‘Well then, he’s a heartless twat and a waste of space, and I’m sorry he hurt you so badly.’ Jake’s face darkens. ‘If it wouldn’t get me thrown out of the Marines, I’d punch him in the mouth for saying all that to you. But if that’s the way he thinks, you don’t want him, trust me.’
‘You don’t have to defend my honour, Jake. And please don’t tell me what I should and shouldn’t want.’ My fingers clench around the stem of the wine glass. It feels brittle between my fingers, as if it might snap. Like me. ‘Why are you always so overprotective? It makes me feel suffocated.’ Furious tears cloud my eyes, a ball of heat scrunching up in my chest. He flinches, but I carry on. ‘And how could you say earlier that you miss Grandad? My grandad? You only met him a handful of times.’ I’m a runaway train on fast tracks, inevitable and deadly. ‘What would you know about missing him?’
I’m so furious at both Cameron and Grandad for leaving me. Without thinking, I hurl my wine glass to the floor. There’s a loud tinkling crash and wine sprays up onto Jake’s trousers, shards of glass flying everywhere.
There are gasps, and with a sinking heart I notice the patio doors leading out to the balcony crowded with guests from the wake. My friends and Dad are at the front, watching in dismay.
‘Leila!’ Dad thunders, looking horrified. He never shouts or raises his voice at me.
My bottom lip starts wobbling as anger and adrenaline drain away to be replaced by a sick, shaky feeling. ‘Sorry, Dad,’ I choke. This must remind him of the year I was thirteen, and I know how much it will hurt him to think I’ve regressed to that rage-filled girl again.
‘Not me you should be apologising to.’ He crosses his arms.
My eyes widen as I turn back to Jake, seeing the shocked and embarrassed expression on his face. What have I done? Oh, shit. ‘S-sorry, Jake. I shouldn’t have done that.’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ he bites.
‘Jake—’ I hold my hand out toward him but he steps back. I feel awful for taking my grief, and anger at my ex-boyfriend, out on him. He doesn’t deserve it.
‘I’ll leave,’ he says quietly. ‘I’m obviously not wanted here.’ Lifting his chin, he pushes his way through the gawking crowd and into the room beyond. His broad shoulders are the last thing I see before regretful sobs overcome me, and I crumple into a ball on the floor, the glass cutting into my skin. I don’t feel it. I just want Grandad.
He was also my link to a mum whose memory becomes more distant every day. The charm bracelet is now the only thing I have left of her. I cradle my left wrist to my chest, protecting it.
***
‘How are you feeling today?’ Dad asks in a stilted tone.
‘You’re still cross with me then?’ I rest back against the kitchen unit as he wanders over to the sink to rinse his cup. Even Fleur doesn’t seem to like me much this morning, giving me a baleful look when I came down earlier before pointedly turning her back on me.
‘Cross isn’t the right word, love.’
I wait, but nothing else is forthcoming. ‘Well, what is the right word then?’
Placing the cup on the counter with a little clink, he sits down at the kitchen table. Staring at the dark wood, he frowns. ‘Disappointed. Shocked you’d act like that at your grandad’s wake. Ashamed you’d think it okay to treat Jake that way.’ He shakes his head. ‘Those things. But not cross.’
‘I know.’ Joining him at the table, I squeeze his hand. ‘I acted like a spoilt brat, and I’m genuinely sorry.’ I sigh. ‘People will remember the day, but for the wrong reasons. The wake kind of went downhill after that little scene, huh?’
Lifting his head, his frown deepens. Lines bracket his mouth and a deep groove forms between his eyebrows.
‘Okay, it’s not funny.’ I suck my cheeks in. ‘But, please Dad, you have to understand. I was grief-stricken over Grandad, and Cameron had just dumped me. I was gutted. Then Jake comes along and starts acting like Ray was his grandad too … I haven’t been sleeping well recently either, so that didn’t help,’ I admit. ‘But I feel better now. Clearer.’
‘Love,’ he says gently, ‘I’m glad you feel better. And I do understand. But you’re eighteen now, an adult.’
Puffing out a massive breath, I lace my hands together on the table. ‘You’re right. It’s no excuse.’ I nod. ‘I have to take responsibility for causing such embarrassment. I was an embarrassment.’ I still have plasters covering the tiny cuts on my shins and ankles to prove it.
‘So how will you make it right? Texts to the guests are fine, and people will understand you were distraught. But what about Jake?’
I squeeze my fingers tighter together. ‘I’ll go and say sorry.’
Dad’s hand lands on mine, giving me reassurance. ‘Good. But let’s have a cuppa in the garden first. Get the tray ready, I’ve got to pop upstairs. There are some things I want to show you, and some things you should know. Maybe then you’ll start to understand Jake, and his relationship with your grandad, better.’
What relationship? I wonder. What’s Dad talking about?
***
Ten minutes later we’re sitting with cups of tea at the table in the back garden. There’s no breeze, and like yesterday the sun is beating down on our heads. It’s got to be mid-twenties, and I’ve dressed all wrong for the climate in baggy jeans and a yellow off-the-shoulder T-shirt. I’m baking, and can feel the skin on my exposed shoulder, arms, and face prickling in the heat, tender to the touch. The apple tree Mum carved patterns into the trunk of is laden with fruit. Idly, I wonder if the branches are still strong enough to bear my weight. It’s been a few years. On the other hand, at a little over five foot and a size eight, there are some days I feel like I could blow away in a puff of wind.
‘This is for you,’ Dad says gruffly, pushing a jewellery box across the table. ‘It’s from Ray. It was your eighteenth birthday present. Jake helped him pick it out. They went to the shops together.’
‘They did?’ I frown. ‘When? Why?’ It doesn’t make sense.
Dad doesn’t answer, instead saying, ‘Your grandad was planning to give this to you when he got home that day. The hospital found it in his pocket and gave it to me for safekeeping. I’ve been holding onto it, until you were ready.’
I gaze at the box, then at him, my eyes shining and a lump lodged in my throat. Fleur takes pity on me and bounds off the porch and through the green grass to lay her soft chin on my knee. I smile at her, silently thanking her for the comfort. ‘I should have seen him before my party,’ I gulp, ‘or been waiting for him down on the quay rather than hungover down at Durdle Door—’
‘Don’t be silly, love,’ Dad says firmly. ‘You had every right to have fun for your birthday, and Ray wanted that for you too. Don’t forget he was happy fishing with his friends. No one could have known what would happen.’
‘I know. I just …’ Closing my eyes, I picture Granddad’s face, which could be stern one moment and kind the next. Opening my eyelids, I scrutinise the box. ‘Okay. Yes,’ I say, answering the unspoken question. ‘I can handle it. I’m ready.’ Picking up the velvet box, I flip the lid open. Nestled on the cushion are three tiny charms for my bracelet, connected together on one tiny loop. A cross inlaid with diamonds, but with curled ends rather than straight lines, an anchor, and a solid unadorned heart, not unlike the one Mum left me all those years ago with the bracelet.
‘It’s beautiful,’ I breathe.
‘I think it’s a military thing. They represent faith, hope, and love,’ Dad explains. ‘I suppose that’s what he wanted for you.’
‘Oh.’ A tear slides down my cheek. ‘That’s lovely. Yes. They’re the three most important things, I think he would have said that. But I still don’t understand, why did Jake help him pick it out?’
‘You’d need to ask Jake about that.’ He takes a gulp of his tea, his expression troubled. ‘There’s something else. When I went out the other day, it was to the solicitor’s. It was the reading of the will. I didn’t think
you’d be able to cope.’
Inhaling sharply, I dip my chin in acknowledgement. ‘That’s okay. It probably would have been too soon.’ Picking up my cup of tea, I take a mouthful and screw up my face. ‘There’s a load of sugar in this. Are you trying to prepare me for a shock or something?’ I joke. His face says it all. Clinking the cup down on the saucer, I lean forward. ‘Dad, what is it?’
‘He’s left you some money. Not a lot, but enough to pay for the first year of uni at least.’
‘That’s –’ I sniff ‘– I … that’s so kind.’ I can’t process all the emotions flowing through me at the thought of using Grandad’s money, so I focus on my father instead, on how uncomfortable he looks. ‘Why do you look so worried?’
‘He left us the house, Leila.’
‘Oh. I … but I don’t …’ I founder. ‘But shouldn’t it go to Mum? Isn’t she his next of kin? I mean, unless …’ Covering my mouth with my hand, ‘Oh my God, do you think he thought she’s dead? Or did he know she was?’ I start to cry. Now I’ll never know her. No matter how angry I’ve been with her over the years, there’s always been a part of me hoping she’d come back. Hoping we could rebuild our relationship, make up for all the lost time. Imagining I’d finally get answers for why she left us the way she did.
‘Love, no! Stop.’ Coming around the table, he puts an arm around my shoulder. ‘Don’t cry. It isn’t that. He left a letter explaining he’s never known exactly where she was, and he’s never been sure if she’ll return, but this house is our home and he wants us to have it. I think he felt that because she walked away, she …’
Wiping my face, I ease away to look up into his face. ‘Forfeited the right?’
Re-taking his seat, he shrugs. ‘Something like that.’
‘So, what are we going to do? Why did you look so worried?’
‘I don’t find it easy to talk about my feelings—’
‘I know. You’re like him that way.’
‘But,’ he continues, ‘it is more rightly her house than mine. With him gone, I feel like a bit of an impostor. I always thought when he did eventually go, I’d move on.’
‘Have a fresh start, you mean? Is that what you want?’ I demand. He looks uncertain, so I play on it. ‘Well, I think you’re wrong. It’s your house as much as hers. Because of her, we lost our home, remember?’ Flinging my arms out, I gesture in the direction of the house down the street, the one I grew up in. Jake’s house now. ‘And you’re not an impostor; you’re my family and we’re still tied together. Plus, what will happen to the house if we say no? We can’t just leave it to get run down and neglected.’
‘Maybe so.’ Dad looks uneasy. ‘Anyway, we don’t have to make any decisions yet. We have some time to think.’ Pulling a long velvet navy box from the chair beside him, he places it on the table. ‘This is something else I wanted to show you. His medals.’
‘I’ve seen them before. He used to show them to me a lot, the first year we came back to live here. It was his way of showing me what true courage and honour meant, remember? When I was behaving like a ratty teenager and being up myself. You’ll impress me, young lady, when you’ve earned yourself a medal.’
Dad smiles at my imitation of Grandad, and I laugh softly in response, before it catches in my throat. I’ll never hear his voice again. ‘Why did you want to show them to me?’
‘He left them to Jake.’
‘Wh-what?’ I gasp. ‘But they were so precious to him.’
‘I think Jake was too, love. I’m not sure you’ve ever really understood it before, but they were friends. He mentioned Jake a few times when we came back, remember? And that day Jake left, when he was nearly sixteen and his dad manhandled him into the car, Ray was so upset.’
‘But I … I never really took it seriously. I mean, I did wonder why he was so concerned that day, but Jake was never around here visiting or anything.’
‘Before we moved back, he was, more often than not. He spent hours here. Then we returned, didn’t we?’
I feel guilty. If it’s true, then we pushed Jake out. Yet he’s never said anything or made me feel bad. Unless that’s why he called me spoilt that time on the beach? Maybe all along he felt I didn’t appreciate what I had in Dad and Grandad, when it was something he didn’t have himself. He said as much once. Did he used to come here to seek solace from his volatile dad? Hide away somewhere he felt safe? And then he lost it because of us. The thought makes me want to cry. Poor Jake.
‘But for the last four years, Jake’s been away from home,’ I exclaim. ‘They’ve hardly seen each other. If they were friends once then they’re not any more, surely?’
‘Love, think about how upset Jake was at the funeral. He created the picture for your grandad. He came in full dress and carried your grandad’s coffin. That’s not someone who’s a stranger. He’s as devastated about losing Ray as we are.’ He pauses, ‘I think Jake saw Ray as a surrogate dad or grandad.’
‘Really?’ Surely there’s no way Jake and Grandad could have been so close without me knowing. Is there?
‘I know you feel Jake was too involved at the funeral, Leila, but there’s something you should know.’
‘What?’ Leaning forward in my seat.
‘Jake didn’t come into the hospital with us that Sunday, when I came to get you on the beach. But he did follow us there, and he waited in the car until we left. He didn’t want to intrude on our private family time, but he wanted to say his own goodbye. When we left to come home, he went in and saw Ray.’
‘He did? How? He’s not family.’
‘I gave my permission.’
‘You did?’ I choke, the thought of Jake alone with his grief making me sad.
‘Yes. They had a special bond. It was the right thing to do. Why do you think I invited him to sit in the front pew with us?’
‘You did?’ My mouth drops open. I thought Jake was there for me and realise how much I’ve started to take his friendship for granted.
He shakes his head at me. ‘Maybe this will help you understand.’ Reaching down next to him, he brings up a plastic storage box, plopping it in the middle of the table next to the teapot. Opening the lid, he points at the contents, rows and rows of white envelopes. Their tops are sliced open, odd triangular bits of paper sticking up here and there where the flaps have torn unevenly. ‘Jake and Ray wrote letters to each other when Jake was away. These are the letters he sent your grandad. They’re private, but I think Ray would’ve been okay with you reading one, if it helps convince you of their friendship.’
Standing up, I peer in, running my fingers along the rows of paper, making a rippling sound. I see the censure on Dad’s face and feel ashamed. ‘Have I been really dim?’ I ask in a small voice.
‘You could never be that. I’ll leave you in peace to do some reading. Also, I didn’t want to upset you or leave you alone until you were ready, but a customer has pipes that need fixing. I need to go. See you later, love.’ As he heaves himself up from the table, he presses a kiss to my forehead. Idly, I stroke the nubby bit on the centre of Fleur’s glossy head and watch Dad walk away, realising he’s wearing one of his cotton work tops. He obviously feels it’s time to get on with things, and of course he’s been losing money by not working over the past two weeks. Such is the life of a self-employed plumber, with no holiday or sick pay. I curse myself for being so insensitive. Why don’t I notice what’s going on around me?
Sighing, I dig my fingers into the envelopes. ‘Okay, let’s see what we have here, Fleur.’ She gazes up at me before lifting her chin off my knee and loping over to the border to have a dig around for something interesting. As a beagle, her nose always rules her head. I smile ruefully and shake mine. Whatever happens, whatever crisis befalls us, life always carries on. Some things remain constant. There’s a comfort in that.
My phone beeps with a text message, but I ignore it. It’s probably Eloise, Shell, or Chloe checking up on me. Right now, Dad’s words, and finding out the truth, are far mor
e important. Sliding the folded paper out of the envelope, I settle back in my chair and start reading, the sun warming my skin.
May 2007
Dear Ray,
Hope you’re keeping well? Thanks for your last letter – it was a great read, and even greater to hear all about that twenty-pound Common Carp you caught. I’m jealous! Maybe next time I’m back on shore leave, we can go fishing together.
I know it’s been a while. We’ve been on a training exercise, which of course I can’t talk about, and things went to shit for a while when we had some unexpected company. But it’s done now, and afterwards we stopped off in a part of the Indian Ocean in need of extra security which had some pretty spectacular views, so it wasn’t all bad.
Being on a ship day after day feels more monotonous than being on land. At least on land, you get the change of scenery between work and home, or places you go to hang out or stretch your legs. The equivalent here is above deck versus below. It’s either the wind on your face or the rumble of engines vibrating through your stomach. You know what I’m talking about. I’m not complaining though. I enjoy the challenge of what we do, of never knowing what’s going to happen and what we’ll be faced with from one day to the next. The lads are great (when they’re not stealing my stuff and hiding it for a laugh) and hot bunking works okay unless some joker decides to spread jam on the sheets … Still, there’s a lot of mutual respect and I’m slowly getting to know the other guys. I was on officer training with some of them so it’s been good. At the end of the day, we’ve got each other’s backs. We must, because it’s part of the job, but also because it’s the right thing to do. If we don’t look out for each other, it could be the difference between life and death. It’s that simple, and that important. I know I don’t have to tell you of all people how proud I am to serve my country, because you’ve done it yourself. But I am. It’s also given me something I’ve never had before. A purpose. A passion. A family. Plus, something I’m finally good at. I’ll never be able to properly thank you for all the stories you told me as I was growing up. They changed me, giving me a perspective of the world I wouldn’t have had otherwise, showing me there were opportunities out there I never would have dreamt of.
The Last Charm: The most page-turning and emotional summer romance fiction of 2020! Page 12
