Chapter 61
Five months later
I’ve had to listen to Kayla singing ‘Whistle While You Work’ for three hours straight now.
‘Is it your fourth or fifth date with Aiden tonight?’ I ask, as she happily dips her brush into a can of Dulux.
‘Sixth.’
‘You only got together last weekend. How can you fit six into the space of five days?’ I ask.
She turns to me, raises an eyebrow and gives me an innocent look, which clearly isn’t all that innocent. ‘You have to pull an all-nighter.’
‘Ah,’ I laugh. ‘I see.’
Now she mentions it, she does look a little tired, but I hadn’t noticed on account of the fact that she skipped in here like she was auditioning for the part of a Disney Princess.
‘That’s not going to happen again tonight, don’t worry,’ she adds. ‘He’s playing tennis in the morning.’
Kayla met her new man, a pharmacist who is a couple of years older than her, at Rusty Racquets.
They began as friends and met to practise their newly acquired skills, go to the cinema or grab the odd coffee together.
Then last Saturday, after a night out, they found themselves in the queue at Subway.
For reasons known only to him, he chose that moment to reveal that he had ‘feelings’ for her.
By the time the cheese on her BMT had melted, they were a couple.
‘Aren’t you playing with him?’
‘Course not. I’ll be here at 6am.’
‘Oh, you don’t need to do that, Kayla. It’s all under control. And we’ve already been at this all day.’
‘Sorry, but I’m coming, whether you like it or not. Hey, what did you think about those Spanish planters I sent you the link to?’
‘Beautiful. But can we get an order before Valentine’s Day?’
That’s my big deadline.
The target date I set when I began making plans to launch my first start-up, using my redundancy payout and a large lump of equity from my house sale.
The idea had first nudged into my head on one of the nights when I was looking through an old photo album and I came across the scrapbooks and plans Ed and I had once put together.
Our gift shop – the one we hoped would be the first of many – never happened after I became pregnant.
It might have taken me twenty years, but I finally get to live my dream, at a time in my life when I’d assumed there were no more surprises available to me, at least not nice ones. How wrong could I be.
Obviously, if I stop and think about what I’m doing for too long I feel mildly paralysed with terror. But, in those instances, I try and remember how I felt during some of those tennis matches last summer, when I was too fired up with adrenalin to hesitate. The ones when I was winning.
Finding the premises felt like a gift from the gods, when the elderly owner of a dry-cleaning shop in the centre of the village decided to close it down.
While this unfortunately means that the residents of Roebury have to drive five minutes more to get their trousers cleaned and pressed, I am hopeful that I will be forgiven when they see what’s in its place.
The shop is on course to be everything I ever dreamed it would be.
Both elegant and quirky, selling everything from trinket plates painted with oriental birds to kitsch cocktail glasses reminiscent of a bygone age.
The fit-out is almost complete, our supply chain is in place and there are now only a few finishing touches left before we open.
The icing on the cake is that it’s not far from where I live.
After the landlord in London was persuaded to end my tenancy agreement early (though not without a hefty financial sweetener on my part) I found a lovely three-bedroom apartment in a big Georgian house about seven minutes’ walk from Roebury tennis club.
A knock on the glass makes us both jump and a face appears at the window.
‘It’s Frankie!’ Kayla says, opening up.
‘Hey you. How are you doing?’
‘I’m good,’ Frankie says, looking around. ‘This is looking so nice! Can I help with the painting?’
‘I think it’s under control, but you could unpack some of those boxes.’
‘Not the most exciting job, Mum, but okay. Oh, by the way, I’m out this afternoon with a few friends before dinner. I won’t be late. What’s Sam cooking tonight anyway?’
‘I think he said tapas. I’ve been told to stay out of it and leave him to it.’
‘To be fair he is a much better cook than you,’ Frankie says.
Kayla might find this amusing, but in truth I am relieved that Frankie seems to like Sam as much as she does, even though I already know she played her own small part in us being together.
Unbeknownst to me, it was she who’d told Terri that I’d struck up a friendship with a man that her Uncle Jeff had thought would be good for me.
Terri’s speech, it seems, was not entirely coincidental.
When she returned from her travels, they hit it off straight away, bonding over a mutual love of music quizzes and some obscure corner of Rome that both had been to.
The three of us carry on painting happily into the afternoon, before I tell both of them it’s time to leave and enjoy the rest of their Saturday.
I stay behind to lock up, closing the paint tins and putting the boxes away, before taking one last look at the place.
The shelves aren’t even stocked yet, but I feel like I want to pinch myself. I head to the door, unable to fight the smile on my face as I close it, turn the key and look up to read the sign above my head.
‘Jules Loves’.
Nora is on the lookout for a new name for her Sunday group session.
She says we’re no longer rusty enough for Rusty Racquets.
I head on court, wrapped up in enough layers for a polar expedition, as it strikes me that this is the kind of day on which I’d once have been reluctant to leave the house.
I would have sat at home rearranging my salad drawers or mooching through old photos.
Admittedly, it’s not many people’s definition of ideal tennis weather, so chilly and dank that you can see your breath.
I already suspect it will be a while before my fingers and toes fully defrost.
Somehow, though, there’s still nowhere else I’d rather be on a Sunday afternoon.
Lisa and Rose are already on court chatting to others and I find my brother at the side of the net limbering up with a few star jumps.
‘I keep meaning to ask: would you like me to do the cocktails for your big opening?’
‘Lovely idea, but I don’t want anyone getting pissed and crashing into the crockery.’
‘Fair enough,’ he says. ‘Have you decided what you’re wearing?’
‘Oh Jeff, I haven’t had a minute to think about that.’
‘Well, you need to. I’m not having you turning up in those angora socks.’
‘You are obsessed with those socks,’ I say.
‘That’s because they’re terrible.’
‘Sam thinks they’re great.’
‘He really doesn’t,’ Jeff says.
‘It’s true.’
‘No. He is tolerating them because he loves you.’
I smile, then shrug. ‘Well, that’s probably also true.’
At that, a text buzzes in my pocket. I take it out and see Sam’s name. ‘Enjoy your lesson today and I’ll see you at 8. Just checking Frankie is okay with shellfish? x’
I’m in the middle of responding when another one comes through. ‘p.s. I love you. Do I say that too often? x’
I text back. ‘No such thing. Shellfish fine. I love you too. See you at 8 x’
I have finally realised that it is fully possible for happiness and heartbreak to rub alongside each other and co-exist. That life is too long for them to be mutually exclusive.
My love for Ed will never die, or even shrink or recede.
But there is a different part of my heart that now belongs to Sam.
Giving it to him fully is a gift not merely to him, but to myself.
Nora claps her hands, ready to start the lesson. ‘Today we’re focusing on volleys, but at the end we’ll do a couple of overhead smashes. Just for you, Jules,’ she says, giving me a wink.
‘Yeah, thanks. My favourite.’
The first part of the lesson goes well. I’m a long way from mastering a drop shot but when the ball is in the right place I’m consistently able to fire back a winner. Predictably, the same can’t be said for the smashes.
As Nora makes her way around the players, giving them tips, everyone manages to hit something. But, even when I get the timing right, I just can’t get the power. The most I can manage would be better described as ‘an overhead plop’.
After three attempts, she takes me to one side. ‘I’ve worked out what the issue is.’
‘Just the one?’
‘Yes. And this is what you’ve got to do: forget about all the times you’ve failed before.’
I raise my eyebrows. ‘That’s . . . a lot of times, Nora.’
‘Doesn’t matter. You might have made a thousand misses, you still need to think of this as a big opportunity. One you have to commit to, even if there’s still a little voice in the back of your head reminding you how silly you might look.’
‘You’re basically preparing me for humiliation?’
She laughs. ‘I’m just saying, it doesn’t matter if you think this is risky. It doesn’t matter that it might go wrong. You have to give it everything you’ve got.’
I breathe cold air in through my nostrils as goosebumps sweep along my forearms. I nod. ‘Okay.’
She walks around to the other side of the net and picks up a ball, before she sends it soaring high into the sky. I reach up with my arm, stretching, tracking its descent. Then with every little bit of force I can muster, I bring down my racquet – and smash it over the net.
If you loved Forty Love, don’t miss Jane Costello’s other hilarious and heartwarming book, It’s Getting Hot in Here! Available now.