A Vintage Summer

by Cathy Bramley

  ‘There’ve been a few times I’d suspected that you weren’t happy.’ Evie propped her elbows on the table. ‘I could kick myself for not probing deeper. But I kept thinking that if anything was wrong you’d tell me.’

  I picked up my glass and swirled the lemon slice around in my water. ‘It took me a long time to realize that there was something wrong.’

  ‘You’ve done the hardest part in leaving him, love,’ said Dad, sipping his shandy. ‘You can put it behind you and move on.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ I said with more confidence than I felt. It was eight o’clock; another half an hour and Harvey would be at the flat reading my note. I sneaked my hand into my bag, pulled out my phone and switched it to silent, setting it down on the table. ‘All I need to do is find somewhere to live and a new job.’

  ‘I’ll drink to that.’ Evie chinked her wine against my sparkling water and then against Dad’s glass.

  ‘If I’d known sooner, I’d have taken the house off the rental market and you could have moved back in,’ said Dad.

  I shook my head. ‘You’re counting on the rent to fund your trip.’

  He dismissed that with a wave of his hand. ‘Do you want me to tell Adam that he can’t have the house? I’m sure he’d understand.’

  Just then there was the sound of a champagne cork popping, followed by cheering and a round of applause. The three of us looked round to see Adam and Nicky surrounded by a circle of friends being toasted with full glasses of bubbly.

  Evie winced. ‘Although it would be a shame to rain on their parade.’

  ‘Exactly. We can’t let them down,’ I agreed. ‘It’s not their fault I’m homeless.’

  ‘Don’t be daft.’ Evie rolled her eyes at me. ‘You can move in with me.’

  I told her that I’d like that very much and then as we’d all finished our drinks, I nipped off to the bar to get another round in. When I returned, Dad was tucking into his pudding with gusto.

  ‘Look at the two of us,’ said Evie with a sigh, accepting a second drink from me. ‘Spending Friday night with our dad, single again at our age. What a pair of saddos. I wonder what Mum would think of us.’

  ‘Oi,’ said Dad through a mouthful of crumble, waving his spoon at her. ‘You make me sound like the consolation prize.’

  ‘Not at all,’ I said, wiping up the blobs of custard he’d dripped on the table. ‘And above all Mum would just want us to be happy, whether we were single or not.’

  ‘Of course she would. Like me.’ Dad scraped the bowl clean. ‘Single and happy.’

  I shot Evie a knowing look. We’d suggested various women to him over the years, but he’d never been interested. I thought about Vicky earlier at the crematorium who’d had a second chance at love; perhaps it was simply a case of meeting the right person at the right time?

  ‘I met a lovely lady today,’ I said. ‘She was a bit younger than you, Dad.’

  ‘Single?’ Evie asked, nodding unsubtly at him.

  I shook my head. ‘She’s met someone. But she had been part of an unhappy couple. Actually, she gave me the push I needed to leave Harvey. She said that this time around she was going to make every moment count.’

  ‘To making every moment count, good on her,’ said Dad, raising his glass. ‘You never know, perhaps I’ll meet a sultry senorita in Spain.’

  ‘Or a foxy frau in Frankfurt,’ Evie put in.

  ‘If you did,’ I said more seriously, ‘that would be all right with us, wouldn’t it, Evie?’

  ‘Absolutely. You deserve to be happy, Dad,’ she agreed.

  He set down his glass and leaned in closer. ‘See that chap with the thin blond hair at the corner table over there near the fruit machine?’

  We looked round to see who he meant.

  ‘What about him?’ Evie asked.

  ‘Laurie, his name is. Had three wives and as for girlfriends – I think even he’s lost count of how many he’s had; he’s always got a different woman on his arm. Now this spot just here.’ He pointed to his left bicep. ‘That was where your mum tucked her arm. Never the right. We’d walk with our hands clasped together, tucked into the big pocket of my Barbour coat. Snug as bugs. It wouldn’t feel right having someone else on that arm. Like her side of the bed. I still look across some mornings and expect to see her.’

  My throat constricted with a surge of emotion and, by my side, Evie picked up her napkin and blew her nose. Mum and Dad’s love story never failed to move us.

  ‘A love like that doesn’t come along twice in a lifetime,’ he said firmly. ‘That would be too lucky.’

  He was probably right; it hadn’t come along at all for me.

  At eight thirty-two my phone buzzed into life, vibrating against my unused spoon. Harvey’s name flashed up on the screen.

  ‘It’s him,’ I said, my heart pounding. ‘He’ll have read my note by now.’

  Evie scowled. ‘Don’t answer it.’

  ‘I’m not going to,’ I said shakily. I tried to picture his face. Would he be upset or angry? I wondered. Or maybe he hadn’t taken it seriously and thought I’d come back after I’d cooled down? Maybe he thought I was still in London at a friend’s, although, thanks to his jealousy, I hadn’t really made any friends. ‘I’ve said all there is to say in my letter.’

  ‘I’ve got plenty to say to him,’ Dad muttered. ‘Pass it here.’

  ‘No, Dad.’ I sent the call to voicemail. ‘I’ve dealt with it. And you speaking to him would only make things worse. Let him sleep on it tonight and he’ll calm down tomorrow.’

  Which was about as likely as Eeyore winning the Grand National.

  Dad harrumphed but let it go.

  My phone screen lit up again: You have one new voicemail message.

  We left the pub shortly afterwards and by the time I’d gone up for an early night a couple of hours later, the number of new voicemail messages stood at thirteen. I turned my phone off completely so it couldn’t disturb me with its angrily flashing screen. Something told me Harvey wasn’t taking the news very well at all.

  Chapter 6

  ‘This is it, then,’ said Dad, giving us each a last hug and a whiskery kiss before climbing into the cab of his two-berth motorhome.

  It was early on Tuesday morning, the three days I’d been back in Fernfield had flown by and already it was time for Dad to leave. He was dressed for his travels in shorts which he’d had for at least a decade and a straw trilby with a bent brim. His T-shirt was soft with age, but at least it didn’t have any holes; we had a pile of those in Evie’s garage bound for the tip. He started up the engine and raised a hand. ‘Take care of yourselves, girls.’

  ‘We will. Bye, Dad!’ I blew kisses from the pavement, trying to ignore the empty passenger seat next to him.

  ‘Remember to text us when you get to Dover,’ said Evie, wagging a finger at him.

  ‘Then again when you get to France,’ I added.

  His eyebrows flew up. ‘And how much is that going to cost me from abroad?’

  ‘You can’t put a price on peace of mind,’ Evie said sternly.

  He chuckled and with a toot of the horn he pulled away from the kerb. And so began the grand tour of Europe which he and Mum had been planning all their married life. Evie and I waved and waited until the van was out of view.

  ‘Bless him,’ I murmured. ‘I hope he’ll be okay.’

  ‘I’ve half a mind to run off and join him.’ Evie sighed. ‘The thought of escaping normal life for a while is hugely appealing.’

  ‘Normal?’ I arched a sceptical eyebrow. ‘Where did you get that crazy idea from?’

  ‘Good point.’ She laughed softly and looped her arm through mine, leading us back inside.

  We’d spent the weekend blitzing our family home. Dad had been clearing out in preparation for his trip for a while but there had still been plenty to do. Adam and Nicky were renting the house furnished, so we hadn’t had to do anything with the furniture or appliances, thank heavens, but there had still been masses
to load when the lorry arrived on Monday to take everything else to a storage unit on a nearby industrial estate.

  Evie had been working, but I’d been on hand to help get Dad organized. He was understandably excited that the day was finally here, but I found it weird seeing the house stripped of all the little things that had made it home. Still, I didn’t have time to dwell: Adam and Nicky were waiting further along the road with both sets of parents and three cars’ worth of belongings and no sooner had the lorry trundled off than they pulled up on to the drive.

  I’d transferred my two suitcases to Evie’s spare room and Dad spent his first night in the motorhome, parked outside her house. It had been lovely being back with my family. I’d forgotten how easy life could be when you could speak your mind without having to censor it first for fear of someone misinterpreting the most innocuous of sentences.

  Not that the last few days had been entirely without tension. Harvey had made his presence felt with numerous messages and texts, ranging from declarations of love and how he just wanted his favourite girl home to tearful pleadings for forgiveness, topped off last night with a furious rant that ended in ‘GOOD RIDDANCE’.

  I hadn’t spoken to him once, but after that last message, I sent him one back.

  Harvey, I’m sorry you’re upset, but I’ve made my decision and I’m sticking to it. I’ve transferred some money to cover my half of the bills for this month and next, and now I’m blocking your number from my phone. I think it’s for the best. I wish you well. Lottie

  In truth, I wasn’t entirely sure how much our monthly bills were; Harvey had put everything in his name, insisting I didn’t want to be bothered with the details. Looking back, I should have seen this as another sign of his desire to control me, but at least he’d inadvertently made it easier for me to leave. After pressing send, I’d quickly added his number to my ‘blocked callers’ list and after that, Dad, Evie and I had been able to enjoy our last night together in peace.

  ‘I ache all over from all the lifting and carrying I’ve done this weekend,’ I groaned, circling my shoulders. ‘My legs, my arms, my stomach – everything aches.’

  ‘I think you need to relax for a few days now. You’ve been through a lot,’ said Evie, eyeing me closely. ‘And for someone who’s been working outside for months, you look very pale to me.’

  ‘I’m still sick with worry about Harvey,’ I said, closing the front door behind us. ‘And I can’t shift this headache – I’ve had it since leaving London.’

  ‘Hmm,’ she said, frowning as we both gravitated to the kitchen. ‘And did I hear you being sick last night?’

  ‘I don’t know. Did you?’ I said flippantly.

  I opened the back door to let the sunshine in and she began stacking the breakfast things into the dishwasher.

  ‘I’d forgotten how annoying you can be.’ She leaned against the sink and folded her arms. ‘So what is it, a bug maybe?’

  I had been sick several times over the last few days. But it was hardly surprising given the stress I was under. Plus, the two scones with clotted cream that our old neighbour had baked for Dad as a going-away present hadn’t helped. Dad had wolfed down three but Evie hadn’t touched them.

  ‘I’ll be fine. You’re probably right; I just need to relax. While we’re on the subject of appearances,’ I said, ‘I’ve noticed you haven’t been eating much and I think you’ve lost weight. Not that you’ve got any to lose.’

  She gave me a wan smile. ‘I’ve lost my appetite since Darren moved out.’

  My heart went out to her. I was absolutely certain that finishing with Harvey was the right thing to do, but it was obvious that Evie still loved her husband. ‘You don’t think it’s worth speaking to him again?’ I suggested.

  She shook her head. ‘I’ve brought this on myself. We’ve been talking about our options ever since we found out that we had less chance of conceiving naturally than we had of winning the lottery. He refused point-blank to adopt, so I thought fostering might suit us: less of a commitment because if it didn’t work out, we could stop at any time. He said no to that too. But I was convinced I could talk him round. I thought I’d call his bluff by telling him I was going ahead with fostering with or without him. I thought …’ Her voice wavered and her blue eyes swam behind a layer of tears. ‘I thought if he knew how much it meant to me, he’d cave in and agree. Turns out he’d prefer the “without” option too.’

  I handed her a sheet of kitchen paper and she blotted her eyes. ‘And now you’re having doubts about fostering on your own?’

  She wrinkled her nose. ‘A bit. But I think it’s the only way. Darren’s made his feelings very clear. I want to comfort a child, read them bedtime stories, be waiting for them at the school gates to hear their news. I’m just going to have to accept that, to do that, I’ll have to be a single mum. Do you think I’m being selfish?’

  ‘Of course not.’ I wrapped my arms around her thin shoulders. Although secretly I did think she needed to let the dust settle on their separation before she made any major new plans. ‘I’m just so sad for you. And Darren.’

  Motherhood, for me, felt like a long way off. I was an old-fashioned romantic. I wanted the full works: the big romance, the down-on-one knee proposal and then, once we were married, I assumed we’d start thinking about a future that had children in it. I’d thought Harvey was my big romance; turned out he was my big mistake. Still, it was over now. It would take me a while to get over him and in the meantime, I could be here for Evie.

  ‘It’s great having you back,’ she said, as if reading my thoughts. She rested her head against me. ‘It’s distracted me from missing him.’

  ‘Well, I’m not going anywhere for a while and I’m going to look after you,’ I said, pressing a kiss to her hair and releasing her. ‘Starting with breakfast. You only had coffee when Dad and I ate. You’ll need your strength if you’re going to take on some foster kids. I can’t imagine it’ll be the easiest thing in the world.’

  I slotted bread into the toaster for her and guided her to a chair. She took out her phone and scrolled through her emails while I laid out the butter and jam.

  ‘I’m going to have to start work after this, I’m afraid,’ she said.

  ‘I’ll make myself scarce. Take a walk around the village for an hour or so.’

  She looked up and caught me rubbing my stomach. ‘Just a thought, but why don’t you register with the GP’s surgery while you’re out?’

  I didn’t need a doctor; no pill would take away the anxiety Harvey had caused. But it would be a chance to say hello to one half of Dad’s new tenants: Nicky the receptionist. ‘Why not?’ I said. ‘And I’ll check Adam and Nicky haven’t had any teething problems.’

  Chapter 7

  We were well into June now and the village was looking at its summery best. The grass verges were green, cottage gardens were a riot of colour, from poppies to peonies, and multi-coloured bunting zigzagged across the main street.

  Fernfield was a large village on the fringes of the famous Chatsworth estate. It was peppered with charming gift shops selling everything from quirky mugs and locally made honey to beautiful woollen throws and cushions. It was a popular stop-off point for tourists as part of a day trip to Chatsworth House; consequently, the village was vibrant and bustling.

  We were also lucky enough to have traditional shops serving our community, like the bakery, butcher and greengrocer, family-run businesses that had been here for generations. Of course, we still had a supermarket and a deli, several pubs, coffee shops and tea rooms, just like every other high street, but there was something special about Fernfield. If you squinted to block out some of the brighter signage, it wasn’t difficult to imagine how it would have looked a hundred years ago. At the very heart of the village was a crossroads. Turn one way and you’d be in the market square: a cobbled, pedestrianized area which hosted different vendors every day. The farmers’ market on a Friday, antiques on Sundays and second-hand books on Mondays; there
was always something going on. Turn the other way and you found yourself in a narrow street, home to a lovely Italian restaurant, a pretty stone church set in its own tree-lined grounds and the flat-roofed doctors’ surgery, which was my destination.

  I headed down the street and was about to cross the car park when a vehicle pootled past me and pulled into the disabled bay nearest to the entrance. The driver yanked on the handbrake so firmly I heard it from the gates.

  An old lady, slim built with fine white hair perfectly swept into a chignon, climbed out of the passenger side. She was elegantly dressed in a blouse, skirt and neat shoes with a gold buckle at the front. She made her way slowly around the back of the car, trailing a hand on the bodywork and opened the boot. As I drew level with her, I noticed she was trying to lift out a wheelchair.

  ‘Can I give you a hand?’ I asked.

  The old lady turned. She had grey-blue eyes and although they were a little filmy with age, they were flecked with amber. She had a commanding presence now; she must have been a stunner in her younger days.

  ‘Is that you, Pippa?’ she asked, squinting at me. ‘Your face has filled out a bit since I last saw you.’

  ‘No, it’s not, I’m afraid,’ I replied, trying not to feel envious of Pippa’s well-defined cheekbones. Whoever she was. ‘We haven’t met before.’

  ‘Then kindly move along,’ she said imperiously. ‘Why the young assume that the more experienced generation can’t execute the simplest of tasks without their input is beyond me.’

  That was me told.

  ‘I’m sorry, I was only trying to help,’ I said, wishing I hadn’t bothered.

  Just then the driver’s door opened with a creak and two exceedingly stiff and swollen legs, one with a large dressing on the shin, emerged clad in the most hideous pair of black shoes I’d ever seen.

  ‘Perhaps she offered because she can see you’ve got arms like twiglets, Betsy,’ said the owner of the legs.