Chapter 13
Heather
A few days later, it was the woman from the pop-up bookshop in Charing Cross who messaged Heather with the news that she’d found a couple of Maggie Macken’s novels among others in a box that she had agreed to take.
‘Don’t you want to keep them for yourself?’ Heather asked, because the woman had seemed keen to pick up copies of her own.
‘Some of these I already have, the rest are yours if you want them,’ the woman said. ‘It’s your lucky day, but you’ll need to come before lunch, because I’m off to the dentist in the afternoon.’
‘Perfect.’ Heather knew that even if the books were the same as the ones she’d unearthed on her mother’s shelves, she was going to buy anything she could lay her hands on.
The stall was quiet, as Heather had expected, although inside the coffee shop seemed to be busy.
It was, she could see, quite the place for gathering hipsters and the young and self-consciously upwardly mobile in the area.
Through the glass door, she spotted a few pushchairs that looked more Rolls-Royce than casual stroller – wealthy wives with nothing to do but gossip and drink coffee.
Heather remembered a time when the idea of having a baby seemed like a possibility.
That was all a long time ago; funny, but even now, it still hurt in a dull sort of way when she thought about it.
‘My son agrees with us, by the way.’ The woman was packing one paperback after another into the tote bag Heather had brought along.
‘Oh?’
‘Yes, he thinks that they are ripe for republishing. He said any publisher worth his salt would be mad not to pay to get his hands on them, just to get them out into the world.’
‘Your son is a fan?’ Heather hadn’t thought the books would be enjoyed by young men, but what did she know?
‘No, I’m sorry to say he’s not, he sticks to crime and thrillers, but he’s a literary agent and he’s always on the lookout for something he can help make into the next big thing .
’ The woman put her fingers up to make air quotes as she said it and she smiled fondly.
‘He’s always been the same, mad about books and a born salesman – he’s only starting out, but he’s already making a name for himself. ’
‘You must be very proud,’ Heather said and she wondered again what it must be like to have a child and watch them grow into the person you had hoped they would become.
‘Well, you never know, maybe he’ll discover the next Maggie Macken and we’ll all be queuing to buy her books in Waterstones when they come out. ’
‘You really are a fan.’ The woman handed over the bag of books to her.
‘These must have been stashed under a bed for a few years, certainly, sealed up, they’re like new,’ she said proudly, flipping over the pages of one she was keeping for herself.
There was time to spare, it was the one thing Heather had too much of these days, and she found herself telling the woman about her own connection to the books, that her mother had known Maggie Macken and she’d been best friends with Constance for years.
‘Oh, well, now, there’s a real connection. ’
‘I’m going to see her soon to…’ There was no need to tell this woman about the fact that she was returning to bring her mother’s ashes to their final resting place.
‘Oh, what I wouldn’t give to be going on a little holiday.’
‘Well, it’s not a holiday exactly…’ Heather began.
‘What’s not a holiday exactly?’ a familiar voice said from behind her.
She turned to see Philip, standing there and eating an apple as if he was out for a day trip and had all the time in the world to loiter about second-hand bookstalls.
Of course, just like Heather, her ex-husband probably had too much time on his hands.
When they’d sold their chain of flower shops, he’d had even less of an idea of what he wanted to do with himself than she had, if that was possible.
The one thing they did know was that it was a sweet deal and they’d be crazy not to take it.
Perhaps they’d both been relieved that their ties were completely severed; even if the divorce had been amicable, who wanted to go to work and face their ex day after day?
‘This one, she’s only off to Ireland, isn’t she? Hobnobbing with the literary crowd too, by the sounds of things.’
‘Hardly,’ Heather sighed, because the way the woman put it made it sound a million miles from the reality of what she was facing on Pin Hill Island.
‘Ireland, eh?’ Philip said, and the tone of his voice held a mixture of surprise and disdain. He’d never been a man to seek adventure outside his immediate postcode.
She looked at him now, taking in his overall appearance, and she realised she might easily have passed him by in the street if she hadn’t been paying attention.
He’d put on weight and there was that thing where you saw someone out of their normal context and somehow they looked different.
He’d gotten older without her noticing it and she found herself putting her hand to her hair and wondering if he thought the same about her.
Philip had changed. Then, maybe she only really remembered how he looked from years ago.
Living and working with each other for so many years, they’d become almost invisible to each other long before she realised it.
‘Heather.’ A second familiar voice emerged from the path. Charlotte Turan – she hadn’t seen her since they’d sold on the shops. Charlotte had intended to stay on, hoping to become manager once the new owners took over.
‘Charlotte, oh my goodness, fancy seeing you here too, it really is like a reunion of…’ And then, something dawned on her. Charlotte and Philip, together. Together, walking along on this street – what were the chances that could be just a coincidence?
‘You look well,’ Charlotte said, dragging her coat closed and unsuccessfully attempting to cover a medium-sized baby bump.
‘As do you.’ Heather tried to find firmer ground.
It suddenly felt as if she’d stepped off the edge of familiar territory and she looked from Philip to Charlotte as if they might pass her a life ring.
‘And you’re both…’ she started. She was vaguely aware of the woman on the stall moving away from them, obviously tuning into signals that must have been as loud as sirens to anyone passing by their little unexpected group.
‘Together,’ Philip said and he had the good grace to look embarrassed.
‘Sorry, I should have said something,’ he began, but then he looked between the two women, one the past, the other obviously now the future.
After twenty years of marriage, Heather could read him like a book.
He was torn, between apologising and gushing; he truly had found the most awkward position between rock and hard place.
She wanted to tell him he should have told her, but pride wouldn’t let her utter the words.
‘And you’re…’ The most basic but crucial words seemed to evaporate from Heather. It felt as if the fundamental ability of speech had deserted her when she absolutely needed it the most.
‘Having a baby.’ Charlotte smiled. It was the sort of smile that Heather had always pinned down to a certain smugness that pregnant women managed to hold over their childless sisters.
‘Yes, isn’t it wonderful news, we’re over the moon.
’ She let her coat fall open again, as if it was a big surprise and bound to make Heather’s day.
‘Well, that’s…’ Oh, God, she thought she was going to be sick, right here across Charlotte’s obviously expensive coat and shoes. ‘Congratulations.’
She didn’t want to know when the baby was due or what they were going to call it, or whether they had moved in together or any of the finer details.
Suddenly she just wanted the path to open up and swallow her.
But at the same time a little part of her knew that later in the day, or maybe in a few weeks or months, it would drive her nuts that she hadn’t asked.
‘I’m surprised you didn’t give me a call, to let me know, Philip,’ she managed to say through gritted teeth.
‘Well… I did think about it, but Charlotte said…’ And there it was.
He was still a yes man. They’d been together for some time before she realised she had married a man who was happier to do what he was told, far more than ever leading the way.
He looked across at Charlotte. She was one of those forgettable people who passed through the florists, except, she never passed through.
She’d stayed on and worked in the Covent Garden shop for five years.
She was still as clueless about flowers when they sold the shop as she had been on her very first day.
Her true calling to the business had always been the ability to talk rich clients into spending more money than they had intended to.
Looking at her Miu Miu coat and Celine trainers, it seemed she hadn’t lost her touch.
Heather wondered if they’d have so much in common after she’d spent Philip’s nest egg.
‘And when are you due? You must be so excited.’ Heather turned towards the positively preening Charlotte, who was hanging onto Philip’s arm proprietarily.
‘Oh, we have a little ways to go yet, but yes, I’m really looking forward to it.
’ She sounded as if she was about to launch into telling her about the shopping they’d obviously been doing for the baby, because it was only now Heather spotted that Philip was carrying a bag from La Coqueta.
Even Heather knew that their babywear was out-of-this-world expensive.
‘Surely not that long, unless you’re having twins.’ And Heather heard her own laugh, but it was high-pitched, nervous, yes, maybe even a little hysterical.
‘Please Heather…’ Philip said, clearing his throat as if he somehow held the higher ground here.
‘Right… I didn’t mean…’ Heather breathed, but it felt as if the air had been pulled out of the whole city around her and she might drown if she didn’t make one final gasp. ‘So…’
‘You aren’t on the WhatsApp group, are you?’ Charlotte shook her head as if this was some terrible oversight.
‘Sorry?’
‘We set one up, well, I set it up, just to keep everyone in touch, you know, all the gang from the shops. I’ll add you to it…’ she promised, as if it was the one thing that would settle everything.
‘That’s Charlotte, always organising everyone…’ Again, it sounded like an apology.
‘Aww, darling,’ Charlotte said and she reached up to kiss him. Inwardly, Heather shuddered.
‘Well, I hope it all goes well for you both,’ Heather said. And it was a confirmation of sorts: there was nothing more to keep her in the city. She looked back at the woman on the stall who had been listening from afar.
‘So, I’ll see you when you get back, yes? From that big event you have in Ireland.’
‘Oh, I don’t think I’ll be back again for quite a while,’ Heather said but she wanted to run behind the little bookstand and throw her arms around the woman for being everything that Charlotte was not.
‘So, you are going to Ireland, I did hear you right at first?’ Philip said, trying his best to disentangle himself from Charlotte, but she was like bindweed, clinging to him.
‘Yes, I’m going to Ireland.’
‘Ireland? Oh dear, what’s in Ireland, apart from leprechauns and shamrock?’ Charlotte laughed at her own bad joke.
‘Quite a lot as it turns out.’ Heather hoped she managed to sound a little mysterious, even though her stomach was turning over with a million butterflies. ‘My new start, for one thing, and I’m really looking forward to it,’ she said before stalking off with as much dignity as she could muster.
God knew how she made it back to her mother’s house in one piece.
She really wasn’t sure how she managed it, because even though she didn’t cry, it felt as if the very core of her had been mined away and she was just hollowed out, like an empty sarcophagus pretending to be a real person.
She moved from street to street as if on automatic pilot and, all the while, all she could think of was, she was going to Ireland.
As she sat in her mother’s cramped kitchen later that evening, she remembered childhood summer holidays spent on Pin Hill Island.
It seemed an awfully long journey back then, but she’d been just a child and it had always been worth it.
She remembered too Ocean’s End, the big art deco house overlooking the sea.
It was all so glamorous and luxurious. She wondered if, like so many things, it might have shrunk or faded from the memories that played out comforting and welcoming in her mind’s eye as darkness crept in over London.
Later, much later, she was still livid after meeting her ex-husband and Charlotte; there was no making sense of Philip moving on so quickly.
She pushed the idea of the children they might have had from her mind.
If only they had been on the same page at the same time.
She had to remind herself, she wasn’t in love with Philip any more.
She hadn’t been for years. Even still, no matter how hard she tried to think her way past it, there was no getting away from the sense of complete and utter betrayal she felt now.
The following morning Heather woke to the sun streaming in through the kitchen window.
She was starving: it had been too late to go and get something to eat the night before when she realised she hadn’t thought of dinner.
It felt as if the hunger pangs in her stomach were telling her something.
She knew it was time to start moving forward, even if she didn’t know where forward was.
She tucked the notebook from beside her mother’s telephone on the hall table into her handbag, before letting herself out the front door.
Coffee, she needed coffee, she would go and have breakfast in the first café that looked as if it served a half-decent brew.
Then, she would make a list of what she needed to do to tidy up her life in London before she brought her mother’s ashes back to Ireland.