The Fire House on Honeysuckle Street Page 19

  ‘Everything okay?’ he asked softly. She could tell by his voice that he was close by, close enough to touch. She sighed and turned around. He was standing behind her, a concerned look on his face. ‘Do you not want to go out? If you’ve changed you mind, I get it … with Iain and everything, I nearly cancelled myself. I’m not this guy, I’m—’

  ‘I found your mother,’ she blurted, stepping half a step closer and placing both hands on his chest. ‘I think I have anyway, but …’

  She’sdeadshe’sdeadshe’sdead rang in her head over and over on a loop. How could she say the words? And what if she was wrong?

  He reached up with his hands, covering one of hers with one and cupping her face with the other.

  ‘It’s okay,’ he urged, a sad little smile on his features. ‘I’m okay. Just tell me.’

  The kitchen table was full of printouts of old newspaper articles. Sam was poring over them, reading each line.

  ‘Mary worked at Mayweather Mansion as a maid, but she left abruptly one day, no one knew why. I found an advert in the local paper for a new maid, only six months before you were born. Her old job, and she left in the summer, so it tallies. You were left in the fire station six months later, so I think she got pregnant and left, moving to London. She must have taken the box and the stationery, so maybe she wanted you to find home.’

  Sam was reading each piece, till he came to a headline a little different, with a photo.

  ‘I look like her.’ He was looking at a photo of a husband and wife on their wedding day, smiling and happily posing for the camera. It told their story, of the fact that they had met in London, mere miles from the fire station where Sam was left, fell in love, and married within a year. They’d been travelling to see his family when the accident had happened. Black ice on a dimly lit road late at night. They’d both died instantly. Two years after Sam was born.

  ‘I think that she came to London, had you and then tried to move on. She stayed close, right till she met her husband, then they moved to Islington, to his house. They’re in Islington Cemetery together.’

  Sam nodded numbly, his eyes not leaving the photo. She knew how he felt, she’d cried when she’d seen it herself. Looking at her, all she could see was Sam. His eyes, the way his nose curved, the smile, open, happy. It was like looking at a ghost.

  ‘You see it right? That I look like her?’ He sounded so panicked, she couldn’t bear it. She held his hand on the table.

  ‘Yes, Sam, I see it. You look just like her, it’s so obvious.’

  He smiled then, running his fingers along the page.

  ‘She’s beautiful. She looks really happy with him.’ She’d married a man called Thomas Jenkins, becoming Mrs Mary Jenkins. He was laughing in the photo, his face turned towards his bride with a look of devotion etched on his features, clear as day. They looked the very image of youthful love.

  ‘I wonder if he knew?’ she wondered aloud.

  Sam shook his head.

  ‘Even in those days, it would have been awful for her. I was all over the news, and living close by, she must have known how and where I was. She was on her own, no money, no house. I get it.’ He swallowed, his jaw flexing. ‘I don’t like it, but I get it.’

  Lucy couldn’t believe he was taking it so well. Shock perhaps. He started to fold up the papers, tucking them back into the Manila folder she had put them in to transport home. ‘Can I keep these?’

  ‘Of course, they’re yours. Can I get you anything?’

  He looked at her then, a look of gratitude on his features.

  ‘No, you have done enough. Thank you so much, Lucy, you don’t know what this means to me.’

  She felt her eyes water, the familiar burning sensation of unshed tears. ‘I’m really sorry, I feel like I upset you.’

  He squeezed her hand tight. ‘No, you could never upset me. You found my mother, I’m grateful. Are you ready?’

  ‘Ready?’ she echoed. ‘Oh, I thought that you wouldn’t want to go now.’

  He frowned. ‘Not go on a date with the sexy neighbour who found my family? Are you mad?’ He stood up, taking her by the hand, and led her to the door. ‘Come, my lady, your carriage awaits.’

  He led her outside the door, giving her just enough time to grab her bag and lock up. There was no waiting taxi, no car parked up.

  ‘How are we getting there?’ she asked, fearful for her kitten-heeled feet. He was striding down the path, and then she saw it propped up against the fence. ‘A tandem? You have got to be kidding me!’ He laughed, passing her one of the two bike helmets that leant against the seats.

  ‘Chicken are we? Norman lent me it. He and his wife love it. I thought we could use it, just this once.’

  Lucy was about to have a girly strop when she thought about it again. They had no car, and this date was something she was looking forward to. She never took chances till recently, why stop now? She put the helmet on, silently praying it wouldn’t kill her hairdo, and grinned at him.

  ‘Right, let’s go!’

  After a shaky start, where they both misheard what the other said and ended up stuck in a bush, they were off. It was hard at first, and Lucy’s legs started to burn, but Sam soon found his groove and then it felt like her feet were being spun by the pedals, not the other way around. He was on the back, and she silently thanked her wardrobe choices. Having her bum crack pop out at him wouldn’t exactly be sexy, but the blouse was tucked in, and she felt comfortable enough to concentrate on steering. Sam guided her through the village, passing the cottages and houses, the vet’s surgery, the rows of little shops. They were heading further away from the pub, not closer, and her interest peaked.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘Snapdragon Street, just a bit further.’ Lucy, still at least pretending to pedal, thought of what she remembered being up there.

  ‘Snapdragon Street? There’s not much there, you know.’

  ‘Oh, I know.’ He kept going, and she led the way. Snapdragon Street was a long windy one, playing fields carved out of the hills on one side, with football and rugby pitches further still. The only other thing there was the school …

  They neared the school gates, and she saw a man in the doorway. He was dressed in casual clothes, a bottle green parka over jeans and a jumper, and he was waving them through the school gates.

  ‘That’s Lionel, he caretakes here. Lives in the cottage across with his wife. I came to do some safety checks here the other day, and we got to chatting. His wife, it turns out, is a big fan of role play. I gave him one of our old fire house jackets, one that was never used, and he let me have the school for the night.’

  Lionel gave them a little wave, closing the gate behind them as they rode through.

  ‘We have it till ten,’ he said, helping her off the gate and waving back at Lionel. ‘My lady?’ he said, offering his arm. She laughed and put her arm through his.

  ‘Lead the way, kind gentleman.’ They headed through the main doors, and the smell lit up Lucy’s grey matter. The smell of the school equipment, the little seats everywhere, the displays on the walls. She was hit by a wave of nostalgia, and she breathed in every little detail.

  ‘Nice, isn’t it?’ he said, still leading her through the school. The lights were on in the main corridors, and when they got to the gym doors he stopped. ‘They’re looking for a teacher you know. One of the teaching staff is leaving next year, retirement. I saw the ad in the local paper, but Lionel says the head’s not keen on the applicants so far.’

  She looked around her. A job, her dream job, in the place she had run to?

  ‘How many pupils?’ she asked.

  ‘Currently, eighty-seven,’ Sam answered without hesitation. ‘They are an inclusive school too, so Xander would fit right in.’

  So, he had a reason for all this. ‘You asked about all that, for us? Xander and me, I mean.’

  ‘I asked for all of us,’ he breathed, moving closer. ‘I wanted you to have options. I thought that you were findi
ng out the answers to my life, I wanted to do the same. I know the deli job is not what you dream about, Lucy. You’re a mother first, of course, but why can’t you be happy too? It’s a small school. You could travel here every day, and be together. You know Xander inside out, you can help them to help him.’

  In his current school, there were six times that many students, and the numbers only rose when high school came around. He hated school, but loved the lessons. Maybe this would be the answer. Was it really that easy though? She’d still be homeless, after all.

  ‘I’ll let you think about it,’ he said, sensing her inner monologue was not ready to be shared. He opened the hall doors, and there, in the middle, was a table, set with a white linen tablecloth, flowers, silver cutlery and candles. The whole hall was dimly lit, and music was being piped in, a low murmur of romantic ballads. The smell of heavenly food wafted in, and she felt and heard her stomach growl.

  ‘The lads helped a bit earlier, and Gary’s in the kitchen. I got him into the auction, so he offered to cook, get a bit of practice in.’

  It looked beautiful, and she was so moved by the effort he had made. That afternoon, finding out what she did, giving it to him, she never expected this to happen. Let alone being led to a table by a handsome man, someone who was trying to help her live the life she wanted.

  Back home, when she’d offered to give up her teaching job, to look after Xander and be around more, Iain had never once tried to help. He’d agreed readily, seeing her sacrifice as better for him. Someone to be home cooking his tea, running his errands, dealing with the brunt of parenting, leaving him more time to work and play. He’d honestly never even asked her if she minded, or if she was upset to leave the job she had studied and worked at for years to get.

  They’d had a lovely dinner, the starters and mains simple, elegant and tasty. No jars of sauce to be found in this food, and Lucy and Sam devoured every morsel readily, their talk small and of no consequence. They didn’t mention the real world at all, instead talking about their childhoods, their likes, dislikes. Favourite movies, aspirations for the future. Sam wanted to be fire chief one day, and head up his own team and fire house. He was happy where he was, but worried about being far from his mother Sondra. He was looking for a house to buy, which surprised Lucy, but she said nothing.

  ‘What about your father?’ she ventured when the conversation had dropped to a lull. ‘Will you keep looking to find him? Agatha said that Mr Mayweather was devastated when Mary left.’ She was careful not to say ‘mother’. ‘He looked for her, too. I even found an advert he put in the papers locally, looking for her. He was really cross when he found out she was looking to hire a new maid.’

  Sam looked down at his empty plate, pushing together his cutlery and reaching for his glass of wine. Between them, they’d run through nearly two bottles of white, topped up by Gary, who kept running in and out with various delectable bits to eat. The bike ride home would be fun.

  ‘Mr Mayweather did that, for a maid?’

  Lucy nodded, taking another sip of the cool white wine.

  ‘Yes, so someone might know something. I can ask my aun—’

  ‘That’s not necessary,’ he said, cutting her off abruptly. His face was closed off, cold even. ‘I think we should head home, it’s getting late and Lionel will want to close up. Gary’s on clean up.’

  With that, he stood and started to walk towards the kitchen. She was left alone, wondering what the hell had made him so mad. After waving goodbye to Gary and Lionel, the bike ride home should have been fun. They were both a bit tipsy by now, and when the fresh air hit Lucy, she felt a bit pissed. Riding through the village by tandem bike should have been a laugh. Instead, Sam never spoke, and he pedalled like a maniac, leaving her pushed along and very confused. They got to the cottages, and he helped her off the bike. She turned to him, passing him her helmet and leaning into him a little. He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He bent his head, and kissed her on the cheek.

  ‘Goodnight, Lucy.’ He pushed the bike into his own garden and closed the gate, leaving her standing outside hers. He disappeared around the back with it, and she was left alone for the second time that night, wondering how the evening had changed so abruptly.

  Chapter 13

  The next few days passed by in a blur. The head teacher of the local school had called her, having been given her number by Sam, and they had met for coffee in the local café. Mrs Holliday was a lovely, happy woman. She turned up dressed as the Queen of Hearts, putting down her sceptre and handbag and apologising for her attire. Her lips were painted to look like a heart, and her eye make-up was bright green and shimmery.

  ‘I’ve been at the community centre, we hosted an Alice in Wonderland tea party for the children. Some of the teachers came as the characters. They didn’t moan, but, to be fair, if they had, it would have been off with their heads!’ She made a regal movement with her hand, bowing before them. Xander, looking very taken aback, burst out laughing.

  ‘Off with their heads, Mum! Like the real Queen of Hearts!’ He laughed again, Mrs Holliday joining in.

  ‘That’s right, Xander, have you read the book?’

  Xander beamed. ‘Yep, Mum read it to me. It’s good, but I like Harry Potter better.’

  Mrs Holliday grinned at him. ‘Me too, honey, truth be told. Have you read this one?’ She pulled out a book from her handbag. ‘Gulliver’s Travels.’

  Xander’s eyes widened. ‘No, but I’ve heard of it.’

  She passed it over the table to him. ‘Well, you tell me what you think, okay? And if you want any more, I have plenty you can borrow.’

  She winked at Lucy, asked her if she’d ordered, which she had, and headed off to the counter to place her own.

  By the end of their lunch, Lucy and Xander left happy, full of cheese toasties and tea, a job offer and a school place all sorted out. There would be a lot of paperwork of course, but Mrs Holliday didn’t see a problem.

  ‘We have the place, and our provision will suit Xander perfectly,’ she’d said, after listening to everything that was in place now, and wasn’t working. ‘Our class sizes would be perfect for him, and our staff are amazing.’ She looked pointedly at her, and Lucy blushed. ‘You say the word, I’ll make it happen.’

  She could have kissed her there and then, but she held off. After all, she still had no money, nowhere to live, and the cottage had bookings through till October. Then there was the little fact that she had an angry husband back down south who was fully expecting them to return.

  She hadn’t heard from Sam all week. She’d put the Manila folder about his mother through his letterbox, but heard nothing. She’d texted him a couple of times, just simple things like ‘good morning’ and ‘how are you?’ All breezy, gentle texts that opened up communication. Except they hadn’t, because he’d kept his ruddy distance. When they got back, his lights were never on, and she didn’t hear a peep from next door. He was ghosting her, and she felt his apparition around her at every moment. She’d kept herself busy, chatting with the ladies, joining in with their crafting sessions, helping to set up Mayweather Mansion for the big day. She had six days left till her train tickets became due, and she needed to make a final decision. It was as though the two men in her life had changed overnight. Sam was ignoring her, and when she had taken Xander to the fire station so that he could give them some cookies they’d baked together, Sam had spent time with Xander. Showing him the trucks and the gear, making a fuss of his cookies, declaring them to be the best things ever, both of them giving Gary one and letting him be judge (he loved them, of course). He’d said hello, but in a formal way, using her married name. Mrs Walsh. Who even was that any more? She’d never been Mrs Walsh to him. It hit her like a bullet, leaving her standing there, bleeding profusely and looking for the sniper. It was harsh, and deliberate, and she hated him for doing it. He’d made her feel cheap, and that was awful.

  Iain, on the other hand, was kindness personified. He’d offered to send
her some money, which she’d declined. He’d asked about Xander, about how he was feeling and coping on holiday. He’d apologised for his drunken rants and explained how he’d felt powerless, and abandoned. Him him him still, but he was trying. He’d even offered to hire a cleaner and have one weekend a month at home, so that they could spend time as a family. Baby steps, and probably bullshit, but he was trying. Trying to make it harder for her to pull the plug. She’d cancelled her legal advice appointment, and spent her nights lying awake, wondering how she would feel if she returned home. Would she BE returning home, or leaving it?

  The day of the charity auction was no different. After a pitiful night’s sleep, Xander had executed his dawn raid, and was halfway down the stairs screaming ‘Pancakes, pancakes!’ when there was a knock at the door. She heard Xander shout up the stairs, ‘I’ll get it!’ and jumped out of bed.

  ‘No, Xander, wait for me!’ She threw her dressing gown on, running down the stairs.

  ‘Dad!!’ Xander shouted, jumping into a very shocked Iain’s arms. Iain reached for him, saying ‘Hi, buddy,’ but instead of pulling him closer, he set him back down on the ground. ‘I came to talk to your mother, can you go watch TV?’

  ‘But … but … it’s pancake time,’ he said, pointing towards the kitchen. ‘We always have pancakes when I get up.’

  ‘Well not today, okay?’ He took him by the shoulders, and gently pushed him in the direction of the living room, where the couch could be seen through the open door.

  ‘It’s okay, Xander. Go sit at the kitchen table, I’ll make them.’ Xander slid past his father, looking a little fearful, and slipped into the kitchen.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ she hissed at him, angry at his treatment of his son. ‘You know he has a routine, and you could have at least hugged him. He’s missed you, you know.’

  Iain sneered. ‘One late breakfast won’t bloody kill him, and whose fault is it that he misses me, eh? It’s your bloody fault we’re here.’ She ignored him, heading to the kitchen. In the corner of her eye, she could see Sam heading down the path to his gate, a suit bag hung off one of his shoulders. Iain’s car was parked right outside the cottages. She cringed, but Sam looked at it once, and kept walking. Not even a backward glance. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, and she felt jealous. She knew he wouldn’t be contacting her. Her phone was on charge upstairs. Could she resist? She started to make the pancakes, and ignored Iain who was standing in the kitchen doorway, arms folded, watching her. A second later, her phone trilled and she had to fight the deep primal urge she had not to drop-kick him out of the way and race up the stairs.