by Dani Atkins
My fingers were clumsy as I went to return the pad to the cabinet. It slipped from my hold, falling open on the final page at the back. Mac made a sound, not quite a laugh, but there was wry amusement in it. This drawing wasn’t of a person, but that didn’t make it any less dramatic. It depicted a storm-lashed pier.
‘Where’s this?’ I asked.
Mac gave a twisted smile. ‘Strangely, I don’t know the name of the place, even though I’ve ended up there many times.’
I bent to study the sketch more closely. To one side of the pier I could make out a small amusement park. He’d even drawn the sleeper tracks of a miniature railway and one solitary carriage. But the main focus of Mac’s picture was the long jetty engulfed in the kind of waves that swept away everything in their path.
‘That’s quite a wild storm you’ve drawn,’ I observed, flicking back through the book and noting that he’d drawn this same scene several times over. In each version the dark grey sky was split by jagged shards of lightning.
‘The weird thing is that the weather was always warm and balmy whenever I was there. This was the place I kept ending up on my middle-of-the-night drives when I went through that period of insomnia last summer.’ He reached for the sketchpad and this time I offered no resistance. ‘But I never saw the pier look like this, not in real life. I’ve no idea why I kept drawing it in a storm.’
*
I’d never been the type of girl who dated the guitar player in school. My teenage boyfriends were more likely to have joined the maths club than a rock band. Even Tom, who’d loved nothing better than to sing lustily in the shower, missed every other note he tried to hit. I’d never had anyone play to me before – just to me. I had no idea it would feel so intimate and intense.
‘Serenade’ is a word that had never entered my vocabulary before, but I could think of no other to describe the experience of having Mac play to me as the clock inched us closer to midnight. When he settled himself at the piano keyboard, I moved to the comfort of the settee and kicked off my shoes. The couch was as soft as chamois leather, and I curled up on it, tucking my legs beneath me like a contented cat.
The great thing about live music is that, by necessity, it halts all conversation, which after the awkward moments with the sketchpad was just what we needed to get the evening back on course. Even so, I still found my thoughts returning to those drawings of me as the room filled with lilting jazz melodies. They were hard to dismiss. Was I reading too much into them? Perhaps it really was that I was easier to draw than the others?
Somewhere between the songs my father had loved and the ones Mac introduced me to that night, I began to relax again. Mac played every song in the book, moving seamlessly from one to the next as though doing a set in a club. I didn’t speak or interrupt until the final notes of the last song were fading away, and then – cheesy as it was – I began to clap.
He smiled and shook his head in an it-was-nothing kind of way, but I could see my enthusiastic response had pleased him. His impromptu recital had taken us close to twelve o’clock, and I couldn’t believe our night together was almost over.
‘I want to shout “Encore!”,’ I told him, unfurling my legs and getting to my feet, ‘but I think that’s just being selfish. You must be tired of playing by now.’
‘I could probably manage a few more,’ he said with a smile, his fingers moving effortlessly back over the keys. He was playing from memory now, not following a score, and segued from classics to pop songs that spanned the decades. I leant against the piano, and while he never once looked at his hands, I was mesmerised by them.
‘Thank you so much for playing for me,’ I said when eventually he paused. ‘I can’t think of a lovelier way to end a year that hasn’t been the easiest to get through.’ As understatements go, that one was pretty huge.
‘It has had its ups and downs,’ Mac agreed. His fingers were absently picking out a melody, but his eyes were on me. ‘But I wouldn’t change anything. Although…’ He hesitated. ‘Although, there are times I wish I’d never met you—’
My mouth dropped open. That was definitely not what I’d expected him to say.
‘—this way,’ he added quickly. ‘I wish I hadn’t met you the way we did. I think, in other circumstances, things could have been very different.’
To ask how would have been disingenuous. It felt as though tonight was a chance to speak of things that might never be said again. I’d always found Mac’s eyes compelling, but though I’d looked into them many times, he’d never before allowed me to glimpse in them what might have been. But I saw that now – saw everything that would never be, and it overwhelmed me.
I smiled shakily and moved away from the piano.
‘I’m just going to use your bathroom, if that’s okay?’
There’s nothing more likely to kill a moment than telling someone you need the loo. Except that I didn’t. But I did need the sanctuary of the neat white-tiled room to collect my racing thoughts. The large illuminated mirror above the basin showed my cheeks were stained with a becoming flush. The wine hadn’t done that – Mac had. For the first time I allowed myself to admit just how much I liked him. My eyes glittered back at me as I slowly shook my head. Mac had drawn an indelible line of friendship in the sand and wasn’t going to let us cross it.
I glanced at my watch. There were only ten minutes left until midnight. Mac had promised we’d get the best view of the city’s fireworks display from his balcony. But if I lingered any longer in his bathroom I was going to miss them.
He was still tinkering at the piano when I returned. He looked up at the sound of my footsteps, his fingers instantly abandoning whatever he’d been playing. It had sounded vaguely familiar, but I’d only caught a few notes before he’d stopped. That one had been for him, not me. It was only as he slid open the balcony doors and ushered me out into the cool night air that I placed the tune. ‘The Lady in Red’.
He’d brought my champagne out with us and popped the cork in preparation, pouring out two glasses. From the street below, the sound of revellers floated through the air towards us.
‘I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable with what I said just now.’
I turned to face him. ‘You didn’t.’
‘I just wanted you to know that if things had been different, if there weren’t people who’d be hurt by my actions…’
I nodded. I understood. I truly did.
‘Will this make things awkward between us?’ Mac asked softly.
I smiled, wanting to erase that worried expression from his face. ‘Nah. What happens on the balcony stays on the balcony.’
He smiled down at me, so tenderly that the cold December air seemed to stop nipping at my bare shoulders.
‘Well, in that case,’ he replied, his voice husky, ‘I’m going to say something I probably shouldn’t.’
The voices from the street were growing more and more excitable.
‘I want to kiss you, Molly. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to kiss anyone more in my whole life. But it’s not fair. And I don’t even know if it’s what you want.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘It’s almost the countdown. So if this is something you don’t want me to do, tell me now before the clock chimes.’
The seconds were ticking away and yet strangely time seemed to be standing still. From the pavement and the balconies below us, a chorus of voices began to chant. ‘Ten, nine, eight…’
They got to ‘seven’ and I could bear it no longer. With a passion that shocked me, I reached up and pulled his head down towards mine.
I never saw the fireworks, not the ones that arced across the midnight sky. But the ones soaring within my new heart would have eclipsed them anyway.
34
Alex
‘I believe this is yours.’
Alex instinctively held out his hand, expecting his elderly neighbour to pass him a piece of incorrectly delivered post or a parcel he’d taken in. He hesitated when he saw the small plastic bag dangling fr
om the end of Gordon Grafton’s arthritic finger.
‘Erm, I don’t think that’s mine, Gordon,’ Alex said with a kindly smile.
In reply, Gordon took a step forward, his foot now across the threshold of Alex’s open front door.
‘I think you’ll find that it is.’
Humouring him, Alex bent a little lower to study the bag. ‘No, that’s definitely not mine. What is it, anyway?’
The permanent scowl that had been on his neighbour’s face for the last two years seemed to deepen.
‘It’s faeces, young man. Excrement, poo, cra—’
‘Okay,’ Alex interrupted, holding up a hand to stop him, while casting an anxious glance over his shoulder. He was all for broadening Connor’s vocabulary – but not like this. He eyed the swinging bag with considerably more distaste now that he knew what it contained. ‘And why exactly do you think it has anything to do with us?’
‘You have a cat, don’t you? A new one?’
Alex shook his head in amused disbelief. Be kind, he imagined he could hear Lisa intoning. He’s a lonely old man who hasn’t been the same since Elsie passed away. He took a steadying breath. Lisa had always been far more tolerant of their curmudgeonly neighbour than him. And yet in a way he understood Gordon much better now they were in the same boat. Almost. Although the glittering fury in Gordon’s rheumy eyes told Alex this was clearly not going to be a bonding moment.
‘It’s true we’ve recently got a kitten—’ he confirmed, wondering if Gordon’s Neighbourhood Watch enthusiasm ran to spying on his neighbours with a long-range telescope.
‘There you are then,’ Gordon interrupted triumphantly, dropping the bag onto the coconut doormat beside Alex’s bare feet.
Alex could hear the sound of the kitchen door opening, meaning Connor was about to join him. It tempered his response by quite some measure.
‘Although we do have a kitten, Gordon, I’m afraid the contents of this delightful bag are not hers. She’s too young to be allowed outside yet and uses a litter tray in our porch.’
Gordon’s nostrils flared, so much so that he looked in danger of adding to the multitude of broken capillaries that surrounded them.
‘Says you. But you do keep your windows open, don’t you, even in winter?’
The old guy really needed to take up whist or bowls, or something, Alex thought; he clearly had way too much time on his hands, with nothing better to do than stake out his neighbours. He was in full flow now.
‘It seems obvious that your animal escaped from a window, crossed the road and defecated on my cyclamen, and then jumped back in again.’
‘Lunar wouldn’t do that,’ a small voice beside Alex’s thigh quietly insisted. ‘She’d be too scared of the road.’
Alex’s hand settled on Conor’s shoulder and pulled him a little closer to his side. His son was trembling.
‘I really do think it must have been another cat, Gordon,’ Alex said, still trying to be amiable and neighbourly, in the way he knew Lisa would have wanted. He bent to pick up the bag from the mat. ‘But I will happily dispose of this in my dustbin for you.’
Gordon Grafton made a dissatisfied harrumphing sound. ‘It is your cat. No one else in the street has one.’
Alex could see little use in pointing out that cats liked to wander. The Phantom Pooper could, in fact, live many streets away. ‘Did you actually see Lunar in your garden?’ he asked reasonably.
Gordon made an angry bulldog growl, which Alex took to be a ‘no’. ‘I suppose I’m just going to have to prove it to you,’ he said with irritation. ‘I will be setting up a recording device to catch your animal befouling my flowerbeds. In the meantime, kindly keep it under control.’
The fraying strands of Alex’s patience were about to snap. ‘Gordon, you must do what you have to do,’ he said with a smile that couldn’t have looked more forced. He took a step back and firmly closed his front door.
‘Why is Mr Grafton being so mean to Lunar? She didn’t do anything.’
Alex dropped down onto his haunches and was dismayed to see fearful tears had flooded Connor’s eyes. His son was clearly terrified that their grumpy neighbour was going to do something to his beloved pet. Over my dead body, Alex thought fiercely, suddenly the most ardent pet owner in the world.
‘I know she didn’t, champ. Mr Gordon is just…’ A miserable old bastard? He bit his lip on the uncharitable thought. ‘He’s just confused and sad. He misses his wife. You remember Elsie, don’t you? She used to make you those delicious brownies you liked so much.’
Connor nodded solemnly.
‘Well, Gordon is sad that Elsie passed away. Missing his wife makes him unhappy and a little bit angry.’ They were tiptoeing on the edge of a subject he normally avoided. Alex held his breath as he waited for Connor to say something about Lisa.
‘Lunar only poops in the litter tray,’ Connor said stubbornly.
Alex straightened and ruffled his son’s hair, aware that an important opportunity might just have been lost. He was wondering if he could turn the conversation around when the doorbell rang once again. He sighed, preparing himself for a second verbal assault from his neighbour, who’d probably remembered something else to complain about.
‘Yes, Gordon?’ he asked as he opened the front door, only to find it wasn’t Gordon on their doorstep this time, it was the postman. Alex reorganised his features into a more genuine smile.
‘Got one here that’s too big for your letterbox,’ the postman announced cheerily, passing him a bundle of mail.
‘Thank you,’ Alex said, taking it with more enthusiasm than he had the last delivery.
He stood on the doormat flicking through the post. Most of it was bills or junk mail, with the exception of the item at the bottom of the pile. One minute you’re getting on with your life, picking up the pieces and making progress, he thought, and then a single, dumb, computer-generated mailshot has you sliding right back down into the well of grief again.
How many years would it be, he wondered, before the sight of mail addressed to Lisa didn’t feel like a knife wound to his stomach? And this wasn’t just any old piece of junk mail. Did no one at the organisation know what had happened? Surely someone must have informed them of the tragedy that had befallen one of their key speakers when she was on her way to that same event last year?
He was staring down miserably at the colourful flier, unaware that Connor was looking at it with interest.
‘What’s that?’ he asked Alex, his eyes fixed on the eye-catching image of an eclipse, which the organisers were using this year to advertise their event.
‘Nothing,’ Alex said, wincing as he looked down at the card inviting his dead wife to this year’s Astronomy Fair. ‘It’s just junk,’ he said, crumpling the piece of card in one hand and dropping it into the wastepaper basket in the hall.
In hindsight, he really ought to have known better than to do that.
35
Molly
His hand felt so natural in mine. Although his grip was admittedly a little tight, as if he was anxious about losing me. That would never happen, I vowed.
‘Are you having fun?’
Connor’s smile was tentative; he was unsure if that was even allowed, let alone something he should admit to. ‘I think so,’ he said cautiously.
That was good enough for now.
‘What would you like to do next?’
His eyes darted left and right, skimming past the dodgem cars, which I was pretty certain every child in my class would have chosen, and the ornate carousel with the enticing calliope music.
‘I don’t know.’
Despite the crisp threat of snow in the air, the fair was surprisingly busy. It was a popular destination during the February half-term holidays, although not one I had planned on attending.
The wind bit sharply, and even with my thick coat and chunky woollen scarf, I was still shivering. The paracetamols I’d taken that morning were wearing off, and the aches and pains they’d be
en keeping at bay were returning with a vengeance. It was just my luck to have picked up a bug on my week off.
Ordinarily, I would have said ‘no’ to today, knowing that Alex would not appreciate me potentially passing on this cold or flu to either him or Connor. But he’d sounded so desperate when he called yesterday, I hadn’t even thought about refusing.
‘It would only be for a few hours,’ he’d promised on the phone. ‘Four at the most.’
‘It’s fine, don’t worry about it. I didn’t have anything planned for tomorrow anyway.’ Except curling up on the couch with my duvet and a supply of Day Nurse, I silently added.
‘You’re a life saver, Molly. With Todd and Dee away on holiday, I couldn’t think of anyone else I’d trust enough to ask. I can’t thank you enough.’
He was still thanking me when I turned up at his home earlier today with a bag full of books and games I thought Connor might enjoy. It was obvious within minutes that none of those would be needed. As soon as the front door had closed behind me, Connor was tugging urgently at my hand, desperate to introduce me to the bundle of white fluff curled up in her bed in the corner of the kitchen. The tiny kitten was miraculously managing to do what no one else had been able to achieve: she was making Connor happy again. For the first time ever, as he crouched on the floor gently stroking the cat, I saw a normal little boy and not a tortured soul with the weight of the world on his shoulders. I sent up a silent thank you to Barbara for being possibly the wisest woman I’d ever met.
‘Oh, I see you’ve met our new family member then,’ Alex said, walking into the kitchen with his overcoat draped over one arm. He looked very different in a business suit. Handsome. He looks handsome, I told myself. It’s okay, you’re allowed to think it.
‘You look very… dapper,’ I substituted at the last moment, and then inwardly cringed. Dapper? I sounded like I’d wandered straight out of a Jane Austen novel. Alex must have thought so too, from the twinkle in his eye. It was the first time we’d seen each other in almost eight weeks, and despite everything I felt for Mac, there was still a jolt of… magnetism that hit me when I saw Alex in his dark grey suit and tie. Were these feelings even mine, I wondered as my heart skittered weirdly and a powerful sensation of déjà vu rocked me to my core. I’d seen Alex like this before, in this very kitchen, my unreliable memory informed me, even though I knew I hadn’t.
