My phone call with Kirsten was extremely emotional, but the best thing that could ever have happened. After we’d both stopped sobbing enough to speak, she wanted to know all about The Chocolate Pot and the awards I’d received, and I was keen to find out about her breast cancer and the prognosis. We talked about her selling Vanilla Pod and how Tim felt about early retirement.
I paused our conversation after about twenty minutes so I could buzz down to Sheila and ask her to phone Maria and see if she’d cover the rest of my shift in exchange for me working Sunday for her. Sheila laughed and said, ‘I’ve already done that. She’s on her way.’
Kirsten and I were on the phone for over two hours. It would have been longer but she had a doctor’s appointment so reluctantly had to say goodbye. We agreed not to talk about the past. Not yet. Catching up was amazing. I could picture her eyes sparkling and that warm smile as she spoke. I could hear the love in her voice. I could feel her arms round me when she said she wished she could give me a hug. Everything had changed for us yet, despite so many years apart, nothing had changed at all.
When I hung up, I felt drained from the whirlwind of emotions I’d experienced by reconnecting. Joy and love tinged with sadness and regret.
Moving to the bed for a lie-down, I fell asleep for a couple of hours, waking up with Hercules nudging my arm. I spent the rest of the afternoon and evening working through all the other envelopes, starting with the very first one. It was difficult reliving the experience through Kirsten’s eyes – the shock, the disbelief, the guilt that all this had been going on under her nose and she’d had no idea. At that point, she was so disgusted with Garth and Leanne, having forced the truth from them, that she couldn’t bear to have contact with either of them.
As the years passed, the letters fell into a similar pattern – wondering where I was and how I was, saying how much they missed and loved me, a little bit of news, and ending with hopes that I’d get in touch. Little was mentioned about Leanne after that first letter until three years later when Kirsten informed me that Leanne was no longer in their lives. A customer caught Leanne sniffing cocaine at work and reported it to the papers. The scandal nearly ruined the chain. Suspending Leanne, Kirsten took over management of Leanne’s bistro and discovered roughly £50k defrauded from the business that year alone. Looking into previous years, the figure rose and rose. Then stories of her bullying and harassing the staff emerged, dubious hygiene standards, and Leanne regularly being drunk or high at work. For Kirsten and Tim, it was the final straw. They didn’t know or recognise Leanne anymore and tough love was needed. They cut her off financially and emotionally, telling her they would pay for rehab if she was ready to get her life back on track, otherwise she was on her own; after all, she had several hundred thousand pounds she’d defrauded from Vanilla Pod. Kirsten never mentioned Leanne again in her letters and my heart broke for her. She’d lost us both and it had probably just about destroyed her. What if it hadn’t left her with the strength to fight the cancer? It didn’t bear thinking about.
In the evening, I picked up an email on my phone from Jed asking if I was free that evening for a drink. Completely distracted, I gave the briefest of replies saying I was a bit tied up and suggesting a rain check, then I returned to the letters.
Accompanying every birthday letter was a card. I’d expected them to be birthday cards but, instead, each had a motivational quote on the front about being brave, seeing the best in people, thinking positive thoughts and so on. I regretted never opening them because so many of the quotes would have helped me over the years and may even have prompted me to make contact sooner.
Pilates on Tuesday evening couldn’t have been better timed for emptying my mind and relaxing my body.
‘You looked very chilled there,’ Karen said as I rolled up my mat afterwards. ‘I thought you might start snoring.’
‘I very nearly did. It’s been a busy few days and I really needed that.’
‘Speaking of busy, I was in Jed’s gallery on Sunday,’ Karen said. ‘It was heaving and, oh my God, how amazing are his paintings?’
‘They’re brilliant.’ I smiled, picturing the lighthouse and sheep that had pride of place in my lounge. Then I gasped. How dismissive had I been when he’d emailed the night before? What an idiot. He’d asked me out and I’d said no, without any explanation. What must he have thought? He’d given me a one-off original – I only noticed the 1/1 in the bottom left corner when I mounted it on the wall – which had to be worth a fortune, we’d opened up about our difficult pasts and we’d shared a brief kiss. He’d made the next move by asking me out for a drink and I’d fobbed him off. Damn!
I was still cursing under my breath as I left the leisure centre, no longer feeling relaxed. With a heavy heart, I drove home. Would Jed be in the gallery? I needed to get his attention and explain.
Running up Castle Street ten minutes later, my heart raced when I spotted Jed’s first-floor lights on. A doorbell had been fitted so I rang it but couldn’t hear any ringing inside. Maybe it wasn’t connected yet. I banged on his door and tried shouting through the letterbox, but got no response, and his mobile went straight to voicemail.
Stepping back, I stared up at the first floor, wondering how else I could get his attention. I spotted the gallery phone number on the sign. Shivering, I dialled it and, moments later, heard it ringing inside. Five minutes later, there was still no answer and I was numb with cold. Reluctantly, I disconnected the call and turned away, shoulders drooping.
‘Tara?’
I turned round to see Jed standing in his doorway.
‘Were you ringing the gallery?’ he asked.
‘I’ve been trying to get your attention for the last ten minutes. I wanted to apologise for yesterday. I was completely distracted. A letter came from…’ My teeth were chattering so much that I could barely get the words out.
Reaching for my hand, Jed pulled me inside.
‘Your hands are like ice,’ he cried.
‘The whole of me is. Why didn’t you answer your phone?’
‘I was painting and I had headphones on. I’d just taken them off to make a coffee when I heard the downstairs phone. You’re shivering. Come upstairs. We need to get you warm.’
I followed Jed into his studio and sat down on one of the wooden chairs. He grabbed a fleecy sweater from a hook on the wall and pulled it over my head as though I was a small child, before taking one hand at a time between his and rubbing it.
‘I think we’ve saved them,’ he said as the blue tinge left my hands and the heat returned. ‘Coffee?’
As he clattered about in the kitchenette, I looked round the room. One of the easels was still covered but he’d obviously been working on the other. It was a large canvas with a scene set at night or early in the morning on… Wait a minute. Is that…? I stood up and moved closer. Standing on a cobbled street outside a café, a woman was gazing up at the stars.
‘It’s not finished yet.’ Jed appeared by my side.
My heart thumped rapidly as I stared at the picture. ‘Is it…? Is it me?’ The likeness was astonishing yet I needed him to confirm it in case I was imagining things.
He paused for a moment. ‘Yes.’
My heart thumped even faster and butterflies soared in my stomach. ‘From the morning of the awards?’ I’m not sure how I managed to form the words.
‘Yes. I told you I felt compelled to draw you. You’re not mad with me that I did it without asking?’
I couldn’t take my eyes away from it. ‘No. Not mad with you. Dazzled by your talent. How did you do it?’
He shrugged. ‘A couple of pencil sketches at first, then—’
‘No. Not that. I mean how did you capture me like that? It’s like you knew what I was thinking.’
Jed shrugged. ‘I just painted what I saw.’
‘It’s amazing. It really is. What’s the other one?’
‘It’s not finished.’
‘Can I have a sneaky peak?’
Jed took a couple of steps towards the other easel, then stopped. ‘Actually, better not. It’s not ready yet.’ He spoke slowly and there was a sadness to his tone.
I could understand the reluctance to show me a work-in-progress. As a crafter, I was all too familiar with how rubbish something could look before suddenly transforming at the final stages. ‘Okay. Another time?’
‘I don’t know. It’s not working out how I’d hoped.’
I finally drew my gaze away from the painting and looked at Jed. Bloodshot eyes and dark circles beneath them suggested he was either shattered or worried about something. ‘You sound really down and you look exhausted. Are you okay?’
He smiled weakly. ‘I couldn’t get to sleep last night and I’m shattered.’
Recognising my cue to leave, I said, ‘I’d better leave you to it, then.’
In silence, he walked me out and said good night.
‘You need this back,’ I said, lifting the front of his sweater up.
‘Keep it on. I’ll get it back from you another time.’
I waved and ran across the street.
It was only when I changed into my snuggly clothes later that I realised that I hadn’t told Jed why I’d called for him and he hadn’t asked, the painting distracting us both. Standing by the arched window, I gazed across the street, but Jed’s building was in darkness. I’d have to try to catch him tomorrow when he closed up for the day. I could have emailed or texted, but I really owed him an apology in person. Again.
I pressed my fingers to my lips and shook my head. That painting. My heart started to thump and those butterflies swarmed again. He’d painted me but it had been so much more than that. He’d captured my thoughts and emotions. He’d seen right into my soul. What did that mean? Was he simply a gifted artist or did it say something about his feelings for me? Remembering the feeling of his lips against mine the other night, a zip of excitement raced through my body.
‘What are you doing to me, Jed Ferguson? This wasn’t part of the plan.’