‘You don’t have to if it doesn’t suit,’ he says quickly, almost as if he’s changed his mind already.
‘Sorry – yes, I’d – of course. I’d really love that and I think Ben would love it too,’ I tell him quickly. ‘We’ll look forward to that. I’ll – I’ll bring dessert. Thank you.’
‘Tomorrow at five thirty, is that OK?’
He is back to being monotone and focused, while my head is still on all things Rachel.
‘Perfect,’ I tell him, doing my best to stay present, but I can feel a headache coming on after the intensity of today. ‘That’s very kind of you. I’ll see you then.’
I watch him walk away from my workplace, his handsome figure with his dark head bowed down against theflurries of snow, and then I go back to work to try and shake off my headache. I start off by placing Mabel’s silk neck scarf carefully on a mannequin in the window and snap it for our social media, knowing it will sell almost immediately, if not locally, to one of our growing online followers.
But all the time I’m doing so, I can’t stop wondering about Rachel, and how much I loved going through Mabel’s clothes with her husband, and the time we just spent together. It’s odd that she’s so far away, not knowing what’s going on in his world at such a vulnerable time.
‘Can I visit Aidan this evening? Please, Mum?’ Ben asks me when he bounds into the shop after school. ‘I want to find out more about New York City! My teacher was there and she says it’s so cool and we should definitely go there!’
I hold the bag with Mabel’s precious red dress in my right hand and I can’t wait to get it home and put it away safely.
‘Let’s get you home and see what homework needs to be done,’ I tell my son, trying to divert him from something he has probably been dying to do all day. ‘You’ll see Aidan tomorrow at a special Thanksgiving dinner in Mabel’s memory. He’s invited us over, so you’ll have to wait until then.’
Ben punches the air in delight, then his face falls as he realizes he has to wait twenty-four hours for that, but I hurry him on as we say our goodbyes to Camille then leave the shop to walk the half mile home to Teapot Row.
The sun begins to bow its head over Warren’s Wood in the distance as we walk under the deep November sky.
‘And Brandon says his mum has been to New York three hundred times, but I don’t believe him,’ Ben tells me as we walk hand in hand quickly against the nip in the air. ‘Brandon tells lies all the time and I’m so sick of it. He always has to beat my stories, every single time.’
I wonder how long Ben’s obsession with New York and Aidan Murphy will go on for, and that old familiar grip of fear clasps within me, letting me know how important it is to protect Ben from any further feelings of abandonment when Aidan disappears from his life very shortly. Maybe I shouldn’t have agreed to the dinner. Maybe we’re spending too much time together already. Maybe I shouldn’t be sledging and dining out and dining in with another woman’s husband, no matter how fragmented their marriage may seem from afar.
‘And when I asked Miss Tennyson if one person could really go to New York three hundred times, she laughed and—’
‘Hang on, honey, just a second,’ I say to Ben, quite literally stopping us both in our tracks as I look ahead.
Daylight has really dropped down fast as we approach Teapot Row. I see Aidan’s silver car parked in its now usual place under the yellow glow of the street lamp, but when I get closer I notice something is different, something is missing which makes me stop right there to take it all in.
It’s theFor Salesign outside Mabel’s house.
TheFor Salesign is gone. Aidan, it seems, has changed his mind.
15.
Idon’t set eyes on Aidan Murphy until it’s time to go next door as promised at five thirty the following day, which gives me the space I desperately needed to gather myself and build up some emotional strength from deep inside after sorting out Mabel’s belongings.
But even though I haven’t seen him, I did hear some rather heavy chat coming from next door when I was tidying at the back of my house, meaning he was either on a very intense and heated phone call, or he was letting off some steam to himself. I don’t know him well enough to decide which of the two it may have been, but he did sound very frustrated.
Ben and I, on the other hand, spent a very relaxing afternoon baking an apple pie, which was the only thing that prevented him from bounding next door ahead of our invited time. As we walk the short distance now to Mabel’s house, the heat of the pie in my hands and the warm, sweet smell of apples mixes with the crisp evening air and calms me right down, helping me regain some composure for the evening ahead.
‘Knock, knock!’ I shout, just like I always used to, hoping the moment I do it that Aidan doesn’t mind us letting ourselves in. I’d suggested we knock properly and wait, but Ben was already ahead of me and Aidan shouted a hello from the kitchen where he is still cooking up a storm.
The first thing I notice when Ben and I step across the threshold of Mabel’s cottage isn’t the smell of food or the sound of Aidan’s voice, but the black suitcase in the hallway all packed up and ready to go. I stop. I do a double-take and almost drop the masterpiece of dessert I’d spent so long making.
‘Is Aidan going home already?’ Ben asks me, but I can barely bring myself to answer. It’s for the best all round, I tell myself. It’s definitely for the best.
The next thing that hits me is the delicious smell of roast turkey and ham, and as it’s our first time inside this door since Mabel left us, I also can’t help but sense that already the whole house feels different even though it’s only just over a week since she was last here.
Photos that once lined the narrow little hallway, mostly of Mabel in her cabaret days and of her wedding day to Peter, have been removed, leaving a faint line of dust where they used to sit on the wall. The paint, a shade of green she used to describe in a posh voice as ‘pistachio’ was darker beneath where the framed photos once took pride of place, and the coat stand that stood in the corner is now empty and lonely without her vast collection of colourful coats to keep it company.
‘Come on in and have a seat. I’m almost ready to serve up,’ says Aidan, looking very much at ease considering he is cooking in someone else’s kitchen. He has a tea towel over his shoulder and wears a fitted navy T-shirt, blue denim jeans, and white tennis shoes. I try not to stare at his muscular back as he leads us inside.
‘I’ll just leave this here, but mind, the dish is still hot,’ I say, leaving the apple pie on the worktop. I have butterflies, but I’m glad at the same time that Aidan’s stay is coming to an end because the longer he stays, the more Ben seems to enjoy having him around, and that frightens the life out of me.
