My Summer of Magic Moments

by Caroline Roberts

‘Okay, I need to be honest with you. Yes, it was me.’

  Her heart did a little skip.

  ‘Look, I didn’t want you to think – I don’t want you to think – that I didn’t care about you, Claire. Or that I used you in any way. It wasn’t like that.’

  So here it was, the truth.

  They stopped walking. There was no one in earshot. In the distance, there were some children on the swings, a toddler standing next to his dad feeding the ducks. She could hear them quacking animatedly.

  ‘So tell me.’

  He took a long breath and looked at her. ‘That photo. It’s of my wife and child.’

  Ah shit, the cheating dirt-bag. So she’d been right all-a-bloody-long. And there she’d been, getting all soppy again. She should have known better. She hardened her stare.

  ‘Sarah and James.’

  She watched his Adam’s apple bob uncomfortably in his throat. Well, she didn’t want to hear how they were ‘taking a break’, how his wife ‘didn’t understand him’ or any of that bullshit.

  Ed was biting his lip. She saw his hand tremble as he ruffled it through his hair.

  ‘They’re dead.’

  Claire froze, registering his ashen face. ‘Oh my God. I’m so sorry, Ed. Both of them?’ Oh no, no, no. How could they both be dead? That cute little boy in the photo and his mum. Her eyes filled with tears. Fuck, poor Ed.

  He nodded blankly. Yet she realized it wasn’t blank at all; it was as if pain riddled his whole body, making it useless.

  Claire didn’t know whether to reach out for him, to hold him. But his body language was so stiff, so raw with grief, that it was as if he needed that space between them.

  ‘Oh, Ed. That’s so terrible.’ She was curious to know how his world had fallen apart so horrendously, but sensed not to ask just at that moment.

  He started walking again slowly along the path. She kept time in silent support.

  What the hell should she say now, after that?

  As they reached a bench, he slowed and sat. She sat beside him, her leg gently propped beside his, and he looked down at her thigh, and then up, as though he’d only just realized she was still there with him.

  ‘How?’ her voice was soft.

  A second or two passed. His voice came out broken. ‘A car accident last November.’ Then he looked right into her eyes. His pain so acute, it was almost hard to look back. ‘It was my fault. I was driving.’

  Oh, fuck.

  ‘I was driving. It was an icy morning. I was meant to be dropping them off at her parents …’ He paused, staring across at the toddler and the man by the pond. ‘Spun off the road. Hit a tree. They never made it out of the car. Yet I walked away.’ His voice hardened. ‘Why the fuck did I get to walk away? It should have been me, not them. It should have been fucking me.’ His fist screwed into a punch, but there was only air to hit. ‘It should have been me,’ he repeated, softer now, his anger, his regret, tensing every limb, the muscles in his jaw tight.

  ‘Ed, I’m so sorry.’ She reached an arm around his taut shoulders, but it felt like he was a world away from her. She had no idea what to say next. What words could possibly help that pain? Are you okay? was so obviously not right. How could you ever be okay after that? She knew pain and fear and hurt, but she didn’t know this. This grief so raw. She just left her hand there on his shoulder, leaning in slightly against the warmth of his taut body, stayed silent.

  It seemed like he was hardly registering her presence, lost in his nightmare world.

  There were birds tweeting from the trees around them. Children laughing and playing. And a beautiful man with a heart full of hurt beside her. She felt her eyes misting, but that would be no good. If she could support him at all, she would, but she really didn’t know how.

  She lay her hand over his where it rested on his thigh, gave it a small squeeze of support, of humanity. He didn’t withdraw his hand, let it be sheltered by hers. Yet it stayed perfectly still below hers. Time seemed to freeze around them. He finally lifted his head, looked out across the park and gave a low sigh of a breath.

  ‘So there you are. You know now.’

  They walked back to the newspaper building, her hand having slipped away from his as they stood up from the bench. At least she could begin to understand now, had a grasp of the awfulness of the situation. But she really didn’t know where they could go from here. He seemed so very far away, trapped in his past. Too many hurts within him. And she was still healing herself. Yes, she was all clear from the cancer. The scars on her breast a reminder of the deeper scars within. But Christ, she was lucky, she had life, a future ahead. Ah sweet Jesus, Ed’s poor wife, his baby – never to grow up, never to have those chances. She felt sick for them, for him.

  ‘Thank you … for coming to explain.’ They were standing on the threshold to her office, a strange calm between them. ‘I really appreciate that. It couldn’t have been easy.’

  ‘It was just something I had to do. I didn’t want anyone else hurt, not by a misunderstanding.’ He tried a weak smile. Then took her into his arms and gave her a stiff brotherly hug. ‘No hard feelings.’

  ‘Of course not.’ She hugged him back, holding him close to her for an extra second. If only things had been different for them both. Then she stood back, giving him the space he needed. ‘Bye, Ed. Take care.’ She turned to climb the steps.

  Life could change on the spin of a coin, a cluster of rogue cells, a bend in the road, a patch of black ice.

  She knew he wasn’t going to ask to see her again. They had gone as far as they could go. She would only get hurt. She had hoped for more than he could ever give, she understood that now. It was best this way. She stopped and waved from the top step, then watched him walk away. There was a weird ache in her heart. And she knew he had come here to explain, not to love.

  23

  PJs, popcorn, sofa, movie

  A new start in a new flat. She had two evenings left to pack, so much still to do. Another box to fill with remnants of her old life. She had the music on loud, and was stuffing DVDs and her favourite CDs into another square of cardboard – Adele, Coldplay, Keane. The soundtrack to her marriage, her illness, treatment, her separation. She had put The Best of The Stereophonics on as a backing-track to her packing, and ‘Dakota’ was blasting out. The words about summertime and June striking her – and it wasn’t her ex-husband on her mind. All she could think of was Ed and their up-and-down summer of magic moments. What a bloody shame he wasn’t carefree and single. Well, he was technically single, but the past was still burying him. No one had the right to tell him to let go or how to grieve. At least he’d had the guts to come and explain. If Ed wasn’t to be a part of her life, then so be it, however sad that made her feel.

  Three more boxes sealed with brown tape. It was only eight p.m. She had the feeling it was going to be a long night, felt the need for some company, so she rang her sister.

  ‘Hi, Claire. How’s the packing going?’

  ‘It’s going. Stage by stage.’

  ‘So you’re getting there.’

  ‘Yep.’ She tried to sound bright and breezy. But felt awfully tired.

  ‘Have you got time to break off? We’re just going to watch a movie here, if you fancy joining us. The boys are staying up a bit later as a treat. If you fancy a bit of Transformers, you’re more than welcome. May I add it has Mark Wahlberg in, so that’s a bonus. I’m about to open a bottle of red wine too.’

  That did sound good. Cosying up on a sofa with the family. She could pack a couple more boxes when she got back.

  ‘Okay, I’ll bring the popcorn.’

  ‘Fab. That’ll please the boys no end.’ It was only a fifteen-minute drive to Sally’s townhouse in Jesmond. She’d stop by the Co-op on the way.

  The credits rolled.

  ‘Right, you pair, time to pop your pyjamas on. Then you can come down and see Auntie Claire for another ten minutes before you go to bed, okay?’

  ‘Okay,’ they chorused relu
ctantly.

  ‘Cup of tea? Or another glass of wine, Claire?’

  ‘I’d love the wine, but I’d better not. My car’s outside.’

  ‘You could always get a taxi. Or Mark hasn’t had much – he could take you. He’s upstairs finishing off a bit of paperwork so he gets a clear weekend.’

  ‘No, tea will be fine. Thanks, though. I’d better keep a clear head for the last of the packing up.’

  Sal flicked the switch of the kettle on and found a mug. ‘Everything all right?’ She must have picked up on Claire’s mood. She bustled about with teabags. ‘Earl Grey?’ she asked mixing the mundane with the leading question.

  ‘Bit of a strange day yesterday,’ Claire started.

  ‘Oh? Well, I suppose this weekend’s move must be a bit difficult.’

  ‘It’s not that. In a way, that’ll be a relief now.’

  There was a pause. Sal passed her a steaming mug of tea with just a dash of milk, as she liked it.

  ‘I saw Ed yesterday.’

  ‘Ed the guy from the cottage at Bamburgh? The hottie?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Wow. Well that’s a bit of a turn-up. I thought he was a cheating scumbag at the last count. And?’

  She didn’t reply.

  Sal was staring at her. ‘So is he separated or something? Was he asking you out on a date?’

  Claire wished it had been that simple.

  ‘Spill, then. What was all the palaver about – his ex? Or is he still married?’

  ‘He came back to tell me that he was married, yes. With a child.’ She could feel a lump forming in her throat, knowing what was to come. ‘Oh Sal, the horrendous truth is that they both died in a car accident.’ Claire left out the horror that it was actually Ed driving at the time, wanting to protect him somehow.

  ‘Oh, Jesus … how bloody awful. No wonder he was a right grump with me that time.’

  ‘He wanted to explain to me. Just turned up at the office out of the blue, which caused a bit of a stir.’

  ‘Yes, I can imagine.’

  ‘You should have seen Andrea’s face when he walked up to my desk. And the whole office just went quiet.’

  ‘Well, he is a bit of a hunk.’

  ‘And then the whole office never stopped quizzing me when I got back, after we’d had a walk in the park on my lunch break. It was hard to even talk about it, though.’

  ‘Sounds romantic.’

  ‘It might have been. But he’s just so gutted by it all, Sal. I think it was more of a goodbye.’

  ‘Oh, what a shame. The poor guy. That must be so tough on him. But he must have thought something of you to come all this way to explain. Didn’t you say he was based up in Scotland?’

  ‘Yeah. But I’ve just felt really odd since. Hearing how cruel life can be at times. It kind of knocks you, you know. How do you ever get over something like that?’

  ‘I don’t suppose you do. Not really.’

  ‘No, I don’t suppose you do.’

  24

  A new start in a new home

  Friday. Moving Day. All hands on deck.

  Mum, who insisted she came and helped, was ordering everyone about whilst Claire finished packing up the last few things in the kitchen. Sal and Mark were there, helping to ferry the light stuff out to the van that Mark had hired for the day.

  Claire didn’t have an awful lot of stuff, she realized. Split two ways, there was not that much furniture left, but it was plenty for her needs and for the size of the new flat. Paul had taken away the king-size marital bed – she was happy to keep the spare-room double, less memories and significance – as well as his office furniture, the dining set, an armchair and some other smaller items. And so, the house and its contents were split; a marriage brought down to a division of possessions and a heap of ragged memories. But it hadn’t all been bad, she reminded herself, there had been good times too. It had just been brought to its knees these latter years. Time to get up and move on. She had seen him, Paul, just a few days ago, coming for the last of his things. It was all fairly amicable. She had felt a little empty if anything. She’d been through too much these past eighteen months to worry any more about this lost relationship. She’d done all her crying and hurting many months ago. Their marriage was spent. There was no going back. Trust had gone, and all their dreams from the early days were damaged beyond repair. At least there weren’t any children to split down the middle. Not that she hadn’t wanted children, she had always imagined they might be part of her world at some point.

  ‘Claire, can you give me a hand with this box of books? It’s a bit heavy for me.’ Her mother’s voice brought her back from her reverie.

  Three trips in a stacked-up, white hire van, and her house was empty. Being the last there, she checked every room, making sure nothing had inadvertently been left behind. She traced a hand down the wooden bannisters, wandered into the kitchen, checked the cupboards were all emptied, went through to the lounge. It looked smaller without all the furnishings. She noticed the darker patches on the walls where her pictures had been.

  She thought back to the day they’d moved in, full of excitement at their new home together – so much more spacious than the flat they’d rented together previously – a place of hope and dreams. She thought of the years drifting along. Then how it became a place of illness and recovery. Of lying in a stupor after the chemo cocktail, wiped of every ounce of energy, lips like parchment. It didn’t just kill the bad-guy cells, it killed the good stuff off too. But you had to deal with it, it was just something you had to do. He’d looked after her then, her husband, as best he could, tucking her in with a blanket on the sofa, carrying her up to bed when her legs couldn’t cope any more. He’d tried to do right by her through her illness, despite all his other failings. Relationships shifted like sand, and they had let theirs slip through their fingers. But, there was no going back.

  Okay, stop dwelling on the past, Claire. Say goodbye to this house, lock the door. It’s time to move on.

  She stepped out over the threshold and quietly closed the door on that part of her life.

  Another set of keys. A new door.

  Mark had got a mate at this end to help heave the heavier boxes and furniture in. No stairs this time – it was on the ground floor. She thanked God that she had her lovely family there with her, ferrying packets and bags and boxes like a mini-colony of worker ants. Even her nephews had cheery smiles as they passed with an ‘Auntie Claire, where do you want this one to go?’ Luckily Mum had been busy with her black marker pen back at the old house before most of the boxes had had a chance to escape, making the task so much easier. She spotted the large ‘K’ in Mum’s twirly writing. ‘Kitchen for that one, thanks Jack. You’re doing a great job.’

  An hour or so down the line, Ollie had started to loiter, taking quick peeks at his Nintendo DS out in the back courtyard, and Jack commented that his arms felt like they were two metres long. She’d also noticed that her mother’s steps were slowing. They were nearly done – it was past five o’clock – and as long as everything was in the flat and the van was emptied ready to return by six p.m., they could all stop and she could unpack later in her own time.

  ‘A cup of tea is in order. I’ve found the kettle!’ Her mum shouted.

  ‘I have shortbread,’ came an echoey call from the bedroom. Sal, organized as ever.

  She had rented the bottom half of a semi-detached Victorian red-brick house just at the Gosforth end of Jesmond. It overlooked the Town Moor and was near a little run of shops with a convenience store and a little teashop. It was also a couple of stops further along on the bus route for her morning commute – perfect. It was small, but cosy inside. She was pleased with it and was looking forward to settling in.

  The daylight was dimming as Mark brought in the last box just before six p.m. Sal was going to follow him back to the hire place in Gosforth to drop the van off, and then they’d return. Claire felt shattered; a day of packing up and shifting it all out again ta
king its toll. Her energy levels were still not quite back to the good old days. But all the boxes were in the right rooms, and the main kitchen items were out. Her bed was all set up – Mark and his mate had done their best with a set of screwdrivers and an Allen key – and Sal and Mum had put all the pillowcases, a clean sheet and the duvet cover on for her.

  ‘Right, boys, there’s a fish and chip shop just along the next road and round the corner. The least I can do is get you all some supper. Who’s up for that?’

  ‘Yay!’ the boys said in unison, as everyone else said, ‘Sounds good to me’, ‘And me.’

  ‘Right, boys – we’ll give it five minutes to let your mum and dad get sorted. Then I’ll pop along in my car. Want to come and give me a hand?’

  ‘Yep!’

  ‘Yay.’

  ‘Mum, can I leave you in charge of finding plates and some cutlery?’

  ‘Of course.’

  On the way back from the fish and chip shop, Claire nipped into the Co-op in her little run of shops and picked up a bottle of champagne. It wasn’t chilled but she’d pop it in the freezer, which she’d thought to plug in as soon as it was in place. It was definitely a time to celebrate.

  So they sat on the floor of her new lounge, Mum, Sal and the boys squeezed on the sofa, she and Mark on the floor, eating deliciously salt-and-vinegared crispy battered fish and chips, straight from the wrapper with little wooden chip forks, the cutlery not having been traced yet. Luckily the champagne flutes had.

  Sal raised a glass. ‘To your new home, Claire.’

  ‘Cheers, everyone! And thanks so much for all your help today. I really couldn’t have done it without you all.’

  ‘You’re welcome,’ Mark smiled.

  ‘The sore arms are worth the fish and chips,’ grinned Jack cheekily.

  ‘Cheers,’ they all chanted, and there was a clinking of glasses all round. Even the boys had a small taste of champagne to toast with. Though Ollie pulled a face, gulping down his can of cola straight afterwards.

  Mum added, ‘To your new home, darling – be happy and healthy.’