Losing Me (35 page)

Rob Truswell agreed that it was a huge ask. It was also out of the question. The council didn’t have the cash to spend on schemes that probably wouldn’t come to anything.

“OK . . . OK . . . What about students? Suppose I approached the London School of Architecture and perhaps the engineering department at one of the universities? Maybe some final-year students would be prepared to take it on.”

Rob Truswell said it was highly unlikely. “They’ll all be up to their eyes studying for their finals.”

Barbara decided she had nothing to lose. She e-mailed the relevant heads of department at both institutions. A week went by and she heard nothing. Then she started to receive e-mails from individual students, registering interest in the project and wanting to know more.

Barbara e-mailed back to say she’d decided to hold an informal explanatory meeting outside the community center and anybody who was interested in taking part in the project was welcome to come along.

She called Rob Truswell to invite him.

“But you can’t use students,” he said. “They don’t have professional qualifications. The council would never approve plans from unqualified people.”

“But they would if your architects and engineers had given them the once-over. They have professional qualifications.”

Rob Truswell sighed. “Maybe.”

“So will you come?”

“On the grounds that it will look a bit more official if I’m there?” he said.

“Sort of. Please?”

He said he would.

•   •   •

Half a dozen engineering and architecture students showed up. Barbara outlined her plan as best she could and explained what facilities would be needed. “The rest is up to you and your imaginations. But please don’t get too carried away. We need to keep the costs to a minimum.”

Barbara couldn’t believe how enthusiastic these kids were. They were full of ideas and questions and rough sketches. Rob Truswell asked them to submit their initial drawings and plans by the end of the month and that he, Barbara and the architects and engineers at the council would consider them all. “The person or group who wins the tender will be informed within a week or so.”

It wasn’t a hard decision to make. Most of the plans paid no heed to what Barbara had said about cost. They were full of mezzanine floors and all-weather play areas with fancy retracting roofs. An architect student called Hannah, working with her engineer boyfriend, came up with the winning design. It was nothing fancy. In fact, it wasn’t much more than a two-story box, but she’d thought about light and space and how one area connected to the next. She’d kept to the brief. Hannah and her boyfriend, James, couldn’t get over winning their first commission. Barbara couldn’t get over winning her first battle.

Jack provided her with costings and Barbara was able to write her proposal complete with plans and ECBs. She sent this—ahead of their meeting—to the head of the charity division at Jeremy’s bank, Mutual Chartered.

Because she knew what to expect, Barbara was even more nervous before this meeting, but even with her declining, postmenopausal memory, she managed to learn all the facts, figures and costs by heart. When she came away, she felt she’d done OK.

As usual, they said they would let her know.

•   •   •

Frank returned home one rainy Wednesday night. She was watching a rerun of
The Golden Girls.
The doorbell startled her. She looked at her watch. It was after ten. She assumed it was Ben. He must have lost his key. She opened the door without even bothering to look through the spy hole.

“Frank. What on earth are you doing here?”

“I sort of thought I still lived here,” he said, wearing his meek face.

“Of course you do. I didn’t mean it like that. I meant why are you here so late? And how come you didn’t you let yourself in?”

“I didn’t want to frighten you. . . . So can I come in?”

“Don’t be daft. Of course you can come in.”

He hung up his wet coat and they went into the kitchen. She asked him if he’d eaten.

“Chinese.”

“Ask a silly question . . .”

Frank sat down at the kitchen table and began fiddling with the pepper grinder. “So, the kids tell me you’ve started fund-raising for the new community center.”

“Yes. I’m pretty crap at it, though.” She told him what had happened when she went to Premier Star. “But I’m hoping I’ve got my act together since then. I’ve just had a meeting with Mutual Chartered.”

“And?”

“Oh, you know . . . the usual. They’ll let me know. I’m not holding my breath.” She paused. “By the way, the council have agreed to call it the Tiffany Butler Center. Troy’s going to be over the moon.”

“I bet he will.”

“If it ever happens,” Barbara said.

“It will. If anybody can make this thing happen, you can.”

She said she wished she had his confidence.

Neither of them spoke. In the end Barbara broke the silence. “So, Frank, have you come her for a particular reason?”

He stopped playing with the pepper grinder and looked at her. “I want to come home. I’ve missed you.”

“What you mean is you’ve missed me running around after you.”

“That’s not fair. I’ve really missed you. And I’ve been doing rather a lot of soul-searching. On top of that, I’ve had several lectures from the kids about my behavior over the last few decades.”

“The kids? I had no idea they’d spoken to you.”

“They’re pretty mad at me. Bar, you have no idea how much they adore you. To put it mildly, they think I’ve got a lot of groveling to do.”

“I don’t want you to grovel. It’s just that now we’re getting older and we don’t know how much time we’ve got left together. I want you to start putting some effort into this marriage.”

“Maybe it’s a generation thing, but it never really occurred to me that marriage requires effort. I sort of thought you got on with life and the relationship took care of itself.”

“Well, now you know that’s not how it works.”

“I do. Look, I know I can be a self-centered prick. But I want you to know how much I love you and that I’ve always loved you and that you’re the only person I can imagine growing old with.”

“I love you, too, but it won’t work if things don’t change.”

“OK . . . well . . . first I think we should spend more time together. You were right when you said we needed to reconnect. Now the weather’s warmer I thought we could take the odd weekend away. And I’ve also decided to stop looking for so many foreign stories. There are plenty over here to keep me occupied.”

“You are going to stop traveling?” Barbara said. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Not entirely, but I promise to cut back. I’m never going to be the perfect husband, but I will try harder to make you happy.”

“That’s all I ask. But are you sure you can do this?”

“I want to try. So can I come back?”

“It’s odd. I want to say yes, but I’m really scared.”

“What of?”

“That you’ll let me down again.”

“I won’t.”

She reached out and took his hand. “OK. You can come back, but only on the understanding that you keep to your word and work at this.”

He got up and put his arms around her. “I promise. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

He pulled away. “One thing I need to ask. I know you and this guy didn’t sleep together, but how serious was it?”

“Like I said, he listened. He was there for me when I needed a shoulder. But there’s something else.”

“Christ. What now?”

“You need to know who he is.”

“Why?”

“Because his company is helping to fund the new community center.”

“You’re kidding.”

She explained.

“I don’t get it. What on earth did you have in common with some mega-rich mogul?”

“He wasn’t like that. And that’s all I’m going to say.”

“So if you are going into business with him, that must mean you’re still in touch with him?”

“I’m not going to lie to you. I might need to speak to him from time to time, but he’s moving to Portugal. My main contact with the company is through his CEO, a chap named Stuart.

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

“I guess I have to take you at your word.”

“You do. I also want you to know that my relationship with Jack Dolan would never have gone further than it did.”

“Why?”

“Well, apart from me realizing that you didn’t deserve to have me cheat on you, he was still in love with his dead wife. On top of that, I would have struggled to fall in love with a man who played golf every day and was raring to embrace the life of a professional retiree. I think I would have come to find it deeply unsexy.”

“So am I to extrapolate from what you’ve just told me that I am very sexy?” He was already sidling up to her.

“Frank, don’t get carried away. Remember you still have groveling to do. . . . That said, would you like to come to bed?”

“I would. Very much.”

“But what about your pill?”

He grinned. “I took it before I left.”

A year later . . .

Dear Barbara—

I know we said we wouldn’t exchange e-mails, but I just had to drop you a line to say huge congratulations. Stuart, my CEO, just e-mailed me to say that you’d raised the first half million pounds and that building work is about to start. It’s a sensational achievement in such a short time, but I never doubted you could pull it off. If next year goes as well as this, you’ll have the center up and running in no time. So proud of you. More to the point, I hope you’re proud of you.

I’m loving Portugal. I ended up buying a villa in the Algarve. Great weather. Great golf. What more could a chap want?

My big news is that I’ve finally sold the Gloucestershire house. It wasn’t easy, and I’m not ashamed to admit that I shed more than a few tears. Like you said, the pain of losing Faye hasn’t gone away, but I’m learning to walk alongside it.

I might even start dating. Just between you and me, there’s a rather attractive widow I have my eye on. She’s another expat. We met at a golf club dinner a few weeks back and got along famously. Turns out she has the same handicap as me. I’ll keep you posted.

BTW, Sally told me that you and Frank are back together. I’m so glad. I hope all is well. I often think of you and the time we spent together. I will always have fond memories.

All my best and congratulations again.

—Jack

• • •

Jack! How wonderful to hear from you. So glad you’re enjoying Portugal and that you found the courage to sell the house. I know it must have been a wrench, but I’m sure it was for the best. And yes, do let me know what happens with your expat widow! I so hope that something comes of it. After everything you went through with Faye, you deserve some happiness.

Thank you for your kind words about my fund-raising efforts. And you’re so right—for the first time in my life, I am proud of me. To say this has been a mad, chaotic year would be putting it mildly. And let me say from the start that none of it could have happened without you. In fact, I was about to send you a thank-you e-mail, but I’ve been struggling to find the words to express my appreciation and gratitude. I will never forget your kindness and generosity, not to mention the faith you had in my harebrained scheme. I came to you with this crazy idea, and instead of laughing it out of court, you immediately agreed to help. I have no idea why you chose to believe in me, but I will always be in your debt. The only way I can hope to repay it is to keep working to make this project a success.

The fund-raising really kicked off after Mutual Chartered pledged twenty thousand pounds. I won’t say that finding sponsors hasn’t been a struggle, not to say a steep learning curve for me. First I had to get a website up and running. Then I took a course on how to use social media to raise money. You can follow me on Twitter if you like. I’ve become a prolific tweeter. Of course, I’m still not sure I really know what I’m doing, and even now I get nervous when I make a pitch to a bank or some huge multinational, but over the months it’s got easier. That’s not to say that I don’t spend nights awake worrying that I’m not up to the task and that I won’t be able to raise the next half million. But then I think about Tiffany and my stubbornness kicks in again.

Oh, and FYI, I’m also speaking to the head of Larkswood House about rolling out phase two of the project. I’ve already found a site about half a mile from Orchard Farm, which would be perfect for a small school for kids with special needs. By the way, Sally tells me Freddie is thriving at Larkswood after a bit of a rocky start. I get the impression that these days she and Jeremy are putting in much more of an effort with him. Long may it continue!

Troy and Lacie are doing well, too. Carole wanted to adopt them pretty much from the get-go, but her husband, Mike, took some convincing. Long story short, the adoption is due to be finalized in the next couple of months. Lacie is gorgeous and chatters away—especially to Dave the cat. She calls Carole and Mike “Mummy” and “Daddy.” Of course, she will have no memory of her real mum, which is desperately sad. But at the same time, Carole and Mike will be able to provide her with a stable home and a real future.

Because they live in the wrong zone, Troy had to change schools. He’s missing his friends, but he’s glad to be away from Orchard Farm. He says that going back to Jubilee would have brought back too many bad memories. The new school is giving him loads of extra help—as are Carole and Mike—and apparently he’s improving no end.

In other news, Ben is loving his stockbroking course. That said, now that he’s in a class of other aspiring brokers, he’s discovering he’s not quite the financial genius he thought he was. He’s also moved in with Katie, who yells at him when he doesn’t pick up his dirty laundry or help with the housework. I love her.

Jess and Matt sold the Green Door. They’re hoping to open a new deli in a busier location, where there’s more passing traffic. If that does well, they’ll be able to give up the catering side of the business, which will give them more time for each other and the children. All body parts crossed.

Frank moved back in round about when you left for Portugal. He’s more attentive than he used to be. We have date nights. We have the odd cheap weekend away. He does his best to listen more. But Frank will always be Frank—obsessed with his work—and I have to accept that.

I won’t pretend there aren’t times when I’m still lonely in my marriage. But I’ve stopped struggling. I’ve stopped fighting for perfection, which isn’t there to be had. I’ve realized in my old age that there’s a certain freedom in that.

My friend Jean continues in her own imperfect marriage. She’s just changed gigolos—again. They tend to say good-bye when they’ve saved enough money to pay their university fees or whatever. I think Jett is number six. She insists that this no-strings, extracurricular sex has saved her marriage. I still worry about one of these guys turning violent, or that her husband might find out, but she says she’s doing what she needs to do and that she intends to carry on until either her libido or the money runs out.

My mum is still an issue. But these days I don’t tell her much about what’s going on in my life. It’s a shame, but at least I’m not disappointed by her reaction. The more I pull back, the more I disengage, the less she upsets me. It’s hard work, but I’m getting there. And the other day she presented me with the single bootee she managed to knit before I was born. It’s truly awful—misshapen and full of dropped stitches, but I’ll always treasure it.

Despite all the angst and sleepless nights, the Orchard Farm project has been the making of me. What upsets me is that my happiness has been born out of such tragedy. At the beginning I also worried that there would be some hostility from the residents. I was scared that they would see me as this white middle-class do-gooder and hate me. But it hasn’t happened. Having worked at the local school, I got to know a lot of the parents, and I think they put in a good word for me with the rest.

Tomorrow is my sixtieth birthday, and to celebrate Frank’s taking me to Venice for a few days. The only downside is that I won’t get to check how the building work is coming along. I like to take a look every day. I kept telling Stuart that work shouldn’t get under way until I’ve raised the entire million pounds, but he seems to have faith in my fund-raising abilities. I’m guessing you put in a good word for me?

So today we’re unveiling the foundation stone of what will be known as the Tiffany Butler Center. Troy is tickled pink that it’s being named after his mum. I’m making a speech thanking all our sponsors. Naturally, Dolan’s is top of the list. Troy will do the actual unveiling. The mayor and the local press will be there. It’s all very exciting. I’ll text you some pictures. If anybody had told me a year ago that this was how I’d be spending the day before my sixtieth birthday, I would have laughed.

Once again, thank you for your friendship and all your support. I think of you, too, always with warmth and affection.

Take care. Enjoy the sunshine.

—Barbara

Barbara hit “send,” wiped away the tear that was trickling down her cheek and went into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. There were still a few minutes before she and Frank needed to leave for the unveiling ceremony. While the kettle was boiling, she checked her Facebook page. She’d posted her last status a few days ago:

There were now two hundred “likes,” seventy comments and thirty-nine shares. Jess had commented:
Yay! Go Mum!
Ben had said:
Oy, Mum, lend us a tenner.

Even Pam—who didn’t really approve of the poor—had gotten involved. She had rounded up her neighbors and was organizing a sponsored calamari-eating contest.
Men only, of course. Us girls are too busy watching our waistlines!

Barbara was still laughing at this when Frank appeared, asking if she thought he should wear a tie to the unveiling. She said maybe he should since the mayor and the local councilors were bound to be in ties.

“But I hate wearing ties.”

“OK, then, don’t.”

“No, I should. It’s a formal occasion and I don’t want to let you down.” He lifted his collar and laid the tie across the back of his neck. “By the way, I just wanted to tell you again how proud I am of what you’ve achieved. You are an astonishing woman.”

“I don’t know about that. And I’ve still got such a long way to go.”

“You’ll get there.”

“I hope so.”

“I know so.” Frank finished tying his tie and looked at his watch. “We should get going.”

“Be with you in sec,” Barbara said. “I just want to read the rest of these comments. People have been so generous with their time and money. I can’t believe it.”

“Well, you should believe it. You’re bloody good at persuading people to part with their cash. You’ve finally found your calling.”

“A bit late in the day, maybe. But yes, I think I probably have.”

She spooled through the comments. Meanwhile, on her sidebar, the Zuckerberg boy was trying to sell her a walk-in bath and she didn’t even notice.