It had been a tough week for Mark as he waited to hear from Catherine. He knew she would be busy with work and that she might not have had time to read the book yet, but even so, just a text message or some acknowledgement would have been nice. Unless she had read it all and hated it and wanted nothing further to do with him. Alternatively, of course, it could be that she hadn’t received the manuscript. Perhaps Diana had intercepted it. But would she stoop that low? He shook his head. Surely, not.
It was, of course, possible that Catherine had read the book and didn’t like what he’d done, that she disapproved of him using their situation as inspiration for a story and that she could even be angry. Then there was the detail about him that he’d weaved into the male character’s backstory. He’d poured out a lot of what he’d been through onto the page. The names had been changed and some of the details, such as his ex-girlfriend was a swimming coach, not a tennis coach, and they’d lived in Nottingham, not in London, and he was an artist not a writer, but the basics of the story remained the same. It was about a man and a woman whose lives had held them back in several ways, but when they met, everything seemed to slot into place. And that was how he felt about Catherine. She had opened his eyes, enabled him to see what he had long missed out on and he felt as though he was properly awake for the first time in his adult life.
But, if Catherine didn’t appreciate what Mark had done, and if she didn’t want him to use their stories as inspiration, then he would respect her wishes. The last thing he wanted to do was to hurt or embarrass her or make her uncomfortable, even though no one need ever know that the novel was based on them and how they’d met. Then there was the mother issue in the novel, the overbearing elderly woman who had ruled her daughter’s life for years and stopped her finding true love. Writing her into the story could have upset Catherine, and perhaps she wasn’t even fully aware of how her mother manipulated her, in which case, Catherine could become quite angry at how Mark had portrayed the older woman.
But, at the end of the day, it was a work of fiction inspired by real life, not a biography, and that was his defence. People inspired people to paint, to sing, to dance and to write. He had been inspired, but his main inspiration was Catherine and she had unlocked the door to his heart and allowed the words to flow freely.
He checked his mobile again.
Nothing.
He’d go for a run to let off some steam then try to get back to the story. He had managed to compose a few different versions of the ending but wasn’t sure which one he preferred, although he knew which one he didn’t like and hoped he wouldn’t be compelled to use that one. Mark liked his romance novels to have a happy ending; he just wished there was a guarantee that real life could be the same.
Catherine woke on the sofa with a stiff neck and a pile of paper in her arms. She’d been reading deep into the night and must have passed out. At times like this, having Bob’s soft warm little body to cuddle up to was such a comfort, and now that she had Ginger too, she had a perfect little footwarmer.
A noise from upstairs snapped her from her sadness and she sat upright then placed the novel on the coffee table. She didn’t have many pages left, and although she was keen to keep reading, she also didn’t want to finish the story because she was enjoying it so much. Besides which, her mother had said that she was leaving this morning and Catherine had to deal with that issue first.
There was a bumping noise coming down the stairs then her mother appeared in the doorway with her suitcase on wheels.
‘Oh… You’re awake. But of course you are with all the noise I just made. I was going to try to leave quietly but this is quite heavy and I couldn’t lift it down all the stairs.’
‘You’re going now?’
‘Yes.’
Catherine stood up and looked at her mum, at the woman who had loved her fiercely since before she was born and who had always been there for her, no matter what. Her love for Diana rose in her chest and into her throat and threatened to choke her with pain. Whatever Diana had done, she’d done it thinking she was doing right, even if she had been very wrong. She was still furious with her mother and incredibly hurt, but she couldn’t let her go without saying goodbye.
‘Why’s your suitcase so heavy, Mum? How long are you going for?’
‘I’m not sure yet, Catherine. It could be a while. As long as Jane doesn’t mind having me there.’
‘I’m sure she’ll be glad to catch up.’
‘And I’ll be glad to have some time away from here. I’ve let myself get stale and let my anxiety get the better of me, but telling you the truth has been like shedding a very heavy weight. I feel dreadful knowing how much I have hurt you and how I’ve kept you and your father apart, but now the truth is out, I hope you and he can find a way forward with your relationship.’
‘I hope so, too.’
Her mother nodded. ‘I’m not saying my belly isn’t fluttering wildly at the thought of getting on a train, mind you, or that I’m not nervous at the thought of staying somewhere strange, but I figure that it’s now or never. I’m not getting any younger, am I?’
Her mother held her chin up and pushed her thin shoulders back and it was all Catherine could do not to burst into tears. Her little mum was heading out into the world, alone and with such pain and doubt in her heart. Her anger was something she would need to work through and she hoped that she’d be able to forgive her mother in time, but for now, she had to offer her mother some reassurance.
‘Come here.’ Catherine hurried over and hugged her mother tight. ‘I love you, Mum.’
‘I love you, too, Catherine. All I want is to see you happy.’
‘I know. It’s a shame that it took you so long but…’ She bit her lip, not wanting to indulge in recriminations now. There would be time for that once Catherine had been able to work things through in her own mind. ‘I’m working on it. You should too.’
A beep from outside signalled the arrival of the taxi.
‘Right then…’ Diana’s voice wavered. She cleared her throat. ‘I should go, my sweetheart. Don’t want to miss my train, do I?’ Diana released Catherine and met her gaze.
‘Take care, won’t you?’
‘I will. And you too, Catherine. Follow your heart, and let go of all doubt and fear. Life’s too short not to go for what you want and you have been held back for long enough.’ Her mother reached out and placed a cool palm on Catherine’s cheek then she nodded sadly and turned away.
Catherine opened the door and the taxi driver took the case from Diana and put it into the boot then opened the door for her.
‘Goodbye,’ Catherine called as her mum waved from the back of the cab. She knew that this was no magical cure for all the years of lies and sadness, for losing so much time believing her mother was right and her father was wrong. Nothing could get that time back and she would probably feel angry with her mother for a long time. But it would pass eventually, and she knew that there was no point regretting what hadn’t been. She had to look forwards now and rebuild her life with her newly found knowledge. At least Diana was giving her the space and time to do that.
Then she was alone, at last, and she had some reading to do.
Back from his run, Mark showered then dressed in lounge pants and a baggy T-shirt. He jogged downstairs, running his hands through his short hair, and went into the kitchen.
His mobile was on the worktop charging, so he checked the screen to see if his battery was full yet. There was a message from his sister, Summer, on the display, but he could only read the first line. He also had three missed calls. He swiped to unlock the phone then opened the message.
Mark,
Have tried to phone you but can’t get through. So sorry to be the one to tell you this – if you don’t know already – but didn’t want you to find out from someone else as think it’s a bit of a shocker… Brace yourself…
Ellie is getting married. It’s all over her social media.
Sorry, bro, and hope you’re okay with this. Ring me if you want to talk.
Love you! Xx
Mark dropped his mobile back onto the worktop and stared at it as if it had burnt him. Ellie was getting married? He knew Summer only meant well in letting him know, but even so, he wished she hadn’t.
Didn’t he?
He went to the backdoor and opened it then leant over and rested his hands on his thighs. His chest felt tight and despite his recent run, it was as though he was struggling to get enough air into his lungs.
Ellie was getting married to someone else. Someone who wasn’t Mark.
He went over to the summer house and sat on the wicker sofa then lowered his head into his hands. Life really could change in an instant. He’d known Ellie was with someone else – hell, she’d been with him before Mark had even walked out their front door – but for some reason he hadn’t spent much time thinking about how he’d feel if she did get married. Mark had proposed to her three times and three times she’d refused him, then this guy she’d been with for all of five minutes had proposed and she’d said yes. That was, of course, if he had been the one to propose. Perhaps Ellie had proposed to him. All those years they’d been together, had she been stringing Mark along waiting until someone better came her way? Had she ever cared for Mark at all?
The news was a bit of a shock, although he didn’t know if he was hurt or angry. Until recently, he would have expected to be both, but recent events had changed his perspective. Catherine had changed his perspective on just about everything.
And now he was waiting to hear from her. He wished he could phone her and speak to her about this, hold her and be comforted by her, but he didn’t want to push her, didn’t want to seem desperate for her love and attention.
Ten minutes later, he was back outside with a bottle of gin that he’d stashed in one of the cupboards. He didn’t drink much gin but it had been on offer at the supermarket and he’d picked it up in case he ever had guests, or, actually, in case Catherine liked it and happened to be at the cottage. He also had some small cans of elderflower tonic water and had filled a glass with ice cubes. He poured a generous measure of gin over the ice then added a can of tonic.
Mark knew that drinking alone wasn’t the greatest of plans, but he wanted to take the edge off his unease. He knew that he could deal with whatever came his way, that he would process whatever happened and, if Catherine didn’t want to be with him, that it would hurt less over time, but in this moment, he wanted it to go away. And fast.
He sipped the drink and was surprised to find that he liked it. The tang of the gin went well with the floral tonic water and as he swallowed, it warmed his stomach. Soon, the glass was empty and a gentle warm buzz filled Mark’s veins.
That was better. He might just as well have another.
His mobile started to ring inside the cottage, but he didn’t want to speak to anyone right now. If it was Summer, calling to see how he’d taken the news, then he couldn’t face explaining that to her now, let alone explaining that he’d already lost his heart to someone else. He knew his parents would be concerned too, so he’d drop them all a text message a bit later on to let them know that he was fine about Ellie. It was unlikely to be his agent or editor phoning, as it was the weekend. The only other person he could think it might be was Catherine, and he couldn’t have spoken to her now even if he’d wanted to because he felt suddenly very vulnerable. Perhaps it was the gin, perhaps it was knowing that he hadn’t been good enough for Ellie and now, it was possible, that Catherine didn’t want him either.
Mark just wanted to lie on the sofa in the September afternoon sunshine and to listen to the birds, the distant hum of a tractor and to savour the isolation of Plum Tree Cottage. Catherine had filled his heart with love; she had shown him that what he’d had with Ellie wasn’t good for him and that life could be good again. If Catherine didn’t want to be with him, he had a rough road ahead.
Catherine sat up on the sofa and sniffed. She grabbed a tissue from the box on the table and dried her eyes.
Wow! Wow! Wow!
She had just finished reading Mark’s book and she was overwhelmed. He was such a talented writer and this story was beautiful, poignant and so close to home. He had perfectly captured some of the elements of her life and their relationship, without seeming at all judgemental. There were also lots of details about the hero and his past that she assumed were actually about Mark, and it had given her a deeper understanding of him and why he behaved as he did. The artist in the novel had been hurt by his ex, to whom he’d proposed three times, only to find out that she’d declined his proposals then gone off with another man as soon as the hero had moved out of their shared home. The pain that the hero had suffered had brought tears to Catherine’s eyes. Poor Mark. And that fact that the ex-girlfriend had been ashamed of the artist and his paintings made her sad too. How could his ex have been so ashamed of him that she asked him to continue to paint (or, in Mark’s case, write) under a different name? What kind of woman would be ashamed of her partner’s creativity? Catherine would shout it from the rooftops if Mark was her partner; she’d be so proud of him and his talent, of his sensitivity and understanding of life and love, of his ability to create a vivid scene and to show a character’s undulating emotions.
Mark was a very special man indeed.
But what now? Should she let him know that she’d read his story and that she loved it? A week had passed. Would he even want to know? Her mother had kept the manuscript secret, but he didn’t know that.
Also, the story wasn’t finished. He had asked her in the note how it should end. She wasn’t sure. What did she want from Mark? What did he want from her? Could they find a way to be happy together?
Before she made any decisions, she needed to speak to someone else about it all.
‘So what do you think?’ Catherine asked Jamal and Bradley as they sat in the back garden of their cottage.
Jamal flicked through the pages of the novel that Catherine had brought to show them. She needed them to see the book, not just take her word for it, and Jamal had scanned through, reading odd words and phrases, but Bradley had settled down with the first chapter and was glued to it.
‘I think that he really likes you. From what I’ve seen and what you’ve told me, Mark wants to know what you’d like to happen between you two.’
‘Gosh, he’s passionate, isn’t he?’ Bradley asked. ‘The way he describes the hero carrying you from the sea after he rescued you.’ He fanned his face with a page of the story. ‘Did you know he was feeling so… excited to hold you close?’
Catherine’s cheeks filled with heat. Mark’s writing hadn’t been explicit but it was clear that their close encounter had impacted upon Mark physically and emotionally. He had also written about the night they’d spent together; not in detail, just enough to make her heat beat faster as she’d read it. She’d been embarrassed that her mother had read it too, but then Diana hadn’t said anything about it to her, so thankfully she’d been spared the humiliation of discussing what had happened that night at the cottage. Catherine had removed the pages before bringing the rest of the book to show Jamal and Bradley because she’d wanted to keep those details to herself. Mark had described her as being so utterly beautiful that she had been overwhelmed with a variety of emotions. A man had never spoken, let alone written about her, like that before and she liked how he saw her; he made her feel special and she had always thought that true love was about seeing someone as Mark had described her.
‘I felt the same,’ Catherine said in reply to Bradley.
‘I’m not surprised,’ Bradley said. ‘He’s gorgeous and he’s smitten with you.’
‘What do I do?’ she asked.
‘There’s only one thing you can do.’ Jamal stood up and nodded. ‘You need to go and see him.’
‘But I’m afraid.’ Her voice wavered.
‘Why?’ Jamal’s dark brows met above his nose.
‘Because… I could end up getting really hurt if this goes wrong.’
‘Catherine’ – Jamal shook his head – ‘this man loves you and he wants you to tell him how your story ends. Get your backside in your car and drive up there. Right now! I don’t know about Bradley but I can’t stand the suspense any longer. It’s driving me mad.’
‘He’s right, Catherine.’ Bradley stood up and went to Jamal then slid an arm around his waist. ‘We love you and want you to be happy but it’s up to you now. You need to go and speak to Mark.’ He added softly, ‘But leave the book.’
Catherine got up and went to them and they hugged, then she grabbed her bag and went to the door.
‘Wish me luck.’
‘You don’t need luck, Catherine. You just need to go grab that gorgeous man, hold him tight and never let him go!’
Jamal smiled at her and she smiled back. Then she got into her car and made her way to Plum Tree Cottage, wondering exactly how the story would end, knowing only how she wanted it to.