Finding Dreams by Lauren Westwood (20)

Luke sodding Thornton. A man with a plan – that failed. Richard Silverman’s little snippet explains everything. Tanglewild was initially rejected for The Lady’s Secret not because of the location itself – which, by all accounts is not only perfect, but was the exact setting used in the book – but because Luke Thornton had some kind of personal objection to using it. An objection that arose due to a personal connection – just like Phillipa King apparently has. Either it’s the world’s biggest, most improbable coincidence, or else it’s not a coincidence at all. The two things must be related. But how?

I sit down at the small dressing table by the window, turn on my laptop, and try to chivvy the weak wi-fi signal on this side of the house. I do a few searches and confirm that in film-world hierarchy, Richard is Luke’s boss. I also search for variations on ‘Luke Thornton’, ‘Tanglewild’, ‘Sussex’, but nothing comes up. My Google sleuthing having drawn a blank, I decide that the mystery will have to remain unsolved.

I check my work emails and take care of a few things that have come up. The problem with being a part-time lawyer is that I’m always on call, even on my so-called non-work days. And, if I’m honest, my enthusiasm about the job has waned considerably after encountering Harry in the conference room. Since then, I’ve managed to avoid him, or at least keep a safe distance. But I’m still angry with myself for the way I behaved – for not making it clear that I want him to leave me alone.

As I’m shutting down the computer, a text comes in on my phone. It’s from Theo. I open it, experiencing the usual mix of hope and trepidation.

I reread the message several times, especially the x at the end. I’ve been in such a kerfuffle about meeting Dominic Kennedy and feeling affronted by Luke Thornton that I’ve barely thought about Theo all day. But now I sit back and enjoy the fact that an attractive man – a man who’s fought my corner from the get-go – has invited me out on a real, honest-to-goodness date. I close my eyes and conjure up his image in my mind. Reddish hair, a smattering of freckles. Tall, but not too tall. A face that’s warm and open – he seems a lovely guy all round, and I’m looking forward to getting to know him better. And see what happens from there…

I respond to the text, briefly and to the point.

I press send before I can ruminate over adding a return ‘x’ or not. As soon as the message is gone, I worry about what on earth I’m going to wear. Jeans? A dress (do I even have one)? I tidy up the room, putting mine and Katie’s things in the chest of drawers, hoping that something suitable will materialise. It doesn’t.

I go over to the window and open it to get some air. Below me, the lake is dark brown and placid, the sun now high enough that the trees are no longer reflected. Even from this end of the house, the beech tree still towers over everything, its branches twisted and gnarled like aged hands. I look further on to the crooked weathervane on the roof of the dovecote – just visible if I crane my neck. A huge black shadow suddenly takes to the sky – crows. The sight of them makes me shiver. As I’m about to turn away from the window, a flash of green catches my eye. Someone’s walking out on the path that goes around the lake just behind the trees.

It’s him again – Luke Thornton. I slam the window shut. I know he’s the director and is probably out there to think about camera angles and ‘drawing out the emotion in the script’, but I also know that I’m not going to be able to rest easy until I know the whole story of his connection to this house. And that means that, sooner or later, I’m going to have to ask him.

*

A while later I go down to the kitchen. At the front of the house, the workmen are sitting out on the lawn having their lunch. There’s no sign of Luke, Dominic, or Connie. The great hall is still in disarray and now smells of paint – they’ve begun working on repainting the white plaster ceiling. That alone is worth taking on the film project as I’d never be able to afford to do it myself.

I make a tray of tea for the workmen and take it out to them. Then I take Jammie out to the paddock and cut some daffodils to put on Dave’s grave. It feels very solemn and I try to reflect on Dave and the good times we shared, and our lovely children. I ruminate on the past year, and find that my anger has started to dissipate a little. But eventually, my mind strays back to the present – Theo, the pub, the fact that I have nothing to wear. I take the flowers back to the house and get my handbag so I can go to the supermarket – stock up on essentials and buy some new make-up – maybe even find a top or a skirt that I can wear tomorrow tonight. It may be sacrilegious, but I’m sure that Dave, of all people, would understand.

When I go out to the drive, both Luke’s and Dominic’s cars are gone. I breathe a sigh of relief. The door of the caravan is open, and Connie is taking in laundry hung out to dry on her portable rack. I go over to her.

‘Good “rehearsal”?’ I say with a smirk.

She gives me a pained look. ‘Just because I’m fat, old and married doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy the company of a handsome man, does it?’

‘Believe me, I’m not judging you. Knock yourself out.’

‘Good, because Dom is quite a fragile man – very sensitive.’

I sputter with laughter. ‘Fragile and sensitive?’

She raises an eyebrow, her face earnest. ‘Just because he’s gorgeous, doesn’t mean he can’t be insecure.’

‘And how do you know all this?’

‘He’s been round here a few times while you’ve been at work. We got to chatting, as you do.’

‘As you do.’

‘I think he might be dyslexic. That’s why he struggles to learn his lines.’

‘Really?’ I suppose Connie’s right – just because Dominic Kennedy makes things look easy and natural on-screen doesn’t mean it is. I guess that’s why he’s rated as an actor, not just a heartthrob.

‘Yes. For that repetition is key. That’s what I’m helping him with.’

‘And what about the getting into character part?’ I can’t resist adding. ‘Are you helping him with that too?’

‘Do I detect a hint of jealousy?’

‘No. Because as it happens, I’ve got a date myself. Tomorrow night. That is…’ I add a bit sheepishly, ‘if you’re OK to watch the kids.’

I tell her about Theo’s text. She nods, not quite approvingly, but confirms that she’ll babysit. Then I tell her that I’m off to Sainsbury’s and ask her if she needs anything. She disappears into the trailer to make a list. While I’m waiting, I feel another major pang of guilt. Here I am talking to Dave’s mum on the anniversary of his death about going out with another man. Here I am going to the supermarket to buy make-up, clothing. I should be… I don’t know… reflecting? Grieving?

Connie sticks her head back out and hands me the list.

‘I’m so sorry,’ I say. ‘I’ve been very insensitive. I mean, about Dave, and the cemetery today, and the anniversary.’

For a second, her deep-set eyes seem to go dark. But only for a second. ‘Don’t be silly,’ she says. ‘Dave’s gone. We’re all very sad about that, but it’s not going to bring him back. You know my views on the subject, which is that you need to move on.’

‘Yes, I know.’ I’m grateful for her stoicism, given the loss she’s suffered.

‘Which brings me to another point,’ she says. ‘While you’re out and about, you should consider ditching the mum bras and pants.’

‘How do you know about my pants?’ I say, horrified.

‘There are no secrets when you’re sharing a washer/dryer.’ She gives me a knowing smile. ‘You’re young and attractive, Lizzie. Theo and the rest of them are in the film industry. You can afford to be a little glamourous. Try to look the part.’

‘Thanks… I think.’

‘OK, now off with you. I’ll see you later.’ She closes the door and I shove her list into my pocket. I get in the car, my face flushed and my stomach churning.

*

In the end, I feel shamed enough by the shared washer/dryer comment to forego Sainsbury’s. Instead, I bite the bullet and drive to the big M&S in Horsham. There, a fitting room attendant called Sharah – young, olive-skinned, wearing a blue hijab – takes me under her wing. I suppose it’s because the first round of bras I bring in to try on are all of the plain cotton T-shirt variety, with the only thing racy being that one has a racer back and hooks in front.

‘I think we should measure you,’ she says, checking the sizes. ‘I think you’re a C cup at least.’

I’m not sure whether to feel flattered or panicky. I’ve always been a 34B (or so I thought), so that’s what I’ve been trying on. Sharah measures me, then takes it upon herself to go out to the racks and pull me an assortment of a bigger size – 36 Cs – in different colours, and some including lace or polka dots, and little bows in the middle.

‘These are the nicest ones this season,’ she says before I can make an objection. ‘They’re comfortable, and… pretty too.’

I frown. Had she said ‘sexy’ I would have sent back the lot. As it is, I can’t really argue. The bras she’s chosen are ‘pretty’. And as soon as I try the first one on, I realise that all these years, my 34Bs have been too small. What else have I taken for granted? Just about everything, it seems.

‘I’ll take the lot,’ I say, when I’ve tried them on.

‘Great,’ Sharah says. ‘And here, I’ve got you the matching pants.’

‘Thanks,’ I say through my teeth.

She helps me carry the loot to the till, and I almost make it incognito. Almost. But as I’m nearly through the queue, I spot two of the mums from Jack’s class. Mary and Daisy, I think. I try to hide my face, and I suddenly wish that I could borrow Sharah’s hijab. Mary sees me and immediately comes over.

‘Lizzie!’ she says. ‘Hello. Are you well?’

‘Yes,’ I croak. ‘You?’

‘Oh fine, just checking out the spring collection.’ She looks down at my armful of lacy pants. ‘I see you’ve been doing the same.’

The other woman, Daisy, gives me a knowing little smile. I recall my tearful interlude at the mums’ coffee morning about the difficult time I’ve been through losing my husband. I try to smile nonchalantly, but it’s like there’s an unspoken triangle of understanding between us. There’s a thin line between a grieving widow and a merry one.

‘Till number 5,’ the loudspeaker announces. I exhale, relieved that I’m at the front of the queue.

‘Nice to see you both,’ I say breezily.

‘Have fun,’ the woman called Daisy has the nerve to say.

*

The two women are gone by the time I’ve finished paying at the till – a good thing, since I’m irritated that Daisy would think that I’m only buying nice underwear for a man, rather than for myself, and I’m in a mind to tell her off. (Though I suppose technically, it was Theo’s invitation and Connie’s naming and shaming that prompted my purchases). It strikes me that I should have done this a long time ago – I’ve got a job now, and surely, I deserve a few nice things after what I’ve been through. It’s more than time for an upgrade.

I take my bag and go downstairs and browse the rest of the shop. I end up splurging on a cashmere tunic dress in dusty rose colour, and also buy some new make-up. I begin to regret the whole shopping trip even before I reach my car, and question this thing with Theo all over again. Why can’t I just ‘lighten up’ and go with the flow? Is Dave and the spectre of what he did going to haunt me forever? He took away my security, my self-esteem, my self-worth as a woman and a human being. Am I so weak that I’m going to let him win even now?

No.

I drive back to the village and make a quick stop off at the supermarket to pick up Connie’s provisions. Then I get the kids from school and take them to the cemetery. It’s a sunny afternoon and it’s a nice quiet spot. The trees are budding with green shoots, and there are crocuses and primroses amid the grass. Connie and Simon are there already – they’ve brought the flowers and the dog – and Hannah arrives with Flora just after we do. I divide up the daffodils and let the kids put them on the grave. Jack acts like a little man, taking the responsibility he’s been given very seriously. He pushes his way in front of Katie to carefully lay his flowers on the grave. In the car, Katie was a little upset, but when she goes to lay her flowers down, she ends up in a fit of giggles. I let her run off with Flora to find more flowers, and Jack and Jammie chase each other amongst the headstones. The rest of us stand in silence, until Hannah reveals that she’s brought a bottle of champagne. The four of us raise a glass and make a toast to Dave, and then another toast to life – the ones that must go on without him. Then, by tacit agreement, it’s time to go.

As I walk back to the car, I feel strangely uplifted. One year. And tomorrow’s another day.

*

But I’m wondering how much I really have changed when I return home from work the next day with butterflies battering my stomach. I got the earliest train in the morning so that I could get back in time to meet Theo, and spent the whole day worrying about whether I would be able to get away on time, and then, stressing about the fact that I did get away on time and now have to face up to the evening. ‘Lighten up,’ I tell myself for the thousandth time.

When I get home, Hannah and Flora are over at the house, and the kids are jumping on the trampoline. The workmen are finishing up the painting in the hall, but there’s no sign of Theo, which is a relief. Jack comes inside with me. Hannah is in the kitchen with Connie, just getting ready to go home.

‘Hi,’ I say, feeling flustered. ‘I need to go up and get changed. I’m sure you’ve heard.’

Hannah gives me a wink and a thumbs up. ‘Have a great time. And try to relax, yeah?’

‘Yeah. But right now, I feel like I might be sick.’

Hannah laughs. ‘That’s a great sign. Now off with you.’

I go up the back stairs with Jack tagging along after me. Yesterday when I got back from shopping, I didn’t bother to unpack what I bought, hoping to hate everything, and eventually, return it. But as soon as I run my fingers over the soft rose-coloured cashmere of the dress and take the bras and underwear out of the bag, I know that I won’t. I put on a silky lace bra in black and matching pants. Jack is sitting in the corner playing with his Lego, but he looks up at me as I put the dress over my head.

‘Mummy’s pretty,’ he says.

A tear trickles down my cheek. My beloved son – he loves me no matter what. I hold my arms open and he rushes into them for a ‘cuggle’. I hold him up, looking at the two of us in the mirror. He sucks his thumb, and then slobbers it onto the shoulder of my dress. I hold him tighter, breathing in the smell of his warm skin, and soft, wispy hair. ‘I love you so much,’ I say.

‘Me too.’ He wriggles and I let him down. I stare at myself in the mirror, surprised at what I see. I’ve never been fat, but I never quite lost the baby weight either – until the last year. Now, I look thin but curvy in the figure-hugging dress. My hair surprises me too. I’ve been meaning for ages to get it trimmed back into my normal chin-length bob, but since I haven’t done so, it’s grown long. Honey-blonde, it now comes down past my shoulders, thick and wavy. I take my new make-up out of the bag and put on some foundation and powder, and a little bit of eye make-up. I also bought a new lipstick – dark reddish-beige. With that on, I look like a different person than the one I remember. Sure, I’ve seen myself in the mirror over the last year, but I never really wanted to look. The changes, though, seem to suit me.

Downstairs, I can hear Connie’s voice as she chivvies Katie to do her homework before tea. I check my watch, it’s now almost six. Is Theo even here?

‘Can I play the monkey game on your phone?’ Jack asks.

‘No, darling, not now,’ I say.

His little face screws up. ‘Wanna play monkey. Now!’ he yells.

I sigh. ‘Let’s go downstairs and see Grandma. Mummy’s going out, OK?’

‘Monkey game!’ His initial outburst explodes into a full-blown tantrum. I stick him in the travel cot so he’ll be safe, and leave him to scream it out. I go downstairs, feeling stressed, eager to be out of the house, and guilty for being so eager.

In the kitchen, Katie is sitting at the table, pouting over her maths homework. There’s no sign of Flora or Hannah – they must have gone home. Simon is there, though, back from his part-time job at the farm shop. Connie is making a fish pie for the kids. When I come into the kitchen, I can see the surprise on their faces.

‘Mum?’ Katie says worriedly. ‘Where are you going?’

‘I told you yesterday,’ I say. ‘I’m going to the pub with a friend.’

‘But you’re wearing lipstick. And you look—’

‘Lovely,’ Connie says, cutting her off. I can feel her eyes gravitate to my new 36C bust beneath the snug-fitting dress. The insecure part of me wonders if there’s not a glimmer of judgement in them. If I hadn’t let myself go, maybe her son wouldn’t have been such a shit to his family. But she shakes her head imperceptibly and I know she only wishes me the best. ‘And not before time,’ she adds.

‘That colour really suits you,’ Simon says.

‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘It was a splurge, but I thought I needed something – you know, to boost my courage.’

‘Absolutely,’ Connie agrees. ‘And now, be off with you. I think your chap’s outside in the garden.’

‘Oh.’ I feel another lurch of anxiety. ‘I’d better go say goodnight to Jack.’

I run back upstairs, half of me wanting to lock myself away in my room and forget the whole thing. Jack’s stopped screaming, and is sucking on his Spiderman, looking wide-eyed and moist-faced. I pick him up again and hug him tight.

‘I’m taking you down to Grandma now,’ I say. ‘She’s going to look after you.’

For a second I think he’s going to wail again. Gripping his Spiderman in one hand, he puts his other arm around my neck and wraps his legs around me like a baby koala. He nuzzles his face (including his snotty nose) into my hair and I carry him downstairs.

‘Night, night,’ I say. I try to hand him off to Connie, but he clings to me.

Simon comes to the rescue. ‘Hey, fella, Spidey wants to go play football.’

‘Football!’ Jack says. I know then that he’s sorted. Sometimes, I realise, it is useful to have a man about the place.

When I try to kiss Katie, she pulls away as usual, then surprises me by clinging on to me and trying to plant a kiss on my cheek. ‘When are you going to be home, Mum?’ she asks.

‘I don’t know, honey,’ I say. ‘I probably won’t be too late.’

‘I’ll wait up for you,’ she says.

I laugh, feeling a rush of love. ‘OK, sweetheart. I’ll see you later.’

As I walk to the door, Connie comes along behind, and I worry that she’s going to give me some kind of embarrassing lecture.

‘Stay out as long as you like,’ she says in a low voice. ‘We’ve got everything covered here.’

I turn then to say thank you, but all of a sudden I’m overcome by her kindness. If it wasn’t for her being here, camped in my drive, able to step in at a moment’s notice to watch the kids, I wouldn’t be able to make any of it work. I throw my arms around her neck and hold her tight.

‘Thank you for everything.’ I feel the tears rising up again. Is the mascara I bought waterproof? Stupid me if it isn’t.

She gently pushes me away, ending my sloppy display of affection. ‘Save that for him, OK?’ She gives me a wink. ‘Now, off with you.’