One Good Thing, page 27
Liv fell silent and Valentine sat for a moment, absorbing it all.
‘When we moved here, we didn’t talk much about what had happened in the past,’ he said finally. ‘It wasn’t a secret that we’d lost our daughter, but we didn’t feel the need to publicize it, either. When you asked me if she lived locally, I couldn’t bring myself to tell you the truth and, to be honest, I didn’t want to.’
For so long he’d kept this stuff hidden inside, but Liv was drawing it out of him.
‘That was Helen’s umbrella, you know. She said it was so bright and cheerful it always made her look forward to the rain. She was like that, always seeing the positives in everything.’
Liv smiled. ‘I’ll always be grateful to her. If I hadn’t seen it that day . . .’
She held his gaze across the table and Valentine thought how much she always made him feel seen, when for so long he’d felt invisible. ‘I was planning on going to the churchyard this afternoon—’ He broke off, unsure. He’d got so used to shouldering this alone.
‘Do you want some company? I need to stretch my legs, and Harry could do with a walk.’
The sun had really come out now and shone through the window.
‘Yes, I’d like that,’ he nodded, feeling its warmth. ‘I’d like that a lot.’
WhatsApp with Maya
Got my results! Straight As!!!!!!!!!
OMG!!!!!!
(See. I know how to text with a teenager. After six months of teaching Maya, she’s taught me a few things.)
Got my first choice of uni too –
going 2 Manchester 2 read law.
That’s amazing!
I couldn’t have done it without you!
Rubbish!
You did all the hard work
btw Liv
Yes?
I fucking love Heathcliff.
Snagging
I haven’t seen much of Ben since the building work finished at my house. He’s been busy working on the renovations at the village hall and although I’m now involved too, our paths don’t cross, as most of my work takes place at my kitchen table. The lovely old farmhouse table I spent ages hunting for, and which I’d imagined friends and family gathered around one day, is now permanently covered in paperwork. It’s less dinner party and more giant work desk.
Officially my new role started this week, and I’ve been busy doing lots of research into what the community wants and needs, from putting on plays and organizing cinema events, to after-school clubs, creative classes, local talks and Zumba. Evelyn was particularly insistent about Zumba.
‘Have you tried it? It’s very jolly, and good for the bones.’
When I admitted I hadn’t, she was adamant that I try it.
‘Oh, but you must! It used to be very popular with the older ladies. We had a marvellous instructor. Ronaldo from Colombia. I wonder if we could get him back?’
To which I replied that I’d look into it, though I can’t help wondering if it’s more Ronaldo from Colombia – rather than Zumba itself – that was very popular with the older ladies.
A couple of days ago one of my kitchen drawers started sticking and I also noticed a gap open up in a skirting board. And then last night the light switch in the bathroom stopped working. So I text Ben and he says he’ll try to come over for a couple of hours the next day, ‘to do some snagging’.
Snagging? What’s snagging?
I pretend I know what he’s talking about, then look it up, whereupon Google tells me it’s ‘the process of checking a new building for minor faults that need to be rectified. It is typically something damaged or broken.’
Which makes me realize that, according to that definition, I’ve spent most of my adult life ‘snagging’ my own self.
‘So, how’s it going?’
At lunchtime the next day I open the door to find Ben on my doorstep, his giant tool bag slung over his shoulder. For some reason I’d been expecting him after work and was therefore planning to change out of my work-from-homewear: Gone are the days of the smart work suits that I used to wear teaching; now it’s a shapeless T-shirt, no bra and a pair of old jeans that I’ve cut down into baggy shorts, and which are probably the most unflattering things known to mankind.
‘Good.’ I smile self-consciously, then remember I haven’t yet cleaned my teeth. ‘Oh, hi, Stanley.’
Emerging from behind his dad’s large frame, Stanley looks up at me, his face serious.
‘Where’s Harry?’
‘Pleased to see you too,’ I smile, exchanging a look with Ben.
‘Do you mind? With it being the school holidays, it’s a bit tricky with childcare . . .’
‘No, of course not,’ I say, ushering them both in and closing the door. I check myself in the mirror and quickly try to do something with my hair. It’s only Ben, but still, I’d rather not resemble a dandelion clock. ‘Though I’m afraid Harry’s not here at the moment.’
‘Has he gone swimming?’ asks Stanley.
‘Swimming?’
As we head into the kitchen, Ben puts down his tool bag while Stanley clambers onto a bar stool.
‘We just passed a few of Stanley’s old classmates heading to the river,’ explains Ben, looking up from inspecting the kitchen drawers. By his pained expression, it’s obvious Stanley wasn’t invited.
‘No, he’s gone for a walk with Valentine, but he should be back soon.’
Stanley stops spinning himself on the bar stool. He looks disappointed.
‘You know, last time I went swimming the river was freezing,’ I confide, pulling a face.
‘Probably helps if you wear a bathing costume.’ Ben raises an eyebrow and my cheeks flush as I’m suddenly reminded of him catching me skinny-dipping.
‘Right. OK, so who’s for cheese toasties?’
And, ducking my head into the fridge, I suddenly get very busy with a large block of farmhouse Cheddar and a wholemeal loaf.
As it turns out, I end up making rather more toasties than I envisaged, because not only does Valentine return with Harry – much to Stanley’s delight – but Maya turns up unannounced with a bunch of flowers, as a thank-you for helping her with her grades. It’s the first time I’ve had people, other than builders, in my new kitchen and as I quickly clear away my papers and put the flowers into a vase on the table, it feels almost like an impromptu house-warming.
Only with cups of tea, rather than prosecco; and with the host dressed not in a nice party dress, but in the first thing she found this morning, crumpled on the bedroom floor, and threw on. Still, at least I got to nip upstairs and put on a bra.
‘Thanks, love.’
I take a cup now to Valentine, who’s sitting in a deckchair in the garden. It’s late summer and everything is beginning to fade and slow. Behind him the deep blue booms of the hydrangea bushes are turning pale green, while bumble bees buzz drowsily. Stanley is flopped next to him on the bleached grass with Harry, listening to Valentine pointing out all the different birds. He looks fascinated.
‘None of them have ever used my bird feeder, though,’ I grumble, looking at it hanging in the tree, untouched.
‘They will.’
‘But it’s been months.’ Unconvinced, I pass him his mug of Tetley’s.
‘Maybe they’re scared,’ suggests Stanley, who’s taken off his ear defenders and has them resting around his neck. ‘New things can be scary.’
‘When they’re ready, they’ll come. You’ll see,’ reassures Valentine, raising his tea to his lips, before stopping to stare at it warily.
‘Sorry, it might be strong,’ I apologize. I know how particular Valentine is about his tea. It’s bad enough that I only have mugs; I daren’t even tell him it’s not loose-leaf. Turns out I don’t have to.
‘There’s something floating in it.’
Oh God, the teabag. I’ve forgotten to take it out. ‘Oh. Sorry! I was distracted . . . here, let me get a spoon.’
But before I’ve finished, Valentine gamely fishes it out with his fingers.
‘Don’t worry. It’s a smashing cup of tea.’
And, trying not to grimace, he takes an enthusiastic gulp.
I take the offending teabag back into the kitchen, where I find Maya at the Aga, making herself another cheese toastie in the frying pan.
‘Sorry, do you mind? I’m starving.’
‘No, go ahead.’ Marvelling at a teenage figure who can eat three toasted-cheese sandwiches and still look like that in a crop top, I begin clearing up a bit. Four adults, one child and a dog make a lot of mess. ‘So you must be over the moon about going to Manchester.’
She shrugs nonchalantly. ‘Yeah, well, the parentals are pleased.’ Taking her eyes off the pan, she shoots me a sideways look. I can tell she’s completely delighted, but is desperately playing it cool.
‘Have you told Will?’
She gives a little nod. ‘He’s stoked for me.’
‘So you two are still—’ I break off as Maya rolls her eyes at me.
‘We’re just friends, that’s all.’
Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes. ‘OK, whatever you say.’
‘Is that for me?’
Ben reappears from fixing the light switch in the bathroom, sniffing the air like a scent-hound.
‘I thought you were working on the village hall,’ says Maya, trying to barricade the frying pan as he makes a beeline for it.
‘I am.’
‘Ben popped round to do some snagging,’ I explain.
She starts laughing. ‘Excuse me?’
‘That’s with an s, not a sh,’ says Ben, looking amused.
For the second time that day I feel my cheeks redden and shoot Maya a look, but she responds with one of her wide-eyed, innocent ones and hands Ben the toasted sandwich.
‘Here you go – I’m not that hungry any more.’ Smiling serenely, she grabs her Diet Coke and goes outside into the garden to join Valentine and Stanley.
Leaving me alone with Ben, feeling oddly agitated.
‘Alone at last,’ he jokes, and I feel myself relax a bit.
‘Yes, it’s a bit mad, isn’t it? I didn’t expect everyone to show up at once.’
Grabbing a sponge, I begin wiping down surfaces, while Ben makes a start on the kitchen drawers. From the garden I hear laughter and see Valentine with Maya and Stanley. He’s telling some story and gesticulating wildly. I think back to the first day I saw him, sitting in the window of his bungalow. He’s unrecognizable now as that lonely old man. Stanley is too.
I watch Stanley now, giggling, his freckled face creased up, and remember the little boy who was too scared to come out from behind the garden gate. While Maya, so angry and misunderstood, is lying chilled out on the grass, laughing and listening and texting all at once. I still don’t know how she does that.
And then of course there’s Harry – in the middle of it all in his shiny fur coat, panting in the hot September sunshine, but refusing to move into the shade; pink tongue hanging out, bright eyes constantly on the lookout for the squirrel, ears continually cocked, and ready for tickles. Who would have thought that the old, scared bundle of scruff I first met in the rescue shelter could change everyone’s lives, mine included.
I’m distracted by the sound of the radio and turn back to look across at Ben. It’s actually rather nice to have him back, pottering around the house with his screwdriver and spirit level. I realize I’ve missed his presence, if not the mouldy teabags. Even his incessant whistling along to the radio, which he promptly retunes from Classic FM.
‘I didn’t know you were a classical-music buff.’
‘I’m not. I put it on for Harry.’
As soon as I say it, I know I shouldn’t have. Ben looks at me, his eyes flashing with amusement.
‘Harry listens to classical music?’
‘It helps him relax.’ I say, somewhat defensively.
‘You’ve got to be pulling my leg.’
‘It’s been proven to help calm dogs down, if you have to go out. There are studies, and everything.’
‘Interesting,’ he nods, and I feel a slight victory. ‘So was Harry listening to classical music the night I heard you yelling at your date in the pub then?’
He’s smirking at me.
‘It wasn’t a date,’ I protest, waving my sponge around. ‘Well, not that night, anyway . . . And I wasn’t yelling at him; I was yelling at Harry, trying to calm him down.’
Ben stops what he’s doing, folds his arms and leans back against the counter top, trying to keep a straight face.
‘And yes, he was listening to classical music that night. Chopin actually,’ I add, rather haughtily.
There’s a pause. At which point I stop waving the sponge and burst out laughing. Said out loud, it does all sound rather ridiculous.
Which gives Ben permission to start laughing too. And for a few moments we just stand there in my kitchen, facing each other, both cracking up. I look at him, his dark eyes creased up, his face so familiar. It feels so good to really belly-laugh – the kind that makes your sides ache. And I think how Ben’s the first man I’ve really laughed with since my divorce. Since long before my divorce actually, when I think about it. And then I stop laughing and he does, and there’s a pause when no one speaks, but it feels like there’s a lot going on.
‘You know, we never went for that drink.’ Ben speaks first.
‘No, we never did.’
I can hear everyone outside and I have the sense that we’re about to be interrupted and the moment will be gone, if we don’t grab it.
‘I’m free on Friday,’ I say. ‘In case you’re interested.’
Holding my gaze, he looks almost amused as he answers. ‘Seriously, Livvie, has it taken you this long to know I’m interested?’
Hey you,
So I think I might be in trouble. I’m going out for dinner with Ben. Yes, I know what you’re thinking. I’ve thought it too. But he’s different now. I’m different now. I’m not thirteen years old with a crush on a bad boy who’s going to break my heart.
And yet, I’m scared. Because while things might be different, what happens if the feelings are just the same?
x
A Different Kind of Doorstep Challenge
By the time Friday afternoon rolls around I’ve got butterflies about my evening with Ben. I’ve tried not to over-think it. To live in the moment. Go with the flow. Just have fun.
Oh, who am I kidding? I’ve totally over-thought it.
The ability to compartmentalize will never be part of my skill set, and I’ve lost count of the number of scenarios that have run through my head about how the evening is going to pan out. About how I want the evening to pan out. This is Ben. My builder. My Teenage Crush. My First Unrequited Love. My Widowed Neighbour. Talk about ‘it’s complicated’. There’s a lot going on there.
In the end I give up trying to untangle it all and pour myself a glass of wine instead. Not too large a glass, mind you. The aim is to calm my nerves and relax me, not get me drunk before he’s even arrived. Tipping a bit back into the bottle, I head upstairs to get ready. Ben’s booked a table at a rather fancy country hotel ten miles away that’s famous for its French restaurant. It’s a chance to get dressed up and, despite my nerves, I’m quite excited. Maya has offered to babysit both Stanley and Harry, and the plan is for Ben to pick me up at 7 p.m. and drop Harry off at his house. I glance at my watch. That gives me an hour and a half to pull it together. Plenty of time. Just.
So I’m taken aback when, in the middle of showering, I suddenly hear Harry barking and realize someone’s knocking at the door. Surely that’s not Ben already? I ignore it and carrying on rinsing out the conditioner on my hair, but Harry continues barking. And now I can hear my phone ringing. Irritation turns to worry. Someone is obviously desperate to get hold of me. Quickly turning off the shower, I grab my dressing gown and hurry downstairs. Whatever it is, it must be urgent.
‘Hang on, just coming.’
Calling out, I grab Harry’s collar and fling open the front door. I’m half expecting it to be Ben telling me that Maya can’t babysit and he’s going to have to cancel. Or, much worse, Valentine with bad news about Gisele.
‘Hello, Liv.’
It’s David.
Lost for words, I stare at him in disbelief. He is literally the last person I ever expected to see standing on my doorstep.
‘What on earth are you doing here?’ I finally find my voice.
‘Will gave me your address. Under duress, I might add.’
He shifts uncomfortably and pulls up his collar. I notice it’s raining. Next door new holidaymakers have arrived at the rental cottage and are unloading several children and a dog. They catch my eye and I nod hello and make some cheery comment about the weather.
This is surreal.
‘Well, aren’t you going to ask me in?’
I turn back to David, who’s woefully underdressed for the Yorkshire climate. He looks so out of place here, in his designer clothes and expensive shoes. I feel discombobulated. As if two worlds are colliding.
‘Why should I invite you in?’
‘I’ve been driving for seven hours.’
‘It’s only five and a half from London.’
‘The directions were wrong.’
‘You mean you got lost.’
Over his shoulder I notice a shiny silver Porsche parked outside my house.
‘Did you buy a new car?’
‘Yes, do you like it?’
‘A sports car and a young blonde fiancée,’ I quip, my voice dripping with sarcasm. ‘Did you get a tattoo as well?’
I know. I’m being horribly immature, but it’s all such a cliché. Michelle Obama’s famous phrase flicks through my mind: When they go low, we go high. I love that sentiment. Only, standing in my dressing gown, with a towel on my head and my cheating ex-husband on my doorstep, I have never felt less like Michelle Obama.
‘I heard you got a dog.’
