Always With Love (18 page)

‘Bye, girls. See you next week,’ I call after them, grabbing a round tray and heading to their table with a clean cloth.

Looking around the shop, I realize we are now on our own.

‘So, how are you finding being back here?’ I ask, piling up the dirty crockery on the tray that’s resting on my hip, before wiping down the top of the discarded table. ‘Wishing you’d never come back?’

‘Not at all. Enjoying it far more than I thought I would,’ he admits, his mouth slowly moving into a little smile as he looks around the room. ‘Actually,’ he adds, clicking his fingers as though a thought has just occurred to him. ‘I’m out playing football with some old school mates on Saturday, unless you need me here, of course. But do you fancy heading out for a bite to eat afterwards? The attached ones in our group are all running off home to their wives
or girlfriends, while the single ones are heading into London for a raucous one. To be honest, you’ll be giving me a good excuse to give it a miss.’

‘Sounds nice,’ I find myself laughing, not feeling like I need to give the offer much thought. ‘I’ll happily be your alibi. Only if you let me get dinner, though. I owe you one.’

‘You do?’

I raise an eyebrow in reply as I move past him with the loaded tray, walk it to the sink and drop the plates and cups into the soapy water. I quickly start to wash them before placing them on the side to drip dry.

‘Hmmm …’ Peter sounds dubious, clearly uncomfortable with the idea. ‘We’ll go Dutch. You can pay for me and I’ll pay for you. That way we’ll both feel like we’ve done something nice and generous.’

‘Deal,’ I laugh, smiling back at him, wiping my wet hands on my apron and walking around the counter and back into the main part of the shop.

‘I’ll pick you up at yours around seven, if that suits? We can just go somewhere local. Make it simple,’ he shrugs.

‘Great.’

‘I’d love an Indian actually. One thing I’ve missed is a proper curry. Is the one down The Hill still good?’

‘The Maharajah? That’s where we get our takeaways from,’ I admit.

Mum and me have had the tradition of indulgent Friday nights for some time, although now our dinner for two is more likely to be dinner for six, usually alternating between Indian and Chinese, which gives us plenty of meal options considering we’re only in a little village.

‘Fantastic. Well, we can go sit in and chat over a nice
bottle of Cobra,’ Peter says, licking his lips as though he can already taste the beer on them.

‘Lovely,’ I reply, catching myself looking down at his mouth and watching its movement. Something he awkwardly notices too.

‘I’m looking forward to it already,’ he smiles, getting to his feet and making to leave.

‘Oh! Your coat,’ I say, my cheeks going hot as I run to the clothes rack and grab the grey woolly item which is far heavier than it looks.

‘Thank you,’ he frowns, taking it from me. ‘I’d have felt ridiculous leaving without this again.’

‘It would’ve been another frosty morning on the platform,’ I say, with a roll of the eyes – something I’m still finding myself doing thanks to my recent trip and more time spent with the Buskins.

Peter purses his lips together, as though about to say more but thinking the better of it, before heading towards the door.

‘Well, cheers, Sophie,’ he says, clapping at the coat between his hands. ‘I’ll see you on Saturday.’

‘See you then,’ I say, turning back to wipe down the sink, rather than watching him leave.

Monday 28
^th
March 2016

Dear Billy,

I know it’s not actually my turn to write, but seeing as you organized my tickets over to see you I feel it’s only right that I send one and let you know how much I appreciated it – in case I’ve not told you (or shown you) enough already. Ha!

I know we’re weirdly back to where we were before in that we don’t know when we’ll be together again, but I feel refreshed after my Billy Buskin trip. ;-) I’m certainly happier than I was this time two weeks ago when I was missing you terribly and acting like a total misery guts.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m still missing you … I’ve just had a lovely top me up!

Ha!

I hope you’re having a wonderful time on set. How funny that Johnny is now in the movie with you. I bet you’re having a right laugh together. He seemed lovely at New Year. His wife must be pleased that he’s back at home with her and the children. Does he still have that ridiculous beard? I
HOPE NOT
.

I do feel sorry for the other actor getting appendicitis, though. Especially when it would’ve been his first major role in a Hollywood film. Poor thing. He must be gutted.

All is good here. The shop survived without me, which obviously I’m thrilled about, but can’t help but feel a little deflated at too. It’s only a minor niggling thought, but I guess I like to think it’s
ME
who keeps things afloat. It appears I don’t. Perhaps any old Tom, Dick or Harry can run a shop … or perhaps I should realize that it’s a good thing and that I can allow myself time off now and then. I think you’ll be more than supportive of that idea.

Rachel seemed to thrive with the added responsibility of being in charge. Colin said she was great. Peter also seemed to charm everyone, although I don’t think he was quite prepared for how much talking goes on here. Ha! We’re going to grab a bite to eat on Saturday in way of thanks.

When I got home tonight Mum told me she’s booked in ‘wedding dress’ shopping for next weekend. I have to say I’m quite excited, but not as much as Charlotte. She’s been drawing out lots of different designs, but they’re all of things her Princess Barbie doll might wear. Hopefully she won’t be too disappointed when she realizes Mum is going for something a bit simpler.

I hope you’re having a great week. Send everyone my love!

Love you,

Sophie xxx

‘Oh yeah,’ I say as I’m walking down the stairs and into the lounge, with the letter for Billy in my hand, waiting to be enveloped. ‘Peter came in today to pick up his coat. I didn’t know you and Colin both knew him before.’

‘I did?’ asks Mum, looking away from the TV screen with a blank expression on her face.

‘From the library. When he was at school.’

‘Oh gosh. I bet he’s changed since then.’

‘That’s what he said. Turns out he used to wash Colin’s car too.’

Mum starts laughing and holding on to her chest as though it’s the funniest thing she’s ever heard.

‘What?’

‘Poor Colin. I kept telling him to speak to you about it, as he was quite miffed that he couldn’t place him. I think he thought his memory was going.’

‘I think it’s rather that Peter has aged over twenty years since then!’

‘Oh, that’ll put his mind at rest,’ she sighs, calming down. ‘You should invite him for lunch one weekend. Might be nice for him to have a proper Sunday roast while he’s back.’

‘That’ll be great,’ I nod.

‘Maybe give him a call and ask when suits.’

‘Actually, we’re going out for dinner this Saturday. I can just mention it then.’

‘Oh?’ she asks, looking surprised.

‘It’s a thank you thing …’

‘Right …’

‘But maybe I’ll suggest next weekend?’

‘Yes, well … see if he fancies it,’ Mum says, looking like she’s deep in thought, and turning back to watch
EastEnders
.

As I head to the cupboard to pick up an envelope, an anxious feeling churns in my stomach. Something feels a little off kilter.

I try my best to quash it as I grab a pen and write out Billy’s all-too-familiar address.

‘And then Mum
goes storming into school, not caring that the other kids will think I’m a total wimp for having my mum fight my battles for me,’ Peter says, lowering his fork while shaking his head at the account and trying to stop himself from laughing as he gives it. ‘Well, she finds this bully and is literally so nice to him that she makes him cry.’

‘How?’ I ask, laughing at the flabbergasted look on his face and enjoying his stream of stories about my past best friend.

Tonight has been wonderful. We’ve eaten our weight in curry, poppadums and onion bhajis while talking nonstop. Laughing as we remember little moments long forgotten, our tales somehow helping to bring Molly back to life. I’ve loved hearing things I never knew about her. I know how easy it is to look back and mourn, but this feels more like we’re celebrating the woman she was and finding joy in all of her little idiosyncrasies that our grief might have clouded over and caused us to forget.

‘I don’t know how,’ he shrugs with a laugh, looking just as shocked as me. ‘I’ve no idea what was said, but the bully never bothered me ever again after that. In fact, he’d literally go out of his way to avoid being anywhere near me.’

‘Killing with kindness,’ I smile, thinking of how Molly used to love nurturing people to bring out their best
qualities. It’s hardly surprising she’d use that tactic against someone who was being mean to her son.

‘Yeah, both Mum and Dad were pretty special,’ he replies, smiling to himself as he recalls just how lucky he was.

‘So what made you move, then? How could you leave them?’ I ask, dipping another bit of naan bread into the sauce of my chicken tikka masala and placing it in my mouth before looking up at him.

It’s a question I often find myself considering and it’s more to do with me, my life, and my own decisions rather than Peter and his. After everything that happened when I was a child I never felt I could leave Mum and go off elsewhere. Like many teenagers, I had all these dreams of travelling and seeing the world, but then the reality of our situation, of Dad’s absence and Mum’s fragility, would hit me and I’d know I couldn’t be so carefree and careless. I couldn’t just leave her. She needed me. But now I wonder how I’d have felt leaving them behind if our lives had been simpler, more straightforward and less fractured.

‘They told me to,’ he says simply, his face neutral as he delivers the statement while looking straight at me. Our eyes remain locked in that way for a second or two – serious and brooding – before his expression softens, becoming more animated and colourful as he continues with an explanation. ‘They were lucky. They met in this village, fell in love and were happy, but they weren’t silly. They understood that things were different for our generation. That the world was a more accessible place for us and ready to be explored. They didn’t want me to feel stuck or like my wings were clipped.’

‘They wanted you to soar,’ I say, going along with his metaphor.

‘Precisely. So they set me free,’ he smiles, his hand swooping in the air between us and he makes a ‘swooshing’ sound with his mouth.

‘Didn’t you think about coming back after your dad died?’ I ask. It’s a personal question, one that perhaps shouldn’t be asked, seeing as I’ve only met him a handful of times, but there’s this air between us – this familiarity, this openness and honesty – that propels me to delve further, to understand why my dear friend Molly, a woman with a heart of gold, was left here on her own, without the two men that she loved more than anything.

‘I did,’ Peter replies, a momentary frown forming between his brows at the question, or maybe my assumption that he didn’t. ‘I came back and mourned with Mum for a bit … but then what? Death is the one thing we can be certain of. We all know that saying. It’s drummed into us so that we’re not afraid of the inevitable outcome we all face. However, Mum didn’t want my life and dreams to die along with Dad’s. She made it clear that each of us had already lost enough, but that I had a life to live, and, just like before, she wanted to release me back into the world.’ He pauses, lost in thought for a few moments. ‘It was tough. I didn’t just leave and forget,’ he mutters, almost to himself.

‘I’m sure you didn’t,’ I gasp, hoping that’s not what he thinks I’ve been getting at.

‘I knew she was happy. Eventually, anyway …’ He stops, rubbing his lips together as he mournfully looks to one side. ‘I told you when we met last year about how she
said the shop healed hearts,’ he continues, looking at me to see if I remember the conversation we’d had in my kitchen.

I nod to show I do.

‘Well, the first heart it healed was hers. Something that became even more apparent when
you
started working there. She had so much love for you. Right from day one. I might’ve been the bird she set free, but you were her little songbird. You lifted her heart. The shop gave her that. It gave her you. You were what she needed,’ he says, winking at me with a soft, warm smile.

A lump forms in my throat as I feel my eyes prickle.

‘Now, this is going to sound like a crazy pick-up line, and it’s not,’ he says, swiping his hand through the air between us, his eyes smiling across as me. ‘But now that I’ve met you I completely understand the effect you had on her. She loved you. I can see why.’

A grin warmly lifts on to my face. Hearing someone so close to Molly say those words makes my heart sing – although, obviously, his compliments also make me feel rather embarrassed too. I’m not used to having near-strangers say such lovely things about me.

‘She spoke about you a lot, too,’ I say, coughing the emotion away while attempting to take the focus of the conversation off me and give him comforting words back. I want to spread the feeling of Molly’s timeless, unwavering love that he’s shared with me.

‘Oh, I’ve no doubt she did,’ he laughs, the sentimental moment almost broken as his guffaw loudly rings out, causing other diners to look over from their dinners to see what was so funny. ‘I was her golden boy off travelling
the world. I know she’d have been telling anyone who’d listen all she could about what I was up to,’ he admits, taking enjoyment from what he’s saying, rather than seeming annoyed Molly had shared endless information about his adventures overseas. ‘That’s probably why they feel like they know me now, because they’ve been told so much.’

‘True … plus, you’re like her.’

‘I am?’ he asks, looking genuinely shocked to hear me say it.

‘So much so,’ I frown, surprised he can’t see it.

‘Glad to see travelling the globe hasn’t rid me of my roots,’ he chuckles, picking up his beer and taking a gulp as the waiter comes over and gathers up our empty plates. Something I’m thankful for as I should have stopped picking at what was left a long time ago. I’m now more than stuffed.

‘It really hasn’t. It’s astonishing,’ I gush, stopping myself from saying that part of me feels I’ve been with Molly all night. That would probably be a little strange for him to hear.

‘I’m glad you think so,’ he beams back.

‘I hope this isn’t too … harsh, or maybe intrusive,’ I begin, trying to find the right words for the question I’m longing to ask. ‘But did you ever regret your decision?’

‘There were moments,’ he nods, looking at me as he ponders what I’ve asked. ‘I’ll admit that much, but they came and went. They never clung on for too long. I always managed to see past them.’

‘Right …’ I say, wondering if that’s how I’d have felt if I’d plucked up the courage to just leave when I was younger and was toying with the idea. I’m dubious that
we’d have shared the same emotions. I don’t think anything would have made me get on that plane and fly away. My wings didn’t long to be spread. My heart had no desire to soar.

‘Well, that’s the tough reality when talking about regret,’ Peter says, his eyes narrowing and his face becoming serious and thoughtful once more. ‘I’ve always felt it’s better to regret something you did, rather than something you didn’t. “If only” is a turn of phrase I absolutely hate,’ he continues passionately. ‘Life is to be lived, so we have to go out and grab what we want. I know my parents agreed with that. They didn’t feel like I abandoned them. They gave me life, a mind of my own and a beating heart. So it wasn’t my role to be there by their side with no ambition of my own. My happiness gave them happiness, and all I hope is that my decisions made them proud.’

‘I’m sure they did,’ I say, knowing it to be true and feeling ridiculous for not being able to offer something more when he’s given a touching and intense speech. I wasn’t expecting to get such deep and profound answers from him, but then, thinking back to our previous conversations, this side of him does seem to pop up every now and then. He really isn’t the rough and rugged Aussie man he falsely bills himself as. There’s far more heart, warmth and compassion than he lets on. He is so much like Molly.

‘Funny thing is, I know Mum always hoped the right girl would come along and pin me down. But she knew timing was everything and that I’d have to be ready for it. I don’t think I realized that finding the right person would mean I didn’t feel pinned, or caged at all. That it would give me a whole new level of something else, rather than
just taking away what I thought was a necessity,’ he says, looking up at me and seeming to deflate. ‘My one big regret though – despite everything I’ve just said – is that I’ll never see her be grandma to my children. I mean, I’m single and incredibly far away from that right now. It is not on my radar. But, I wish I’d seen her in that role.’

‘She’d have loved it.’

‘Yeah …’

A silence descends as the thought lingers.

I picture Molly running around and playing with her grandchildren, making them laugh with her silly ways and giving them naughty little treats like she used to do with any young child who walked through the shop doors.

A heavy sadness fills my heart. Once more I’m hit by the unfairness of life. I wish it could have been a little kinder to the lady who had given so much.

I take my glass to my lips and have a sip of the beer Peter poured for me earlier. Until now it has gone untouched, but that was before the conversation took this unexpected turn. Now I feel in need of a swig of something stronger than water.

As I do so, Peter taps his thumb on the table.

‘So, LA was good?’ he asks, rehashing the question he asked earlier in the week.

‘Really good,’ I nod, realizing it’s the first time this evening that the chat between us has felt awkward and forced. ‘You ever been?’

‘Nope. Not yet. It was never a place that appealed to me,’ he says, shaking his head. ‘You going back?’

‘I think so. Well, I will at some point,’ I admit. ‘Just not sure when yet, though.’

‘Nice,’ Peter says, raising his eyebrows at me. ‘It must be difficult. Being so far away.’

‘It certainly makes things harder,’ I nod, smiling at the waiter as he hands me a dessert menu, even though I know I won’t be having one.

‘I couldn’t do it,’ Peter shares adamantly, his mouth screwing up at the thought as he looks around the restaurant. ‘But maybe that’s because I’m more selfish than you are. Or greedier. Call me crazy, but if I’m with someone I like to be
with
them, you know?’ he says, his eyes landing on mine.

‘Yeah … though sometimes life just isn’t that simple,’ I reason.

‘Ain’t never been a truer word spoken,’ Peter laughs, and the sound instantly lightens the mood once more.

As agreed, we go Dutch on the bill. However, Peter insists on walking me home even though I’m adamant that I don’t need a chaperone and that I feel completely safe on the streets of quiet Rosefont Hill.

Thankfully, the mood remains light and upbeat throughout our after-dinner coffees and during the short walk back to mine, leaving a friendly and warm atmosphere sitting between us.

Being out in this way, and not tucked up with a book on a Saturday night (or any night), is such a rarity for me. I think I surprised myself when I agreed to dinner without even thinking, but what’s surprised me even more is the fact that I’ve had such a lovely time. I would say I should let my guard down and do it more often, but it definitely has more to do with the actual company, rather
than me just getting out of the house and doing something different for a change. It makes me wonder if years of blocking out friendships has left a gaping hole … although I’ve never felt that way before, so why should one nice dinner with a friendly man, who I’d love to see more of, make me feel any different? It’s just nice to chat to someone so great (who isn’t a family member) and is actually here in the flesh rather than thousands of miles away in another time zone.

‘Oh, Mum asked whether you wanted to come over for a Sunday roast next week?’ I say, suddenly remembering her invite the other night. Even though it’s not been discussed since, I’m sure she’d still love to have him over.

‘I’ve been gagging for a home-cooked roast!’ he says hungrily, jumping on the offer with great enthusiasm.

‘That’s what she thought,’ I laugh, getting my keys out of my pocket as we walk up the familiar driveway. ‘Well, I’ll text you in the week and let you know the plans, but we usually eat around one o’clock.’

‘Sounds perfect,’ he grins, turning up the collar of his coat in an attempt to keep out the cold that’s been nibbling away at our skin the whole walk back.

‘Great. I’ll let her know,’ I say, sliding my key into the lock and feeling the heat radiate from our home as soon as I push the door open. ‘Thanks so much for tonight.’

‘Pleasure was all mine,’ he grins, shuffling away from me, walking backwards down the driveway with his hands wedged into his pockets. ‘I’ll see you next week, if not before.’

‘Get home safe,’ I sing.

‘Will do.’

He turns on his heels and heads off into the darkness.

As I close the door behind me, I pull my phone out of my pocket just in time to find Billy calling me.

‘Mr Buskin,’ I grin, feeling a gooeyness swirl inside me.

‘Miss May,’ he softly chortles, somehow sounding relieved.

‘What are you up to?’ I ask, locking the door before bending down to take off my boots.