Emma drove over to her father’s via Waitrose and picked up the necessary ingredients to make her famous, or infamous, Hake and Chorizo fishcakes (which she made on a variation of a Matthew Fort recipe). Over a glass of wine she told her father about her plans to look into qualifying as a teacher. He was as shocked as he was pleased to hear the revelation and Emma pretended not to notice the tear when Robert Hastings remarked how happy Emma’s mother would have been to hear the news too.
Sentiment soon went out the window however as Robert Hastings commenced to hover around the kitchen. After offering his daughter some friendly advice on cooking one too many times Emma dismissed the Brigadier from the room (her threat of serving him up a three bean salad for dinner hastened the old warrior’s retreat even more).
By keeping busy in the kitchen Emma was distracted from thinking too much about her dinner guest. But when the doorbell went she suddenly felt a mixture of nervousness and happiness. The butterflies were definitely fluttering in her heart rather than her stomach (and the butterflies were having kittens). But when he warmly smiled at her when she opened the door all was well.
William was wearing a jacket, jeans and a shirt. Emma thought how her boots probably cost more than his entire wardrobe. But that didn’t matter. So much didn’t matter anymore. Yet so much other stuff did.
“Hello, please come in.” Emma was even gladder to see him than she expected. He was more than handsome. She saw his soul. He was beautiful. “Thank you so much for sending me the book. It meant a lot. I may well have to give you one more, or rather perhaps one less, fishcake as a reward.
“I’m hoping that you’re being modest in regards to your cooking skills.”
“Unfortunately I’ve got a lot to be modest about.”
“I can vouch for that,” Robert Hastings remarked as he came out of the drawing room and greeted his guest. “You’re a brave man Shakes for trying out my daughter’s culinary talents. She’s much better at putting an outfit together than a meal, although I dare say we had worse at Bastion,” Robert Hastings said with a chuckle and a wink.
“I’ve still got plenty of time to take the chorizo out of your fishcake and insert some tofu Daddy,” Emma replied, with more than a little earnestness (though she flashed a covert smile and winked at William).
Robert Hastings felt a shiver run down his spine and retreated back into the drawing room to fix them all a drink.
16.
Dinner was served. Hake and chorizo fishcakes with a leek and pea puree. Plates were cleaned in pleasure, rather than in politeness. Robert Hastings asked his guest how his business and former soldiers in the regiment were faring. Feeling that Emma wasn’t wholly involved in their conversation William asked her about her work and her coming week. She told him about her decision to train to become a teacher. Time appeared to freeze as he stopped and just gazed at her, either in an admiring or enamoured fashion. Every time he saw her, he liked her more.
It was perhaps at this moment that Robert Hastings noticed the growing spark between his guests. They constantly made each other laugh and hung upon each other’s conversation. Feeling like a fifth wheel Robert excused himself, citing tiredness, and went to bed. In the hope of fuelling any spark between them however Robert unsubtly dimmed the lights and lit the candles upon the dinner table before heading up to bed.
Once out of earshot Emma and William spoke fondly of their host. Emma told her friend of her intention to introduce her father to her agent. The conversation meandered like a sunlit river however and they also discussed books, their favourite films (Schindler’s List, Notting Hill, Groundhog Day, Shakespeare In Love, Con Air) and the news of the day (involving lying politicians, moronic footballers, avoidable wars, moronic politicians and lying footballers). They were able to laugh at most things, both in a satirical and also self-deprecating way. Yet the conversation occasionally grew serious. Afghanistan had scarred him in unseen ways. The topic of religion came up and Emma realised how William possessed a quiet sense of faith, as well as a quiet sense of despair. A couple of times she felt that he wanted to mention his wife, but didn’t.
They chatted for hours, forgetting the time, enthralled and entertained by each other’s company. As a thank you for dinner William said that he would take Emma to see the latest production of Much Ado About Nothing at the Old Vic. They also promised to dust off their tennis rackets and arrange to have a game at some courts close to the garage. Emma asked if William would be fine getting home, having missed the last train. He explained that he would flag down a black cab outside Turnham Green tube station.
Despite having talked for hours there was an air of things being left unsaid at the end of the evening as Emma showed William to the door. They had held each other’s aspect for the past four hours, but now they could barely look each other in the eye – as shy as teenagers.
“Thanks again for a wonderful meal and wonderful evening Emma,” William said, standing in the doorway. The evening breeze cooled rather than chilled. The stars twinkled as if the mechanic had just complimented the night sky as well as the radiant young woman. William reached out, gently clasped her hand and kissed her upon the cheek. His light stubble made her face – and heart – tingle. He breathed in her perfume, as if wishing to store up and recall the sensation one day. He pulled away but their eyes met, bright with wine and something far more intoxicating than Emma’s fragrance. They had met as friends at the beginning of the night, but she wanted them to part as more than that. She clasped his rough hand more firmly, lacing her fingers in his, and pulled him towards her. She wanted him. Needed him. They kissed – and not on the cheek. William cradled her body with strength and tenderness. His kiss married passion with tenderness too. She sighed. Maybe he did as well. Her chest was pressed against his, their breathing and hearts attuned to one another.
Just as they were about to lose – or find – themselves however William pulled away. Sadness, rather than rapture, glazed his expression.
“I’m sorry, I can’t. I don’t want to lie to you Emma. I’m still in love with my wife. I’m not sure I can give you what you want. It’s not you. God no, it’s not you. You were the last person I thought about last night and the first person I thought about when I woke. But I’m a mechanic, who needs fixing. I’m sorry. Maybe it’s best if we don’t see each other. I should go.”
The young widower hung his head in shame, or misery. His face was scrunched up in pain. He turned and walked away with a heavy heart and leaden steps.
There was a mellow sorrow in his voice and features that would have moved the hardest of hearts. Tears swelled in Emma’s pretty eyes. Sadness, rather than anger or frustration, also swelled in her breast. Words – and her heart – were stuck in her throat. She remained in the doorway, hopeful that she would see him turn around. It would be a sign, like a scene in the movies. She willed him to. But his forlorn figure continued to be swallowed up by the night.
Emma finally closed the door. She slumped to the floor like a ragdoll, buried her head in her hands and cried most of her heart out (as she had done when her mother had passed away). She could understand why he wanted to end things, before they began. She strangely envied his wife. Yet she liked her too – for having made him happy for a time. Emma told herself that she was still glad to have met him – that they had a bit of time together. Without William she may not have seen how empty her life and relationships had been. Without him she may not want to give herself a second chance and become a teacher. But it all hurt so much. She sobbed and her entire body, being, convulsed. Emma philosophically told herself that the would-be teacher was being taught a lesson, that not all love stories have a happy ending.
17.
Some of the tears commenced to dry upon her cheeks but her eyes were still moist. Emma still could not find a will, or reason, to get up from the floor however.
“Do you like him then?” Robert Hastings stood in his dressing gown upon the stairs, his expression and tone full of paternal thought
fulness.
“No. I think I love him,” Emma replied, raising her head.
“I thought that might happen. You’re not the only one who can play matchmaker Emma. He’s a good man. He’s not a rich man though. Too often nowadays girls equate the one with the other. You used to be like that. But you’re not now.”
“He’s different, special. He makes me laugh, like you used to make Mum laugh. When I first met him there was no way that I could have thought that he would have ever been good enough for me. But now I’m not sure that I am good enough for him.”
“Why don’t you give him the chance to be the judge of that? He likes you.”
“You think so?”
“I know so. I also know something else.”
“What?”
“I know that it’s not all that easy to get a cab around here this time of night.”
Birdsong laced the air. The moon slipped out from behind a cluster of grey clouds. Turnham Green shimmered, turning from black to a magical turquoise. Not only had Emma taken her father’s advice and gone after William, but she was glad that she had listened to him and changed into her running shoes. She was grateful also that she wasn’t dressed in “The Heartbreaker”. Should she have had to run in that outfit now she would have probably been left heartbroken herself.
Her feet pounded across the grass. Her work in the gym was finally paying off. She was breathless with hope, desperation, fatigue and love. Streetlights and traffic skirted around the park, ringing the green in a kaleidoscope of colour. Emma prayed that even if William had been able to flag down a black cab, they would not want to go south of the river this time of the night. But the mechanic had yet to reach the main road even – such had been his wounded heart and slow gait. His silhouette appeared from out of the darkness. As she closed on him William heard someone running and turned around.
Emma stopped around ten feet away from a slightly worried and slightly confused William, although given the lack of light at the centre of the park she could not quite make out his expression. Emma held up her hand in a bid to ask him to stop – and also communicate that she needed to catch her breath. He asked if she was okay but Emma still just held up her hand in reply. The occasional hum of a car sounded in the background else all was silent until Emma spoke.
“I know we have just met. And I know that you will probably consider me conceited – or crazy even. But I’ve recently realised that I’ve spend half of my life waiting for someone like you. And I don’t want to spend the remaining half apart from you. I’m not sure if you feel anything back but all that I ask is that you give me, us, a chance. I’m just a girl, standing before a boy, asking him to love her – to borrow a phrase. I cannot and do not want to replace your wife. I’m just me. But take it from someone who has been living in an unfulfilled past and present, give the future a try. I’m sorry, but I had to come after you – to say something. And as you said the other day it’s about fighting for lost causes against overwhelming odds. Even if it’s a losing battle you still have to fight on if the cause is right. You and me seem right. I like who I am when I’m with you. I know I’m nearly crying now, but you make me laugh. You make me want to be a better person. In helping to fix the mechanic I will be helping to fix myself. You understand why I had to come after you? I’m worried that if I lose you tonight then I might lose you forever.”
Emma was left more breathless from pouring her heart out than from the run. Could she see him as she spoke? She had been endearing, hopeful, beautiful – sometimes smiling at her own wry humour and confessions. At least she had told him how she felt. Had she frightened or shocked him to make things worse though? William hadn’t uttered a word whilst she spoke, although Emma had occasionally held up her hand to indicate that she wanted to finish what she was saying. But he now walked towards her. Her teary eyes glistened in the moonlight. William smiled, but she could not work out the nature of the smile. Was it just one of consolation? Would he still not be able to give himself to her? Was he just trying to let her down gently again?
The melancholy widower first gallantly took off his jacket and placed it around Emma’s shivering shoulders. He then cupped her face in his hand and wiped away wayward strands of her hair – and a tear – from her cheek with his thumb.
“Do you see that bench over there?”
Emma nodded. Oh God he was going to let her down again, she thought. And she didn’t know how she would be able to pick herself up afterwards.
“We’re going to sit down and I’m going to tell you about how much I liked you even before we first met, from how your father described you. I’m going to tell you about how I experienced the longest and loneliest walk of my life just now, from the house. I felt terrible, thinking how much I might have hurt you. And I thought to myself how wrong I might be. Maybe I can give you what you want because it’s what I want too. I’m also going to explain how frightened I am, that I might get hurt. Or, worse, hurt you. But then I’m going to tell you how funny, smart and lovely I think you are; that I like who I am when I’m with you – and that you make me want to be a better person Emma. And then I’m going to kiss you. Does that all sound okay?”
Emma’s face beamed brighter than the moon. Her smile bloomed into a lover’s sigh and then laughter as William spoke. Tears of joy glistened in her eyes.
“It sounds more than okay. But can we do the last bit first?”
And so William Flynn led Emma Hastings over to the bench and they kissed and talked till long after the sun came up.
Sometimes love stories do have happy endings.
If you enjoyed Uptown Girl by Holly Kinsella, you may be interested in School Ties by Emma Lee-Potter, also published by Endeavour Press.
Extract from School Ties by Emma Lee-Potter
ONE
Will Hughes slammed his pen down. It was ten fifteen on a rainy September night and he’d been marking Hamlet essays for more than an hour. And what a bloody shambles they were too. Admittedly he was teaching the bottom set, but he was stunned by the quality of the teenagers’ work. Some could barely string a sentence together, let alone use an apostrophe properly. Only one had produced work that showed any understanding of Shakespeare’s most famous play.
Trying hard to stay awake, he took a gulp of cold instant coffee. He was less than halfway through the pile of scripts and at this rate he’d be hard-pressed to finish them by midnight. Worse still, he’d promised to take the first fifteen rugby squad on a training run at dawn.
For the umpteenth time, Will wondered why he had returned to teaching. He’d left his last school a year ago to join an up-and-coming Shoreditch advertising agency. Yet now he’d had another change of heart and given up his skinny lattes and generous expense account to return to the chalkface.
Not that Downthorpe Hall was a tough place to work. It wasn’t. Compared to the early years of Will’s career, when he’d been a young English teacher at a tough inner-city comprehensive, Downthorpe was the cushiest number imaginable. A private school dating back two hundred years, it was housed in an elegant Cotswold mansion, complete with castellated turrets, a winding two-mile drive and acres of playing fields. It had once been an all-boys school, but had gone co-ed twenty years ago. The decision was deplored by the old guard but had succeeded in giving the school’s academic results a much-needed shot in the arm.
Will stretched his arms out wide to keep himself awake, then stopped. He could have sworn he heard a loud whirring noise outside the window. It sounded like a helicopter. But that was impossible. Not at this time of night. And not so close to the school.
As he forced himself to focus on the next essay, a particularly lacklustre effort covered in coffee stains, the staff room door flew open and Grace Foley strode in. Grace was the deputy head, cool as a cucumber and one of the few members of staff with the nerve to stand up to the governors. Even though it was nearly eleven Grace looked immaculate. Most of the other women teachers chose practicality over style. Grace was the exact opposite. She
wouldn’t have been seen dead in a frumpy skirt and cardigan. She always wore heels, had her auburn hair cut in a chic bob every six weeks and had a fondness for designer suits that clung to every curve. Will had spent enough time over the last few months working on fashion accounts to spot a Stella McCartney outfit at twenty paces. He knew there was no way Grace’s clothes came from the high street.
‘Did you hear that?’ he asked.
‘What?’
‘Outside. That noise. It sounded just like a chopper to me.’
‘Oh God. He hasn’t started that caper again, has he?’ groaned Grace, her irritation clear. ‘We’ve had so many complaints from the locals and I’ve told him countless times it’s got to stop. He’s the most arrogant man on the planet, but I really thought he’d taken notice after last time.’
Will frowned in frustration. He’d been at Downthorpe for a week and it felt like a foreign country. ‘I’m sorry, Grace, but I haven’t got a bloody clue what you’re talking about. Can you do me a favour and start from the beginning?’
Grace plonked her industrial-sized torch and notebook on a desk and marched across to the window. She pulled up the tattered blind and peered into the gloom.
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