Kitabı oku: «Wedding Bells at Butterfly Cove»

For M. My very own happy ending.

Chapter One

May 2016

‘Mummy.’ The whispered voice next to her ear woke Kiki. She swam up through the layers of drowsiness, noting the darkness in the room, and wondered what time it was. ‘Mummy.’ A little shake of her shoulder added this time.

‘Matty? Is everything all right, darling?’ She matched his whisper, but it wasn’t enough to avoid disturbing Neil.

He rolled over with a grumble. ‘Whatever it is, take it somewhere else. I’ve got to be up in a couple of hours.’

Kiki slipped from beneath the quilt and used her toes to locate her slippers. After tucking her feet in the thin mules, she ushered her son towards the sliver of light shining from the landing. She pulled the bedroom door closed behind her, then crouched down to look at her beloved boy. Sweaty strands of dark-brown hair clung to his forehead and his cheeks shone with a feverish glow. He nibbled his bottom lip. ‘I didn’t mean to wake Daddy.’

The gleam of worry in his eyes stabbed her in the heart. Neil was perfectly capable of making everyone’s life a misery at the slightest provocation. She forced a smile as she smoothed the damp hair from his brow. ‘Don’t worry about that, he’ll be fast asleep again by now. Did you have a bad dream?’

Matty shook his head. ‘I don’t feel very—’ He cut himself off with a hand over his mouth and his whole body convulsed in a shuddering heave, sending a stream of vomit through his splayed fingers and down the front of them both. Tears of shock and upset glinted in his eyes and she scooped him up in her arms, swallowing down the echoing hitch in her own stomach.

She carried him quickly into the bathroom and just managed to settle him on his knees in front of the toilet before another gush of bitter-smelling liquid spewed forth. ‘Poor poppet. Poor darling,’ she murmured, rubbing circles on his back as he shivered and shook. The front of her nightdress clung damply to her body, but she pushed the unpleasant sensation to the back of her mind to focus on Matty. He gasped like a little fish out of water, swallowing and panting. She knew the pattern well. This was just a brief respite in the process.

‘Uh-oh,’ he muttered and lurched forward again. This would be the last of it now. Kiki stroked his hair until he subsided into breathy sobs, sinking down until his head rested on the cold rim of the toilet.

‘Better out than in, that’s what they say.’ She rose from her cramped position by his side to rinse her hands under the tap. Grabbing a dark-green flannel from the edge of the sink, she soaked it in cold water then bent down to turn Matty towards her. ‘Look up, darling.’

He lifted his pale little face and she held his chin in a light grip as she wiped the tears, sweat and other less pleasant things from his skin. A quick rinse of the cloth and she folded it into a square. ‘Hold this against your head a minute, can you?’ He nodded weakly and clutched the flannel with a shaky hand.

Confident he would be okay for a couple of minutes, she left him to go and check his bedroom and fetch some clean pyjamas. His bedding and carpet were mercifully clean and she sent up a silent prayer of thanks that at least she wasn’t faced with changing the sheets at… she glanced at the LEGO Batman clock on the dressing table and winced… three a.m. Pausing at the airing cupboard on the landing, she dug out a T-shirt and a pair of leggings for herself and returned to the bathroom. A quick change and a teeth-clean and they were both soon tucked into Matty’s single bed.

‘How’s your tummy now, still sore?’ She feathered her fingers through his silky-soft hair. The deep-brown strands matched her own, but his soulful blue eyes were all his father’s. She’d fallen for a bigger version of those baby-blues before she’d known the truth—a twinkling look and a sweet smile could mask a monster. Neil had smiled, flirted and flattered his way into her life and she had lapped up the attention like a parched flower, blooming into a blushing, eighteen-year-old bride.

His earnest focus on her, his need to know her every movement, had seemed exciting. He needed her with him, couldn’t stop thinking about her, worried someone else might snatch the prize of her from under his nose. Oh, the lies he’d told her had been music to her innocent ears. Like Helen of Troy and Paris, theirs was a love that would burn through space and time. Like Heathcliff and Cathy, like Jane and Rochester, nothing could keep them apart. Only she’d glossed over the ugly, hard truths of those childhood love stories in her burning need to feel special to someone.

And how exciting for a naïve girl to capture the heart of an older, wiser man. Neil had been in his first year as a postgraduate student when they met, and at twenty-two he’d seemed a fount of knowledge and experience from the moment they bumped into each other in the Ancient Greece section of the university library. Taking a classical studies course had been Kiki’s transparent attempt to please her father, and when Neil found out she was the daughter of one of his intellectual heroes, he’d been hooked. He painted a fascinating picture of a man nothing like the withdrawn, preoccupied one who ruled her home with more neglect than care.

A soft snore drew her attention and she eased her arm out from under Matty’s head to settle him more comfortably on his pillow. Content he was asleep, she slipped out of his bed to clean up the mess left behind on the landing carpet. Once that was done, she might as well tackle the ironing pile. She cast a quick glance at her closed bedroom door as she passed it. There was no way she wanted to risk waking Neil again, and she could always have a catch-up nap once the kids were sorted in the morning.

‘Mummy?’ Déjà vu. Only this time the voice was Charlie’s sweet, piping tone, still carrying a babyish lisp. And the hard, wooden table beneath her cheek was no substitute for her pillow.

Forcing open her grit-filled eyes, Kiki tried to ignore the sick, groggy pain in her head and sat up. ‘What’s the time, darling?’ A rhetorical question to a three-year-old, but her brain was still too full of cotton wool to think straight.

‘It’s gone eight o’clock and I’m going to be late, thanks to you,’ Neil snapped as he stormed into the room.

She blinked, noting his suit and tie, rather than the casual-jacket-and-jeans look he favoured when lecturing. ‘Oh, your meeting. I’m sorry, I must have dozed off.’ Jumping up, she hurried over to switch the kettle on and stuff a couple of slices of bread into the toaster. ‘Give me a minute, just one minute, and I’ll bring your breakfast to your study.’

Neil glared at her, not an ounce of warmth in his blue eyes. ‘I already told you, I don’t have time. Which part of late don’t you understand?’ He dodged back to avoid their daughter’s attempts to clutch his legs for a hug. ‘No, Charlotte! You’ll crease Daddy’s suit.’ He left the kitchen, muttering to himself.

Kiki leaned back against the board, wondering how she’d managed to screw up the day before it had even started. Charlie, lower lip quivering, her dark hair sleep-tangled and knotted, painted a picture of abject heartbreak. Kiki swooped on her, gathering her little girl into her arms for a tight hug. ‘Daddy doesn’t mean to be cross, Charlie. He’s just got a busy day and Mummy didn’t help by falling asleep.’ Even as the words left her mouth, she wondered why she was making excuses for him. Neil was an adult and perfectly capable of getting himself up and ready for work on time, but the default blame in the Jackson household for any problem fell squarely on her shoulders.

She could just imagine what her big sister would have to say if she could hear her. Mia had never warmed to Neil. Kiki suppressed a bitter laugh. There she went again, painting the situation in a rosier light than it deserved. Mia couldn’t stand him. Had even tried to persuade Kiki to leave and bring the children with her to Mia’s new home in Butterfly Cove. As if she could just pack up and start again! She hefted Charlie onto her other hip, ‘Come on, poppet, let’s go and see how your brother is feeling this morning.’

Matty appeared untroubled by his early morning misadventures, so she dropped him off at school, then a bubbly Charlie at crèche for her morning session. Strictly speaking, the rules required her to keep him off for forty-eight hours, but he usually bounced back after an episode and Kiki preferred not to make a fuss about it. His bouts of sickness had started a few months previously, frequent enough for her to have taken her son to the doctor. After a range of tests, they’d not been able to find anything wrong with him, and Kiki was keeping a food diary to see if there might be an allergic connection. She hadn’t found an organic link to his problem, and she was beginning to suspect the doctor’s other suggestion—stress—might be the real cause.

The resilience the children showed filled her with pride, and not a little guilt. They shouldn’t have to tiptoe around their father the way they had been recently. She would have to try and talk to him, ask him to be a little more patient around them. Her stomach churned at the thought, but if she broached the subject when he was in a good mood, maybe she’d get through the conversation without it turning into a shouting match. Not that she did any shouting of her own. Perhaps if she made his favourite meal for dinner… she turned left at the next set of lights towards the supermarket.

Brushing the flour off her hands onto her apron, Kiki ran to the hall to fish her mobile out of her bag where it hung over the end of the bannister. The damn thing had found its way to the very depths and she almost dropped it in her hurry to answer before the caller rang off. ‘Hello?’

‘Jesus, Kiki. Can’t you even answer your phone without a drama?’

‘Sorry, darling. I was in the kitchen and I’d left my bag in the hall…’

Neil sighed. ‘I don’t need to hear your latest line in stupid excuses. Just go into my study, will you? There’s the name of a hotel and a phone number on my jotter and I need it.’

‘Hotel?’ She crossed the hall and pushed open the study door. The room reminded her so much of her dad’s, and it, too, was off limits unless she was cleaning. The high-backed leather chair behind the desk had cost a fortune, but Neil needed to be comfortable when he was working in the evenings. She nudged the chair to one side and scanned the familiar scribble on the cream-coloured jotter. ‘What’s it called?’

‘If. I. Knew. What. It. Was. Called. I. Wouldn’t. Be. Wasting. My. Time. Talking. To. You.’ She winced at the deliberate pause he put between each word. ‘It’s on the left-hand side somewhere.’

Using her finger, she traced the scribbled notes. ‘Oh, here. Lilly’s Island Hotel? Number starts with a plus-thirty?’

‘That’s the one. Hurry up, I need to get back to the meeting.’

She reeled off the number, then paused. ‘Antiparos? Isn’t that near Despotiko?’ The island was one of the most famous archaeological treasures outside of Delos. Neil’s research focused on the cult of Apollo and he had been trying to get on a dig at the sanctuary for the past few years. ‘Did you get your approval?’

‘I won’t get anything if you don’t stop chattering, but yes, looks like I’ll be there for the summer.’ He hung up without saying another word.

Kiki sank into the deep leather chair. How many times had they talked about a summer trip to the islands when they’d first got married? Curled up in Neil’s bed in his tiny flat, they’d spun dreams of days spent uncovering hidden treasures buried deep in the rocks and nights sipping ouzo and eating local delicacies. Then she’d fallen pregnant with Matty and those dreams were put on hold while they struggled to make ends meet. She’d dropped out, knowing there was no way she could finish her degree with a new baby and Neil needing all the help he could get with his research.

Life had got in the way, as it so often did, but maybe this would be a chance for them to spend some quality time together. A tiny bubble of hope stirred in her heart. Away from the stresses and strains, perhaps they could find a way to make things right between them. The kids could run and play in the sunshine, and she could help Neil catalogue his findings. She bit her lip, unable to stop a smile. If they could just get back to the way things used to be…

She reached for the wireless mouse on Neil’s desk and shook it gently to wake up his computer. A word document filled the screen, so she scanned the lower toolbar looking for the browser icon, but accidentally clicked on the email one. The screen changed, displaying an open message and she gave it half a glance, before looking back at the bottom bar.

Darling…

Her finger froze on the mouse as the word registered. Who would be calling Neil darling? Ignoring the little voice in her head that warned he would be furious at her for snooping, Kiki rolled the mouse to the top of the message and began to read. Incredulity became denial, became horror, as she followed the email exchange back over several weeks. She wanted to shut her eyes, refuse to see the truth laid out in black and white, but her finger kept clicking on the previous arrow. Every click was punctuated by the same word, the admonishment Neil threw in her face on a regular basis—stupid, click, stupid, click, stupid.

He was right.

Chapter Two

The problem with his best friend finding a wonderful girlfriend, Aaron Spenser mused to himself, was the way it emphasised the complete failure of his own love life. Ensconced in his very favourite place in the world—the cosy kitchen at Butterfly Cove—he watched the banter between Daniel and Mia and rubbed the phantom pain in his chest.

‘Everything all right?’ Mia cast him a little frown.

He stopped his hand, embarrassed at being caught mooning over his poor, lonely heart. ‘Fine, thanks. Touch of heartburn, that’s all.’ He paused to give her a sly grin. ‘I blame the chef.’

‘Cheeky sod!’ The balled-up tea towel caught him on the side of the head when he ducked too slowly.

Rising from his assigned seat around the wooden table, he stretched his arms above his head to loosen the last bit of stiffness from the exertions of the previous day. Mia’s project to renovate the rundown old house perched beside a beautiful sandy beach in the picturesque village of Orcombe Sands was going full steam. Three of the five guest bedrooms were complete, and the final two were a few days from being finished. Aaron had spent every spare weekend since Daniel’s surprise exhibition in March travelling backwards and forwards from London to Orcombe to lend a hand.

Life in the celebrity hurricane could destroy even the hardiest of souls, a lesson Daniel had learned the hard way. Exhausted, hungover and burnt-out, he’d hit rock bottom. Fate, the West Coast mainline and a well-meaning neighbour had delivered Daniel to Mia’s doorstep, and into the lonely young widow’s life.

His friend’s abrupt career change, from successful art photographer to creating a new artistic retreat on the south coast, had set tongues wagging in the gossip-fuelled celebrity circles he’d escaped from one cold, miserable February morning. There was already a huge level of interest and Aaron had helped them set up a mailing list and blog to maintain the buzz.

Every stage of the renovation works on the guest house, as well as the adjoining barns, which would house Daniel’s haven for artists needing to take a break, was carefully documented and posted on the blog. They’d gained followers from all over the country and enough booking enquiries to fill the house for the entire summer season. The race was on to get everything ready in time for their grand opening next weekend.

Aaron picked at the remnants of red paint stuck under his nails, before abandoning it as a hopeless task. He still had the doorframe and windowsill to gloss in the country-garden-themed bedroom, so he’d no doubt end up with more on his hands. Saturday had been a washout; a huge squall had blown in off the sea, forcing them to keep the windows closed and dropping the late May bank holiday temperatures by several degrees.

The grey army—Mia’s late-husband’s in-laws and her neighbours Madeline and Richard—had battled valiantly in the driving rain to stake the most vulnerable flowers and shrubs in the sprawling garden at Butterfly Cove. The two older couples had become firm friends when everyone rode to Daniel’s rescue after his ex-agent stole his work and attempted to put on an exhibition without his knowledge.

Pat and Bill had accepted Daniel into their life with a grace which left Aaron breathless with admiration, and not a little jealous over how well the new family structure was blending together. It had been a quarter of a century and his stepmother still hadn’t forgiven Aaron for being a living, breathing reminder of his mum. As though thoughts of Cathy had summoned him, Aaron’s younger brother, Luke, wandered into the kitchen, mouth stretched wide in a yawn.

‘Morning.’ Luke scrubbed his hand through his hair, sending the wayward curls tumbling in an artless display. Women loved those blond curls, not to mention the soulful brown eyes he could widen into a look both innocent and suggestive. Aaron shook his head. The ladies of London Town would be mourning his absence given he was also spending all his free time in Orcombe.

Daniel grinned at him. ‘About time you showed up. Get your breakfast down you. Jordy will be here soon and I want to run over the plans for the mezzanine one last time before the builders arrive on Tuesday.’ Daniel had hired the local carpenter to project manage the conversion and he was proving a sound choice. With local connections, he’d brought on reliable labour and got some decent discounts on raw materials.

The plan was to install a first floor in the main barn to house five self-contained apartments which could be rented by visiting artists. Each apartment would come with a purpose-built studio on the ground floor to cater for different mediums—pottery, painting, photography, sculpture and the like. A smaller outbuilding would then be converted into a multipurpose support space, housing a kiln, a small forge for iron-working, and even a darkroom for those traditionalists who preferred film to digital. The scope of the facility Daniel and Luke were creating took Aaron’s breath away.

In addition to drawing up the design for the barn refurbishment, Luke had jumped in with both feet when Mia asked him to work up a harem theme for a pair of rooms in the main house. Free of the shackles of his junior role at a prestigious firm of architects, Luke had seized on the projects at Butterfly Cove like a starving man. He was happier than Aaron had seen him in a long time. Something had happened to Luke about a year previously, stealing the easy laughter from his eyes, but he’d been tight-lipped about it, claiming it was a work problem and nothing he needed his big brother to sort out.

Being a tiny cog in a big wheel didn’t suit his little brother, any more than it suited him if Aaron was honest with himself. Getting a good degree and a placement with one of the big five accounting firms had always been top of his career wish list. But wishes and reality rarely gelled, and without the side work he took on, including looking after Daniel’s financial affairs, Aaron would be digging an escape tunnel.

Where had that thought come from? He had a good job, was one of the youngest team leaders in the company. A smart flat in an up-and-coming part of the city, a good pension pot and the beginnings of a decent investment portfolio. His dad had drummed it into him from an early age: work hard, save well, live the best life you can within your means. So why so restless? Another side effect of all the change in Daniel’s life. Perhaps thirty was the new threshold for a midlife crisis.

Feeling an uncomfortable itch between his shoulder blades, he turned to find Mia watching him with those big brown eyes of hers. She always saw too much. He flashed her a smile and tried to shake off the restless feelings stirring in his gut. Settled, steady, that was the life he had, and the life he wanted, too. No drama, no mad emotional roller-coaster. Boring. He frowned. Introspection was for moody, artistic types. He preferred action.

Luke opened the back door, letting the tangy scents of the ocean fill the kitchen. Aaron breathed deeply. He could almost taste the freshness of the post-storm air on the back of his tongue. The faint sound of birdsong drifted from the garden, making up his mind. It was too nice a day to be stuck in the house. He turned to Mia. ‘Leave the garden room, and I’ll finish the last bits later.’ Apart from glossing the doorframe, everything else was dressing.

She tilted her head, a quizzical look in her eyes. ‘If you’re sure?’

‘I’m sure. Don’t let me catch you up a ladder trying to hang those bloody curtains either.’ The creamy material, covered in huge cabbage roses, had been edged with a red-checked pattern. Not something he’d ever have put together, but Mia had an eye for design he couldn’t fault. Huge stacks of matching bedding, cushion covers and throws sat in neat piles on the dining-room table. He’d learnt more about pelmets, valances and padded headboards than he’d thought possible. And it would have taken a braver man than he to point out a fitted sheet, a couple of pillowcases and a duvet cover were all that was required to make a bed.

She gave him a look, like butter wouldn’t melt, and he knew she’d be rappelling from the upstairs bannisters if it took her fancy. ‘Will you be back for lunch?’

That was something else he liked about her. Even though they were rushing to get everything finished, it never escaped her that everyone was giving up their free time to see her dream achieved. She never demanded, never expected, just gratefully accepted whatever efforts people could put in. ‘I won’t be long, just fancied a bit of fresh air.’

‘Of course. Why don’t you take Jamie’s bike?’

Daniel glanced up from the drawings spread across the table. ‘It’s in the garage – help yourself.’ The way the two of them had come to terms with the subject of her late husband stunned him anew. He might never have lived in the sprawling house at Butterfly Cove, but Jamie’s memory lingered there in everyday objects. Jamie would always be a part of Mia’s life and Daniel accepted it without a fuss.

‘I’ll be back before lunch.’ He nudged his brother aside to get out of the back door and Luke’s hand fell companionably upon his shoulder. They walked in silence towards the garage where Luke gave him a hand to swing open the rusty up-and-over door and then to lift the silver mountain bike from the hooks on the wall.

‘Everything okay?’ The edges of Luke’s eyes crinkled in concern.

Aaron nodded. ‘Yes, Spud. Just need a bit of air, that’s all.’ He glanced over his shoulder towards the kitchen door. ‘Those two…’

Luke squeezed his shoulder. ‘Happy as pigs in shit. Nothing like true love to make a man feel hopelessly inadequate.’

Aaron tossed his brother a wry grin. ‘You, too?’

A cloud of sadness wiped the sunny smile from Luke’s face. ‘You have no idea, mate.’ He shook himself like a dog after a dip in a stream. ‘Don’t mind me. Enjoy your ride.’ Tucking his hands in the front pockets of his jeans, Luke strolled away. The casual pose might have worked better had his shoulders not been stiff with tension. Aaron frowned. It wasn’t like him to keep secrets. Pondering not only what Luke was hiding from him, but the best way to get him talking, Aaron peddled down the twisting driveway.

Blooms of white cow parsley and shiny yellow buttercups decorated the long grass verges on either side of the country lane, and the fields behind were a sea of pale-green wheat stalks. Reaching the crossroads to the main road, he paused to consider his options. Left would take him along the familiar route towards the main village of Orcombe Sands and the train station. Madeline and Richard lived somewhere towards the right. They’d likely be piling into Richard’s sleek Mercedes with Bill and Pat, ready for another day of toil in Mia’s garden. Not wanting to get caught skiving, he checked both ways then crossed the road to follow the lane into unexplored territory.

Muscles suitably warm, Aaron flicked the gears a couple of notches higher and increased his effort. A welcome burn began in his thigh muscles. He drew in a deep breath, letting it out on a happy laugh. Who would ever choose the gym if they had this on their doorstep? Cycling in London took a level of bravado he didn’t possess, and the car-choked streets around his flat would have filled his lungs with dirty fumes, not fresh air.