Chapter Forty-seven
‘It’ll have to do,’ Flynn muttered to himself, looking around his sitting room the following evening, hardly able to believe it was New Year’s Eve.
The table was laid, ready for the Uber Eats delivery from the Greek restaurant that Lara had liked.
He’d managed to order a bottle of fizz online, along with a pre-lit artificial tree plus baubles and tinsel.
There was a vase on the table – thank God it had been a holiday let, as he’d never owned such an item – with some greenery that he’d foraged while hopping around the grounds nearest the cottage, along with some slightly wilting flowers that Mrs Danvers had left while he’d been in hospital.
The only thing missing was Lara. In half an hour, he hoped she’d arrive and he could spend the evening showing her that he wanted her to be part of his life: his present and his future.
She’d been out the previous evening; he’d no idea where and he’d had an anxious wait for a reply to his message asking her if she would come over to spend New Year’s Eve with him.
If she was free, that was, because there was a staff party happening at Carlos’s place, and he was pretty sure she’d been planning to go to that.
It was 11 a.m. that morning before she’d messaged back:
OK. Sounds like it could be fun. See you later.
Good job Flynn had hedged his bets and ordered everything he might need the previous day: if she hadn’t agreed, he was going to be a very sad and lonely figure with a takeaway for two next to his new Christmas tree.
Still, her message was hardly wild with enthusiasm, but he could hardly blame her for being wary. He’d messed her around so much, so caught up in his own problems, that he hadn’t thought of her – yet expected her to help and support him when it suited him.
He checked his watch again and decided to get the plates out of the kitchen cupboards ready for the Uber delivery scheduled for 8 p.m. Hopefully it arrived after he and Lara had had time to talk and loosen up.
Twenty minutes until she was due to arrive. He was as nervous as a schoolboy on a first date, but he could hardly pace the room: his knee was already aching like the devil. He eased himself down onto the chair and waited for the knock on the door.
It came a few moments later, when he’d barely made himself comfortable. She was early: surely a good sign?
‘Hold on a sec!’ he called, limped to the fridge, and collected the bottle of champagne. Somehow, he managed to make it to the door with the bottle tucked under his arm and the aid of one crutch, gingerly taking some weight on his knee. It hurt but he didn’t care.
‘It’s unlocked,’ he said, standing back from the door.
The door opened and Flynn readied himself with his warmest smile.
‘Happy New—’ He stopped. ‘Imogen?’
‘Wow. That’s pushing the boat out.’ Imogen had a supermarket carrier. ‘I brought fizzy apple juice. I can’t drink.’
Flynn hesitated. ‘But what are …’ Flynn’s question died in his mouth even though it pulsed in his brain. What was she doing there?
‘Molly said you wanted us all to spend New Year’s Eve together. Mum’s babysitting.’ She looked at the table laid for two and frowned. ‘Is she not here yet?’
‘No … no … er. Come inside.’
‘Molly had to twist my arm. I had my doubts but she was adamant. We do need to talk properly, though I’m not sure tonight is the best idea.
She said it would mark a fresh start …’ Imogen looked at the table laid for two.
‘Oh my God. She’s set us up, hasn’t she?
What’s she said? That this is some kind of cosy date – just the two of us? ’
Flynn was in mental agony. He didn’t know what to say, or, rather, he knew what he had to say but not how to break it to Imogen that he’d been expecting another woman.
She narrowed her eyes. ‘Hold on. Did you even know I was coming?’
‘Not exactly, no.’
She covered her face with her hands and let out a cry of frustration. ‘Oh, Molly, Molly, Molly, I love you but this is one of your worst ideas ever.’
‘She probably had good intentions,’ Flynn said, realising that he and Imogen had been set up.
‘Yeah. She did.’
Imogen’s gaze was drawn to the table with its flowers and candle. ‘If you didn’t know I was coming, then who’s that for?’
Flynn took a breath. ‘I invited a friend over.’
‘That friend being – Lara, by any chance?’
There was no point in lying. ‘Yes.’
She groaned. ‘Shit.’
‘I’m sorry, Imogen, but don’t blame Molly. She has no idea about Lara. She just wants something that’s never going to happen.’
‘I know.’ Imogen sat down. ‘I’ve made a giant cock-up of everything.’
Flynn lowered himself into the chair too, his knee throbbing worse than ever.
‘No, you haven’t, and we really do need to talk but tonight isn’t the best time.’ Lara was due in ten minutes, and the last thing he wanted was her walking in on him and Imogen having a cosy chat.
‘Do you want a drink?’ he asked, desperate for Imogen to leave but not wanting to seem rude.
‘Not champagne,’ she said drily. ‘I’m driving, but I could do with something cold before I go home.’
‘I have Coke.’
‘Thanks. I’ll get it, shall I?’
‘No, I can grab a can from the fridge.’ He eased himself up and went into the kitchen. While he was getting it, Imogen’s voice came from the doorway. ‘I don’t want to cause any trouble and ruin your evening.’
He turned round, can in hand. ‘I was only expecting an Uber from the Greek taverna up the road.’
‘A Greek taverna?’’ She nodded at the laid table. ‘That sounds fancy. We may hardly know each other, but I guess you’re not into flower arranging as a rule?’
‘No … it was all I could manage to find from the grounds near the cottage.’
She smiled. ‘I suppose this is almost funny.’
Flynn tipped the Coke into a glass and handed it over. His leg was already aching again.
Imogen perched on his sofa. ‘I suppose I could call Molly and say I’m not staying, but I think it would be better to talk to her face to face. I presume she’s at home. She’d fed me some story about meeting me here after work at the café.’
‘She clearly had it all worked out,’ Flynn said, easing himself back into a chair and trying not to glance at his mobile.
Imogen sipped the Coke and briefly seemed at a loss for words, then sighed and picked up the carrier bag.
‘Actually, the main reason I agreed to come, as well as keeping Molly company, was to bring you this.’ She handed over the bag. ‘It’s a photo album. Old school. It’s mostly Molly growing up, but I’ve added something.’
Almost too scared to look, Flynn opened the first page. There was a very young Imogen with Molly in her arms, blue eyes peeping out of a pink blanket; Molly in a paddling pool and on a beach with a bucket and spade; Molly in her school unform, clutching her mum’s hand tightly.
‘Her first day at school,’ Imogen said.
‘She looks so – serious.’
‘She was scared but excited too. She’s always liked school.’
‘I didn’t,’ Flynn said. ‘Unless I was in the workshop, then I loved it.’
The photos went on, with Molly at a nativity play dressed as an angel; singing in a school choir; Molly in a workshop with safety goggles.
‘She’s good with her hands and at science. She was studying Biology and Psychology A levels until Esme came along.’
‘She told me …’ Flynn said.
The last page showed Molly in hospital, tired but beaming, with a very similar picture of her holding Esme in her arms. Imogen and Brenda were at her side, bursting with an unalloyed pride that had once been a mystery to Flynn – but wasn’t now.
‘The midwife took that,’ Imogen said. ‘Molly’s useless ex declined to be present at the birth.’
Flynn murmured something unintelligible because he was seeing his child’s life unfurl before him. A life he had missed, so many moments when he hadn’t been there, hadn’t even been aware were happening.
‘I – I almost didn’t bring these photos.
Have I made a huge mistake? Are you angry?
’ Imogen said. ‘I guess I would be, but it’s too late now, so I thought that this ought to be the start of you catching up.
I can’t turn back the clock but I can involve you from now on.
Not that it’s my decision any more. Molly is an adult – and I should behave like one too.
If you’ll let me, you can see all the videos, all the photos, and ask anything you want to. ’
Flynn nodded. He couldn’t articulate an honest answer: that every new experience such as this would bring a fresh wave of emotions to deal with.
Yet one thing he did know was that there was no point in raging and wallowing in bitterness, even if those feelings would have been natural.
Perhaps he needed to allow some time – in private – to feel them, but not in this moment.
Not now. When he was with Molly and Esme, he had to make the most of every second.
Finally, he came to a photo stuck to the rear inside cover of the album; it showed a skinny young man with his dark hair touching his shoulders, his arm around a girl in shorts and a vest. They were sitting by the lake, bottles of cider raised high.
He rested his fingers on the photo, somehow finding his voice. ‘I don’t remember anyone taking that.’
‘My friend took it earlier in the evening. I added it to the album because that’s the moment Molly came into being.
Now I want you and everyone to know that you’re part of the story.
I will never be able to make it up to you for writing you out and all the years you’ve lost, but I promise you that I came here determined to say that tonight …
will be a fresh start. A turning point in all our lives. ’
‘I—’ He was choked with emotion. ‘Thank you.’
‘No, don’t thank me. I don’t deserve it, but if you can forgive me, then that will be enough. And don’t worry, I’ll speak to Molly about tonight and I won’t be angry with her. There’s been enough disruption to her life.’
‘I’ll speak to her too and explain that she’ll always be part of my life now.’
‘Good idea.’ She glanced at her wristwatch. ‘Thanks for the drink. I should be getting back now. No need to get up. Goodbye, Flynn. We were never meant to be together, but we’re going to have a hell of a time being Nanny and Grandad.’