Maybe This Time by Jill Mansell (6)

Chapter 6

On the crowded concourse at Paddington station, Mimi concentrated all her attention on the departures board, silently willing the Delayed sign to be replaced by a slightly more helpful time of departure.

Ah, but it was typical, wasn’t it, that the more you were looking forward to being somewhere, the less likely it was that the train would get you there in time.

At this rate she was going to miss the treasure hunt completely.

A middle-aged man in a hurry dragged his heavy suitcase in front of her, running the wheels across the pale suede of her new ankle boots and not stopping to apologise. Mimi sighed and took out her phone, which had begun to ring. It was Kendra.

‘Hey, I just had a text from my brother inviting me along to a private party at Hush tonight. Do you fancy being my plus one?’

‘I can’t, I’m heading down to Goosebrook.’ Mimi peered up at the departures board once more. ‘If the damn train ever gets here.’

‘Well the party sounds fantastic, so I thought I’d offer you first refusal. If you change your mind, let me know within twenty minutes otherwise I’ll call someone else. There’s going to be loads of celebs there,’ Kendra added persuasively, because her brother worked for a successful record label. ‘And the food’s always amazing.’

‘Thanks, but I’m still going to try and get down there . . . Oh, it’s happening!’ Miraculously, the sign on the board had changed; the train was now marked as waiting on Platform 5 and other travellers were already streaming like lemmings towards it. ‘I need to grab a seat. You have fun and I’ll see you tomorrow . . . I’ll hear all about it when I get back.’

An hour later, Mimi was fantasising about marrying a billionaire and never having to catch a train again in her life.

‘Mummy, why are some people nice and some people not nice?’

‘I don’t know, Barnaby. It’s all part of the rich tapestry of life.’

‘Mummy, what’s tapestry?’

‘It’s kind of like sewing, darling.’

‘Like when the button came off my shirt and we took it to the sewing lady in the shop to put it back on?’

‘Exactly, Barnaby! Well done!’

‘And it cost fifteen pounds but you said don’t tell Daddy.’

‘Mind that drink, darling . . . Oh, whoops! Say sorry to the lady.’

‘I don’t want to say sorry. The train did it, not me. Anyway, she’s standing too close.’

Mimi glanced down at the small boy who was glaring at her for having the temerity to be standing too close to him. He stuck his tongue out at her, then said in his high-pitched voice, ‘Mummy? Give me a yoghurt.’

‘Here you are, darling. Now do be careful with it.’ Barnaby’s mother returned her attention to the phone in her hand, missing the moment Barnaby deliberately dropped the messy yoghurt lid onto the floor at Mimi’s feet.

‘Mummy, I don’t like that lady.’

‘Oh darling, you mustn’t say that.’

‘She isn’t smiling and she’s too close to our table. Tell her to go away.’

Mimi, swaying as the train rattled over the tracks, tried not to breathe in the overpowering smell of the cheap deodorant worn by the man squashed into the aisle next to her in the hopelessly overcrowded carriage.

‘Just give Mummy a rest for a few minutes,’ murmured Barnaby’s mother, wholly engrossed in scrolling through her Twitter feed. ‘Why don’t you play on your new iPad?’

Would that keep him quiet? Of course not. The iPad was duly switched on, the boy selected a game that was played to the accompaniment of uber-irritating loud music that sounded like saucepans being crashed together, and Barnaby’s mother dealt with it by plugging herself into a pair of earphones.

Which was nice for her.

‘Oh for fuck’s sake,’ sighed Deodorant Man, next to Mimi.

Barnaby’s head shot up like a meerkat. He grabbed his mother’s hand, pointed at Mimi and yelled, ‘Mummy! That lady just said FUCK.’

‘I didn’t.’ Mimi in turn pointed to Deodorant Man. ‘It was him.’

The middle-aged woman squashed up against Mimi’s right side said, ‘But we were all thinking it.’

The boy continued to stare at Mimi. He dipped his spoon in his pot of yoghurt and slowly licked it, whilst the saucepan-crashing music continued to blare out of the iPad. Returning his attention to the game, he managed to knock the almost full pot off the table so that it landed at Mimi’s feet and splashed blackcurrant yoghurt liberally over her new suede boots.

‘Oh Barnaby,’ murmured his mother when she finally noticed what had happened. ‘That was silly, wasn’t it?’

Mimi took a slow, steadying breath, then realised the train was slowing down too.

‘Sorry, ladies and gentlemen,’ came the genial voice over the tannoy, ‘but we’re having to stop for a bit. Looks like signalling problems up ahead. I’ll be back to tell you what’s happening once we know more.’

Mimi closed her eyes, because now she definitely wasn’t going to reach Goosebrook in time to join in with the treasure hunt. She’d really been looking forward to it, but they were going to have to start without her.

So much for swapping work events this morning in order to get down there in time, and having to spend the entire hideous journey on her feet because there were no seats on this stupid train. So much for being forced to endure nightmare travelling companions too.

Not to mention missing the glitzy party back in London.

Could things get any worse?

‘Mummy, Mummy.’ Barnaby’s voice rose as he shook his mother’s arm. ‘I think I’m going to be sick.’

Three interminable hours later, the train eventually reached Kemble station, five miles outside Cirencester. There had been no reply to the texts Mimi had sent her dad to let him know about the delays, but he was probably far too busy tearing around the countryside to stop and look at his phone. Anyway, it didn’t matter. She had no idea how long these treasure hunts lasted, but this one had to finish soon. And they’d already arranged to leave a key for her under the blue flowerpot next to the front door.

At least she was here now. And things were finally looking up; there was a taxi waiting at the tiny rank next to the car park. Behind her, Mimi heard a familiar voice trilling, ‘Come along, Barnaby, we want to get to that taxi before someone else grabs it . . . Hurry up, darling . . .’

‘Noooo, Mummy, stop, I left my iPad on the train!’

Karma at last. Increasing her pace just to be on the safe side, Mimi reached the taxi and opened the back door. ‘Goosebrook, please.’

Still no reply to the texts, and her phone battery was now perilously low so she didn’t bother trying again. After so many hours standing on the train, it was a luxury to sit down. Her stomach rumbled with hunger; what a treat it was to know that when she reached the cottage there’d be a fridge full of amazing food.

‘That’s a pain,’ said the taxi driver when they reached the road to Missingham and found it closed, sealed off with incident tape and no entry signs and guarded by a police officer. ‘Something going on down there. We’ll have to take the long way round.’

‘I wonder what’s happened?’ Mimi peered out of the window as they passed the turn-off.

‘Two of the big houses on the left were burgled last week. Maybe something to do with that.’

Mimi winced, because her dad was paranoid about break-ins and had taken some persuading to leave the spare key for her under the flowerpot. If burglars had found it and let themselves into the cottage, she would never hear the end of it.

Fifteen minutes later, they reached Goosebrook and Mimi paid the taxi driver. She lifted her case out of the car and gazed around, happy to be back and even happier to know that the contents of her dad and Marcus’s well-stocked fridge were now just moments away. There was a cluster of people standing outside the shop further down the street, deep in conversation. As she looked at them, they stopped talking and turned to stare at her.

Not recognising them, Mimi made her way up to the front door of the cottage. If they were burglars, would they be able to see her retrieving the key from its hiding place? OK, they appeared to be old age pensioners so housebreaking probably wasn’t uppermost in their minds. But she still found herself hesitating, because under a flowerpot was such a cliché . . .

She turned at the sound of another vehicle coming down the hill towards them, and saw that it was Marcus’s car. As it drew closer, Mimi saw that he was alone. When he pulled up, she also noted that he didn’t park exactly parallel to the kerb. Tut tut, Marcus, it’s not like you to be so careless.

The driver’s door opened and he climbed out. ‘Did someone tell you?’

‘What?’ said Mimi.

‘Have you heard?’

He was gazing at her intently. Goodness, she’d had no idea the treasure hunt was something he’d take so seriously. ‘I haven’t heard, I only just got here. Did you win?’

Marcus didn’t reply. Instead he moved towards her, and suddenly she saw the expression on his face, the desolation in his eyes. And that was when Mimi felt the world tilt and slide into slow motion. Something was terribly, horribly wrong, so wrong that she didn’t even dare to think it. His skin was the colour of putty and he was trembling as he reached out to her and gripped her hands.

‘I’ve just come from the hospital . . . I had to get back here to tell you. It was an accident, the car hit a tree. Your dad was in the back seat . . .’

No, don’t tell me, don’t say it, I don’t want to hear this.

‘I’m so sorry, sweetheart . . . There wasn’t anything they could do.’

It can’t be true, this isn’t happening.

But as Mimi stared dry-eyed at the shoulder of Marcus’s pale blue sweater, she saw a smudge of dried blood and somehow knew that it wasn’t his own. Shaking her head in disbelief, she croaked, ‘Is he . . . is he dead?’

Just say no, please just say no.

But Marcus, his strong arms tightening around her as her knees began to buckle, said, ‘Yes. Oh Mimi, I’m sorry, he is.’

The accident that ripped so many lives apart had happened on a sunny Sunday afternoon in March.

The first brief newspaper report stated:

Three people died and a fourth sustained injuries yesterday when a car left the road near Missingham and crashed into a tree.

The second, a day later, said:

The people killed in a car crash on Missingham Lane have been identified as Edward Mercer, 68, Daniel Huish, 49, and Stacey Mathieson, 28. The fourth occupant of the vehicle, 27-year-old Lois Blake, remains in a critical condition at the Great Western Hospital in Swindon. The road is expected to remain closed whilst investigations into the collision continue.

Mimi woke with a start and stared wide-eyed at the ceiling, her stomach plummeting at the realisation of where she was. If only she could have been back in her tiny bedroom in the flat in Bermondsey, that would mean it hadn’t been real . . .

But the ceiling in her flat was off-white and cracked, with swathes of cobwebs in the high corners. The one she was looking at now was freshly painted and pristine, signalling that she wasn’t there, she was here. Which meant she’d had that dream again, the one where she was rereading the piece about the crash in the local newspaper, but this time her father’s name wasn’t on the list of victims and her heart leapt with joy as she turned to Kendra and exclaimed, ‘Oh thank goodness, it’s OK! He wasn’t in the car after all!’

Weighted down with grief, she slowly levered herself out of bed. It was the third time this had happened in less than forty-eight hours and she couldn’t understand how it was possible to have a dream like that which so cruelly raised your hopes then brought them crashing down again.

Because her lovely, kind father, the very gentlest of men, no longer existed on this earth, and she still couldn’t take it in, because it was just so impossible and unfair.

Oh Daddy, where are you? Where have you gone?

It was five thirty in the morning. Still dark outside. Downstairs in the kitchen, Mimi switched on the kettle to make a mug of tea she didn’t even want to drink. Yesterday she must have made at least twenty, simply in order to have something to do.

She drank a glass of cold water, left the kitchen and went back upstairs. Marcus was in the master bedroom, the one he’d shared with her dad. All was silent, but who knew if he was asleep? In the bathroom, Mimi sluiced her face with more water and brushed her teeth. Dressing in jeans and a grey sweater, she took one of her father’s padded nylon jackets down from the coat rack and left the cottage.

Outside, an owl was hooting somewhere in the trees to the left of the village green. She concentrated on every step she took, watching her booted feet as they crunched across the frosted grass. The darkness was abating now, the sky a lighter shade of charcoal than before. If all she allowed herself to think about was the grass and the owl and the rhythmic sound of her own footsteps, it meant she couldn’t picture the last moments of her father’s life, when cheerful normality had abruptly turned to chaos and carnage.

It was after her fourth full lap of the village green that the first orange glimmers of sunrise began to appear in the sky and she heard the sound of rapid breathing behind her. She turned and dropped to her knees on the grass as Otto skidded to a halt in front of her, his tail wagging joyfully.

Sometimes being greeted by a dog who wasn’t about to inundate you with questions was just what you needed. Mimi buried her face in his neck and let him lick her ear, his paws scrabbling against her knees as he strained to reach her.

She stayed like that for a minute, then opened her eyes and looked up at Cal. The expression on his face was unbearable. He looked as if he’d never learned how to smile.

‘I still can’t believe it’s happened.’ Her voice was hoarse.

He nodded bleakly. ‘I know. I suppose we’re still in shock.’

‘I keep having this dream where my dad’s still alive . . . and then I wake up.’ She shuddered at the memory of it.

‘Me too. This isn’t a coincidence, by the way.’ He gestured to explain his presence. ‘I knew you were out here. Felix called me ten minutes ago.’

‘To tell you I was walking around the green?’

‘To let me know how Lois is doing. He just got back from the hospital.’

‘Oh, of course. Sorry.’ Mimi remembered a car passing her. Grief made you selfish; engulfed as you were in your own pain, it was hard to remember that others were suffering too. ‘How is she?’

‘Not good. They’re preparing her for more surgery later this morning.’ The shadows beneath Cal’s eyes were a sludgy shade of violet. ‘But she’s still alive, at least.’

The ensuing pause was filled with unspoken words and emotions. They looked at each other and Mimi wondered if they were both thinking the same thing: he’d lost Stacey and she’d lost her father, and you might have to be polite on the surface and pretend to be glad that Lois hadn’t been killed, but deep down wouldn’t anyone secretly wish their loved one could have been the one to be spared instead?

And if that was a shameful thing to have to admit . . . well, too bad.

Because sometimes life was just unbearably unfair.

Mimi gathered herself. ‘How about you?’

‘Well, I guess I’m still alive too. Doesn’t feel much like it at the moment, but I suppose we have to carry on. Not really any other choice.’

Mimi blinked hard, her eyes sore and dry. As terrible as her own loss was, Cal’s must be worse. Beautiful Stacey, the love of his life and the mother of his daughter, was gone forever. Everything she’d ever been to them had been wrenched away. At the age of six, Cora had lost her mum, leaving Cal to deal with her grief as well as his own.

By unspoken consent, they made their way across the green to the wooden bench beneath one of the chestnut trees. Cal’s phone went ting and he checked the message on the screen.

‘My sister,’ he said. ‘She’s staying with us. I asked her to let me know when Cora wakes up so I can get back there.’

‘And has she woken up?’

‘No. She just texted to tell me Cora’s still fast asleep.’

They sat in silence for a couple of minutes, watching as the sky lightened and began to glow white in the east behind the church spire. Next to her, Cal was turning his phone over and over in his hands like a magician building up to a card trick.

‘I heard it happen,’ he said finally.

‘You heard the accident?’ Confused, Mimi said, ‘You were there?’

Cal had been in a different car along with Marcus, Felix and Maria from the Black Swan. According to Marcus, they’d been miles away when the accident occurred.

Cal shook his head and indicated the mobile in his hand. ‘We were on the phone. Stacey called to tell me they’d just solved the fifth clue.’ He paused. ‘Do you want me to tell you this?’

Mimi shivered. ‘Yes.’

‘OK, she asked me how many we’d solved and I said four, and she laughed and called us a bunch of absolute losers, then the next moment there was a screech of tyres and a scream and a thud.’ He took a steadying breath. ‘That was it. After that, nothing. I don’t think I’ll ever stop hearing it. It’s like an endless loop playing in my head.’

‘Oh God . . .’ Mimi was now hearing it too, not wanting to picture how it had happened but unable to blank it out.

‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have told you.’

‘No, I’d rather know.’ She laced her icy fingers together in her lap. ‘At least it was quick.’

And then they were lost in their own thoughts once more. Mimi knew from Marcus that the treasure hunt had been Lois’s idea, an afternoon of harmless fun, with the participants dividing up into groups and travelling in separate cars around the local area while they solved clues and tracked down a list of the items that needed to be collected in order to win the game.

She also knew that for all the pride and delight she’d taken in having been the one who’d persuaded Marcus and her dad to integrate themselves into the community, they would both still be alive today if she hadn’t done it.

‘I wish I’d never brought them down to the pub that night before Christmas.’ The words caught in her throat as she uttered them.

Next to her on the bench, Cal reached down to take the stick Otto had brought for him. He hurled it so that it cartwheeled through the air, then sat back. ‘It was my idea that Stacey and I should travel in separate cars. She chose your dad for her team and I chose Marcus for mine, so they’d feel more included.’ He breathed out, puffing a white cloud of condensation into the cold morning air. ‘If we’d stayed in couples, Stacey would still be alive.’

By this reckoning, Marcus and her father would both be dead. As they watched Otto retrieve the stick, Cal murmured, ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean . . .’

‘It’s OK, I know. We can think about all the if-onlys, but there’s nothing we can do to change any of it.’ Mimi swallowed; if her train down here hadn’t been delayed, she’d have been in one of the cars too.

A new text arrived on Cal’s phone; he glanced at it and rose to his feet. ‘Cora’s starting to wake up. I need to get back.’

And with Otto bouncing along at his heels, he was off at a fast pace, his daughter his number one priority now.

Mimi stayed where she was and slid her cold hands into the pockets of her jacket to warm them up. Her fingers encountered a piece of paper and she drew it out, expecting to see a petrol receipt. But it wasn’t a receipt, it was a page torn from a notepad containing a shopping list. The list, she knew, had been attached by a magnet to the front of the fridge and added to at different times, which was why some of the items were in Marcus’s handwriting and others in her dad’s.

She smoothed out the unevenly folded paper and read:

A tear dripped off Mimi’s chin and landed with a tiny splash on the bottom of the list. Oh, they’d been so lucky to have found each other.

How was Marcus going to manage without her dad, his soulmate?

When something this arbitrary and cruel happened, could you ever really get over it?

And if so, how?