Chapter 24
Last night’s recorded chat with Cami had involved – on Lizzie’s side at least – putting away a fair amount of wine. Waking at ten and having taken a long hot shower, she dithered over what to wear, because the weather forecast on TV was insisting that today was going to be sunshine all the way, but a glance out of the bedroom window revealed grey skies and heavy rain.
Welcome to England.
She dithered for so long that forty minutes and an episode of Frasier later, when the doorbell rang downstairs, she was still wearing her hyacinth-blue One Hundred Stars robe and nothing else.
Cami, she knew, had left the house half an hour ago to visit the village supermarket and feed her craving for sherbet lemons.
Oh well. Maybe it was Nella, dropping by for a chat.
Or better still, Nick Callaghan.
No offence, Nella, but I’d really prefer it to be Nick .
Leaving her long hair loose and giving her cleavage a quick spritz of scent just in case, Lizzie made her way down the staircase and stopped dead in her tracks when she entered the kitchen.
Because there, standing outside the French windows in the rain, was Stroppy Bluebell Man. Aka Humourless Jogging Man.
What in God’s name was he doing here? Was she about to be served with a writ?
Lizzie stayed where she was. Bluebell Man raised a hand in greeting, then indicated the door.
She frowned. Didn’t move.
He smiled. A bit tentative, but still, an actual smile.
That was something she’d never witnessed before. Did this mean he hadn’t come here to give her yet another piece of his mind?
An extra-vigorous gust of wind sent the rain whipping almost horizontally past the full-length windows. He really was drenched, with water dripping down his face and waxed jacket.
Lizzie crossed the kitchen, then unlocked and opened the door.
‘Hi.’ He said it in a voice quite unlike the irritated one she was used to. ‘May I come in?’
‘Might be an idea.’ Stepping aside to let him past, she said, ‘Wouldn’t want your non-waterproof watch getting wet . . . Oh! Is that why you’re here? To collect the money?’
He looked confused. ‘The money for what?’
‘A new watch. I said I’d buy you a better one, but you disappeared before—’
‘No.’ He cut her off, shook his head, then raked his fingers through his wet hair, pushing it back from his forehead. ‘Of course I’m not here for that. I came to apologise for . . . before. I was pretty abrupt with you. And I shouldn’t have been. I’m sorry.’
Well, well, talk about a turn-up for the books. Intrigued, Lizzie raised an eyebrow. ‘Which time? Bluebells or garden hose?’ Even though you could hardly blame him for not being thrilled about getting sprayed with ice-cold water.
‘Both times. The bluebells . . . OK, it’s pretty annoying when you walk through the churchyard and see thousands of them gone. Some people take them and sell them. Others dig up the bulbs.’
‘I said I was sorry. I had no idea they were protected.’
‘I know. And I should have been more understanding. You caught me on a bad day. It was my wedding anniversary.’
‘You mean you wish you weren’t married?’ The words spilled out before she had time to put two and two together; her mistimed sense of humour was the bane of her life. How often had she jokingly said the wrong thing and instantly regretted it? Like now .
‘Actually, I wish I was still married.’
He’d been walking through a graveyard; it was kind of a big clue. ‘I’m such a klutz. I’m so sorry.’
Another faint smile lifted the corners of his mouth. ‘I think we’ve both done enough apologising. We should probably stop now. And I should probably introduce myself . . . unless you already know who I am.’
‘No idea.’ Lizzie shrugged. ‘In my head, you’re just Mr Angry.’
‘I suppose that’s fair enough.’ He held out his hand. ‘But most people call me Matthew.’
‘Hi, Matthew.’ She shook his hand. ‘Nice to meet you.’
‘Matthew Morgan. You too.’
The penny slowly dropped. ‘Morgan. You mean . . . you’re Maeve’s dad? But she never told me it was you!’
‘I know. She was mortified when you talked about the stroppy guy who’d lectured you in the churchyard. She couldn’t believe I’d been so rude to one of Nick’s guests. Gave me quite a telling-off.’
‘Your dog is her dog. Teddy. She’s told me about him.’
Matthew nodded. ‘He is.’
‘And your daughter is . . . incredible.’
‘I know. We were very lucky.’
‘I’m so sorry about your wife. Maeve’s told me all about her.’
‘I was lucky there too.’ He pulled back the left sleeve of his jacket and tapped the watch on his wrist. ‘There’s something I should explain. This was the first Christmas present she ever bought me, when we were both eighteen. Didn’t cost much, because neither of us had much, but that was what made it extra special. It meant the world to me back then. It still does.’
There it was, she’d managed to do it again, make fun of one of his most treasured possessions. Lizzie felt her throat tighten. ‘Don’t make me feel worse than I already do. Now it’s my turn to be mortified.’
‘Don’t be. And there’s something else I need to tell you.’ He was looking at her now with an expression she couldn’t begin to decipher.
‘What is it?’
‘I wasn’t sure whether you knew. But now I think Maeve was right. You really don’t. Which makes this all the more astonishing.’
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about now.’ Lizzie shook her head. ‘And I’m also quite impatient. So whatever this is, I think you should just come out and say it.’
‘Or I could show you.’ Reaching into the inside pocket of his Barbour, he produced a transparent sandwich bag with something thin inside. Drawing out a small Polaroid, he passed it over to her. ‘There. Ring any bells?’
It was the photo she’d been telling Cami about last night. But that was impossible. How could it be here in the UK when she knew for a fact that it was stored away in a box in her mother’s spare room, along with countless other boxes containing mail from fans that had been sent to her over the years.
Lizzie frowned, utterly baffled. Had Cami been so eager to include the story in the book that she’d contacted Lizzie’s mother in LA? But this wasn’t an emailed image, it was an actual yellow-at-the-edges Polaroid.
She looked at Matthew. ‘Where did you get this? How did you get it?’
Then she studied the photo again, seeing it for the first time in almost twenty years. Her gaze switched back to Matthew, standing before her looking older but similar to the man in the photo as he and his wife beamed with joy and showed their newborn daughter to the camera.
‘Is it you ?’
It was the most surreal experience of her life.
He nodded and finally broke into an older-but-still-recognisable smile. ‘It’s us.’
‘What happened to Hannah?’
‘Same baby. We changed her name later that night.’
‘This is Maeve?’
‘That’s Maeve. You gave her to us.’
Lizzie’s eyes filled with tears. ‘I did?’
‘You did. If it wasn’t for you, she would never have been born. She wouldn’t exist now. But she does, and that’s all thanks to you.’ Were there tears in his eyes too? He nodded and said, ‘So . . . thank you. From the bottom of my heart.’
‘This is so weird , though. How did you find out? I was only telling Cami about the whole IVF thing last night.’
‘I know. She was playing it back this morning while Maeve was here in the kitchen. Maeve was out of sight behind the table, apparently, cleaning scuff marks off the floor. That was when she heard the story and realised you were the one.’
Which explained how the connection had come about, bringing him over to see her today. Lizzie’s brain, though, was still in a whirl. ‘But it’s such a massive coincidence. Like, huge . I chose this place online . . .’ A faint memory nudged at the furthest corner of her mind. Slowly she said, ‘My mum will have your letter and the photo in storage. But . . . did you put your address on it?’
Matthew nodded. ‘We would have done. Letters just look weird if you don’t.’
‘When I was looking at Nick’s website and saw that the properties were in Starbourne, the name felt familiar,’ Lizzie recalled. ‘But I had no idea why. I just thought maybe it reminded me of the name of an eyeshadow I’d just bought.’ As with her recorded conversations with Cami, the cogs were now turning, the forgotten details falling into place. ‘And when Maeve showed me the screen saver of her mum on her phone, I felt as if I’d seen her before. Like I knew her from somewhere.’ She waved the Polaroid. ‘It must have been this photo. But I didn’t recognise you at all when I saw you in the churchyard.’
‘You weren’t expecting to see me. And,’ Matthew reminded her drily, ‘I was smiling in the photo. That morning in the churchyard, not so much.’
‘Plus you were twenty years younger back then. We all were.’
His expression softened; when he wasn’t being angry, he actually had nice eyes. ‘I still can’t believe it was you.’
‘And I can’t believe you’re still standing there dripping rain all over the floor. At least take your coat off and sit down.’ Lizzie glanced up at the clock on the wall, which said five to eleven. ‘Is it too early for champagne?’
He looked amused. ‘Maybe a bit.’
‘Shame. Coffee?’
Matthew peeled off his Barbour jacket and pulled out a chair. ‘Coffee would be great.’
‘Where’s Maeve now?’
‘Gone back to work. I said I’d let her know when she could come over. She thought you were pretty great before,’ he went on. ‘She loves you even more now.’
‘Call her. Tell her to get herself over here. This hasn’t stopped feeling weird,’ said Lizzie. ‘I still keep expecting you to shout at me.’
Matthew shook his head. ‘Well, stop expecting it. Because I really can’t see that happening any time soon. From now on, you can chuck as much ice-cold water over me as you want.’
She gave a splutter of laughter. ‘How about picking bluebells?’
His eyes glinted with amusement. ‘Sorry, that’s still not allowed.’