Chapter 9
Mimi hung up and was about to switch her phone off when she remembered Marcus’s text.
‘Hello!’ He sounded delighted to hear from her. ‘It’s OK, I know you’re rushed off your feet, it’s just that I’m up in London today and if you happened to be free after work I thought we could maybe meet for dinner. But don’t worry if you can’t make it.’
‘Oh Marcus, I’d love to.’ It was so nice to hear his friendly voice. ‘What are you doing up here?’
‘One short meeting at midday with a client, that’s all. I thought I might squeeze in a visit to the Summer Exhibition beforehand. When shall we get together, then? What time would suit you best?’
‘Um . . . any time you like . . .’ To her horror, Mimi realised her throat was tightening up. She tried to swallow and realised she was having a bit of a moment, some kind of delayed reaction to the events of last night.
‘Mimi? Are you still there?’
‘Y-yes.’
‘Is everything OK?’
‘Not really.’ She gave herself a mental shake. ‘Kind of the opposite.’
‘Where are you?’ said Marcus.
She stared blindly at all the clothes she’d pulled out of the wardrobe, despite not having enough cases to pack them in. ‘I’m at the flat and I have to move out of here today and I don’t even know where I’m going . . .’ Her voice had gone all high-pitched now, like a cartoon chipmunk’s.
‘Stay there,’ said Marcus. ‘I’m on my way.’
Mimi did her angry, protracted and wonderfully cathartic bout of sobbing in the shower before getting dressed and defiantly applying eyeliner and lipstick so she didn’t look like a complete wraith.
Marcus had always been good with hugs. He was smartly turned out, beautifully kempt as always, and smelled delicious too. When one of your parents met a new partner and subsequently died, how often did the child of the dead parent lose touch with the partner? When the person who connected the two of you no longer existed, and you lived a considerable distance from each other, wasn’t it easier to drift apart?
Mimi was glad they’d managed to avoid that happening. For the first year or so, all she and Marcus had really had in common was their grief, but they’d both made the effort to stay in contact. Gradually they’d formed a genuine friendship that had survived his move to Cannes in the south of France. They might not see each other often these days, but the bond had remained unbroken and she was grateful for that.
Today’s hug was especially enveloping; it was strong and secure, just what she needed right now.
‘Go on then,’ Marcus prompted when they broke apart. ‘Tell me everything. What’s happened?’
She told him, and the worst part was how unsurprised he was by the actions of both parties.
‘You only met Kendra twice. And not even for very long,’ Mimi protested.
‘Long enough to know the kind of person she was.’
‘But how?’ It was confusing and somewhat humiliating to discover she’d managed to miss the signs that had evidently been so obvious to him.
‘OK, I didn’t know for sure. But I had an inkling.’
‘Rob too?’
Marcus hesitated, then nodded. ‘Honestly? Yes. And if you think back to when you first started working for him, you thought the same. I remember you telling me he was a smooth character who always liked to get his own way.’
‘I did think that for weeks, and then he won me over. I told myself he was a good person underneath. God, I’m useless.’
‘You aren’t useless. Right, so what’s happening?’ He stood back and surveyed the state of her bedroom. ‘What’s the plan?’
‘All I know is, I’m not staying here. And I won’t be going back to Morris Molloy either.’ She indicated the emptied wardrobe and chest of drawers, and the mountains of her belongings piled up on the bed. ‘I want to be out today, so I need to shift some of this stuff into storage. There’s a couple of friends who’d let me sleep on their sofas for a night or two until I find somewhere. I was going to go and visit Mum, but she’s got her new chap and her place is so tiny.’ Her mother’s flat in north Wales had only one bedroom, and the thought of imposing herself on the two of them would be too much to—
‘Mimi, you don’t have to put anything in storage. Let me help you pack this lot up, and I can take it back with me to Goosebrook.’
‘Really? Oh thank you so much, that’d be a huge help.’ Grateful for the offer, she said, ‘I can run down to the corner shop and buy some strong bin bags so we can make a start. I really want to be out of here before either of them comes back.’
‘Look, I know you’ll probably want to stay in London,’ said Marcus, ‘but if it’s crossed your mind for even a second that it might be nice to move out of the city . . . well, you’d be welcome to come down to Goosebrook.’
Mimi was incredibly touched by the offer. ‘Do you mean that?’
‘Of course. My God, more than welcome. The spare room’s yours for as long as you like.’ His voice softened. ‘Did you think you couldn’t ask me?’
‘I just thought I might be a nuisance. I wouldn’t want to be in your way.’
‘Right, well that’s sorted.’ He rubbed his hands together in a can-do fashion. ‘We’re going to load up the car, get ourselves out of here and head home as soon as my meeting’s done and dusted. Spend the weekend down there while you decide what you want to do next. How does that sound?’
He was so kind, so thoughtful. When her dad had found Marcus, he’d chosen well. Mimi said gratefully, ‘It sounds like just what I need.’
‘Good,’ said Marcus. ‘And you can stay as long as you want. I promise you won’t be in the way.’
It had turned into one of those days when an awful lot happened. Together she and Marcus had cleared every sign of herself out of Kendra’s Notting Hill apartment, driving away in a car that was bursting at the seams with her belongings. Next, Mimi had waited in a coffee shop while Marcus met with his client in Holland Park. Then, because she knew he’d been looking forward to the Summer Exhibition, they spent two hours at the Royal Academy viewing the artworks and choosing their favourites.
After that, they’d left London behind them, crawling through heavy traffic at first but speeding up once they hit the motorway and headed west. Wiped out by last night’s lack of sleep, Mimi had dozed in the passenger seat to the accompaniment of Puccini’s Madame Butterfly spilling from the speakers.
When she woke up almost two hours later, she briefly switched on her phone and saw the messages stacking up from both Kendra and Rob.
Well, good. And it was seven o’clock, so presumably Kendra had arrived home from work with the food delivery she’d ordered to assuage the tiny amount of guilt she presumably did feel.
No doubt she’d be happy, though, to share it with Rob when they realised her erstwhile flatmate wasn’t planning on coming back to eat it.
Mimi smiled, glad she’d asked for the set menu of king prawns and beef vindaloo. Poor Rob, he didn’t like seafood or sauces with chillies in, couldn’t cope with anything hotter than a tikka makhani.
What a wimp.
Now they were approaching Goosebrook, making their way down the winding lane into the village as the sun, sinking lower in the sky, shone into their eyes.
It was Friday evening, the last week in July, and a cricket match was in progress on the village green. The players were all dressed in their whites, contrasting with the bright colours worn by those watching the match. Some were in deckchairs, others sprawled on rugs on the grass, whilst the rest occupied the wooden benches that belonged to the pub.
Marcus pulled up outside Bay Cottage and they climbed out of his car. Bees buzzed, butterflies danced and the scent of honeysuckle hung in the clean balmy air. Over on the green the thwack of leather on willow was followed by the ball soaring up and over the boundary for a six, prompting a cheer to go up from the spectators.
‘That’s something you don’t get to hear in the south of France,’ Marcus said.
‘Are you happy to be back?’
He nodded. ‘I am. Cannes was glamorous, but you can’t beat this place. Everyone’s been amazing.’
Mimi was glad for him. In the aftermath of the accident, the villagers had rallied around; barely a day had passed without containers of home-cooked food being left on the doorstep, even though the very last thing Marcus had wanted to do was eat. He’d been grateful for their efforts and their kindness and concern, but after a while the emptiness of the cottage had grown too much for him to bear. Caring neighbours were all very well, but the absence of Dan proved to be painful beyond belief.
Desperate to escape, he had rented out the cottage on a long lease and decamped to a tiny apartment just off the Boulevard de la Croisette. Living there had been an experience; the weather had been wonderful, and taking long daily strolls along the beach had given him plenty to look at, but he’d soon discovered that there was no quick fix, no magic wand that could be waved. He continued to miss and grieve for his beloved Dan. No amount of glittering azure sea and silver sand could heal a broken heart.
He’d stuck it out for three years, though, realising that the unbearable loneliness would lessen in due course; there was a grieving process that needed to be gone through, stage by stage, and one day he’d be happy again. And now, he had admitted to Mimi, life was becoming easier. It had also been the right time to return to Goosebrook, which had gone through something of a mourning process itself and was only now coming out the other side.
Having spotted his car from their positions around the periphery of the cricket pitch, people were waving to attract his attention, beckoning him over to join them.
Marcus raised a hand in acknowledgement. ‘Let’s get your stuff into the house first. Then you can decide if you’re up to socialising.’
Mimi wondered if Cal was over there among the cricket-watchers. It would be good to see him again. And the others too, of course. She said, ‘Oh, I’d like to say hello. I’ll be fine.’