Chapter 28
BECKETT
Beckett was exhausted, completely skint and happier than he’d ever been.
He’d spent the past few days with a warmth in his stomach that gently swirled like molten caramel.
When Mary smiled, or her arm brushed his when working closely on a troublesome part of a design, or – if he was being honest – every time he thought about her, that warmth boiled over, spilling into every part of his body, making it hard to focus on anything else.
He’d been in love once before, but it was nothing like this.
With Rebecca – even thinking about her made him feel like a traitor – he’d never experienced this combination of rightness, as if his world could be at rest now Mary was in it, alongside such keen anticipation, as if he was embarking on the adventure of a lifetime, one that would require him to be bold, gallant and true.
It took a Herculean effort at times to prevent the intensity of his emotions from showing on his face, leaching into the way he spoke or causing his touch to linger when he handed her a reel of cotton.
Until either he knew more of Mary and Bob’s story, or else she gave a clearer indication that she wanted more, he’d do the honourable thing and stay firmly as the friend she needed.
He’d been amazed at Mary’s skill in coming up with designs for the motley crew of characters.
Although she’d found executing some aspects challenging, rather than giving up, she’d taken the time to come up with alternative solutions, and had listened to advice as well as sticking to what she decided was best.
When he’d asked how she found the energy to work so hard on the costumes, alongside caring for Bob and helping out with Gramps, she’d told him that, if anything, the project had energised her.
‘Doing something familiar, that you love, isn’t really work, is it?’ she’d mused, a row of pins in her teeth. ‘Isn’t there a quote about how when you find what you love, you never have to work another day in your life?’
‘Which do you love most, the sewing or looking after your baby?’
‘Shay would have said these costumes were her babies.’
‘Shay?’ Beckett looked up from where he’d been holding two pieces of silky fabric straight while Mary pinned them together.
She went still. Beckett held his breath, waiting for her to possibly offer a tiny morsel of her past.
‘One of the other directors. We were best friends.’
‘Were?’ Beckett asked softly.
‘I thought it was obvious when we met that I didn’t have any friends left.’ She jabbed in a final pin, moving away to squint at the fabric with a no-nonsense manner that made it clear the conversation was over. ‘There. Time for a quick tea-break and then I’ll tack it.’
He thought again about having a look online, for a director of an ethical fashion company called Shay, even though it didn’t take a private detective to make the link between Shay and ShayKi. But he’d made a promise. She’d tell him when she was ready. He could only hope that wasn’t too long a wait.
* * *
When he arrived at the cottage on the afternoon of the dress rehearsal, Mary was almost as wound up as the first time he’d knocked on her door.
He was a few minutes late. It had taken longer than he’d expected to get a grouchy Gramps into the car.
Usually, seeing Mary and Bob had him cooperating, but he’d been up since four that morning, insisting he needed a walk, despite the pavements being covered in thick frost and the air hovering around freezing.
Gramps hadn’t forgiven Beckett yet for locking the doors and hiding the keys.
He probably never would, but he’d hopefully forget it ever happened soon enough.
‘Wait, I have a tick list!’ she called, making him stop at the front door so she could check off the armful of costumes he was carrying.
After four trips to the car, two more to redirect Gramps back into the passenger seat and another to collect Bob’s pram and his other stuff, Beckett found Mary still loitering in the hallway, practically wringing her hands with agitation.
‘Hey,’ he said, stopping right in front of her.
She squeezed her eyes shut, giving her head an irritated shake before opening them again. ‘I can’t seem to keep it together. After everything I’ve been through, a silly, small-time carol concert has me crumbling into pieces.’
‘Because you know it’s not silly or small time to Cheris, or Carolyn, the cast and crew or most of that church.’
‘I know that.’ Mary shook her head again, face screwing up. ‘I know it’s not silly. But the last time I did anything like this was London Fashion Week. I felt excited, and eager and proud. Now, I’m scared witless.’
‘What are you scared of?’ Beckett asked softly.
‘What aren’t I scared of?’ She gave a watery laugh.
‘I’m terrified they won’t like the costumes.
They’re too much, over the top, show-offy.
Like wearing a fur coat and Prada heels to pick up a pint of milk from the corner shop.
I’m petrified they’ll not fit, or fall apart or unravel at a crucial moment, as I’m doing right now.
’ She sucked in a juddering breath, the rest of it coming out all in one go.
‘I’m scared I’ll fail at the first thing I’ve ever tried on my own, or taken responsibility for, without my friends to sort me out or tell me what I’ve done wrong or got right.
I’ve never been enough, not really, not good or intelligent or brave enough, and for a while here I thought I could be.
My dead end opened up to a new start, and I dared to hope this time it would be different.
But what if I’m wrong? I’ve gone and ruined something really special and everyone will resent me, or, even worse, pity me while pretending it doesn’t matter.
They will be perfectly pleasant to my face, but we won’t be proper friends, we won’t be equals, because I let them all down.
’ She groaned. ‘Why didn’t I stick to my limits?
What a selfish way to prove some petty point.
All I can think about is racing to the fancy-dress shop in Nottingham and grabbing whatever they’ve got.
I don’t think I can do it, Beckett. I can’t show up there with this.
With my heart and soul and the best of me, and it not be good enough… ’
‘Mary.’ Beckett placed his hands on her hitching shoulders, repeating her name firmly until she looked at him, as he’d learned back in medical school. ‘Breathe with me.’
There was no point correcting her while she was in no state to listen. He swallowed back the surge of anger that she’d been made to believe total hogwash about not being good enough in the first place.
Growing impatient after a couple of shaky exhales, he simply dropped his arms and enfolded her into his chest.
‘Remember what they said?’ he murmured. ‘Sofia. Bill and the others? Yara cried. She said she’d wear her dress to get married in. Everyone loved their costumes. Those Christmas Twins are nothing if not straight talkers. They’d have told you if they were too much, or in any way not good enough.’
Mary hiccupped a couple of times as Gramps wandered back in from the car for the third time, causing Beckett to marvel yet again at how his grandfather somehow managed to always find the dexterity to do what he wanted.
‘They are incredible. Because you are incredible. Even if a bunch of clothes you had a month to make weren’t good enough – which they are, I genuinely don’t think anyone could have done better – even if they were load of rubbish, it doesn’t mean you aren’t enough.
You are a good enough mother, with hardly anyone to help you?—’
‘You help me,’ she whispered, to Beckett’s relief, because it meant she was listening.
‘A single mum, recovering from… from something catastrophic, and you’ve still got on with it and done an awesome job. You are good enough for Gramps, which only two other people have managed lately, his own grandson definitely not being one of them. You’re a great friend to the coffee mums.’
‘What if they only came and helped because they knew I couldn’t do it by myself?’
‘Of course you couldn’t do it by yourself. If I’ve learned anything the past few weeks, it’s that most things are far better done with someone else. But they helped because they love you, and had fun doing it.’
Beckett took in a deep breath, which was a mistake because his expanding chest felt every inch of Mary pressed against him.
His voice dropped to a whisper.
‘You’re too good for me, Mary. Far more than enough.’
She didn’t say anything, but simply sighed into his sweater, as some of the tension left her body.
Beckett stood there, in heaven and hell at the same time.
Gramps appeared in the kitchen doorway, carrying a spanner that he’d picked up from somewhere.
‘Aren’t you done canoodling yet? I thought we were going back to the lunch place?’
Beckett dropped his arms, unable to resist placing a soft kiss on the top of Mary’s head before he moved away.
It was only after she’d wiped her face, straightened her jumper embroidered with pine trees, and smoothed back her hair that she met his worried, lovelorn gaze.
‘How come you always know exactly the right thing to say?’ she said, managing a hint of a smile. ‘Is it a Dr Bywater tactic?’
‘Definitely not.’ He ducked his head, trying to sound casually wry to negate the flush spreading up his neck. ‘Come on, if you’re all done fishing for compliments. Let’s not keep them waiting. The show must go on.’
He picked up the car seat containing a snoozing Bob and started towards the front door, but Mary caught his hand, pulling him around to face her.
‘Thank you,’ she said.
He grinned, even as his heart burst. ‘You’re welcome.’
‘Not only for today. For… For being my friend. When I needed one most.’
Beckett doffed an imaginary cap. It seemed he’d lost control of his faculties. ‘I can promise you, the pleasure was all mine.’
* * *