The Fire House on Honeysuckle Street Read online

  ‘A tree surgeon would do the job, of course, but we’re happy to look at any issue that might be at risk of causing property damage or injury. Are the trees out back?’ Sam, all business now, was already heading through the house, looking for the back doors. Agatha, not used to being controlled, stuttered a little and then followed him, her plummy tones ringing out as she click-clacked through the hallway on her heels. Lucy found herself sitting forwards, head bent, listening to them depart. She heard a door open and then a cacophony of dogs, barking and yipping. It reminded her of going to the school gates to collect her child back home, and she walked away from the memory in the company of the others.

  What Agatha Mayweather called her back garden was laughable. In reality, it was a huge expanse of greens and browns, a lovely area to socialise in the sunshine, and large enough that the whole of Westfield could join her. She had paused in the boot room at the back of the house to take off her pink court shoes, placing them on a pristine high shelf and pushing her feet into a pair of Hunter wellington boots, which, oddly, also matched her outfit. They headed out onto the patio area, walking further out towards where a large crop of trees stood, one leaning more than the rest. Sam followed her patiently, taking in the scenery and listening to her speaking about the history of the house, and the renovations that they had undertaken to protect against the ravages of time and to keep up with modern conveniences. Finally, they were standing at the foot of the trees, and Agatha was silent.

  ‘So, Mr Draper …’ she began.

  ‘Please, call me Sam.’

  ‘Samuel?’

  ‘Samuel’s fine, Mrs Taylor, or is it Mayweather?’

  She brushed him off with her folded hands. ‘Oh please, call me Agatha. My first husband was Mayweather, but I go by both Taylor and Mayweather in these parts. Agatha to those I like. I’m grateful that you could come to help today. How are you settling in?’

  Sam focused on the trees, assessing the situation before replying.

  ‘I’m settling in fine, thanks. The cottage is comfortable; the lads are great. These trees are fine where they are, but this one that’s leaning, it looks as though there was some storm damage to it at some point, so you might want to call that tree surgeon to take care of it. At this distance from the house and outbuildings, and in the condition it’s in now, I don’t foresee a problem at this time. Nothing the fire house need to deal with thankfully.’

  ‘That’s wonderful,’ she said dismissively. ‘We can eat then. Tell me, are you a coffee or a tea man?’

  A boatload of sandwiches, scones, little nibbles and a vat of English Breakfast tea later, the party were all feeling rather full, and a little lazy. Even Xander was settled and happily dozing on the sofa, his head in Lucy’s lap. Agatha was sitting in a Queen Anne wingback chair, a plate on one of the arms with a half-eaten prawn vol-au-vent sitting on it. Dot was snoring softly in her chair, and Grace’s knitting was sitting in her handbag, Grace laid back in her chair, head nodding. Food comas all around, till Sam broke the spell by standing up from his position on the sofa in the corner.

  ‘Well, ladies.’ He did a little bow to them all. ‘I thank you for the hospitality, but I do have to be getting back to the station now. Duty calls.’

  ‘Whose duty?’ asked Xander, suddenly wide awake and looking up at him inquisitively. ‘What’s he calling for?’ Grace tittered in her chair a little, but the others looked at Sam. He was unreadable as always, and Lucy held her breath as he walked over and stooped to crouch in front of her son. Flicking his gaze to her, she saw that he already had stubble on his muscular chin, giving him a rather fetching five-o’clock shadow. Lucy didn’t really look at men, but she was looking now. Sam was just so different from anyone she had seen before, she couldn’t help but study him.

  ‘It’s just a saying, Xander, sorry. It means that I have a job to do, and I need to go and do it now, to keep people safe. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, I do now.’ He bit his lip before reaching over to the emblem on Sam’s shirt and running his finger along the stitching. ‘Can anyone be a hero? Even me?’

  Lucy felt her heart constrict. They had never hidden his condition from him, or at least she hadn’t hidden it from him. He knew he was different, but in this world, what defined normal? Iain was another story, and she knew this insecurity stemmed from him, and all the others free to give their opinions on the spawn of others.

  ‘Of course,’ Sam replied easily. ‘Especially you, you look after your mum, don’t you? I saw you, on the train, looking after her and making sure she was okay. That’s just what a hero does, looks after other people. So you do that, yeah? That’s your mission this summer, to look after your mother and to have a great holiday.’

  Xander leaned forward and very seriously said, ‘And the Death Star. Don’t forget we need to build the Death Star. It’s my dream.’

  Sam leaned in and just as seriously replied, ‘I understand. If you need any help, you know where I am.’ He clenched his fist and offered it to Xander, who fist-bumped him back and made a shushing motion with his finger against his lips. Sam winked at him, laughing softly as he raised himself back up to his full height.

  ‘Ladies, I bid you adieu!’ He did a fake over-the-top bow, and took his imaginary hat off his head to complete the effect. ‘Goodbye, Lucy. It was lovely to see you again. Xander, may the force be with you.’ The ladies all watched him leave through the huge main doors, and stayed silent for a while after the wooden doors had closed behind him.

  ‘Well,’ Grace said dreamily, ‘there is a man who can fill a sweater.’

  The ladies all laughed, and Lucy found herself laughing with them. She didn’t have an argument to the contrary, and she had even thought herself about what would be hidden under that woollen layer. That would be a sight to see, and one she wouldn’t object to. What Lucy didn’t see, and perhaps would have had strong objections to, was the ladies looking at each other, and the beginnings of a plan forming in their grey matter.

  Chapter 8

  Walking through the village after their huge lunch at the Mayweather Mansion, Lucy felt lighter than she had in a long time. When she thought of her life back home, she could feel her muscles clench up, her anxiety levels rising. It had been so hard to manage, to try to get through every day unscathed; making sure that Xander had a good morning, making sure Iain had everything he needed for work, getting them out of the door on time, ready to start the day. Here, Xander was blooming already, and she couldn’t help feeling it was more than being off school that was a relief to her only child.

  Iain hadn’t been in touch since their call, and Xander had refused to call him, so she hadn’t pushed or mentioned it again. If he didn’t want to call his father today, they could manage that. When the next day came, and he still didn’t want to talk to him, then that would be a problem.

  ‘Mum,’ Xander asked as they walked through the pretty streets back to the cottage, ‘can we go and see the fire station one day, and see Sam?’

  There he was again, in her thoughts, and it seemed that she wasn’t alone.

  ‘I’m not sure we can do that buddy, the fire station is a pretty busy place, and I’m not sure that children are allowed there.’

  ‘Can we ask, next time we see him?’

  Lucy grimaced, but found herself agreeing.

  ‘Okay, we can ask, but don’t be upset if it’s not possible, okay? They do an important job so they need to focus on their work.’

  Xander was a little way in front, stepping over the cracks in the pavement carefully as he hopped and skipped along the lane. He had a habit of spinning around and touching the ground when he moved about sometimes, when he was excited or nervous in new situations. It generated a lot of stares and odd questions back home, but here, no one batted an eyelid. One nice lady had even clapped him on her way past and told him he looked like a fairy king. Lucy could have sunk to her knees and sobbed like a baby right then and there. She knew that it was probably just in her head, but w
hat was it about this place that seemed so much more relaxed, more open and friendly? They hadn’t travelled to the ends of the earth, and the old wives’ tale about Londoners being closed off wasn’t true. There were tolerant people and close-minded people in every walk of life, so what was different about Westfield? Looking around her, she didn’t have any answers, but the jolt of fresh air and the feel of the sun on her face went some way to soothe her busy mind. Maybe she would even get a little colour to her skin. Her tan was fading from their holiday to Spain, even if the memories of that day were still as fresh and raw as ever. Which left her thinking about Iain again, and what had happened to them that had evolved from a simple disconnect in their marriage, to her fleeing their life with their son in tow. She knew that this holiday was more than that, but she didn’t think that Iain realised the same thing. Would he miss her? Them? Would he wonder why they had decided to leave, with so little notice?

  They walked towards the cottages, and the two linked together came into view, Sam’s and theirs. They really were the most beautiful cottages, with the utmost care and attention given to them both by the owners. As a holiday let, it was pretty idyllic. Truth be told, she felt more at home in the cosy warmth of their temporary home than she ever had in the rather larger new-build house they shared with Iain. Another thing to contemplate when she went to bed tonight.

  ‘Mum!’ Xander was running through the gate now, up the path. She hadn’t quite rounded the corner, so couldn’t see him, but from his squeals and excited whoops she guessed that the deliveryman had been and followed her instructions to leave their packages in the storage bench on the front porch area. She could hear him laughing, and her heart sang with the sound, until she turned the corner, and saw him wrapped in Iain’s arms, the boxes at their feet. It seemed her husband had missed them after all, and the delivery driver couldn’t follow a simple instruction. Probably a male delivery driver too. Men. As always, she was ruled by their whims and actions. She plastered on the best smile she could, and walked up to the house.

  ‘What the hell are you playing at, Luce?’ He rounded on her as soon as the back door was closed. Xander was outside, having been coaxed by her to go and search for butterflies. Xander loved animals and insects of every description, and was always keen to go exploring. It would distract him for long enough, hopefully. She walked past him and headed to the kettle, keeping one eye on her son through the glass doors. After filling it with water, she flicked it on and set about making coffee.

  ‘Are you not going to even say hello? Really?’ His voice was shaking with anger, and she turned to face him, spooning sugar into the mugs as she did so.

  ‘How did you find us?’ was all she could think to ask.

  He looked at her with such an angry look of contempt that it made her heart race.

  ‘That’s it!? That’s all you care about?’ He jabbed a finger at the doors, where Lucy could see Xander lying on the grass, looking up at the blue sky. ‘You took my son on holiday without even bothering to tell me!’

  ‘Don’t shout,’ she retorted, in a stronger voice than she thought she could muster. She heard the kettle click off and turned to finish the drinks, holding one of the mugs out to him and motioning towards the kitchen table. He glared at her, his jaw flexing as he gritted his teeth, but he eventually reached out and took the cup from her. They ended up sitting across from each other, Lucy facing the patio doors.

  ‘Lucy,’ he began again, running his hand over his clean-shaven chin. Considering he was so upset, he still looked immaculate, dressed in a smart shirt and trousers. His casual day at the office look. Not a hair was out of place on his perfectly coiffed head. Hardly frantic, were you? ‘What’s going on? Is this about Mallorca? Is that it?’

  She sat back in her seat, taking a long drink of her warm beverage, feeling the jolt of caffeine immediately, the warmth of the drink comforting her. As love affairs went, Lucy did have a thing for the coffee bean. Strong, dependable and quiet. Just what every woman wanted. She found her thoughts drifting back to her neighbour, but she quickly batted them out of her mind.

  ‘Spain was bad, I know,’ he admitted, looking down at his fingers, clasping his cup. ‘I said I was sorry. It just got a bit much, you know?’

  She nodded. She did know. She understood, but it didn’t alter her feelings about him, the feelings he had put there that day. She hadn’t been able to shake that, though she had tried. God knows she had tried. That day had sharpened her senses, woken her up. She wasn’t happy, but that day, she finally admitted it, and there was no going back. Not now.

  ‘I know, I understand that, Iain, but it’s not just that one thing, is it?’ She waited for him to nod, to agree, to start talking, but he just looked at her expectantly. ‘I had to get away. I’m sorry for the way I did it, but I was trying to avoid a big scene. I needed to get away, and Marlene has been begging us to visit for years.’

  Iain said nothing. That much was true, but, with his job, they could never quite swing the time off. Which was funny, because he always found time for golf weekends.

  ‘You’re never home any more. You work late, and when you are home you’re in your office on the phone, or sleeping. Xander hasn’t spent any proper time with you for ages. He needs a father.’

  ‘Really,’ he said, in a deep tone. ‘He needs a father, so you took him away from me? That’s your logic? I work hard for this family—’

  ‘This isn’t about money! We do fine, and I do have a job, thanks. I earn money too.’

  ‘Working in a deli is not exactly lucrative, is it? Doesn’t pay the mortgage, and everything else. That falls to me!’

  Lucy banged her cup down, sploshing coffee over her fingers and the wooden surface of the table.

  ‘You wanted that big house, not me! I had a house, remember? When we met I was a teacher, with my own house, my own car. Not exactly in need of a rich husband, was I? You wanted the flashy car and the big house, not me. I was happy in our old house. And don’t forget, my house money went into the new one, so you didn’t exactly pay for it on your own, did you? Don’t you dare throw money in my face! I quit a job I loved to be home for our son, to look after him, to make sure he wasn’t stuck in childcare he couldn’t cope with. What did you do to help him, besides slap him?’ She clamped her lips together, biting them in punishment for speaking out. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.’

  ‘You’re never going to get over that, are you?’ He sounded broken, his voice a weary monotone of regret and realisation. ‘It was one mistake, and I will regret it forever.’

  ‘You slapped our son, at the side of the pool, in front of everyone! Do you know how much that confused and upset him?’

  The pair looked at each other, saying nothing. Lucy brushed away a tear, and looked out of the doors at her son, who was now twirling in circles, his cute little button face turned up to the sun. She thought back to that day and how it had become the catalyst for so much change.

  The holiday hadn’t gotten off to a great start. It was the first time that they had taken Xander abroad for a holiday, and it had taken a lot of planning, forethought and cajoling to get both her son and husband on the plane at all. She had paid for the holiday herself, saving up her wages from the deli, so that Iain couldn’t say that they couldn’t afford it, or moan about the expense. She was determined to show her son the world and, with Spain being a short flight away, and having such a chilled-out family atmosphere, it was the perfect place. For the first couple of days, it was perfect. Iain left his phone in the hotel room, he and Xander were spending time together and Xander even made a few friends around the hotel. On an evening, she and Iain enjoyed a glass of wine whilst watching their son dance at the hotel disco. He didn’t like unexpected noises, but he sure loved music. He had since he was a toddler, and the louder the better as far as he was concerned. The entertainment staff were amazing with him and, slowly, Lucy found herself relaxing, and really enjoying her family for the first time in a long time.

 
; Till the pool day. Xander had not slept well, and Lucy felt exhausted, drowsy from the exertion of trying to settle her son in a stuffy room, the remnants of the wine on her lips making her head feel fuzzy. Iain helped at first, but then he fell asleep, and she was on her own.

  That morning, Xander was up and ready to go to the pool at the crack of dawn. His parents – tired, angry and harbouring resentment – duly got up and took him to breakfast. Before they came to Spain, Lucy had paid for swimming lessons for Xander, so that he would feel confident in the water, and it had worked, but Xander still felt unsure. She was pretty sure it was a mixture of a fear of the unknown, and his sensory issues, but her husband had another theory.

  ‘You mollycoddle that boy too much,’ he sniped at her over the breakfast table in whispered tones. His voice sounded neutral, but his words were like hushed barbs, striking her over and over with their force. ‘He’ll never do anything for himself if you keep doing every little thing for him!’

  The dining room was bustling with holidaymakers, families milling around at the different cooking stations, collecting what they wanted from the huge breakfast spread on offer. Babies could be heard crying in the background, people chatting and laughing, the noise of families, couples and singles on holiday. People enjoying their lives, how they wanted to. Xander was sitting eating his breakfast, shovelling waffles into his mouth, happily humming along to his headphone music.

  Lucy leaned forward, pushing her bowl of fruit salad with her elbows.

  ‘I don’t do everything for him, I help him, that’s all. I want him to live a normal life. I just don’t want him to struggle, and he is only eight! Most eight-year-olds need help with things.’

  Iain tutted and huffed at the same time, spearing a piece of sausage and shoving it into his mouth.

  ‘He—’ between mouthfuls of sausage, which Lucy could see rolling around his mouth like a meat grinder ‘—is not eight though, is he? Not really, with everything you do for him. He’s like a toddler.’