by Jane Green
Jack looked skeptical. “We don’t all make mistakes like that. I don’t believe you would have kept that kind of a secret.” He paused. “And I don’t think my father would have either. I’m trying to understand but I can’t get there. I just feel so disappointed.”
Maggie set her knife and fork down and took another swig of wine, catching Topher’s eyes as he shot her a knowing look. She hadn’t wanted to tell Jack about Ben’s alcoholism. Of course in time she would have to, but she wanted to allow him to believe that his father was perfect, at least for a little while longer. But Ben wasn’t perfect. The constant lies he told every day were just as destructive as the one big secret Evvie had kept.
“Oh, Jack,” she said softly. “You don’t know the whole story.”
“I know enough of the story to know that she kept a secret that turned out to be far more damaging than if she had been honest. From everything you’ve told me, my father was amazing. She deprived me of not just a father, but of an incredible role model.”
Maggie sighed deeply. She couldn’t let this one slide, could no longer let Jack blame his mother, believing his father was perfect. “That’s not true, Jack. There’s more about your father I haven’t told you.”
Jack stopped eating. “What do you mean?”
And Maggie told him. She told him about the drinking, the ugly truth of the disease. She told him she didn’t blame Ben now, believed, finally, after all the reading that she had done, that he had a disease and he couldn’t help himself. She told Jack about how his father could be unreliable, would disappear, would hide bottles and drink when no one was watching. She told him about Ben passing out, and all the covering up she did.
She told Jack gently, without emotion, and when she finished, she took Jack’s hand in her own.
“I loved him, Jack. He was a wonderful man who was also deeply, deeply flawed. Like all of us, he had so much good, but he wasn’t all good. No one is, and you can’t keep blaming your mother while you put your father on a pedestal.”
Jack nodded, taking a deep breath, as if he couldn’t quite digest what Maggie had just told him.
“I think.” She turned to Topher. “I think perhaps it’s time for me to speak to Evvie.”
fifty-two
- 2019 -
Evvie was in the pub, working, astounded that she was managing to get on with her life, despite losing everything and everyone that mattered to her. No one here would know. She was able to leave her grief behind each time she stepped behind the bar. Bartending was a perfect distraction. The locals were all entranced by her, all buying her drinks at the end of the evening, seemingly amazed to have someone so glamorous working in their little pub.
Harry and Ruby were her favorite regulars. An older couple who had run an old-fashioned tearoom in Bruton for years called, naturally, Ye Olde Tea Roomes, they came to the pub every night, a glass of white wine for Ruby, a pint of lager for Harry. They sat at the corner table, holding hands, not talking much but always happy to be in each other’s company.
Harry came in by himself and sat at the bar, the first time Evvie had seen him without Ruby.
“Just a pint for you tonight, Harry? Where’s Ruby?”
Harry sighed. “She had a fall this morning. She’s fine, but a nasty gash on her leg. We spent the morning up at the hospital, and she’s got to keep her leg up for a couple of weeks.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that. Are you going to be okay at the tearoom? I know how hard she works. I could help out if you need it.”
“We’re going to close down. Ruby wanted to close it months ago but I wouldn’t, and now I feel terrible. We closed today.” He blinked, looking lost.
“Oh, Harry. I am so sorry.” Evvie laid her hand on his and squeezed it. “You can’t feel guilty. These things happen.”
“They do. I just wish she hadn’t hurt herself, but it’s clearly time for us to sell up. Ruby wants to do a round-the-world cruise for our fiftieth anniversary, so now she’s on the couch with a pile of brochures.”
“You’re selling the tearoom?” An idea started to form in Evvie’s mind. It wasn’t what she had originally planned, opening a café without Maggie, but maybe she could find another partner, raise the financing to do it herself.
Harry nodded. “I’ve got the agents coming round next week.”
Evvie had been to the tearooms, an old stone building, small in the front, but with a rabbit warren of rooms that stretched back to a small courtyard. The interior hadn’t been touched since the seventies: heavy dark beams, a swirling orange carpet, small round tables dotted around, and tea carts piled with cakes baked by Ruby that creaked their way slowly around the room from table to table.
The couple of times Evvie had been, once with Maggie, once with Topher, she couldn’t understand how the business kept going, other than the locals’ love and loyalty to Harry and Ruby. How she could transform it! Throw out the carpet, knock down the cheap partition walls. Add planking and skylights to the cheap 1970s addition at the rear, banquette seating along the side, French doors onto the courtyard.
“What do you think you’re going to ask, Harry?” Evvie struggled to keep her voice calm, excitement bubbling up inside her. “Because I’m interested. I’m very, very interested, and I’d love to talk further.”
Harry sat up, more alert than he had looked all evening. “If you mean what you’re saying, I’ll talk to Ruby.” He named the price they were thinking of, which seemed insanely huge to Evvie. She balked slightly, but took a breath. Topher would help her find the money, she was sure of it, and her motto had always been “Where there’s a will, there’s a way.”
“Are you still interested?” Harry peered at her and she nodded. “How about coming over and taking a look then? Sooner rather than later would be best.”
“How’s later this week?”
Harry nodded. “You just let me know. Do mornings work?”
Evvie nodded, leaving to go into the back room, where she wrapped her arms around herself and took some deep breaths. It would be perfect. It was exactly the space she and Maggie were looking for before . . . Well. Before.
She knew exactly what she would do with Ye Olde Tea Roomes to make it beautiful, and exactly what kind of food she would serve to bring people in. The tearoom would make a perfect breakfast joint. All she had to do was find the money, and she could do it, she thought. She always got what she wanted eventually. She just had to figure out how.
In her pocket, her cell phone vibrated. She pulled it out and looked at the text that had just come in.
I’m ready to talk. Can we meet for coffee tomorrow? The River House at 11?
It was from Maggie. “Thank you, God,” whispered Evvie, looking up toward the ceiling, and as she typed back a yes, a large smile appeared on her face.
fifty-three
- 2019 -
Evvie got to the River House first, unsure of what Maggie would say to her. For all she knew, Maggie could be putting the house on the market, could tell Evvie she needed to get the rest of her stuff out by the end of the week. She could tell her she never wanted to see her again, that their friendship was well and truly over.
But somehow she didn’t think so. Not that you can read anything into a text, but Evvie felt that Maggie’s text was gentle; she felt that Maggie had found a way to . . . if not forgive Evvie exactly, then to perhaps let bygones be bygones.
Or was that simply her own wishful thinking?
She liked that they were meeting on neutral territory, and in this cozy café, with its whitewashed stone walls and worn, wide-plank wood floors. Evvie took a seat by the window and ordered a flat white, drumming her fingers nervously on the table as she waited for Maggie to arrive.
The door opened and Maggie walked in, and Evvie’s first instinct was to rush over and hug her. Maggie was smiling ever so slightly, and Evvie felt a prick of tears—oh, but she h
ad missed her!
“Hi.” Maggie bustled over, slipping off her faux fur vest.
“You’re still rocking the trendy look then.” Evvie attempted levity.
“Topher won’t let me go back to what he calls frumpy country maid,” she said, and she laughed as Evvie started to relax.
Maggie ordered a cappuccino, then sank her chin in the palm of her hand, looking at Evvie.
“You look well. I’ve missed you. How’s the bartending going?”
“It’s going well. I’m surprised at how much I’m enjoying being out in the world. Everyone who comes in is lovely. It’s one of the nicest jobs I’ve ever had.”
“And the flat?”
“Pretty grotty. Did Topher tell you? Or . . . Jack?”
“Topher. I think he was ever so slightly horrified.” She took a breath. “I want to talk to you about Jack. Well, not just Jack, but us. Everything. I want to talk about everything.”
“Okay. Where do you want to start? I know Jack’s staying with you.”
“He is, and you understand why? You understand that I’m not trying to be a surrogate mother, but that he is desperate to know the other half of where he comes from. And . . .” She shrugged. “I love having him there. He’s so like the best parts of Ben. And you. I see so much of you in him as well.”
“Thank you, I think.”
“It’s a compliment. We were having supper the other night and I know he’s been pretty angry with you, which hasn’t been helped by the fact that he has clearly put his father on a pedestal. I didn’t want to speak ill of the dead, but it was wrong to let him carry on thinking that you are the one at fault when his father was perfect. So I told him about Ben’s other side. The alcoholism. The lies. I told him that none of us is perfect, that we are all doing the best we can, and that yes, you have made some huge mistakes, but so did his father. So did I.”
“Okay,” said Evvie. “Thank you. How did Jack take the news?”
“I suspect it was hard for him to hear, but it’s not right that he blames you completely for this. And I don’t think it’s right that I blame you completely for this either. Ben was amazing when sober, and made terrible decisions when he was drunk. I’m not saying I can forgive you completely, because you were equally culpable, but I’m trying. I want to try. I’ve been thinking about nothing else since Jack showed up, and the one thing I’ve realized is you don’t get to make these kinds of friendships at this stage of life unless you are very, very lucky. I don’t want to take a chance at making these kinds of friendships again. You and Topher have brought a happiness and contentment to my life that I didn’t think I’d ever have again, and now Jack . . .” She trailed off, smiling as she thought of Jack. “Jack has brought me peace. Getting to spend time with him has got rid of the bad memories and brought back so many of the good.”
Evvie was smiling as tears ran down her cheeks. “Does this mean we can still be friends?”
“I love you, Evvie. I always will, and I want us to try. Does that sound okay?”
“It does.” Evvie nodded. “It does.” And as the tears streamed down her face, she took Maggie’s hand gently, tentatively in her own. Maggie smiled and waited patiently as Evvie cried.
But eventually, Evvie took a deep breath and wiped her eyes. She looked at Maggie adoringly and said, “And now that we’re friends, will you come and see Ye Olde Tea Roomes with me?”
“Why? It’s not for sale, is it?”
“Not yet. The agents are going to see it next week. We could get in tomorrow morning. If you still want to?” She took Maggie’s hand again and looked at her.
Maggie took a sip of coffee as she thought, and then nodded. “No commitments,” she said. “But let’s look. Just for fun.”
fifty-four
- 2019 -
Topher was gathering up his things at the end of class. The others were going to the pub for a drink, but he couldn’t join them tonight. He promised Maggie and Evvie he’d help with the styling (he’d also done the painting, but, it transpired, painting was not a skill at which he particularly excelled).
There was a guest lecturer today, Roger Eaves, a well-known gardener who had a number of television shows and was currently hosting a gardening program on Radio 4. Topher was the only one who wasn’t terribly excited about him, only because he wasn’t a big television watcher, and he didn’t know who Roger Eaves was. The rest of the class—a mix of middle-aged women and retired men, with four very handsome younger men who Topher was somewhat fascinated by, even though they were all resolutely straight, with girlfriends and busy social lives—had spent the past week twittering with excitement about actually meeting Roger Eaves.
Roger had walked in this morning, terribly attractive, with thinning sandy blond hair and craggy, weather-beaten looks, and Topher had sat up a little straighter in his chair. Hel-lo, he thought. I wasn’t expecting this. And then: Might he bat for my team? he thought, for there was something about the way he moved, the way he spoke, and the way his gaze kept alighting on Topher, that was, Topher thought, curiouser and curiouser.
“Are you joining us at the pub?” Topher looked up to find Roger at his desk, the others all moving toward the door in a large crowd.
“I can’t,” Topher said regretfully. “I promised to help out a friend with something.” Damn, he thought. This was the first man who had stirred his interest in years, the first man who might actually, possibly, be interested in him, but Topher had no choice but to blow him off.
“That’s a pity. I know I’ve been teaching you all day but we haven’t been formally introduced. Roger Eaves. How do you do?” They shook hands as Topher introduced himself. “I can hear you’re American,” said Roger. “Are you here temporarily to do the course?”
Topher shook his head. “No. My parents lived here when I was young, so I went to university here, many, many lifetimes ago. My mother is living here again, and getting older, so I decided to follow her over.”
“You’re living with your mother?” Roger raised an eyebrow.
Topher laughed. “Most definitely not. She wouldn’t have me. Her social life is far too busy. What can I do?” He shrugged as Roger smiled.
“I know this may sound strange,” said Roger, “but there’s something terribly familiar about you. Is it possible that we would know each other from somewhere?”
Oh, I wish, thought Topher, realizing that Roger was becoming more and more attractive as he spoke. Topher shook his head before pausing. He didn’t usually mention this, certainly not over here where it meant nothing, but it was possible that Roger may have caught him in something, seen him on television.
Topher cast his mind back to his former life, a life he had rarely thought about since moving here. He started off phoning Dickie every day, just to check on him, but Dickie and Cookie were having such a good time, he rarely picked up the phone anymore. All those years with Dickie, and already it felt like it happened lifetimes ago.
“I used to be an actor. Maybe you’ve seen me in something? I was in a rather ghastly soap opera for years and years.”
“No.” Roger frowned and shook his head. “I don’t think that’s it.”
“The steam rooms on Houston in 1992?” Topher said, deliberately making a joke to see Roger’s reaction, to see if he was indeed batting for Topher’s team.
Roger gave a wry grin. “I wasn’t in New York in 1992, but I do remember those steam rooms.”
Yes! thought Topher. Score!
“I think it’s something to do with theater. Is that possible? Were you connected with theater?”
“I did a little off-Broadway but not anything I imagine you would have seen. Although I did have a long-term relationship with someone . . .”
Roger narrowed his eyes then smiled. “It wasn’t Benedict Burroughs, by any chance, was it?”
Topher started. “It was! Do you know him?
”
“I don’t know him but I have a great friend in New York, Cookie Kempson, who . . .”
“Oh my God! You know Cookie?”
Roger laughed. “We’re old friends. What a small world! I can’t believe our paths haven’t crossed given that you’re now living here. How have I not run into you at a dinner party, or a cocktail party? What on earth have you been doing socially, and if you haven’t been going out, why, may I ask, have you been hiding yourself under a stone?”
“I live with friends,” Topher said.
“Ah.” Roger nodded. “You’re in a long-term relationship. Still, you have to go out.”
“No,” Topher laughed. “I’m not in a relationship. I’m single. I do live with friends, but it’s been a bit all-consuming. Quite a bit of drama for a while there. Also, I had no idea where to go to meet . . . people like us. I looked online but the only thing I could find were LGBTQ meet-ups that looked like they might have been a bit sad and desperate. I couldn’t face it.”
“Funny boy. I wish we’d met earlier. I’m going to a dinner party tomorrow night in Frome. Lovely boys, David and Matthew. David’s a literary agent, and Matthew’s a choreographer. They’ve been up here for eons, and I think you’ll love them. Why don’t you come?”
“They won’t mind?”
“Absolutely not. The more the merrier.”
“This isn’t a date, is it?” Topher asked, with a grin and a frank gaze.
“Why, no! It’s just a dinner party,” said Roger, but he was smiling as he said it.
“That sounds wonderful.” Topher tried to contain his excitement at finally finding the people he’d been looking for, the people he didn’t even know existed here. Not that he didn’t love his old friends, but living with Maggie, and now Jack, had felt like living in a microcosm; it wasn’t real life, it wasn’t the real world. He adored the house, adored Maggie and Jack, and Evvie, but it would be even better if he had a circle of friends outside of them, a social life with other people! Frankly, he’d spent the last year wondering where all the gay men were.
