Hattie's Home for Broken Hearts: A heartwarming laugh out loud romantic comedy

by Tilly Tennant

‘So Dad’s still seeing patients?’ Hattie asked.

  Rupert tapped the side of his nose. ‘Not officially. He’ll only give informal advice if his friends ask, and we mustn’t say anything in case it gets back to the new woman – could cause all sorts of trouble.’

  ‘I understand. I’m not really surprised either – I suspected Dad wasn’t enjoying retirement much, even though he’d said for years he was going to take it as soon as he could.’

  ‘Sixty’s no age to retire these days, is it? You’re still in the prime of your life at sixty. He’s getting plenty of golf in though, so he’s keeping busy.’

  ‘Yes, so Mum tells me.’ Hattie smiled. ‘Why don’t you come through to the kitchen and have a cup of tea? I’m sure Mum and Dad won’t mind if you wait for them.’

  ‘Where have they gone?’

  Hattie paused. ‘That’s a very good question; I don’t actually know!’ It seemed ridiculous now that she wouldn’t have warned her parents that she was coming home, but it had been such an impulsive, sudden decision that she’d barely thought about it. Now, it seemed rather arrogant to have assumed that her return would just be OK with them, that they’d accommodate her regardless. But all she’d thought about when she’d booked her flight back to the UK was how much she wanted to be home. And perhaps a small part of her had been desperate to delay for as long as possible the conversation about why she was giving up a life in Paris, when it had been the subject of such a fierce fight before she’d gone to chase it.

  For the moment, she tried to push all this to the back of her mind and gave Rupert her brightest smile.

  ‘In that case, perhaps I’d better not,’ he said. ‘It’s not that I’m not enjoying your company, but there’s no telling how long they’ll be and Armstrong will want feeding.’

  Hattie blinked. ‘Armstrong?’

  ‘Oh, I’ve still got him.’ Rupert laughed. ‘He’s toothless and half deaf but I think he might be immortal.’

  ‘I don’t know about that, but I’m sure I’ve never heard of a cat as old as he must be now.’

  ‘Twenty-three,’ Rupert said proudly. ‘Give or take a few months because we were never quite sure how old he was when he came to us.’

  ‘Well, it must be a good life living with you. I ought to try it.’

  ‘Ho ho, you practically did live at our house when you were little – you and your sister. Kitty loved having you both over – God rest her soul.’

  ‘It’s nice of you to say so but I’m sure we must have made absolute nuisances of ourselves, turning up at all hours and expecting you to drop everything to entertain us.’

  ‘Never! We loved it. Kitty always said it was better than having our own children because we could send you back when we’d had enough.’ He chuckled. ‘Not that she’d ever have had enough. I think she would have adopted you both if Dr Rose had allowed it!’

  Hattie’s smile grew, but a small part of her thought that it was a good job she’d never known this fact when she was younger, because she might have campaigned quite vocally to put this arrangement into place. Not because she didn’t love her parents or appreciate the home they’d given her, but because at least then the years after Charlotte’s death wouldn’t have been characterised by the overwhelming sadness that had eclipsed all else. Perhaps, in Rupert and Kitty’s care, Hattie might have blossomed into the vibrant, individual flower she’d always felt she was meant to be instead of trying to grow into a shape that fitted the hole Charlotte had left behind. Perhaps she wouldn’t have been gripped by the compulsion to rebel in quite the same way, and perhaps she wouldn’t have dropped out of education or run off on a whim to Paris with a man twice her age. Perhaps she would have understood with more certainty where she fitted in the world and what she was capable of achieving. She’d had a lovely time in Paris, of course (until the last bit anyway), but she’d realised very soon after her arrival that the relationship that had taken her there had been a huge mistake and nobody – least of all Hattie – could argue with that.

  ‘I’ll pop back later,’ Rupert said, speaking into her thoughts, ‘when your parents are home. You’ll be staying for a few days more?’

  Hattie gave an uncertain nod. If her mum and dad would have her, she’d be staying for a lot longer than a few days, but she wasn’t sure how welcome she’d be to move back in when she thought about how hard she’d tried to persuade them that Paris was the right place for her. The phrase I told you so was bound to feature in conversation when they returned and found her there, and she’d have to bite her tongue when it did.

  ‘I expect so,’ she said.

  ‘Wonderful! I’ll look forward to hearing all about your adventures in Paris then! I can’t promise any fancy French wine if you pop round but I do have some bottles of bramble wine that I made last autumn.’

  ‘That sounds lovely.’ Hattie gave him a brief hug and a peck on a whiskery cheek. ‘I’ll look forward to that.’

  Rupert smiled affectionately. ‘You both were such sweet, polite little girls,’ he said, ‘you and your poor sister. Not many would spare time for an old man like me.’

  ‘I’ve always got time for you, Rupert,’ Hattie said.

  She saw him to the door and, with a final farewell, she watched him go and shut it again. Her sandwich was waiting in the kitchen, but somehow she wasn’t quite as hungry as she’d been when she’d made it. She walked back anyway, Charlotte smiling down at her from another row of photos on the wall. Hattie had returned to Gillypuddle to fix something, though she didn’t even really know what it was that needed fixing. She’d thought coming home would make everything better, but now she wasn’t quite so sure.

  Chapter Three

  Hattie was asleep on the conservatory sofa when the sound of a key turning in the lock of the front door woke her. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but the sun pouring in had been so warm and the cushions so plump and soft, and she’d been up so early that morning, and in the end, it had been so easy to drift off. She leapt up now, groggy and disorientated, and rushed to the entrance hall, where she found her parents inspecting her suitcases with a puzzled look. At the sound of footsteps, her mother looked around and broke into a broad smile.

  ‘Oh, how wonderful!’ she cried. ‘Why didn’t you warn us you were coming?’

  ‘I’d only just made up my mind for certain last night,’ Hattie said, rushing into her mother’s open arms. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t call ahead but…’

  ‘But what?’ Hattie’s father asked, offering a slightly stiffer, more formal hug.

  Hattie gave a vague shrug. ‘It was all a bit sudden really and I didn’t know how you’d react.’

  ‘You’re always welcome to visit us, any time,’ her mother said. ‘You know that. We hardly see you enough so we’re not going to complain about a lovely surprise like this. How long are you staying? More than a day or two, I hope?’

  ‘Maybe,’ Hattie began slowly. ‘How would you feel about me staying for good?’

  ‘Coming home?’ Hattie’s mum looked to her husband. Hattie caught the uncertainty and her dad’s answering frown.

  ‘So what’s happened?’ he asked, turning to Hattie now.

  ‘Nothing.’

  He raised his eyebrows and Hattie felt fourteen again, making excuses for the cigarette butt he’d found at the end of the garden.

  ‘I just decided that Paris is not for me after all. Not somewhere I want to live forever anyway.’

  ‘What about that job you were so determined was going to change your fortunes? You didn’t need a degree to be a success – that’s what you told us. All those years of school fees down the drain so you could run away from home and play at fashion designer and now you don’t even want to persevere doing that?’

  ‘I know I said that but…’ Hattie fell silent.

  ‘And what about this man you were supposed to have been madly in love with? That ended well too, didn’t it?’

  ‘Dad…’ Hattie’s jaw clamped so tightly it almost felt like it
would never open again. Didn’t her dad know how much it hurt when he brought Bertrand into the conversation? It made her feel silly and ashamed for the way things ended there, and surely her dad could see that? ‘I wasn’t madly in love with him,’ she said in a sulky tone that hid her real feelings. ‘And I’d rather not talk about it if you don’t mind.’

  ‘So now you’re home, what are your plans?’

  ‘Nigel…’ Hattie’s mum cut in, ‘perhaps we should have this conversation later?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because Hattie’s only just got here and I’m sure she’s tired after her journey.’

  ‘It’s OK, Mum. Dad’s right – I should have plans – but I’m afraid I don’t have a clue. There. I messed up in Paris – is that what you wanted to hear?’

  ‘Nobody’s accusing you of that,’ Hattie’s mum said, but Hattie shook her head.

  ‘It’s what you’re thinking.’

  ‘It’s what you think we ought to be thinking,’ her dad said, ‘but it wouldn’t make any difference if we were or not. Nobody’s ever been able to offer advice or the benefit of their wisdom to you without a fight and I’m not about to start trying again now. I expect you’ll do what you always do – exactly what you want. And when you’re bored you’ll fly off on the next breeze. Is that about right?’

  ‘I don’t fly off on the next breeze,’ Hattie returned sourly. ‘I went to Paris to chase a career.’

  ‘You went to chase a fantasy.’

  ‘It was a job.’

  ‘You’d have been better finishing your education.’

  ‘I have an education – a very good one, as you keep reminding me.’

  ‘An unfinished education. It’s a competitive world out there and the best jobs go to those with the best qualifications.’

  ‘Academia never suited me – I thought we’d established that.’

  ‘You couldn’t possibly have known that after only four months.’

  ‘It was enough. If I’d studied for four centuries I wouldn’t have liked it any better.’

  ‘It’s not about what you like and don’t like. Charlotte understood how important it was and she worked hard even when she didn’t want to. If she’d made it to her graduation…’

  His sentence tailed off and Hattie saw her mother’s gaze float to the row of photos on the wall. Everything always came back to Charlotte. If Charlotte had lived she would have become a consultant surgeon or a GP like her dad or something worthwhile. Charlotte would have been a success, not like her hopeless little sister who couldn’t even stay away from home and rebel with any degree of efficiency.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Hattie said quietly. ‘It was a mistake.’

  ‘I always said running off to France was a mistake.’

  ‘Not that,’ Hattie said. ‘I shouldn’t have come home.’

  ‘Of course you should!’ Hattie’s mother cut in.

  ‘But I’ve made Dad angry.’

  ‘I’m not angry,’ he said, and Hattie waited for him to add the usual: I’m just disappointed. Disappointed was what he’d always been in Hattie and why would that change now?

  ‘Please stay,’ her mother said.

  ‘Rhonda…’ Hattie’s father began, but she fired a warning look and this time he backed down.

  ‘I’ll get a job, I promise,’ Hattie said. ‘I wouldn’t be scrounging.’

  ‘Nobody said you would,’ Rhonda replied. ‘We can talk about your options over dinner. How does that sound?’

  Hattie hesitated. Exactly what options would these be? She wasn’t sure she had all that many left. Twenty-six and no real education to speak of apart from some very expensive school certificates, and a CV that was frankly embarrassing. And it wasn’t as if she was going to get a glowing reference from Alphonse in Paris any time soon, even if she dared to ask for one. But she looked into her mum’s dazzling green eyes, the ones Charlotte had inherited, while Hattie’s own were dull and brown like her dad’s, and she could see that her mother was desperate to help.

  ‘I’d like that,’ Hattie replied finally. ‘I’d appreciate any advice you could give me.’

  ‘But would you be willing to take it?’ Nigel asked.

  ‘I’d be willing to think about it,’ Hattie said. ‘Would that be enough?’

  He only frowned at her through his wire-framed glasses and offered no reply.

  ‘I’ll go and make up your old room,’ Rhonda said into the silence.

  ‘I’ll help.’ Hattie grabbed for the nearest suitcase and followed her mum up the stairs. She heard footsteps behind her and turned to see her dad bringing the other one.

  ‘Is this all you have?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It’s not much to show for two years in Paris.’

  ‘Well, the flat was furnished by the landlord and I didn’t see the point in bringing back anything that I didn’t really need.’

  ‘So what did you do with the things you didn’t need?’

  ‘I gave them to a homeless charity,’ Hattie huffed as she hauled her suitcase onto the landing at the top of the stairs and paused for breath. Her dad gave a nod of approval. At least she’d got that right if nothing else.

  ‘I’ll let you and your mother sort out the bedroom while I start dinner. We’re having salmon if you’re interested.’

  ‘Sounds lovely,’ Hattie replied absently, her gaze falling on a fresh row of childhood photos at the top of the stairs, the lion’s share once again of Charlotte. She couldn’t understand how, but she’d quite forgotten about this collection, though she’d seen them often enough over the years. The sight of them threw her. Her dad was right – if Charlotte had lived to be a hundred years old, she’d have never cocked up as often or as impressively as Hattie did.

  Chapter Four

  Hattie pushed her empty plate away. ‘That was so good! The best chefs in Paris can’t cook like you, Dad. Not that I got much of a chance to try out the best chefs on my wages…’

  Nigel nodded his thanks with a wry smile. ‘Do the best chefs in Paris have someone to clean up for them?’

  Hattie grinned. ‘I see what you did there… I’ll clear the table.’

  ‘I’ll help you,’ Rhonda said, finishing her wine.

  ‘Thanks, Mum.’

  Hattie began to collect up the dirty dishes with her mum. In the kitchen they stacked the dishwasher together.

  ‘It’s so lovely to have you home,’ Rhonda said.

  ‘Do you think Dad feels the same way? It didn’t seem like it at dinner. I know he wants to talk seriously about what I’m going to do now I’m back in England, but honestly, Mum, I just don’t think I’m ready yet.’

  ‘I know, darling. It doesn’t matter – when you’re ready.’

  ‘I don’t think Dad would agree with you there.’

  ‘He does. Oh, don’t listen to him… you know what he’s like. He’s spent too many years calling the shots in his career – it’s hard for him when something is out of his control.’

  ‘Something like me?’

  ‘He really does only want what’s best for you. That’s all he’s ever wanted for his children.’

  ‘I know. And Charlotte would have listened to him too.’

  ‘You’re not incapable of listening.’

  ‘The trouble is, I can listen but I can’t always agree. I can’t help that I’m not the same as you and Dad.’

  ‘That’s not what we’re asking of you; we don’t want a carbon copy. We realise that you might have different hopes and aspirations to those we might have for you. We realised that a long time ago, but it doesn’t stop us from sometimes thinking you’re making a mistake and wanting to do something about it.’

  ‘Even if they’re mistakes, they’re my mistakes and I want to be able to make them. I’m twenty-six, Mum. I’m not your little girl anymore.’

  ‘You’ll always be our little girl, no matter how old you are.’ Rhonda’s smile was melancholy and Hattie guessed that she might be thinking about her
other little girl, the one who would never grow up and never be able to make mistakes now.

  ‘Thanks, Mum,’ Hattie said. ‘I appreciate that.’

  ‘So…’ Rhonda said in an obvious attempt to banish the gloom that had settled over the kitchen. ‘What are you planning to do now you’re home? Don’t worry, I’m talking in the short term here, nothing more.’

  ‘Apart from sleep for a week?’ Hattie smiled. ‘I suppose I’ll need a job.’

  ‘In Gillypuddle? I think you’ll find your options rather limited. I imagine you’ll have to look further afield if you want something above minimum wage.’

  ‘For now, I’ll take minimum wage if I have to. As long as it allows me to give you and Dad a little.’

  ‘We don’t need money and we don’t care if you contribute to the house or not.’

  ‘It’s the principle, Mum.’

  ‘But we wouldn’t have you slogging your guts out in some horrible job just to give us money.’

  ‘I think Dad might see it as a matter of principle too. Or at least pride. I don’t think he would be able to hold his head high at the golf club if his loser daughter was scrounging from him.’

  ‘You wouldn’t be scrounging,’ Rhonda said, though Hattie thought that, privately, her mum probably agreed with her. Hattie’s dad had always been big on image and social standing.

  ‘Well, regardless, it might have to be a minimum-wage job considering my qualifications and recent work record.’

  ‘You had a perfectly good job.’

  ‘Maybe, but I don’t suppose a casual working arrangement with a temperamental Frenchman is going to count for much back here in England and I don’t think Alphonse will be too forward with the references either.’

  ‘So…’ Rhonda wiped her hands on a dishcloth and reached for the washing tablets from the cupboard. ‘Are you going to tell me what really happened in Paris?’

  Hattie held up a serving dish. ‘Do you maybe want to rinse this before I put it in the dishwasher?’

  ‘Hattie…’ Rhonda said sternly.

  Hattie put the dish in the sink with a heavy sigh.