Three Amazing Things About You (21 page)

Here are my three things:

Now, here we go with my story. My husband died ten years ago. We were
very
happy together and I never imagined I’d meet – or even want to meet – anyone else.

But by some miracle, it happened eighteen months ago, and honestly, it’s been so wonderful I can’t tell you. His name is Bill, he’s sixty-eight, also a widower, and he feels like my soulmate. We love each other’s company and would like to move in together, maybe even get married.

Now for the problem – Bill’s son and daughter. Basically, I’ve tried my best, but they disapprove of everything about me. They have money and I don’t. I live in a council flat and speak with a Wolverhampton accent. To add insult to injury (apparently!), my name is Tracey.

Bill is wealthy and well-spoken. He loves me but he loves his children too. Nothing I do will ever alter their low opinion of me – they’re appalled by his choice and convinced I’m only interested in their father for his money. I’m not; I just wish they could be happy for us. But it’s not going to happen, and worrying about it isn’t helping Bill’s health. (I should say, he has already made a will leaving everything to them, but they are convinced that I’ll persuade him to write another without letting them know. Even though I would never dream of doing that!)

I hate being the cause of such conflict. For his sake, should I walk away and leave Bill and his children in peace? If you think so, Rose, I will do it.

Dear Tracey,

Your letter almost moved me to tears. Your personality shines out, you are clearly a lovely person and you and Bill deserve to be happy together. Listen, you aren’t the cause of the conflict; his children are. How would they feel if Bill told them he didn’t approve of
their
choice of spouse and demanded they end their relationships? Would they do as he asked, do you think? Of course not!

I’m touched that you have asked me to decide your future. Please don’t walk away from Bill and a relationship that has brought you both so much unexpected happiness. Carry on seeing each other, move in together, get married if that’s what you want. If his children refuse to be civil to you, just don’t see them. Of course they’re concerned about their father, but they need to learn that in this case they really don’t need to be.

I think you should show this web page to Bill. Then I think he should show it to his children. When they see that you were concerned enough about their father to end the relationship, I hope they’ll come to their senses and realise how incredibly lucky he’s been to find someone as loving and unselfish as you.

I’m sure anyone reading this will be wishing you all the luck in the world. And please do let us know how you get on. We’ll all want to know!

Hallie uploaded the post and closed her laptop. There, done. It was one o’clock, and Bea would be arriving at any minute to take her to the pub. By this evening, plenty of people would have read Tracey’s letter and sent encouraging replies of their own; she would look at them when she came back and put the best online.

If anyone deserved a bit of happiness, it was Tracey and Bill.

Now that they were into April, the number of tourists visiting Carranford was increasing by the day. There were plenty of people enjoying the sunshine, sitting at tables outside the pub. With morning surgery finally finished – and with his stomach rumbling for the last hour of it – Luke had come over to the White Hart for some long-overdue lunch.

And there were Hallie and Bea, deep in conversation at one of the tables. Waiting for them to spot him and wave, Luke was taken aback when he saw the expression on Hallie’s face. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and as he watched, she surreptitiously wiped them with the loose sleeve of her pale denim shirt. Bea, murmuring something in her ear, briefly put her arm around her thin shoulders and gave her a hug.

They hadn’t seen him. Luke headed on into the bar. What had that been about? Something to do with Nick, maybe? He hadn’t asked Hallie about him, but the knowledge of Nick’s visit – minus clothes – continued to haunt his thoughts. Hallie had mentioned the visit but not the lurid details. Those had remained private, between her and the ex-boyfriend who years ago had broken her heart.

Had he done it again now?

Or had someone else?

Luke ordered cottage pie and an orange juice, then carried his drink outside. Yes, he wanted to know why Hallie was upset. No, he wasn’t going to pry.

There were no empty tables, but Hallie and Bea were occupying one with two spare seats. This time they spotted him, and Bea, seeing him hesitate, called out, ‘Over here, join us.’

He sat next to Bea and across the table from Hallie, whose eyes were now dry but still pink-tinged.

‘Everything OK?’ That was as much as he would say; if she didn’t want to tell him, that was up to her.

‘I’m fine.’ Hallie nodded and managed a half-smile, then glanced down at the phone in her left hand. ‘Just heard a bit of sad news. Suze died.’

Suze. The name rang a bell. Luke hesitated and said, ‘New York Suze?’

‘That’s the one.’ Hallie nodded and showed him the photo on her phone, of a beaming twenty-something girl with a shock of white-blond curls, jokingly cradling an oxygen tank like a proud mother showing off her newborn baby.

‘Her brother just emailed me. She died this morning. Didn’t manage to get her transplant after all.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Luke could only imagine how this must make a fellow CF sufferer feel. Suze, who had blogged about her life in New York, was a friend Hallie had known for years yet never met. The internet had brought together so many people around the world who shared the same diagnosis. Together they sympathised with, supported and encouraged each other through bad times and good.

‘Poor Suze.’ Hallie rubbed at the condensation on the side of her glass of wine. ‘She never gave up hope. We used to talk about getting together one day. Either I’d fly to New York or Suze would come over here. She really wanted to meet Prince Harry.’ A pause, followed by a gulp of wine. ‘And d’you know what? She was so funny and bright, he would have loved her. Poor Harry, really; he’ll never get the chance to meet her now.’

What was there to say? Luke didn’t even try. For a short while they sat together in silence while everyone else laughed and chattered around them. Then Hallie put her phone down on the table and adjusted the oxygen tubing behind her ears. ‘Anyway, make the most of every day, that’s what I’m going to do. Make more of an effort, stop worrying about what could go wrong, just go ahead and do more things, have a couple of adventures. Before it’s too late.’

‘What kind of adventures?’ said Bea. ‘You mean like hang-gliding?’

‘Not that. Just . . . I don’t know, getting out more. Less staying at home.’ Searching for inspiration, Hallie’s gaze swept the busy tables surrounding them. ‘I could go to London, be a tourist, see all the sights Suze wanted to see. I could visit the theatre . . . sit in the best seats at
Les Miserables
. . . fly in a helicopter down the Thames . . .’

‘Oh God, that would be
so
cool.’ Bea sat up eagerly. ‘I’d do that with you!’

One of the American tourists, in a fit of enthusiasm, had bought a copy of the local paper and was flicking through it with his wife. ‘Honey, what’s the name of that village where Will Shakespeare hung out?’

‘Stratford-upon-the-Avon. Thelma went there last year, she said it was pretty cute. We’ll go visit tomorrow, George, then do Bath on Friday.’

‘And there’s some kind of horse show at the weekend . . . look at this.’ George pointed to the next page. ‘Where’s Denleigh? We could check that out.’

‘Oh George, we can’t! Saturday’s Scotland, Sunday’s Ireland, remember? We need to stick to the
schedule
, honey. Otherwise it’ll get to Monday and we’ll have missed something out.’

Luke saw the spark of interest in Hallie’s eyes. Denleigh, only twenty miles from Carranford, was a small village that each year played host to the Denleigh International Horse Trials, a two-day cross-country event attracting competitors and visitors from all over the world. Between one and two hundred thousand people attended the event over the course of the weekend, their cars clogging the narrow lanes for miles around as they made their way to Denleigh Park. As well as the competition itself, there was a huge shopping village on the site, stalls selling everything from luxury cars to riding boots, not to mention dozens of food stands, giant TV screens and a funfair. It was a hugely popular day out.

‘I’ve never been to Denleigh,’ said Hallie.

‘Never?’ Luke was surprised. ‘I went two years ago. It was great.’

‘I’ve always wanted to go, but either I’ve not been well enough or the weather’s been too awful.’

‘It gets like Glastonbury in the rain.’ Bea pulled a face. ‘Everyone slipping and sliding around in the mud.’ Brightening, she said, ‘But the weather forecast’s good for this weekend. We should definitely do it!’

‘I’d like to, if it isn’t going to be pouring with rain.’ Hallie looked doubtful. ‘You’d still have to push me around, though. It wouldn’t be much fun for you.’

‘I’d offer to come along and help out,’ said Luke, ‘but Jennifer’s off to a wedding in Dorset and I’m on call all weekend.’

‘Hey, no problem, we’ll manage. I have muscles.’ Bea flexed her biceps with pride. ‘I can handle the chair. If she gives me any trouble, I’ll tip her out of it into the lake. Ooh . . . I’ve just realised something!’

Hallie was looking dubious. ‘What? You’re starting to put me off now.’

But Bea was pointing triumphantly to the photograph of Suze on Hallie’s upturned phone. ‘Who goes to the Denleigh Horse Trials?’

‘Well, quite a lot of people,’ said Luke.

‘The royals! The princes! Think about it . . . we might bump into
Harry
!’

Luke watched the smile edged with sadness on Hallie’s face and his heart went out to her; it wasn’t the first time she’d lost one of her friends to the disease that was ravaging her own body.

‘OK, the odds probably aren’t that great,’ Bea amended, conceding the unspoken point. ‘But you never know.’

Hallie’s fragile smile grew in strength. ‘You’re right. This is true.’ She raised her glass in a silent toast. ‘For Suze’s sake, I think we should definitely give it a go.’

* * *

‘There you are,’ Margot exclaimed when Flo let herself into the garden apartment. ‘You’re late.’

‘Sorry, held up in the office discussing care plans with the manager. What is it you need me to do?’

‘Nothing urgent. Just wondered how you’re fixed on Saturday. Are you working?’

Flo shook her head and pushed up her sleeves, ready to get on with tidying Margot’s kitchen. ‘Not on Saturday. Why?’

‘Fancy doing an old lady a big favour?’ Margot’s eyes were bright.

‘If I can. What does it involve?’

‘Well, it’s actually a favour for my nephew, Patrick. He’s the one with the gift shop in Thornbury, remember?’

‘I do remember.’ Flo had met Patrick, briefly, a couple of times while he’d been here visiting his aunt. In his late thirties, he was affable, cheery and actually quite attractive in an uncombed, slightly out-of-condition kind of way. His sense of style relied heavily on his love of old checked shirts and corduroy trousers.

‘Well, he has a stall at Denleigh Horse Trials this weekend. It costs a fortune to book, but you can make a killing . . . Anyway, the girl who was going to be running it with him can’t do it any more. Fell off a table last night and broke her foot. Patrick hasn’t been able to find anyone else to step in, so I wondered if you might be up for it. If you’ve made other plans, it’s fine, we’ll just keep searching.’

Flo considered the offer. Zander was working this Saturday and she hadn’t made any other arrangements. ‘I
could
do it,’ she told Margot. ‘Except I don’t know how I’d get there.’

‘Oh, no problem. Patrick can pick you up and drop you home afterwards. He lives in Failand so it’s practically on his way. And he’ll pay you eighty pounds.’

‘In that case,’ Flo said promptly, ‘deal.’

‘Excellent. Reaching for her phone, Margot pressed a couple of buttons and waited for her nephew to pick up. ‘Darling? Panic over, Flo said yes. I know, I’m brilliant.’ Smiling, she added, ‘I’ll pass you over now so you can make the necessary arrangements.’

When Flo ended the call a couple of minutes later, it was all sorted. A suitably grateful Patrick would be picking her up at six thirty on Saturday morning and dropping her home again twelve or so hours later. It would be a long and busy day, but hopefully an enjoyable one.

‘Can’t wait,’ said Flo. ‘I’m looking forward to it.’

‘You’ll have fun,’ Margot assured her. ‘Patrick’s good company; the customers love him. Just one word of warning, though.’

‘What?’

Amused, Margot pointed a manicured finger at Flo’s head. ‘He’ll make you wear a hat.’

For the first time in years, the weather had stayed fine and Denleigh wasn’t awash with mud and rain. Having been directed to the disabled parking area, Bea jumped out of her car and unloaded the wheelchair.

‘Thanks for coming with me.’ Hallie organised the oxygen bottle, smoothed a couple of kinks out of the plastic tubing and settled herself in. ‘Don’t panic, you won’t have to push me up any hills.’

‘No worries,’ said Bea. ‘If I get tired, we’ll swap places. I’ll sit in the chair and you can push.’

It was only nine thirty. In order to avoid the queues of traffic, their strategy had been to arrive and leave early. Of course, thousands of other people had had the same idea; rows of cars were already parked in the surrounding fields, and a steady stream of people and their dogs were making their way in through the main gates.

‘Haven’t spotted Prince Harry yet,’ said Hallie.

Bea pointed to the airstrip over to their right, flanked by orange windsocks and stretching between two more fields lined with helicopters and light aircraft. ‘He’ll be flying in, I bet.’