Summer Season (25 page)

Joel didn’t look at Kezzie, but stared into the gathering darkness. Its warmth gathered him up and enveloped him. Somehow it was easier to talk if he just imagined no one was listening.

‘I don’t know where to start, really,’ he said. ‘It’s just, what you’ve done here. It’s what I wanted to do for Claire, and she never really got it.’

‘Why not?’

‘Well, I can see it now of course. This was my dream, not hers.’ Joel could see all too clearly now that Claire had never really wanted to come to Lovelace Cottage; she had only done it to keep him happy. If she hadn’t died, maybe he would have changed her mind, but for the time she was here, she hated it. ‘Plus, she was caught up with a small baby while I was working all hours. And when I was home, I was either doing DIY or digging up the garden. And when we moved in the house was such a mess. It was so dark and gloomy. Claire hated it, and I couldn’t persuade her it had potential.’

‘And …’

‘That’s it, really,’ said Joel. ‘I completely shut her out of what I was trying to do. I thought she didn’t care and was being unsupportive. Looking back, I can see it was the other way round. There she was with a tiny baby. She needed me and I let her down.’

‘She may not have thought that.’

‘Oh, but she did.’ Joel looked up at Kezzie, his eyes filled with pain. He remembered the fierce, bitter rows when Claire accused him of caring more about the house than her and the baby, and he – to his shame – had told her that she loved Sam more than she did him. ‘We argued about it all the time. And I kept promising to make it up to her. And of course I never did. It seems bloody pathetic now, but I was jealous of her relationship with Sam. I hated coming home. I felt shut out and excluded.

‘One night I’d promised I’d be home early from work but I never made it. I ended up going for a drink and got home later than I intended. Claire was furious. She’d cooked me a lovely meal, and I’d gone and ruined everything. We rowed. She went to bed. I drank myself into a stupor. And in the morning …’

‘You couldn’t have known what would happen,’ said Kezzie, holding out her hand to him. ‘You shouldn’t beat yourself up about it.’

‘It was worse than that,’ Joel swallowed hard. ‘You see there was a girl at work …’

He remembered it all so clearly. Fi Tatton had been a serial flirt. And rumour had it she had shagged nearly every man in the building. Joel was one of the few notches left unmarked on her bedpost, apparently. She’d made no secret of the way she felt about him, and the fact that he was married hadn’t seemed to bother her. Normally he avoided her like the plague, but that night, despite having promised Claire he’d be home early, he’d been persuaded to go for a drink after work. ‘After all,’ Fi had said, putting her arm in his and leaning in too close, ‘what harm can one drink do?’

Rewind. If only he could rewind. So that night he’d come home on time, and they’d had the evening Claire wanted. Instead, every time he thought about her, he remembered
not the good things: not the way she looked as she laughed, or the smell of her perfume, or the way she flicked her fair hair back, but the disappointment in her eyes and the knowledge that he had let her down.

‘So what happened?’ prompted Kezzie.

‘I went to the pub, and of course I didn’t stay for one drink, but several,’ said Joel. ‘And one thing led to another …’

He’d looked at his watch, seen the time, and gone out to grab a taxi, cursing himself because he’d have to come back for the car the next day. He knew he’d had too much to drink, and he’d spent the evening trying to avoid Fi’s less than subtle attempts to make a move on him. And then there she was, standing outside the pub with him while he waited for the cab he’d rung. He burned with shame when he remembered their passionate kisses; the way he’d thrown caution to the wind knowing Claire was going to be cross anyway, and imagining they had a whole lifetime to sort things out.

‘Oh God,’ said Kezzie, instinctively putting her hands on his. ‘Joel, I’m so sorry.’

‘So you see,’ said Joel, his voice ragged. ‘Now you know. I was a lousy husband and a lousy dad.’

‘Now stop right there,’ said Kezzie. ‘That’s ridiculous. Yes, you were crap at being a dad at first – but how old was Sam?’

‘Five months,’ said Joel.

‘And look at the two of you now,’ she said. ‘One thing you most definitely
aren’t
is a lousy dad.’

‘But I was a lousy husband. Claire deserved so much more.’ Joel put his head in his hands. ‘I don’t think she guessed what an idiot I’d been, but it haunts me, you know. The last night of her life, when I could have been at home with her, and I spent part of it kissing a stranger. I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself.’

‘Joel, I think you’re being too hard on yourself,’ said Kezzie baldly. ‘Yes, you were wrong to do what you did, but you loved Claire, right?’

‘Of course, with all my heart.’

‘What would have happened in the normal course of events?’

‘I’d have woken up, felt like a heel, and made it up to her,’ said Joel.

‘But you never got the chance,’ said Kezzie. ‘You behaved very badly on one night of your life. You made a hideous mistake. But you couldn’t have known that Claire was going to die. If she’d lived, by now that would all have been forgiven and forgotten. I presume she loved you, too?’

‘I think so,’ said Joel. ‘Though God knows I didn’t deserve it.’

‘Then I’m thinking, if she were still here she wouldn’t want you to beat yourself up like this,’ said Kezzie. ‘You didn’t know she was ill. You thought you had all the time in the world. But you didn’t. You made a stupid mistake, which you regret, and you never got the chance to kiss and make up. You got a rotten throw of the dice. I think you should cut yourself some slack.’

‘Easier said than done,’ said Joel, with a sigh. ‘I just wish I could take that night back and replay it differently. At least then I’d know she hadn’t died hating me.’

‘I’m sure she didn’t hate you,’ said Kezzie, touching his arm gently.

‘Are you?’ said Joel. ‘I’m not. But what’s done is done. I can’t turn the clock back now, and I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.’

Lauren was sipping a glass of wine and contemplating the sunset, waiting for Troy. The girls had gone to bed, neither of them had to work in the pub, and she was looking
forward to an evening with just the two of them. It still felt wonderful to even think about it. Lauren had offered to cook a meal, but Troy had suggested a takeaway, ‘Save you working so hard, babe.’ So here she was, sitting in the evening sunshine, in anticipation of him returning home soon. She felt like a schoolgirl on her first date.

The sun dipped over the horizon, sending lengthening shadows across the garden. In the darkening blue sky above, two bats flitted and flipped above her head. She heard the soft cooing of wood pigeons in the trees, and the cry of baby foxes in the woods at the end of her garden. Bloody things were a menace. She’d tried to persuade Troy not to feed them, but he thought they were cute.

After half an hour, Lauren was getting bored. Troy had been gone ages. She was about to text him when the phone rang. The sounds of busy chat filled her ears, and then she could just make out Troy shouting, ‘Loz! Can you hear me?’

‘Yes,’ said Lauren, ‘they can probably hear you in Chiverton.’

‘I’m in the pub.’

‘I gathered,’ Lauren said, between gritted teeth. Try not to lose your rag straight away, she told herself, there might be a reasonable explanation.

‘I’ve got to wait for the takeaway, so I just popped in for one.’

‘So long as it is only one.’ Lauren was cross, but still prepared to give him the benefit of the doubt.

‘It will be, babes. Don’t you trust me?’

‘Of course I do,’ said Lauren, somewhat reluctantly.

‘I won’t be long, I promise,’ said Troy. ‘Love you.’

‘Love you too,’ said Lauren, and put the phone down slowly. She still felt angry. Her plans for the evening hadn’t included waiting in for Troy, but maybe she was overreacting. If he had to wait for the takeaway, it did make sense to go
and have a beer. So long as it was only one. She was probably making a fuss about nothing. He’d be home soon.

Lauren picked up her wine glass and went inside. She turned the TV on; there was no point sitting in a dark, cooling garden on her own. Being summer, there wasn’t anything particularly interesting on TV. Sighing with frustration, she turned to her ancient computer, which sat on a table in the corner of the lounge, and started looking online for cupcake cases for the cake stall she was running at the Summer Fest. She may as well do something useful while she was waiting.

Half an hour later the key turned in the lock. By this time, much to her surprise, Lauren had consumed the best part of a bottle of wine. Oops. She was also very cross and very hungry.

‘Just one more?’ she said angrily. ‘I’ve never known the Balti House to take so long to prepare a curry.’

‘God, I might have known,’ said Troy. ‘I went to the pub for
one
drink, like I said. They were busy at the Balti, I told you. Christ, it hasn’t taken long for the nagging to start.’

‘Oh come on, Troy,’ said Lauren, incensed by the use of the word nagging. ‘I was planning a lovely evening in and you go off to the pub for nearly two hours while I’m sitting here on my own feeling like a lemon. I think I’ve a right to be cross.’

‘Give over will you,’ said Troy. ‘Here’s your bloody curry.’ He slammed it on the coffee table, and stormed out into the kitchen and banged open cupboard doors noisily.

Great. That was her romantic evening out of the window. Lauren was aware of the patter of footsteps. Immie was coming sleepily down the stairs sucking her thumb, and holding her favourite teddy.

‘Mummy, are you all right?’ she said, her little face crumpled in concern, ‘only you were shouting.’

Oh lord. Lauren remembered how much she’d hated the arguments between her parents growing up. They’d had a fiery relationship, which ended in divorce when Lauren was seven, and Lauren had always hated to hear them shout at each other. She’d always vowed never to put her children through the same.

‘No, everything’s fine, sweetie,’ she said. ‘Daddy and I were just having a little chat that got a bit loud. Everything’s fine, isn’t it, Daddy?’

She mouthed: ‘Say yes,’ to Troy, who had just come in with plates and a bottle of wine.

‘Of course it is, darling,’ said Troy. ‘Here, give us a kiss, and then Mummy will take you back to bed.’

Lauren took Immie back upstairs and tucked her in. When she came back downstairs, Troy had opened the wine, put out the takeaway on trays and got a DVD ready for them to watch. He
had
been gone longer than she’d thought he’d be, but at least he was here now.

‘Sorry,’ she said, reaching for his hand. ‘I’m just grumpy and hungry. And I missed you.’

‘That’s OK,’ said Troy. ‘Honestly, I really didn’t have that much to drink. Come on, let’s tuck in. I’m starving.’

Argument swiftly averted, Lauren sat down next to him on the sofa and started to eat her curry. The DVD Troy had chosen from the cheap rack at Macey’s, turned out to be a violent thriller, which he assured her was a classic of its genre, before crashing out on the sofa. Sighing, Lauren cleared up after him, poked him till he got moving, and then pushed him up the stairs to bed. Some romantic evening that had turned out to be. Maybe the honeymoon was already over.

Kezzie let herself into her little cottage, thinking about what Joel had told her. Poor Joel. What a lot he had had to
contend with. She’d ended up telling him all about what had happened with Richard, to show him he wasn’t the only one capable of idiotic behaviour, and by the time she’d left, she thought he seemed a little better. At least it must have done him some good to get that off his chest. What a burden to be carrying around with him.

She went into the kitchen and grabbed a can of lager, before settling down in the lounge to see what was on the telly. Discovering that there wasn’t much she wanted to watch, Kezzie decided to have a look at some of the letters and diaries from Edward’s trunk. She and Joel were slowly collating material for the exhibition, and Kezzie had been fascinated to read Edward’s account of creating the Memorial Gardens, apparently there’d been a huge fete on the day of the opening, which made her smile. Edward and Lily appeared not to have written anything very much after that, too busy bringing up their family she supposed, but the diary and letters had started again from around 1914. Kezzie had cried when she’d read a letter to Connie telling her her fiancé had died, and the last part of the diary she’d read had touched on the death of Harry, right at the end of the war, which struck Kezzie as exceptionally tragic.

She picked up Lily’s diary for 1918, and started flicking through. It was filled with references about her worries and concerns for her only son, and then there was a gap with a few pages blank, before Kezzie came across an illegible scribble,
11 November, 1914. Harry is dead. Killed in the last battle of the war. I think my heart might break.
After that there was no more, and Kezzie hadn’t unearthed any other diaries for Lily. How incredibly tragic. To lose your son like that, right at the end of the war. Lily must have thought he was safe. She must have thought it would be OK.

Kezzie put her can of lager down, and roamed around her lounge restlessly. Her thoughts were getting all jumbled
up. Joel had thought he had the rest of his life with Claire, and lost her swiftly and brutally. Lily had lost so much, those babies, then her only son. Life was a cruel business, and happiness had to be grabbed where it could. She had been extraordinarily happy with Richard in the two short years they were together. Despite their differences, until they’d split up she’d always felt they fitted together like hand and glove. And yet between them they’d thrown it all away. When she’d told Joel about Richard, he’d asked her what was stopping her trying to contact him again, and she’d told him that Richard didn’t want her any more.

‘Are you sure that’s not an excuse?’ Joel had said. ‘Did you actually ever say sorry to him about what had happened?’