‘It’s educational too, if that helps,’ Hope reached into the bag and drew out the brightly coloured picture book she’d spotted in the window of the Little Apple Bookshop as she made her way along High Petergate. ‘It’s a story about the Matryoshka dolls – where they come from and how they’re made.’
Brodie sat up straight, holding out both hands. Hope gave her the book, savouring the look of delight on the little girl’s face as she gazed at the cover and eagerly turned to the first page.
‘What do you say, Brodie?’ Will reminded her, his tone gently reprimanding.
She looked up fast and touched flat fingers to her chin, then pulled her hand away and down. Hope blinked in surprise. ‘You’re welcome. I didn’t realize you know sign language.’
‘Just a few easy signs,’ Will explained. ‘We saw them on a TV show and I thought it might help Brodie to communicate, at least in the short term.’
‘Great idea,’ Hope said admiringly, as Brodie turned her attention back to the book.
Will nodded in acknowledgement. ‘Now, I’ve got whipped cream, marshmallows and chocolate syrup. Do you want to go all in?’
‘It would be rude not to,’ Hope said, and smiled. ‘You’ve really got the hang of this.’
He seemed to understand that she didn’t only mean the hot chocolate. ‘Thanks. I’m trying. Although we discovered the hard way that there’s a time and a place for chocolate syrup, and bedtime isn’t it.’
The image of a bouncing Brodie, her bedsheets sticky with chocolate sauce, made Hope laugh. ‘Oh dear. They do say parenthood is a steep learning curve.’
He shuddered as he placed two marshmallow-topped mugs on the black marble counter. ‘That’s a lesson I learned fast. Maybe put the book away while you drink this, Brodie.’
Once they’d finished the hot chocolate, Brodie was keen to show Hope the rest of the house. The ground floor mostly consisted of the hallway, stairs and open kitchen/living room, with a bathroom tucked away under the stairs. The garden was a neat square of well-tended grass, enclosed on the remaining three sides by high, red-bricked walls. A smaller square of paving stones sat in the middle, with a patio table and chairs, and Hope could imagine Will sitting outside in the warm evenings, reading or doing whatever it was he did to relax. Upstairs, there were three bedrooms and it was very clear which one belonged to Brodie; there were toys and books everywhere. The Matryoshka dolls had their own shelf, in pride of place beside the bed. A multi-coloured marble run towered in the middle of the room and a vast box of Lego spilled out from one corner, making Hope wince as she recalled her siblings’ stories of the agony inflicted by one of the plastic bricks under their feet in the dark. Seizing her hand, Brodie pulled her into the room and pointed to her favourite toys, while Hope exclaimed in delight. Eventually, Will took pity on her. ‘That’s enough now, Brodie. Poor Hope looks exhausted and it’s almost time for bed.’
The little girl pouted but didn’t fold her arms or stamp her feet in argument. Instead, she led Hope back downstairs and settled on the sofa, clearly determined that they would all watch In The Night Garden together.
‘Sorry,’ Will mouthed, pulling a face over Brodie’s head.
Hope shook the apology away. ‘Don’t worry.’
It wasn’t long before Brodie’s eyes were drooping. By the time the final lullaby was playing onscreen, her head was starting to nod. Will stood up and scooped her into his arms. ‘Say goodnight, Brodie.’
She yawned and raised a hand to wave sleepily. Will nodded to Hope. ‘I shouldn’t be long. Make yourself at home and help yourself to wine – there’s a corkscrew in one of the drawers. Glasses are in the cupboard over the sink.’
‘Thanks,’ Hope said. ‘Goodnight, Brodie.’
She watched as Will detoured to collect the picture book she’d brought, then disappeared up the curved stairs. The television screen announced that programmes were over for the day, so she found the remote control and switched it off. An empty plastic crate seemed to be there for toys; she gathered up everything scattered on the rug, then went to the kitchen and loaded the mugs from their hot chocolate into the dishwasher. For a moment, she was tempted to open the white doors and peep inside – you could tell a lot about a person by the contents of their kitchen cupboards – but she resisted and by the time Will came back downstairs, she was sitting in one of the patio chairs, flicking through a copy of Yorkshire Life she’d spotted on a coffee table.
‘You didn’t need to clear up,’ he said as he sank into the chair opposite her.
Hope handed him the other glass of wine. ‘I know. But it only took a minute.’
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘And thank you very much for the book. Brodie loved it – I can tell what I’m going to be reading every night for weeks.’
The thought gave Hope a little glow of pleasure and she was glad all over again that she’d stopped at the Little Apple Bookshop. ‘You’re welcome,’ she said and tipped her glass towards his. ‘Cheers.’
He smiled. ‘Cheers.’
They sat in companionable silence for a moment, absorbing the balmy evening sunshine and sound of birdsong mingling with the hum of the city, then Will sighed and stretched. ‘I hope you like risotto. I thought I’d keep it simple, rather than go all out to impress you and cock everything up.’
His candidness made her laugh. ‘I love risotto. But I think you’re being too modest – you seem to know your way around a kitchen.’
He grimaced. ‘Heating milk for hot chocolate and adding squirty cream isn’t exactly haute cuisine. Brodie mostly eats chicken nuggets or fish fingers so there’s not much demand for my culinary skills and I’m usually too knackered to cook once she’s in bed.’
He did look tired, Hope thought, studying him discreetly. There were smudges under his eyes and fine lines at the edges that gave him an air of weariness. ‘Why don’t I cook, then? I can manage risotto too – it’s mostly just stirring – and you can put your feet up.’
‘Absolutely not,’ he said, sitting up straight. ‘You’ve already tidied up, and what kind of host leaves the cooking to his guest?’
‘An exhausted one,’ she replied. ‘Okay, how about you cook and I’ll clear up afterwards?’
Will shook his head. ‘That’s not happening either but let’s just pretend I agreed and we’ll argue about it later. Deal?’
She couldn’t imagine arguing with him about anything but she gave in gracefully. ‘Deal.’
They sat for a few more minutes, chatting about their respective days, and then Will stood. ‘I’d better get started or we’ll still be sitting here at midnight.’
Hope checked the time. ‘Hey, it’s seven-forty and we’re both still awake!’
Catching her gaze, Will smiled. ‘Must be the company.’
The warmth in his expression chased away the tiredness and she was reminded how much she liked his smile. ‘Must be,’ she replied, feeling her own mouth quirk upwards.
Back in the kitchen, he asked how much further she’d got with Elenor’s journal.
‘Oh, I’m almost finished – Elenor is back in England and desperately unhappy at being separated from her love.’ Hope paused and shook her head wryly as she watched him chop the onions. ‘I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself when I reach the end – I’m totally hooked.’
‘Start all over again?’ he suggested, and Hope nodded.
‘Probably. And I’m sure I’ll enjoy it even more second time around.’ She sighed. ‘That’s the difference between Ciaran and me – he’s all about the academic side of things, which I suppose isn’t a massive surprise, given he’s a Professor of Egyptology. And I love the descriptions of the excavations and all the amazing artefacts Elenor describes but that isn’t what keeps me going back for more. It’s the emotional journey she’s on, the love between her and Khalid, the humanity of it all.’
Will nodded thoughtfully. ‘I know what you mean. I think I’d be the same – I’m much more interested in people over thing
s. It’s one of the nice things about being a jeweller, actually – there’s a story behind every customer and sometimes I get a glimpse of them. Like with Elenor’s ring.’
‘Exactly,’ Hope said, snapping her fingers. ‘You know, there’s an article about Whitby in your copy of Yorkshire Life and I’m half-tempted to visit – to follow in Elenor’s footsteps and try to understand why she took that awful last journey.’
He tipped the onion into a heavy-based saucepan and tilted his head. ‘It’s worth a visit regardless of that. I go quite often for work – I sell a lot of Whitby Jet jewellery through the tourist shops there. But there’s no denying it’s an odd place. There’s a real sense of brooding about the town almost a kind of melancholy. A dark heart, if you like.’
He let out a self-conscious laugh but Hope thought she understood what he meant. She hadn’t been since she was a child, and had a confused jumble of memories that included the hulking silhouette of the ruined abbey and a vague feeling of menace. Harry had terrified her on the way home with a story that Dracula came for anyone whose name started with H and she’d been so afraid that it hadn’t occurred to her that his name started with H too.
‘I really think I want to go,’ she said slowly. ‘Is that completely mad?’
‘Not at all,’ Will said, and looked up from the saucepan. ‘We could go together, if you like. I need to go and drop off some new stock to my vendors – we could make a day of it. Brodie and I can go and do our thing, you can do yours and then we can meet on the beach for fish and chips or ice cream. Probably both, knowing Brodie.’
Hope’s first inclination was to say no. She had no idea what she wanted to do in Whitby, other than some half-formed notion of walking along the cliffs and feeling the sea breeze on her cheeks. But at the same time, the desire to go, to walk the same path that Elenor had taken and stand where she had stood – it was a need that burned in a corner of Hope’s soul and she knew she would have to go at some point. Why not go with Will and Brodie, if they were going anyway?
‘That sounds like a lovely idea,’ she said. ‘But I’m working three days this week – when were you planning to go?’
Will shrugged. ‘I can arrange extra cover at the shop for whichever day suits you. When aren’t you working?’
Hope considered her options. Monday was too soon – she might not have finished the journal by then and she wanted some time to gather her thoughts, to make the most of being in Whitby. But she’d planned to keep Friday free in case Ciaran suggested getting together; the trouble with that was there was no guarantee he’d have time and then she’d be kicking herself for not having taken Will up on his offer.
‘I can do Friday,’ she said, after a few more seconds had ticked by. ‘Is that okay with you?’
‘Friday is perfect,’ Will said, looking pleased. ‘Why don’t we pick you up around midday?’
The thought of a whole afternoon with Will and Brodie pleased Hope too. ‘That would be great,’ she said, with a smile. ‘Thanks, this is really good of you.’
‘It’s no trouble,’ he replied. ‘And it will be nice to have someone to chat with – Brodie never complains but I’m sure she must get sick of me wittering on at her.’
Hope recalled the rare occasions she’d been in the same car as her nephews, who squabbled incessantly and were very rarely silent. ‘I can be DJ, at least.’
‘You can,’ Will agreed. ‘As long as you play all the Disney classics, we should have a smooth journey.’ He turned to grab the kettle, and when he looked at Hope again, he wore a plaintive expression. ‘I used to listen to Bowie. Now I catch myself humming along to “Let It Go”.’
She couldn’t help laughing. ‘The perils of parenthood. Those Disney songs are serious earworms.’
The conversation moved on to favourite movies and Hope was pleased to find they had a shared passion for science fiction. They agreed that Alien was equally as good as Aliens, and that Star Wars rightly deserved its cult status, although they disagreed on the best film in the franchise.
‘I can’t believe you think The Force Awakens is better than A New Hope,’ she said, topping up their glasses. ‘Don’t get me wrong, it’s a great film. But there’s just something about that first movie –’
‘Which was actually the fourth part of the story,’ he reminded her as he stirred the risotto.
‘Oh, the first three don’t count,’ she said dismissively. ‘Rob used to say that the only good thing about those films was Natalie Portman and even she couldn’t stop them from stinking.’
She stopped, surprised at herself for bringing Rob into the conversation; the wine must be making her more relaxed than she’d thought. But if Will had noticed anything amiss, he didn’t show it.
‘Sounds like a wise man,’ he said with a nod, then peered down at the saucepan bubbling on the hob. ‘You know, I think this is ready.’
‘Great!’ Hope said, and instantly cringed at her overly enthusiastic tone. ‘I’m starving and it smells delicious.’
He opened a cupboard and took out a pair of dinner plates. ‘I really hope it tastes okay. We can always send out for pizza if it doesn’t.’
It took one mouthful of the creamy rice for Hope to reassure him. ‘It’s amazing,’ she said, digging her fork in for another taste. ‘So good.’
Will grinned in relief. ‘Thank god. I realized earlier on when I said that I couldn’t cock risotto up that I was tempting fate.’
‘Not at all,’ Hope said. ‘I’m starting to suspect you’re hustling me here. The next thing I know you’ll be challenging me to a cook off and then I’ll discover you’ve been on MasterChef.’
Now he laughed. ‘I think I can safely say that’s never going to happen. But thank you.’ He paused while scooping some rice onto his fork. ‘So, the Rob you mentioned earlier – is he your ex?’
She forced herself to continue chewing, letting the action buy her some time. It wasn’t that Rob was a secret among her new friends in York – she’d told Iris about him ages ago – more that she hadn’t anticipated talking about him tonight. But she could hardly blame Will for asking – not when she’d dangled a big Rob-shaped carrot in front of him.
‘In a way,’ she said carefully. ‘He was my husband. He died two years ago.’
Will was quiet for a few seconds. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘No need to apologize,’ she said, managing a smile. ‘You weren’t to know.’
‘But I should have guessed,’ he said with a sigh. ‘I overheard you talking to Brodie yesterday, at the shop. You told her you’d lost someone too. I should have put two and two together.’
He looked so wretched that Hope was tempted to reach across and squeeze his hand. She took a sip of wine instead. ‘Really, it doesn’t matter. It’s not a secret or anything – I’m sure I’d have mentioned him at some point anyway. And it’s been long enough that I can talk about it without falling apart.’
‘Okay,’ he said quietly. ‘But I’m still sorry. You know, for your loss.’
‘Thank you.’ She hesitated. ‘It’s like I said before – you never really get over losing someone you love but it does get easier to bear. In time.’
They ate in silence for a moment, during which Hope guessed he was remembering his own loss, and that of Brodie. It was so much newer than hers, the pain must still be raw and crippling at times. ‘So now you know, if you ever want to talk – with someone who has an idea how you might feel – then I’m here.’
His smile was a much sadder version than Hope was used to. ‘Thanks.’ He cleared his throat. ‘So obviously you’re dating again. How’s that been going?’
Hope grimaced and gave him a brief overview of her experience of dating as a widow. Will listened sympathetically. ‘And how did Ciaran react?’
The question caused Hope to shift uncomfortably. ‘I – er – haven’t actually told him yet. We’ve only had a few dates and now he’s heading off for the summer, it doesn’t feel like the right time.’
He nodded
. ‘It’s a big thing, sharing something so personal. I think you have to really trust someone to be vulnerable in that way.’
She stared at him, surprised by his perceptiveness. The vulnerability of sharing her loss, and the way the men she’d dated had reacted, had taught her to be wary about who she trusted. And she had suspected Ciaran would be scared off if she told him about Rob, even after they’d spent the night together. They were dots she hadn’t totally connected until now. ‘You’re right.’
‘I don’t tell people about Scott and Lucy,’ Will admitted. ‘It’s easier to let them think Brodie is mine. And I have no idea what I would do in a dating scenario – that feels like a long way off right now.’
He looked down at his plate and sympathy welled up inside Hope. One of the things that had caught her by surprise was the loneliness that came with grief – not necessarily the physical solitude, because she was often surrounded by people, at least in the early days – but the deeper ache that came from feeling she was somehow removed from the world around her, an emotional distance that hadn’t been there before. It was as though she experienced life from behind a window and even though the pain of grief had lessened, that faint sense of isolation had stayed. She recognized the same sense in Will now; not only was he mourning his loved ones, he was also grieving for the life he’d led before, and although she was sure he would brush the latter aside as unimportant, there was also no denying his loneliness was almost tangible. And she was glad all over again that she’d agreed to go to Whitby.
‘Anyway,’ Will went on, squaring his shoulders and meeting her eyes. ‘I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m learning there’s no right or wrong way to handle grief – you do whatever works for you.’
‘That’s a good way to look at it,’ she said softly. ‘Sometimes getting by is enough.’
Will summoned up a half-smile. ‘Yes. It’s okay to not be okay.’
‘That too,’ she agreed, and paused. ‘It’s nice to talk to someone who understands.’
‘It’s nice to talk to someone,’ he replied dryly. ‘Thanks for coming over, and for being so kind to Brodie.’
The Little Shop of Hidden Treasures Part Two: Secret Loves Page 7
