe and even stay upright thereafter. Onwards and upwards!
The muscles still groaned the next day, which didn’t help with the post-work packing, but it was going to be all for a good cause.
She was round at Sally’s again that evening after her run. Claire watched her nephews out of the kitchen window, as they kicked a ball round the grassy patch out back, Ollie in goal, Jack shooting. They were making the most of the last days of the summer holidays. It would be September next week, summer drifting into autumn. The first of the leaves would soon be starting to drop, the apples were plump and beginning to ripen on the old tree at the end of the garden. They’d be ready soon. In a couple of weeks she might take some apples if Sal didn’t mind, get the boys to fill a carrier bag for her, make a couple of apple pies or something – one for Sal and one for their mother.
Sounds of laughter, the thwacking boot of a ball, filtered through the kitchen window. She’d have loved a family of her own. But that dream seemed so far away. And who knew if cancer had stolen her chances at that too? Oh well … she had so much to be grateful for, she reminded herself. She had her health back, her new home to move into in a week’s time. And she was going to view a kitten soon too – she’d spotted an advertisement for a litter at the local sanctuary and given them a call. They’d be ready to collect from two weeks – perfect timing. She might have to peek in and view them; choose her little girl cat before anyone else got in there.
&
nbsp; Her nephews were dashing about, boisterous, happy. She loved being Auntie and spoiling them. She would always have them in her life, whether or not she was destined to have children of her own. (Hah – she mused, that would be pretty difficult anyhow, with no man in her life.) Anyway, it was lovely that she and Sal were close again. Her sister had made her feel so welcome lately; she was making her supper again tonight, as most of her own kitchenware was all packed up and ready to go. One week to go. Sal and Mark were going to help her with that too. Family was just magic.
Sal passed her a cup of tea. ‘How’s the training going? Are you all geared up for your charity run?’
‘Well, the training’s going okay. Still on the build-up to two miles this week.’
‘Do you know what, I quite fancy doing it with you. It’s about time I got back into some regular exercise. I used to be at the gym every week. It’s kind of slipped. Would you mind if I joined in?’
‘Of course not – the more the merrier.’
‘Great. And I’m sure all the mums at the school gate will be really supportive with making donations. I can ask Mark’s work colleagues too, to drum up some more sponsorship.’
‘Sounds fab. You can be one of Bella’s Babes.’
Sal’s brow furrowed.
‘It’s our group name.’
‘Okay, I sort of get it. But … Bella?’
‘It’s the bar we were in at the time.’
‘Well, why not. It has a good ring to it.’
‘It’ll be lovely having you there, sis.’
‘You know, after everything you went through, I’d really like to do it. I’d like to think I can help other people in that situation too. So how do I get signed up?’
‘It’s all online. Just look up the Race for Life, Newcastle.’
‘Okay, I’ll do that a bit later. Once dinner’s all sorted. And I’ll dig out my trainers and get myself motivated again.’
Back at her house later, surrounded by bare walls and cardboard boxes, the phone buzzed into life.
‘Hi, Claire. You know the Race for Life – well, I’m on the website now. There are three dates. Which one are you booked on?’
My Summer of Magic Moments Page 16
