Summer under the Stars Page 3

  I might even push the boat out and order champagne!

  The following night, I called at the hairdresser’s on the way home from work and treated myself to a sleek blow-dry. Then later, with a tummy full of excited butterflies, I dressed in my favourite little black shift dress, which looked more expensive than it was, teaming it with patent heels and chunky pearls.

  I scrutinised myself in the mirror. It was maybe a bit over-the-top for a weekday dinner but I didn’t care. This was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to me and I was going to enjoy it! After losing Mum, I was due a break. Hopefully this would be the start of a whole new adventure.

  Perhaps, one day, I might even dare to dream of handing in my notice at Plunge Happy Monthly …

  I’d arranged to meet Toby at the restaurant at eight-thirty but I was there a little early, just in case. The waiter came over and, after a second’s hesitation, I ordered champagne. It arrived in an ice bucket and I smiled and said I’d wait for my dinner date to arrive. It was important Toby was here when the cork was popped! I wanted him to feel he was in it with me; that he was an important part of my success.

  By nine o’clock, he still hadn’t arrived, but I wasn’t worried. He’d have got held up; it happened all the time. There was no point phoning. He was probably already on his way.

  I ordered a soft drink and read the email from the magazine for the hundredth time.

  At nine-twenty, fed up with the sympathetic looks I was getting from other diners, I dialled Toby’s number.

  I braced myself for multiple apologies but he actually sounded quite calm.

  ‘Daisy? I just got home to an empty flat. Where are you? Did we run out of milk or something?’

  Crushing dismay punched me in the gut. No wonder Toby was ‘late’. He’d forgotten all about it.

  ‘Daisy?’ I could almost hear the cogs in his head ticking over. Realisation dawning. ‘Oh God, we were meeting for dinner, weren’t we? Listen, stay there. I’ll be along now.’

  I finally found my voice. ‘No, it’s too late now, Toby. I’ve hogged the table for long enough and I’ve lost my appetite. I’m coming home.’ I couldn’t keep the hurt from my tone and, as he rushed to apologise some more, I hung up.

  I drove home with a horrible sick feeling inside. I realised I was probably over-reacting, but the forgotten dinner just illustrated what I’d long suspected – I was far more interested in Toby’s life than he was in mine. He’d known ever since we met that I longed to be a writer, and although I realised he viewed my ‘scribbling’ – which was how he termed it – as just a nice hobby and never likely to lead anywhere, I’d nonetheless thought he’d understand how thrilled I was about my magazine success.

  But apparently it was so insignificant to him that it had totally slipped his mind!

  My throat hurt.

  I wanted a partner who supported me to the hilt in whatever I wanted to do in life. Someone who cherished my hopes and dreams almost as much as I did myself. The way Mum did.

  Was I kidding myself imagining Toby could ever be that person?

  When I got home, he greeted me at the door, full of more apologies, blaming the falling markets for wiping all other thoughts from his mind. He’d laid the table and ordered Thai food, my favourite, and there was a big bunch of hastily acquired roses in the centre of the table. But I was nowhere near ready to forgive.

  I ignored him, threw my coat over a chair, yanked the fridge open and pulled out an open bottle of white wine. ‘You probably aren’t even interested in reading my story, are you?’ I glared at him, all the hurt tumbling out, then glugged half a glass of wine down in one go.

  ‘Of course I am.’

  I laughed bitterly. ‘Well, you’re hardly going to say no now!’

  I was being petty, I knew, but I couldn’t help it. I wanted more from a relationship than this …

  ‘Hey, listen. Of course I’m interested.’ Gently he removed the glass from my hand and took me in his arms. I stood there, rigid, desperate not to respond.

  ‘The thing is, though, I’d much rather read your story when it’s printed in the magazine and your name is right there on the page in big letters! How proud will I feel then?’

  I twisted away from him. ‘That’s easy to say.’

  ‘It’s easy to say because it’s true.’ He sighed. ‘Look, you know I’m no good at English. The only thing I ever read is books about finance. And take-away menus.’

  ‘That’s true.’

  ‘But when that magazine comes through the door, believe me, I’ll be the first to read your prize-winning story.’ Smiling, he put a finger to my chin and gently turned my face to his. ‘You’re brilliant, Daisy Cooper.’

  When he kissed me, I relented and kissed him back, relief flooding through me.

  The thought of us splitting up terrified me. It was too soon after Mum to cope with something else so emotionally devastating.

  I might have had misgivings about Toby and I being right for each other, but the fact was, Toby and his family – especially Rosalind – had been totally there for me when Mum died. I wasn’t sure I could bear the thought of doing without them now.

  The doorbell rang, announcing our take-away. Toby bounded to the door, calling, ‘Let’s do something special for my birthday in July? I’ll book a week off work and you can have me all to yourself!’

  Grudgingly, I agreed. Perhaps a holiday was what we needed.

  I’d book a surprise romantic trip and then we’d see …

  CHAPTER FOUR

  It’s a month later and I’m sitting on the floor of Toby’s bedroom, sorting through the latest load of boxes I’ve brought over from Rachel’s garage.

  I always thought moving in with a man for the first time would be a mark of how responsible and grown-up I’d become. It would be a conscious, level-headed decision to move the relationship to the next stage.

  But there was nothing remotely level-headed about the speed with which this latest life-changing decision was made.

  Not that I’m complaining!

  The past few weeks since my short story triumph have passed in a mad whirl, mainly due to the fact that Rachel’s boyfriend, Adam, proposed to her right out of the blue. Rachel was ecstatic and, after we’d celebrated for the best part of a week, she told me she’d decided to sell her house and move in with Adam. So obviously I needed to find somewhere else to live.

  It was the following Sunday, when we were over at Toby’s mum’s house for lunch, that everything crystallised into an obvious solution …

  *

  I was in the kitchen, helping Rosalind make cauliflower cheese to go with the roast.

  I suppose I was feeling more emotional than usual at the thought of my flat-share with Rachel coming to an end.

  Rosalind seemed to pick up on my feelings.

  ‘So how are you, my love?’ she asked, her tone filled with empathy. I knew she was thinking about how I must be missing Mum and, immediately, the pain of loss – which was never far away – came crashing in.

  ‘I’m fine. Absolutely perfect,’ I said, pasting on the bright smile I used when people started asking questions that brought on the panic. I could feel Rosalind’s kind eyes watching me as I stirred the bubbling cheese sauce on the hob.

  ‘Yes, but how are you really?’ Her voice was soft and loving, and my throat closed up. To my alarm, my hand started to tremble and I had to stir extra fast to stay in control, with the result that some of the hot sauce splashed onto my hand.

  Rosalind gently took the pan from me and I ran my hand under the tap, grateful to turn away so she couldn’t see the tears of panic that had sprung up when she tried to probe deeper.

  Why did people always want me to talk about Mum and what had happened?

  Didn’t they realise that was the worst thing they could possibly make me do? I needed to get over this, otherwise I was in danger of losing my sanity, and in order to move on, I needed to concentrate on the present, not keep going over and ove
r what I couldn’t change.

  Why couldn’t they see that?

  With an effort, I pulled myself together and turned. ‘I’m in a bit of a fix, actually,’ I said. ‘Rachel’s selling the flat.’

  ‘Oh, Daisy, you poor thing. So you have to move out?’ Rosalind looked horrified.

  ‘Well, not immediately. She won’t even be putting it on the market until later in the year.’

  ‘But still … it’s a bit unsettling.’ Her look said: As if you haven’t already been through the mill enough …

  I shrugged and started grating more cheese for the topping. ‘Something will turn up.’

  ‘Perhaps it already has.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  Rosalind smiled, dimples appearing in her rosy cheeks as she stood up, flushed from checking the beef in the oven. ‘Toby was telling me only the other day how well things are going between you.’

  ‘He was?’ I looked at her in surprise. I didn’t think Toby confided in Rosalind about such personal stuff.

  She shook her head and laughed. ‘Well, he was actually talking about the rising cost of living and how it was probably true that two could live just as cheaply as one. But when I cheekily asked if he was thinking of sharing his place, he didn’t deny it. Quite the opposite, in fact.’

  ‘Did I hear my name there?’ Toby walked in at that moment.

  ‘Daisy was telling me about her housing situation and I was just pointing out that a solution might be staring you both in the face, that’s all.’ She gave us a mischievous smile. ‘Keep an eye on the roast, will you? I’m just going to make sure those kids aren’t actually killing each other out there!’

  When she’d gone, Toby and I looked at each other. We both laughed a bit awkwardly.

  ‘Mum wants you for a daughter. You do realise that,’ Toby said with a sheepish grin.

  The idea of that squeezed my heart so that I had to look away and blink rapidly.

  ‘It does make sense,’ he added. ‘I mean, you moving into my flat.’

  I swallowed hard. ‘Really? You’d like that?’ All sorts of feelings were tumbling around inside me. A while ago, I’d doubted that we were right for each other. But then Mum got ill and I was just so grateful for Toby’s support that I forgot all about my concerns that we were suited for the long haul. It just seemed important to get from one day to the next.

  Could I really move in with Toby? It was such a huge commitment. Shouldn’t I at least take a week to decide?

  But then I thought about how the times I spent here with Rosalind, Toby and the boys filled me with new hope for the future. I always came away from these lovely family Sunday lunches feeling happier than when I arrived and that had to mean something. It was that precious feeling of belonging. It was worth its weight in gold …

  ‘I’m game if you are,’ said Toby, and there was a vulnerability in his smile that took me by surprise and melted my heart. It wasn’t the most romantic of propositions but that didn’t matter. I was being given a chance to move on with my life. To start afresh and make brand-new memories with Toby.

  I wanted that new start like I’d never wanted anything in my life before.

  So I smiled shyly and took his hand. ‘I am game.’

  We were kissing when Rosalind walked in.

  ‘Oh, please tell me you have good news?’ She beamed, crossing her hands over her heart. And when we nodded, she gave one of her throaty laughs, hurried over and drew us both into one of her big hugs. Toby, never one for displays of emotion, went a bit wooden, but the tears in Rosalind’s eyes were reflected in mine and I knew then that everything would be all right.

  *

  So at the age of thirty-two, I’m finally doing the grown-up thing of living with a guy! It feels unsettling yet quite exhilarating all at once.

  It’s Saturday morning and I’m trying to get unpacked. But the boxes I’m tackling are full of Mum’s belongings – stuff I kept after clearing the house to put it up for sale – and I keep snagging on memories of my life with her. Everything I pull out seems to have a special meaning attached to it.

  Toby, who’s getting ready to go into work, pops his head round the bedroom door, holding the house phone aloft. ‘It’s Joan.’

  Panicking, I shake my head, miming to him to tell her I’m out. Joan will want me to talk about Mum and I just can’t face all that.

  But Toby says, ‘Yeah, she’s here. Hang on a second, Joan.’

  He hands me the phone with a frown. So obviously, I have to take it.

  I close my eyes and take a big, bolstering breath. ‘Hi, Joan. Lovely to hear from you!’

  Her warm voice on the other end, asking me how I’ve been and when I’m going to come down and visit, squeezes my heart painfully. Joan and Mum were such great friends. The memories of spending happy times together, the three of us, immediately start crowding in, and I feel the familiar clench of panic in my chest. With my free hand, I pull my cardigan tighter around me. It’s a dark maroon colour, a loose, waterfall design, with shiny maroon buttons. Toby hates it but it’s really comfy.

  Joan asks about Toby and I tell her it’s his thirtieth birthday next month and I’m planning to surprise him with a romantic break away.

  ‘You could both come down and stay with me,’ she says. ‘Use my place as a base to explore Surrey.’ Then she laughs. ‘Hardly romantic, though.’

  ‘Oh, no, we couldn’t impose on you like that.’

  She sighs. ‘It’s just a shame I don’t have a spare room. Ooh, I know! Why don’t you stay at Clemmy’s place, the two of you? Now, that would be very romantic!’

  ‘Clemmy’s place?’

  ‘Yes, didn’t I tell you? I definitely mentioned it to Maureen. Your mum always quite fancied the idea of glamorous camping.’

  ‘Glamping?’ I ask. ‘Yes, she did, didn’t she?’

  ‘I wish Maureen could have seen this place.’ Joan sighs. ‘She’d have loved it.’

  My throat tightens. Mum and I talked about going glamping together but we never got round to it. If only I’d realised my precious time with her was limited …

  Joan clears her throat. ‘Anyway, yes, Clemmy and that lovely fiancé of hers, Ryan, have opened the most glorious glamping site on the banks of a lake. It’s completely idyllic and the tents are magnificent. You’d really think you were staying in a five-star hotel!’

  ‘Sounds lovely.’

  Clemmy is Joan’s niece and was one of my best friends at university, although we’ve sadly lost touch in the years since we left. She went back to live in Surrey, near Joan, and I returned to Manchester. I’m intrigued by the idea of the glamping site but, however much I love Joan, I don’t think spending time with her during our romantic break would be the best thing to do. She would want to talk about Mum and, quite frankly, that’s the last thing I want.

  Why would I need to when I have all my lovely memories of Mum locked away inside?

  And anyway, this romantic break away is going to be a special time, just for Toby and me. We’d finally have time to talk – really talk – about our future together. The magazine with my story printed in it had arrived, which was really exciting, but I’d purposely not told Toby. I was going to present it to him when we were away on holiday and he finally had the time to read it!

  Glamping in Surrey is a nice idea but not for us right now …

  I don’t like disappointing Joan, though, so I tell her I’ll think about it.

  In all the whirl of moving house, I haven’t even thought where to take Toby for his birthday. But it’s June already. I need to make a decision!

  I get back to the unpacking, thoughts of Greece – or maybe Italy – flitting through my head; Toby and I, perfectly relaxed, languishing on a hot sandy beach somewhere, next to a sun-sparkled sea …

  I’m currently tackling a box that was up in Mum’s loft and looks as if it hasn’t been opened since we moved there more than a quarter of a century ago. I brush a cobweb from the front of my cardigan as a musty smell rise
s from the contents of the box – old books, mostly romance fiction with rather garish covers. Mum loved reading and never liked parting with her books. She was ruthless about clutter and was always boxing up stuff like clothes, shoes, old handbags and jewellery for the charity shop. But books were different. She held on to those. I’ve kept some of her favourites but I’ve carted so many off to the charity shop already.

  I’m about to seal the box up again and mark it ‘charity’, when I spot something wedged down the side of the box. I pull it out.

  A handbag.

  It’s a cheap-looking bag. Glossy pink plastic with a gold-coloured clasp and a long narrow strap. Appliquéd onto the front is a pink and gold pony with big eyes and a flowing mane. I can’t imagine Mum would ever use something like that herself. It’s definitely not her style. But someone clearly loved it because it’s scuffed around the edges and well-used.

  Was it mine when I was a teenager?

  It’s so distinctive, I would surely remember it. But I don’t.

  Opening the clasp, I find it’s empty, apart from an ancient-looking bus ticket and a lipstick in ‘shell pink’. There’s a pocket inside, though, and I can feel there’s something in there. Carefully unzipping it, I draw out a folded-up envelope.

  Smoothing it out, I’m disappointed to find that it’s empty. Whatever letter was in there, which might have brought a clue as to the owner of the bag, has long gone. But there’s an address on the front of it that makes the breath catch in my throat.

  Maple Tree House, Acomb Drive, Appley Green, Surrey.

  I’ve never been to Appley Green. But I know it for one very important reason.

  Mum told me it was the place where I was born.

  I asked her once if she knew anything about my birth parents and where I came from. I must have been about sixteen at the time. She was ironing a shirt at the time. It’s funny how you remember the little details. Mum looked across at me and, for a moment, I thought she wasn’t going to answer me. Then she shook her head. ‘Sorry, love. All I know is that you were born in a village called Appley Green, not far from where we lived in Surrey, and your mother couldn’t look after you so she put you up for adoption. I wish I could tell you more but …’