by Nancy Barone
That was it? No, I’ll keep you posted – don’t worry, we’ll beat her together. Nothing?
I swallowed and nodded. ‘Good luck, Luke…’
‘Yeah. Thanks.’
‘I’m going to miss you, you little munchkin,’ Jess sobbed into the top of Ben’s head.
‘Me, too. I like you much better than my own sister.’
At that, Chloe, who was wiping her eyes, swatted him softly across the back. ‘Don’t worry, Ben, she’ll be back before you know it. Won’t you, Jess?’
Jessica sniffed, facing upwards. ‘Dad?’
Luke looked at me, and I knew it would be a long time before I saw him again. ‘Let’s hope so, Jessica. Bye, guys.’
Jess spread her arms and Ben and Chloe hugged her, the two girls sniffling, while Ben held tight onto her skirt. Then they hugged Luke, who kissed their cheeks. ‘I’m going to miss you too,’ he said. ‘But I’ll be back before you know it.’
Ben looked up at him. ‘Promise?’
‘Cross my heart and hope to die, buddy boy.’
At the door, Luke stopped and turned so only I could hear him.
‘I’m sorry it had to come to this.’ His voice lowered just enough so only I could hear him. ‘Take care, Nina… kids.’ And without a backward glance, he disappeared.
Completely numb, I wanted to crawl into the safety of my bed under the eaves and cry for a week. But my children needed me, so we all piled into the car and I drove them down to the animal clinic to retrieve Callie.
The minute we burst through the doors, she spotted us and, although she was too weak to shoot to her feet, her tail swished back and forth, her eyes following us as we all knelt by her side, Ben scooping up the entire basket containing her as delicately as possible.
I turned to Lisa who winked. She was out of the woods! ‘You are a star,’ I croaked as I passed her secretary my bank card. ‘I’m going to make a huge donation.’
‘You already have,’ she beamed.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Jack swung by this morning. I offered to give him Callie, but he said he’d rather you and the kids come down and got her.’
Was he or was he not the best? A minute later, my mobile went. It was a message from Jack:
How are you guys? And Callie?
And it suddenly occurred to me that Luke hadn’t even asked, nor known about Callie’s brush with death. He hadn’t even noticed her absence.
*
If the days were less than tolerable, the nights spent in the company of guilt were endless, as I cursed myself over and over again.
That evening, Jack stopped by, solemn like I’d never seen him before. ‘Luke’s got quite the battle ahead of him. I feel guilty in some way. I didn’t really care for him, but he was a great father,’ he whispered.
I sniffed, trying to keep my composure. ‘It’s not your fault, Jack. Not in the least. You were only trying to help out as you always do. I’m the one who messed up. I’m a terrible mother and a terrible human being.’
‘Hey, don’t say that. You’re a fantastic mother. It was just one of those things, you know? If I had arrived three minutes earlier—’
‘Do not make this your fault, Jack. You’ve been nothing but kind and loving to us and I…’ I swallowed the boulder in my throat. ‘I screwed everything up. I’m so sorry, Jack. I’m a terrible friend.’
‘Come here,’ he whispered, wrapping me in his arms, and it was like going home after a long journey abroad. I’d missed him.
Later, as if she had sensed something was wrong, Alice phoned and I gave her the low-down on all that happened. But she already knew as it was all over the papers. Apparently Lauren had told the press I was keeping her family from reuniting.
‘How are you doing, sweetie? Is everyone okay?’
‘Physically, we’re okay, but we’re all upset, of course.’
‘Yes, I can understand that,’ she answered. ‘I’m just glad no one was hurt.’
I nodded as if she could actually see me over the phone.
‘So when’s he coming back to finish the script?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know. I’ll be working on it in the meantime. God knows how long.’
‘I’m so sorry. Luke’s a great dad.’
‘Jack was saying the exact same thing.’
‘Maybe we should let things settle for a bit. Hollywood is a cruel place, but also fickle. When this blows over they’ll forget,’ she soothed.
‘You were wrong about something, Alice.’
‘And what’s that?’
‘You once said there was no mud in LA. But actually, I have come to see that there’s lots and lots of it.’
*
The people of Penworth Ford, who had been used to seeing a Hollywood star ambling around the village and surroundings, were now slightly confused, especially after word of Lauren’s return to her family had spread to the Post Of ice – and the papers.
Alf was sitting behind his counter, barely visible behind his broadsheet as usual and completely absorbed.
I smiled at the lovely old man who had been like a father to me.
‘Good morning, Alf.’
‘Mornin’, Emma.’
I paused and swallowed. It hurt to see him not completely sharp of mind, even if it was for just brief moments.
‘I heard yer fella left – ’spect you’ll get over him soon, bein’ plenty o’ suitable men around,’ Alf said in the hope of cheering me up.
‘You offering?’ I quipped, but inside I was falling apart. All my dreams of a better future, of selling my script and having our own Happily Ever After had been put on stand-by for who knew how long.
‘Ah, I’d gladly accept, but my heart’s already spoken for by a special lady.’
‘Oh? Who?’
‘Discretion, pet. Discretion. I’ve got to preserve my lady friend’s reputation.’
Well, that made me almost keel over in a fit of giggles despite everything.
‘You, on the other hand, should not be searchin’ anywhere else,’ he asserted.
‘How do you mean, Alf?’
‘You have everything you need right here.’
Everyone else I met in the village just kindly smiled at me, patting my shoulder as they passed, sending me their silent messages of solace, which made it even worse. Because I didn’t need them to say anything. They knew my life well, and had been there when it had fallen apart the first time. They had seen me pick myself up and dust myself off. They were the people who had been so kind to me, and for them to witness another downfall of mine was not only humiliating, it was also devastating, and only flashes of humour managed to save me from total depression.
When a week had passed and no news had come from Luke, I sent him a text:
Hi Luke, how are things?
And waited. It was still daytime in California, so unless he was driving or with his lawyers, he’d see it.
After a few hours, he finally answered:
Real battle.
I could only imagine. Lauren was on a mission, judging by the look on her face the evening of the fire. I truly felt for Luke. I texted back:
Good luck, keep me posted xxx.
But there was no “Will do” or “Thanks” in a return. Not even a single x.
Over the weeks, everything had changed and nothing had changed. The kids had gone back for another term at Northwood, and the leaves had turned to orange while the sea had whipped itself into a greyish-brown brew, and I had turned the heating up and started making soups instead of salads.
I expected a phone call any minute with either some news, or even a simple “How are you?” But again, none came, just like every time I asked him a question, I rarely got an answer back. I didn’t dare ask about the script, of course. That was secondary to him. But to me, it was vital.
After week four, exasperated, I typed:
How is the battle going?
To which he answered almost immediately:
A bloodba
th.
So he was alive after all. I waited for him to elaborate. And waited. And waited. And then in the end, I got on with my evening. Sod that for a game of soldiers.
*
‘Come on, Nina, pull yourself up,’ Alice said during one of her visits. ‘It’s just a temporary glitch. He’ll be back. There’s a contract.’
‘Gee, thanks for your faith.’
‘Well, it’s true. Listen, I know there was something between you and Luke, but these people are fickle. One day you’re their world, then the next, not so much.’ Could she have said anything worse?
‘You think this is just about the script? Do you really think me that vain? This wasn’t just about the money anymore. I actually thought we’d found happiness. That I’d found…’ I swallowed, unable to say it out loud. I thought we’d found something good.
I thought that from here on, with somebody to live and laugh with, we could rebuild two broken families. Jessica was a wonderful girl that had touched our hearts, and Luke was genuinely fond of Ben and Chloe. So many good things had happened these past few months. Picnics, walks along the coastal path, frolicking with our lovely dogs, days out and about… and promises of a better, fuller life.
And now? Now my heart was breaking, and everything, all the responsibilities and burdens that I’d shouldered all these years up until now seemed unbearable. The forest dream now made sense to me.
Forget Written In The Stars, Abandonment should be the title of the movie, the story of my life. Not to throw a pity-fest here, but who, in my same situation, wouldn’t feel at least a tiny bit sorry for themselves?
I wanted to kick myself in the head. I’d shown all my cards upfront and Luke had probably decided the movie was too much of a hassle and I wasn’t worth the trouble. It served me right. What was I thinking, hoping to get my family out of this predicament? Things like that only happened to J.K. Rowling, not Nina Conte. And now, because of my damn pride, I’d jeopardised my children’s future. Could I be more stupid?
Although I couldn’t hear them, I could feel my fellow villagers’ thoughts that, despite being kind, stabbed me in the back like little daggers dipped in pity. Of course they couldn’t understand how I’d come across such luck. Not even I could make sense of it.
‘Why are they looking at us so sadly, Mum?’ Ben asked.
I shrugged. ‘Maybe they think we’re sad, sweetheart.’
‘Are you?’ he asked.
‘Absolutely not. Are you, darling?’
‘Absolutely not, Mum.’
‘Good. Then let’s go home now.’
Okay, so for the moment, the deal might be postponed, but I still needed to pay my bills. Utility companies didn’t care what fantastic, ultimately lucrative (one hoped) project I was working on; they just wanted their money. Money I didn’t have.
And that was when I caught sight of the brochure for the Poldark tours Emma had left on my desk.
Except for some snippets she had shown me on her phone, I hadn’t seen the show, but when I was pregnant I had read all twelve books. And, given that I’d been trawling Cornwall flogging my arancini for years now, I knew every inch of this county.
I could do that job with my eyes closed (even by the cliffs). It would be a great addition to our income, especially as I wasn’t getting any great humongous light bulb moments for a book and, on top of everything else, the price of beef, my main ingredient, had gone up. All I needed was another bout of mad cow disease and I was screwed forever. So yes, it was wise to have a back-up plan. Hedge my bets, just in case. So I called their head office in Charlestown and offered my services. They were thrilled to have an Italian-speaking guide for the flocks of Italian fans, but would I send a résumé? Of course. Certamente.
Although Emma’s appearances were becoming as rare as Halley’s Comet, at least Jack had migrated back into our lives.
‘Any news about Luke’s custody battle?’ he asked me, code for Are you still together?
I shook my head. ‘I don’t know. I don’t even know if he’s coming back. I understand he’s got problems and all, but it wouldn’t hurt to text me actual sentences now and then, would it? All I get is… Oh, forget it. And you? Is there anyone on the horizon for you, Jack? We always talk about me and the kids. What about that girl?’
He shrugged. ‘There’s nothing to know.’
‘So there’s no one…?’
‘There’s only been one person ever since. But she hardly knows I exist.’
‘Well, then tell her.’
‘What? No.’
‘Tell her your feelings.’
‘I would, but I don’t think she feels the same.’
‘Then she’s an idiot, Jack. Tell her. What have you got to lose?’
‘Her friendship? Her respect?’
I shook my head. ‘If she cares for you at all, even as a friend, you will never lose her.’ Of that, I was certain. Whoever this woman was, she would give him a chance. What woman wouldn’t? Jack was everything a woman could ever want.
He sighed. ‘I wish I had your confidence.’
‘You should be more assertive, Jack. Hell, you’re a successful businessman and you can’t handle your love life?’
‘Ouch,’ he said. ‘Okay. I’ll try. Have you seen Em lately?’
34
Nine To Five
The next Monday was my first day as a Poldark tour guide. Each day I’d be carrying out a different tour with different starting points dislocated across the county. It was roughly a four-hour tour across the whole of Cornwall at the best of times, but I had no choice. I donned my stupid red cap and blue dress, courtesy of Holsworthy Poldark Tours that had done me the favour of hiring me, and drove to Charlestown where the bus driver was waiting for me to collect the fans from their hotels.
As it were, my first batch straight off the bat happened to be indeed Italian, so after our Hellos and Where are you froms and Why you speak Italian so wells, we got into the nitty-gritty. It was a young group, mainly couples who were up for a trek and dressed for the Vietnamese jungle.
Our first stop was Truro Harbour from where we went on to Falmouth, then off to Porthcurno and, getting familiar with the lingo of the trade, to the magical Minack Theatre, from which you could enjoy the best views featured in Poldark Series 1. (Or so the brochure said.)
Then we went down to Porthcurno beach featured in Poldark Series 2. The views from there were among the most iconic in Cornwall. After a quick lunch we headed on Porthgwarra, the tiny cove used in Poldark Series 1 for the pilchard boats scene, and also from where Demelza spies on Ross bathing in the sea.
Later, as I stood out on Gwennap Head waiting for them to take their selfies and making sure they weren’t going to selfie themselves off a cliff, I did some of my own dramatic gazing out into the sea, just like Demelza (minus the optimism) waiting for her beloved Ross to return, the irony of it occurred to me. Because as sure as hell, I wasn’t Demelza, and Luke, as much as he may be someone’s Ross, certainly wasn’t mine anymore. Because he wasn’t coming back.
As I stood there, I remembered Ben explaining to Luke about the daymarks, and a sense of nostalgia enveloped me. ‘And this is where Ross Poldark said he would be happy to leave California and live here with her and the kids,’ I heard myself say out loud.
‘Ross Poldark in California?’ I heard someone say, scratching their heads. ‘Wasn’t it Virginia?’
If only I hadn’t screwed up. Luke would be here, the script would be finished by now and maybe production would have even started. And Ben’s operation would be on the horizon. Boosted by the movie, I’d probably have started my next book and watched the royalties ca-chinging from the comfort of the dining room table by the window. But instead I was clad in a cheap, blue polyester dress and a red cap and still making arancini on the side to make ends meet. So much for California Dreamin’. So much for any dreamin’.
‘Ehm, Signorina?’ one of my couples addressed me.
I sighed and turned around. ‘Sì?
’
‘Are you okay?’
‘Fan-Pold-astic,’ I chimed.
‘Signorina?’
‘Yes?’
‘Please come away from the edge, you’re scaring us.’
*
After a gruelling day scarpering over hill and dale in the cool Cornish winds, I decided to take Lottie to the mechanic’s in Truro on the way home. I had to make sure that at least she would be able to endure the commute into work and back.
I would have loved to have swung round to Emma’s while waiting for the verdict, but I was too tired and didn’t want to drag her down with my misery.
‘It’s bad,’ the mechanic warned as he wiped his hands on an old filthy cloth.
I groaned. ‘How bad?’
He shrugged and said something about the carburettor and that it was an old car and when was the last time I’d changed the oil? Apart from the last time Jack saw it? How the hell was I supposed to know? I took it to the petrol station, asked them to give it a once-over and they poured stuff into it. I didn’t get into the details as long as the engine started.
Besides, we’d got the clunker thirteen years ago before Chloe was born and even then it was a second-hand deal. And now it was either spend a whole cartload of money on it or wave it goodbye. I did a rapid calculation. With the way things were going financially, we’d have to sell the house before the end of the school year just in time to find a hovel on a bus route. There was no way the kids were leaving Northwood Academy as long as I pulled a breath.
And so I left old Lifeless Lottie at the garage and walked to the bus stop and waited for the next bus. And waited. And waited. Thirty minutes later, I decided that if my feet hurt that much from standing, maybe walking might help. I was wrong. Walking only made it worse, and soon I was limping, agonising at every single step of the way. A car full of yobbos slowed down to take a look at me, their dashboard covered in take-away food, and the bloke in the passenger seat was licking his fingers allusively.
‘Yorrite, luv? Want a ride?’
‘No thanks, I’m meeting someone,’ I lied and they guffawed and sped off with a screech. I supposed I was lucky they didn’t throw their leftovers at me.
