‘I’m scared too,’ he says, ‘but I want this to work.’ Ward sits down next to me, dressed in a thick coat and stripy scarf.
‘How did you know I was here?’ I ask, amazed, touching his arm, wanting to make sure I’m not dreaming.
‘Ruki called me. She was worried about you, told me you were in a pretty bad way last night.’
Wonderful Ruki. I want to throw my arms round Ward, never let him go again. It takes all my restraint to sit still.
‘I’d never do anything behind your back.’ He stares out to the sea. ‘You know I’m on your side.’
‘I do, I really do, and I can’t tell you how sorry I am for jumping to the wrong conclusion. Ward, I…’
Isla waves at us. ‘Hello, Ward!’ she says, as if it’s completely natural that he has appeared out of nowhere to join us. He waves back, before turning to me. ‘Can I put my work hat on for just a minute?’
‘Go on.’
‘Lucas’s timing was lousy, he knows that, but he has a point. Unless you want to move here, you do need to think about selling. The house is too rundown to let, you’d need to spend thousands renovating it and I imagine that’s money you don’t have.’
I nod. ‘Lucas has, but he’s not emotionally invested in Beach House, not like I am. I know it wouldn’t work keeping it, but I can’t imagine not being here. This has been my home for over thirty years.’ I touch my locket.
‘I’m saying this as Ward now, not an agent, OK? I know how much you love it here, how much it means to you, but a home is never the same without the people in it.’
I turn to him, tears in my eyes.
‘Can you imagine being here without your grandparents?’ he asks. ‘Because they are what made it your home. And do you know where their home is now? It’s in here,’ he says, touching my heart, before touching my locket. ‘We can sell the house, anyone can, but we can’t sell them or your memories. They will remain with you forever.’
I rest my head against his shoulder. ‘I love you, Metcalfe.’
‘You know what, Wild? I love you too.’
I lift my head and throw my arms around him. Restraint is so overrated. ‘I love you,’ I repeat, taking his face into my hands and kissing him.
33
It’s a week before Christmas and Ward, Ruki, Godmother Lizzie and I are at Isla’s school, looking at all the entries for the photography competition that line the corridors outside the classrooms. I asked Lucas if he could be here too, but unfortunately he had to work. Isla is busy chatting with her friends, pretending she doesn’t know us. Ruki French-plaited her hair and she’s wearing a pale-pink cardigan with a fabric rose pinned in one corner over a simple navy dress with matching navy shoes. I told her she didn’t have to wear her splints tonight.
There are forty-five entries in total and each entry consists of a series of photos that tell a story. I stop beside some photographs of a child running across a lawn, before sitting in a crumpled heap, laughing, leaves in her hair. There are other pictures of farm animals, travels in Africa; Lizzie points to an image of a child with a meerkaton his head, saying, ‘Dave would love that one.’ There’s a seaside resort with a child eating a chocolate ice cream, sticky brown mixture dribbling down his chin and a big grin on his face. There is a series of someone looking bored as they wait for a bus, before dancing when a bus approaches. Finally we all gather in front of Isla’s. She has taken a selection of pictures of Porthpean Beach; there are photographs of Grandad in his old tweed cap looking out to the sailing boats bobbing on the horizon, another image of Grandad and me walking arm-in-arm, our backs facing the camera, a reflection of our shadows on the sand. There’s Spud flying across the beach, ears pinned back in the wind, and finally a sunset, capturing the most beautiful light across the sea. She’d kept her pictures a secret. I’d had no idea she’d taken that shot of Grandad and me together, I think, proudly looking at the image.
Finally Dan catches up with us, coat still on, car keys in his hand. He’s on his own tonight because Fiona couldn’t make it. ‘Wow,’ he says, standing back. ‘She’s good.’
‘They’re all good,’ I say.
‘But Isla’s is the best, right? Not that we’re biased.’ Dan grins.
‘Of course not.’ I grin back. ‘We’re not biased at all.’
All the parents are sitting in the main hall, waiting for the presentation. Isla is sandwiched between Dan and me; she keeps on fiddling with her rose. Ward is sitting on my other side.
As we wait, I think about the past fortnight. I’ve had an interview with a literary agency in Marylebone. As happy as I am with Ward, I don’t want to be his PA anymore, I don’t think it would be healthy for our relationship. Nor am I sure how long I can cope with Graham’s teasing at the boardroom table. I will miss working in property. How wrong I was all those years ago to dislike estate agents. I’ve worked with some of the best, people I’m proud to call my friends, but I’m ready for a change.
I’ll find out tomorrow if I’ve got the job. I think the interview went well. I didn’t gabble and I didn’t cry. I think of Jeremy and smile. I sent him a box of his favourite vanilla fudge with a little note saying that Ward and I were back together, all thanks to him and Ward forgiving me. I’d finished my note with,‘And I promise, no more tears, love, Jan xxx’.I also let him know that Ward would be putting Beach House up for sale early next year. I couldn’t bear the idea of handing it over to Spencer.
Ward was right about what makes a home. It’s the people. Beach House, without my grandparents, isn’t the same. Ward has promised to try and find the perfect family for it. He’s staying with Isla and me on Christmas Eve and we’re visiting Dan and Fiona on Christmas Day. Ward wants me to meet his mother over Christmas too. I have also invited Lucas, although he hasn’t replied yet. I have to keep on hoping and believing that maybe, one day, Lucas will want to be a larger part of our lives.
I watch the judge and headmistress fuss around on the stage, before playing with their microphones, adjusting the sound. There’s a table mounted with a silver trophy and other prizes. The winner’s name is engraved on the cup each year. Isla keeps on saying it doesn’t matter if she doesn’t win.
‘Exactly,’ Dan reinforces. ‘I’m proud that you got this far.’
‘So am I,’ Ruki and I say at the same time. Isla didn’t have to enter this competition. It’s open to the whole school, but it wasn’t compulsory. Ruki tells me she has worked hard on her shots after school, putting much time and thought into them.
