by Liz Eeles
Luna sits cross-legged on the carpet, with Caleb beside her, while Daniel sits down on the distressed-leather armchair that looks as if it’s been battered with a rolling pin, but probably cost a fortune. He looks good in the high-winged chair – like a devilishly handsome aristocrat with a penchant for vintage port and serving wenches. He nods at me and I smile back because we’re still being ever so polite to each other. Our paths haven’t crossed recently because I’m busy with Charter Day stuff and he’s been working overtime. It’s just as well, seeing as memories of our late night ‘moment’ are driving me nuts. Mostly, I’m shocked that I almost kissed a man who isn’t my husband and while my ongoing marital situation is far from clear that’s really not sensible. But – so deep down I hardly admit it, even to myself – I’m disappointed that I didn’t.
All in all, it’s best that we don’t spend too much time together until I’ve made up my mind about Malcolm and, if our split is going to be permanent, have found myself somewhere else to live.
‘Here you go,’ trills Millicent, coming back into the room with a china teapot, two floral teacups and a glass of orange juice on a tray. Her forehead creases into a frown when she spots Luna on the floor. ‘Wouldn’t you prefer to sit on a chair?’
Luna serenely folds her hands together in her lap. ‘No, thank you. I feel more earthed when I’m in contact with the ground. Do ley lines converge on your property, Millicent? I’m sensing some strong energies hereabouts.’
‘I have absolutely no idea.’ Millicent pours a cup of tea for Luna and Daniel, and hands the juice to Caleb, before taking a seat at her desk in the corner. The curved wooden desk holds only a large computer screen and a white keyboard.
She opens a blank Word document and places her fingers, ready, on the keys. ‘I’ll make notes as the discussion progresses.’
Everyone starts talking at once until I hold up my hand.
‘One at a time, people. Why don’t we go around the room and see what ideas we have for the parade.’
Some of the ideas put forward are great, some are a bit meh and a couple are downright bonkers. I don’t think Alan will go for Dick appointing himself King of Honeyford and walking through the town in fur-lined robes and a crown – not while he’s channelling King Henry. And Stanley’s punk suggestion is quickly shouted down. But the discussion is moving along nicely until the doorbell rings.
‘Who’s that?’ barks Millicent. ‘We’re not expecting anyone else, are we?’
I shake my head. ‘Becca’s keeping an eye on the shop for an hour and Callie said she was going out to a beauty spot for a picnic with Noah.’
‘They’re going up Crawford’s Tump so they can canoodle in the woods,’ says Stanley, fiddling with his new diamanté nose stud. ‘They can’t keep their hands off each other. It’s like me and my Moira – we were at it like rabbits at their age.’
‘Good grief. There are children present,’ murmurs Millicent, heading for the door. A few moments later, she’s back and shoots me an anxious glance. ‘Look who I found on my doorstep. He’s here for the meeting, apparently.’
When she steps aside, my heart sinks because the person she found was Malcolm. He strides into the room, looking rather red in the face.
‘There you are, Flora. I thought I’d better come and join you, seeing as I’m involved in Charter Day. I’m surprised you didn’t tell me about this meeting.’
‘I didn’t think you’d be interested because we’re only talking about the Charter Day parade. Do you want to take part in that?’
‘Good Lord, no,’ laughs Malcolm. ‘I’ll be far too busy organising hospitality for your VIP guest.’ He scans the room and his gaze hardens when he spots Daniel. ‘Aren’t you going to introduce me to everyone, Flora?’
I’d really rather not. But there’s no getting out of it.
‘This is Malcolm, my… um… my husband. And Malcolm, these are the members of The Cosy Kettle’s afternoon book club: Millicent, Phyllis, Stanley, Dick and Mary. You’ve already met Luna, who runs a shop near mine. This is Caleb, her grandson, and Daniel, her son.’
‘It’s good to meet you,’ says Daniel, leaning forward with his hand outstretched. With only the slightest of hesitations, Malcolm walks over and gives his hand a brief shake before settling into an empty chair nearby.
‘So how did you know I’d be here?’ I ask him.
‘That scared girl told me when I went into the shop. She said she’d text you. Anyway, carry on. Don’t let me interrupt you.’
Millicent goes back to her desk and starts tapping on her keyboard, and the discussion about the parade begins again. But the atmosphere in the room has changed. Malcolm and Daniel keep eyeing each other up, Luna is frowning as though she has a headache, and I feel queasy.
I delve into my handbag and pull out my mobile. Damn, I switched it to silent last night when I was reading a bedtime story to Caleb, and forgot to switch it back. He started dozing halfway through the chapter and I sat stroking his forehead until I was sure he was fast asleep. Yep, Becca did contact me. I tilt my phone, so there’s no chance of Malcolm seeing the screen, and open her text:
Problem! Malcolm came in shop. Wouldn’t leave till I said where you were. Think he might be on his way? Sorry x
A kiss! Becca must be really sorry. But it’s not her fault. Malcolm can be very persuasive when he wants to be. Though I’m still not really sure why he’s here. Is it to keep an eye on me, or on Daniel? Phyllis looks at the two men eyeballing each other across the room and gives me a thumbs up. What on earth will people think is going on?
With a sigh, I turn my attention back to the discussion. Stanley appears to be proposing that the book club dress in swimwear to walk through the town – I have no idea why – and Millicent is saying she’d rather die than get her legs out ‘for the masses’. Malcolm and Daniel sit in wary silence as the discussion continues, back and forth. And I’m so distracted I stay quiet too – until Dick and Stanley start bickering and I decide to take charge and bring things to a close.
‘Why don’t you all agree to do what Mary suggested and dress up as literary characters? That gives everyone a lot of scope, and it will link back to the book club.’
‘Can I be Elizabeth Bennet, in a bonnet?’ asks Phyllis.
‘Great idea! And Caleb, you could dress as Harry Potter or as a superhero. I can just imagine you as Superman.’
Caleb gives a gappy grin – he lost another tooth yesterday. ‘Can I be Spider-Man?’
‘Absolutely. You’ll look brilliant.’
Malcolm clears his throat. ‘Point of order – I’m not sure Spider-Man counts as a literary character. He’s mainly in films.’
‘And comics,’ says Daniel, leaning down to ruffle his son’s hair. ‘Flora’s right. You’ll make a fantastic Spider-Man.’
Malcolm glowers and folds his arms.
‘If films and comics are allowed, can I come as one of the Living Dead?’ yawns Mary. ‘With the bags under my eyes, I won’t need any make-up. What about you, Millicent? Who do you fancy being?’
Millicent thinks for a moment. ‘Possibly Jo March from Little Women or a classic Shakespearean character. Maybe Juliet, Rosalind or Viola.’
‘Or Lady Macbeth,’ murmurs Stanley, with a wink in my direction.
‘We’ll need a sign or a placard to walk behind, to say we’re from the book club and Luna’s place,’ chips in Dick, before Stanley can say any more.
Daniel raises his hand. ‘Dressing up’s not really my thing but I can make the sign, if you’d like. It’ll be good to do something practical for a change.’
‘You’re not normally a practical man, then, Daniel?’ says Malcolm. ‘That’s a shame. I’m very practical, particularly in the kitchen.’
Daniel sucks his bottom lip between his teeth and nods slowly. ‘Is that right?’
‘Absolutely. I could have been a professional chef but I was too busy being the boss.’
‘Shall we agree on the literary characters them
e then?’ I squeak, sliding forward and perching on the edge of my seat. Even without Luna’s special gifts, I can sense when a storm is brewing.
But Malcolm ignores me. ‘Do you have experience of running a business, Daniel?’
‘I’m a manager at the accountancy company where I work but I’m not in charge.’
‘Accountancy?’ Malcolm pulls a face. ‘That sounds really boring.’
‘It can be, at times,’ replies Daniel, in a calm, low voice. ‘But it pays the bills.’
Malcolm tuts sympathetically. ‘It must be awful to hate your job. But not everyone has the creativity and vision that’s needed to run a business. Leadership requires confidence and the courage to take risks, rather than just number crunching.’
OK, I’ve had enough of Malcolm’s willy-waving, or whatever he thinks he’s doing. I jump up and clap my hands together. Everyone turns to me, except Phyllis, who’s still staring at Malcolm and Daniel, with her mouth open.
‘We’d better not outstay our welcome now we’ve decided on a theme. Everyone decide which literary character you’d like to be, start working out your costumes, and we can finalise things at the next book club meeting. Daniel, if you could make us a sign that would be great. And I’ll speak to Alan and let him know what’s happening. Thank you so much, Millicent, for having us in your fabulous home.’
And with that, much to her surprise, I grab Millicent’s hand and give it a hearty shake. I hardly know what I’m doing, to be honest. I’m that flustered. Malcolm and Daniel in the same room totally messes with my mind and I can’t wait to escape.
A few hours later, I’m leaning on the fence at the bottom of Luna’s garden, watching the sun slide behind the hill, when I hear footsteps behind me. I know, without checking, that it’s Daniel.
‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’ he says.
‘Absolutely glorious.’
We stand side by side, necks cricked towards the sky which is on fire. Slashes of orange and gold are painted across the heavens, and it’s a comforting sight. Whatever happens to me, whatever I decide to do, the sun will come up and the sun will go down. And Starlight Cottage will bear witness to these fabulous displays of nature’s awesomeness. Luna must be rubbing off on me – I’m not usually so philosophical.
When I glance at Daniel, he tilts the glass of red wine in his hand towards me. ‘Do you fancy a sip?’
It feels like a peace offering after the awkwardness of the kiss that never was.
‘No, thanks. Is Caleb in bed?’
‘Yeah, Luna’s reading him a story. He said you read to him last night when he couldn’t sleep and you stroked his head, like his mum used to.’
‘I didn’t realise she did that.’
‘Every night. It was the only way Caleb would settle down. He’s a good lad now but he was a tiny terror back then.’
‘I find that hard to believe.’
‘No, really. I’ve had tantrums in Tesco, meltdowns at the zoo and a particularly embarrassing wetting-himself incident on a friend’s brand-new sofa.’
‘Oops.’
‘Oops, indeed. Our invitation to “call round any time” was swiftly rescinded.’
‘Bit harsh if he was only a little kid.’
‘That’s what I thought, but my friend was terribly house-proud at the time and childless. He’s got three kids under six now which I feel is divine retribution.’ He grins. ‘How do you think Caleb is now? He seems a bit happier to me.’
‘I think he is,’ I say, feeling awful that I can’t tell him any more. But I don’t want to break my promise to Caleb, who’s started nabbing me for a little chat about the boys at school. Though they’ve backed off a bit, they’re still making him miserable at times but he says that talking to me really helps. I hope it does.
‘I’ll bring him in at the weekend to choose some more bedtime books. Talking of which, how is Day of Desire selling?’
‘Like proverbial hotcakes.’
‘Really?’
‘People love it and the mystery surrounding April Devlin is just fuelling their interest. I’d really love to know who April really is. Or was,’ I say hopefully, just in case Daniel wants to leap in and tell me that it was Emma, after all. But if that’s the case, I don’t know why he’d want to keep it a secret. Unless it’s just too painful to talk about? Daniel’s expression gives nothing away and I don’t pursue the matter.
He takes another sip of wine and stares at the sky, which is already dimming. The sun has slipped behind the hill and the heavenly colours are fading to pastels.
‘Did Malcolm get off from Millicent’s all right?’ he asks, suddenly.
‘Yes, though I’m not quite sure why he bothered coming along in the first place. It was hardly worth him turning up.’
‘He wanted to see you.’
‘I guess so.’
‘And he’s helping you out on Charter Day, isn’t he?’
‘A little bit, but we could have discussed that on the phone. I didn’t think he’d be calling by unannounced, not now we’ve come to an arrangement.’
‘What sort of arrangement?’
‘He’s agreed to give me some breathing space in return for me making a definitive decision about what I’m going to do with the rest of my life by Charter Day.’
‘Ah, you’re on a countdown.’
Daniel swirls the ruby-red wine around his glass and takes a large swig.
‘So, what did you think of Malcolm when you met him this afternoon?’
It shouldn’t matter to me what Daniel thinks of my husband, but it does.
‘He was exactly as I imagined him to be.’
‘Which is?’
Daniel stares at me, as though weighing up whether I really want to know or not. Then, he shrugs. ‘Confident, successful, used to getting his own way…’ He scuffs his feet through the grass. ‘It was hard to tell, really, on such a short meeting. Hey, you’re shivering. Are you cold? Do you want to go in?’
I’m trying not to shiver but the temperature is dropping as the fields around us fade into gloom and night creeps in.
‘It’s suddenly got chilly but I’d like to stay out here a bit longer. I’ll grab my jacket in a minute.’
‘Here, have this.’ Daniel pulls his blue V-necked jumper over his head in one swift movement and holds it out to me. ‘I’m going in to give Caleb his good-night kiss so I don’t need it. And I don’t like to think of you being cold.’
The jumper’s soft, and I hug it to me as Daniel walks up the garden and disappears through the open kitchen door. The thin cashmere smells faintly of lemons and spices and the scent envelops me when I slip it over my head. Hugging my arms around my chest, I lean on the fence and watch as the hill fades to a black mound, then a dark shadow, and then to nothing at all.
Chapter Nineteen
Honeyford has gone Charter Day crazy. Bunting and fairy lights are strung up across the town, and people in the shop and café are talking about little else as plans for the celebrations become ever more elaborate.
At first, the parade was a simple march by locals along the High Street. But now it’s grown to include an array of floats and a samba band has been formed specially for the occasion. The evening barbecue has turned into a hog roast, and ‘a few fireworks’ in the Memorial Park has grown into a full-scale pyrotechnic display.
It’s going to be a fabulous day that does Honeyford proud – and S.R. Kinsley’s visit is the jewel in the crown, according to the posters that Alan’s plastered across the town. This is brilliant, but also terrifying. I’ve emailed Mr Kinsley to organise everything, and Becca’s had loads of entries for the bake-off, but I still feel wracked with nerves as Charter Day approaches.
It doesn’t help that the clock is ticking on my decision about Malcolm and I’m still not sure what to do. My mind changes depending on my rollercoaster confidence levels – when they’re high, I can imagine a life without him, but when they plummet, I crave the security and safety of what’s familiar. Even
if ‘familiar’ isn’t perfect.
So I distract myself by keeping busy and getting the shop and café ready. This includes ordering in a huge pile of S.R. Kinsley’s bestsellers, causing quite a buzz with customers, along with April’s book, which is more popular with every passing day.
‘I keep hearing good things about this,’ says a woman with long blonde hair a few days before the celebrations. She places a copy of Day of Desire on the counter in front of me, as I try to remember why I recognise her. Ah, she was one of the teachers with the children from Caleb’s school.
‘I’m sure you’ll enjoy it,’ I reply, ringing up the sale and placing the book in a paper bag. ‘Excuse me for asking but are you a teacher at Honeyford Vale Primary?’
‘I am. Was it the purple paint under my nails that gave me away? The children have been expressing themselves through art as part of our end-of-term celebrations and it got a bit messy. I’m Jemima, by the way.’
Jemima can’t be a day over twenty-one. Her poker-straight hair is secured on one side by a sparkly pink clip, and she has the wide, beaming smile and golden tan of a Californian beach babe. She looks like a presenter on children’s TV.
‘I’m Flora. It’s lovely to meet you.’
‘So you’re the woman who’s taken over from Ruben. I must say, you’ve got a fabulous array of children’s books in now. Ruben had a small selection but I’m not sure he wholly approved of youngsters being in his shop.’
‘I think Ruben was quite’ – I try to think of a diplomatic way of saying that Ruben was a curmudgeonly old dinosaur – ‘set in his ways. But I’m really keen to encourage children to read and enjoy the world of books. Actually, I know one of your pupils – Caleb Purfoot.’
Jemima tilts her head and blinks her bright blue eyes. Her teeth are perfectly, fabulously white. I can just picture her on telly, showing children what they can make with two cereal boxes, an old pair of trainers and an egg whisk.
