“We were trying to be the Sugababes...”
He frowns, obviously unsure of the reference, and I am momentarily saddened to think that his generation has missed out on the glories of “Round Round” and “Push the Button.”
“Were you still living at home back then?” he asks quietly. He knows I left my family when I was very young, but little more than that. When he was younger, I know he accepted that reality, as kids do—but I also know that he is no longer a kid and has more questions than I am ready to answer. Especially now.
I just nod my head, staying silent, and he gets the message. I see a flicker of annoyance cross his face, see him manage it. I know I’m probably only delaying having to talk about it all, but I’ll settle for that today.
“So what’s this?” he says, pointing at a small pile of notepads covered in my loopy teenage handwriting, doodles and the ubiquitous love hearts enclosing the initials of my young heartthrobs.
“Ah, well—those are my early attempts at novels.”
“Novels? You? I mean, I know you love reading, but you’ve never mentioned writing before...”
He’s right, I haven’t. When I was younger, it was all I ever wanted to do. I wasn’t sure if I saw myself as a journalist or an author or a poet, but definitely something that involved words. I was always to be found scribbling away in those notepads, coming up with ideas, creating what I now see was very pretentiously written teenage drivel. I used to write love stories for my friends based on their favorite pop stars or actors or real-life crushes, filled with excruciating scenes about lingering glances and heated kisses.
“It was just a phase,” I say nonchalantly, “although I still wouldn’t mind being in the Sugababes.”
In truth, of course, all of those youthful hopes and dreams had to be abandoned when I became a mother. When I fellpregnant, it was all so romantic, so hopeful, so wrapped up with the way I felt about Rob, Charlie’s dad. I was swept away in some kind of juvenile fantasy that was utterly destroyed by the reality of having a newborn. Later, when I was alone, there was even less chance of finding the time or the space to write—it was a full-time job keeping us both alive and finding a way to support us. I had more important things to do than create some kind of fantasy world, and more important things to spend my money and time on than buying notepads and wasting hours on end achieving nothing at all. I probably would have missed it, but I didn’t have time.
I don’t say any of this to Charlie, though—I don’t ever want him to feel that he was in any way a mistake or a burden to me.
“I like this bit,” he says, grinning as he flicks through the pages. “It’s about someone called Nathan, looking up from his hoodie with menacing eyes...”
I laugh and grab the notepad from his hands. “Enough! There’s some X-rated stuff in there that will definitely make you sick in your mouth. How are you feeling now, anyway, love? I know this is all a lot to deal with.”
He shrugs and tucks a long strand of curls behind his ear. The boy needs a haircut. “Yeah. It is. It’s all really weird. A few days ago my biggest worry was waiting for my exam results and whether I’ll get the grades I need to go to uni. Now... well, actually, now I come to think of it, that’s still my biggest worry!”
“Really? Well, don’t worry. You’re going to smash it. And you’ll go off to London and become a leading expert on microbiology, and the world will rejoice!”
“Yeah. Maybe. I know that’s the plan anyway...”
“What do you mean, ‘the plan’? Is it not what you want?”
He does a good me impersonation at that point and just looks at me, staying silent. He shrugs, and that’s the end of it. I’m probably overreacting.
“But what about you?” he says, gesturing to the disaster zone in front of us. “What will you do next, if I’m off at uni?”
I have, of course, contemplated what my life will look like without Charlie. I’d assumed I would have to learn how to deal with long and lonely nights in the cottage—but at least I don’t have that to worry about anymore. I have no idea what life has in store for me and don’t want to add to any of his stress.
“I haven’t decided yet,” I reply, frowning. “It’s a bit of a coin toss between international espionage and resuming my old career as an ice dancing champion.”
“Or working at a carpet company?”
“No, that sounds too exciting.”
He laughs and takes the water bottle back from me. He doesn’t know about my job situation, and I don’t plan to enlighten him anytime soon. There are enough uncertainties in his life at the moment without adding anything else to the mix, and anyway, even I don’t know what will happen yet. Maybe it will all be okay—because everything has been going so swimmingly recently.
“Shall we pack in for the day?” I ask. “I’m pretty wiped out and I wouldn’t mind seeing if the launderette is open, or if the hotel can stick some of these clothes in the wash for me.”
“But why? Barb’s stuff really suits you. I especially liked that blouse with the lace collar and the built-in pink bow tie.”
“I rest my case... Come on, we’ll call in and see if Luke is in. He might well have fled the county by now.” We grab our bags and heave ourselves up and start the trek across the field. I see the donkeys are out, no worse for wear, and grazing in theirenclosure. One of them spots us approaching and lets out the world’s biggest bray, alerting the herd.
As we arrive at the motorhome, I see that Luke is most definitely in. To be precise, he is outside, manning a small barbecue, a table and chair set up in the shade of a green-and-white-striped extended awning. There is music playing, something soulful from the Motown era, and the whole scene is one of perfectly content domesticity.
Betty jumps up and gallops over to us, dashing around Charlie’s ankles and making yipping noises, apparently pleased to see us. Luke waves and shouts a greeting.
He’s wearing khaki combat shorts, the kind with big pockets, and a T-shirt that advertises a surf shack. He smiles, and his whole face changes. He’s not exactly handsome—he’s a little too weather-worn for that—but the smile is world-class. I am surprised by how much it affects me, that smile—the way it transforms him from the grumpy stranger he used to be to the Good Samaritan he has become. And, if I’m being totally honest, a pretty hot Good Samaritan.
