Chapter Six
‘I can’t thank you enough for this, Lily.’
‘You already have. Many times,’ I said with a smile, raising my voice slightly as a bus rumbled past Raegan’s tiny maisonette. She lived on a busy road, and the morning rush hour traffic was still in full flow. It didn’t help that we were standing at least twelve feet apart, which I’m sure was twice the recommended distance.
‘Well, I owe you big-time for this one. This is above and beyond, and not what employers usually do for their staff.’ Her voice sounded scratchy, and her eyes were suspiciously bright, and I don’t think either of those symptoms was due to Covid.
‘Maybe not, but it is what friends do for each other,’ I said, desperately wanting to give her a hug, because she really looked like she needed one. Raegan had been talking about her parents’ fortieth wedding anniversary party for months. Family members and friends were travelling from all over the country for a huge celebration in their hometown of Berwick-upon-Tweed, and when Raegan had asked if we could make the cake for the party, I didn’t hesitate to say yes.
‘ I’ll pay, of course, ’ she’d insisted at the time, to which I’d mumbled something along the lines of ‘ We’ll see’ , knowing there was no way I’d let her do anything of the sort.
We’d finished icing the elaborate creation two days earlier, and even if I say so myself, I think we’d done a pretty amazing job. Apparently, Raegan’s parents hadn’t been able to afford a proper cake for their registry office wedding forty years ago, so we’d pulled out all the stops to create something truly spectacular for them.
‘I’m going to drive as carefully as if I’m delivering nitroglycerine,’ Raegan had joked, as together we’d loaded the cake into the back of her car.
But now, due to an outbreak of Covid in Polly’s class, which half the children and their parents had caught, neither Raegan nor her daughter were going to be driving up north after all. I was.
‘Poor Mum and Dad. They’re fated to never have a cake to celebrate getting hitched,’ Raegan had said sadly when she’d phoned the previous evening to let me know both she and Polly had tested positive.
I’d spent less than five seconds considering the logistics before telling her they’d still have the cake we’d worked on so hard together.
‘I’ll drive it up to them.’
‘Lily, do you know how far away Northumberland is? Berwick-upon-Tweed is practically in Scotland.’
‘I don’t have to know, as long as Google Maps does,’ I replied.
She threw more objections my way, but I kicked each one to the kerb. ‘Look, it’s the weekend, and I’d been toying with the idea of going away for a couple of days, anyway,’ I said, crossing my fingers at the white lie. ‘I’ve no plans that I need to rearrange, and the diary for next week is clear for a change. Besides, I’ve never been to that part of the country before. Fletcher and I can have a little mini break, walking along the beaches up there. They do have beaches, right?’
Raegan had laughed, which then turned into an ugly coughing fit. ‘Bloody Covid,’ she cursed, not for the first time, before adding, ‘Yes. They have beaches, but you’ll need to pack your thermal undies. It’ll be freezing up there at this time of year.’
Now, the thump of small feet thundering down the maisonette stairs was quickly followed by a delighted shriek of ‘Auntie Lily’, as Raegan’s flaxen-haired daughter shot through the front door towards me.
Raegan’s reactions were quicker than a bodyguard’s as she swept an arm around her daughter’s waist, scooping her off her feet before she could hurtle into my arms.
‘Sorry, pixie girl, you can’t give Auntie Lily a hug. We don’t want to make her sick too, do we?’
Polly’s face fell, and if it hadn’t been for my cake delivery mission, I’d probably have thought ‘sod it’ and hugged her anyway.
‘I forgot I had bloody Covid,’ she said sadly, looking stunned when Raegan and I burst out laughing.
‘I warned you to clean up your language,’ I said to Raegan, wiping tears of amusement from my eyes. Nothing and no one made me smile as much as my friend’s young daughter. For a moment I felt the old, familiar ache of longing. If things had been different, perhaps I too could have been a mum by now.
I shook my head and repositioned that thought back to where it belonged, with all the other middle-of-the-night impossible dreams that broke my heart.
A volley of barking from the car alerted me that my travelling companion was growing impatient.
‘Fletcher,’ Polly said mournfully, as Raegan tightened her hold on her squirming offspring. I gave the little girl a sympathetic smile, because as much as she loved me . . . she loved my dog even more.
‘I’ll bring him round to see you when you’re both better,’ I promised.
Suitably mollified, Polly stood on the doorstep as Raegan retrieved a large flat box bearing the Cupcakes and Rainbows logo from her hallway. She carried it carefully down the path and set it on the ground halfway between the two of us before backing away sadly.
‘I’m so sorry you’re going to miss your family party,’ I said as I stooped to collect the box.
Raegan gave a shrug, but the disappointment was painted all over her face.
‘You know where you’ve got to go?’ she questioned one last time.
I nodded.
‘They’ll ask you to stay for the party. But take my advice, politely decline. My lot get a bit rowdy when they’ve had a few bevvies.’
I smiled. ‘Maybe that’s just the tonic I need.’
Raegan gave a small snort. ‘Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you. If nothing else, stay away from Uncle Billy on the dance floor. He thinks he’s John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever and is downright dangerous.’ She mimed the film’s iconic dance move, and I stifled a giggle.
‘Drive safely, and once again, thank you so much. Have I said that before?’
‘Nah, I don’t think you have,’ I teased, securing the anniversary cake safely in the boot of the car. I straightened up and shivered slightly in the cool morning air.
‘This is nothing compared to what it’s like up north. Don’t forget to pack a warm coat,’ Raegan warned.
The advice was still ringing in my ears as I pulled into the morning traffic with Polly and her mum waving me off from their doorstep, as though I’d be away for months rather than just a few nights.
My weekend bag was where I’d left it in the hallway, beside a much larger one containing Fletcher’s supplies.
‘You sure don’t travel light, boy,’ I muttered as I hefted the holdall containing kibble, food bowls and his favourite toys down the steps from the mansion-house flat and into the back of the car. Fletcher was pacing impatiently along the back seat, clearly anxious to be on our way. How he knew we were going anywhere more exciting than the vet was a mystery, but he was certainly keen to go. In a strange way, so was I. I’d delivered hundreds of cakes to customers over the years, yet there was an excitement to this trip that defied all explanation. Plus it would be a nice distraction from my failed attempt to find Josh. I’d had weeks to think of a new plan and had come up empty.
I refocused my mind on the six-hour drive ahead of me as I did one final check of the flat and reached for my warm, padded coat. But as I threw it over my arm, I noticed a mosaic pattern of dirty pawprints covering the fabric. I’d forgotten that Fletcher’s last walk had ended with both of us looking as though we’d been mud-wrestling. There was no way I could wear the soiled coat, and my only other option was a much thinner jacket. ‘It’ll be freezing up there at this time of year,’ Raegan had warned, and I assumed she knew what she was talking about.
With a sigh I went from hallway to bedroom and opened the wardrobe doors on the far side of the room. There’d been days when I’d stood for worrying lengths of time in front of Adam’s clothes, inhaling the lingering scent of him. I’d certainly put off clearing out his wardrobe far longer than the bereavement books said I should. It was the final wall to scale in the long process of saying goodbye, and although I knew it would feel like crawling over broken glass, I resolved to tackle the task when I got back from this mini break.
But right now, I was grateful I’d delayed, because it meant that Adam’s thick cashmere coat was still hanging exactly where he’d left it, at the back of the closet. I pulled the navy garment from its hanger but resisted the urge to try it on. I already knew the warm woollen fabric would be more than a match for whatever weather Northumberland chose to throw at us.
‘That has to be the bonniest cake I’ve ever seen.’
It was probably the fifth or sixth time Raegan’s mum had said this, but the joy on her face every time she took ‘another wee peek’ at her cake was in no danger of growing old.
‘And you say our Rae did this?’ asked my friend’s father, scratching first the stubble on his chin and then his not inconsiderable belly. It looked like he was already anticipating the first slice. I had no idea if the cake would arrive intact or minus a slice or two for the party the next day, but I’d done my bit – I’d got it from my home to theirs without mishap.
‘Yes, Raegan pretty much made it herself. I was more of an assistant.’ I had no qualms about switching the truth a little. It was worth it to see the pride in her parents’ eyes.
‘Are you sure you won’t stay for a bite to eat, Lily?’ Raegan’s mum pressed.
Yet again I shook my head. ‘I really should be going. I don’t want to be searching for my accommodation in the dark. But thank you again for the tea.’ I got to my feet, giving Fletcher a meaningful look where he was lying in front of the fire. He rose reluctantly, about as enthusiastic as I was to leave the warmth of the lounge and go back out into the cold. But the house was rapidly filling with visiting relatives for tomorrow’s party, and it was time we said our farewells.
‘Remember, you’re more than welcome to join us tomorrow, lass,’ urged Raegan’s father kindly. ‘I’m sure the hotel will bend their rules about dogs,’ he added uncertainly.
‘No. It’s very kind of you, but I think Fletcher and I are going to do some exploring of the area, and maybe even cross the border into Scotland, who knows? But I hope you all have a wonderful time.’
The one-room annexe I’d booked for the night was surprisingly cosy.
‘Have you and your precious pup got everything you need?’ the owner asked kindly.
‘Everything looks great, thank you. If you could direct me to the nearest beach, I’d like to take him for a walk before it gets dark.’
‘I can, pet, but you’d better wrap up warm or that wind will cut straight through you.’
‘Everyone is paranoid we’re going to get hypothermia,’ I told an unconcerned Fletcher as I wrangled him into the fleecy coat I’d bought for him. It was like trying to put tights on an octopus, and by the time I’d done up the fasteners there was a thin film of perspiration on my upper lip. It almost made me think I didn’t need Adam’s warm coat after all, but I slipped it on nevertheless after clipping on Fletcher’s lead.
Armed with directions, Fletcher and I headed for the beach. No sooner had we descended the steep stone steps that led to the sand than I realised why everyone had warned me about the weather. Even coddled inside the oversized cashmere coat, I could still feel the wind taking crafty nips at my exposed flesh.
We walked close to the water’s edge, and I kept the pace brisk, for I was starting to lose all feeling in my cheeks as the North Sea wind blasted us relentlessly. I regretted not bringing gloves and thrust my hands deep into the pockets of Adam’s coat, withdrawing the right one almost immediately when my finger encountered something sharp lodged at the bottom. I sucked the tiny bead of blood from a papercut on my fingertip before pulling out the culprit: a tightly folded square of paper. It was too dark to read whatever was on it, but the thought that I might have found one last note in Adam’s handwriting made me slide it back. Finding items like this was growing rarer as the months passed, and even if this was some long-forgotten shopping list or reminder, it was still worth saving.
It wasn’t a shopping list or a reminder. It wasn’t even something Adam had written himself, I realised with disappointment, as I sat down with a welcome hot drink in my annexe room and unfolded the sheet.
My first reaction was surprise. The page appeared to be one Adam had downloaded from the internet, but for the life of me I couldn’t work out why.
‘Wildwood Furniture,’ I murmured, causing an exhausted Fletcher to briefly open one eye to see if I was addressing him. I gave him a quick head scratch before returning my attention to the printout. Most of the page was taken up with photographs of handcrafted pieces of rustic furniture. They looked beautifully made, but they would have stuck out like a sore thumb among the modern décor of our flat. I had no idea why Adam had been thinking about buying one of these pieces, but he must have been considering it, for there was a big loopy tick scrawled on the top right-hand corner of the sheet.
I was on the point of setting my curious find aside, but something about the images on the page stopped me. I traced the outline of one photograph with my fingertip. There was something about the style and shape of the piece that reminded me of something. I took a large mouthful of tea and then almost choked as the answer occurred to me mid-swallow.
‘You’ve got to be kidding me,’ I said to absolutely no one as I jumped from the armchair and took the sheet to the table lamp. I had seen that dresser before – or one identical to it. It had been in Gordon’s room at the care home.
‘It’s just a coincidence,’ I said, peering closely at the photograph while trying to deny the evidence of my own eyes. But now there was a new thought buzzing insistently like a trapped wasp in my head. Hadn’t I seen another piece of furniture like this somewhere?
Grateful for my last-minute decision to bring my laptop, I could feel my impatience ratcheting up with every sluggish minute it took to fire up.
It had been a while since I’d last checked out her Instagram page, and after our frosty encounter at the care home, there was every chance Claire had gone through her many followers and blocked me. My only hope was that she didn’t know my married name or that I’d be lost among the thousands of people who followed her fashion blog.
The question I probably should have been asking was why I’d ever looked her up online in the first place. Had it been just casual curiosity, or had I secretly been hoping that one day I’d see a face I recognised in one of her posts? A face I’d not seen in real life for six years.
Claire posted regularly, but it didn’t take long scrolling through the selfies to find what I was looking for. The airy hallway was one of her favourite locations for modelling outfits, and sure enough there she was, in a dress that showed off boobs a little too perfect to be a gift from nature. But it wasn’t Claire’s impressive cleavage that caught my attention; it was another kind of chest altogether: a large wooden one that she was perched on. I picked up the sheet of paper from Adam’s pocket and held it beside my laptop screen. The chest was a perfect match to one sold by Wildwood Furniture, just like the piece in Gordon’s room had been.
Why did Adam have the details of a handcrafted-furniture designer buried in his coat pocket? And why did my former neighbours both own pieces from the same company?
Suddenly my knees felt weak, and I lowered myself on to the bed as a new thought occurred to me. What if that tick at the top of the page wasn’t a tick at all? What if it was actually a letter? The letter J . . . for Josh.
I dropped the piece of paper as though it had scorched my fingers.
‘I want you to find Josh and fix things with him,’ Adam had said to me in his final hours. He’d made me promise that I would locate my former friend and ‘Listen to what he has to say.’ But even while he’d been extracting that promise from me, Adam must have suspected that I wouldn’t try too hard to find him. Was that why he’d left me this clue in a place I was sure to find it when I went through his things?
‘It would have been easier if you’d just written his contact details on our kitchen whiteboard, hon,’ I said, closing my eyes and visualising the jotter beside the fridge, where Adam’s scrawled reminder that we were out of coffee had sat for the last fourteen months.
With a heavy sigh I reached again for my laptop and typed in the website address for Wildwood Furniture. The site was infuriatingly vague. There was no address, no showroom to visit or owner’s name. There wasn’t even a mobile phone number to call. Who would run a business with such sketchy contact details? Maybe someone who didn’t want to be found.
My brow furrowed as I read through the web page for a fourth time. I had no interest in buying one of the ‘handcrafted bespoke items’ that had been created in a ‘remote forest workshop’, but there was something about the phraseology that sounded vaguely familiar. Was I putting two and two together and coming up with a number more improbable than four? But somehow I didn’t think I was wrong. Finding this clue to Josh’s whereabouts – if that’s what it was – felt like serendipity. As though Adam had purposefully led me to this point. I guess you really do want me to go through with this , I thought with resignation as I clicked on the Contact Us link.
I couldn’t remember Josh ever expressing a desire to be a furniture maker, but he had always been creative and was forever carving something out of wood with that old penknife of his. I could still recall the rough cuts on his fingers whenever he’d take my hand to help me climb on to our treetop platform. Working with wood calmed him down, made him less restless, he used to say. Did it still?
‘There’s only one way to find out,’ I murmured as I keyed my email address into the box on the screen. My fingers hesitated for a moment before finally beginning to type.
Josh, I realise I’m probably the last person you ever wanted or expected to hear from again, but I really need to speak to you. Lily.