Early Sunday morning, Charley pitched up at Angie’s with a bag of fresh jam doughnuts. She rang the bell, heard Angie call out, ‘Charley’s here!’ and braced herself for the welcome bundling she’d get as soon as the door opened. Sure enough, three small children and a large boisterous Labrador hurled themselves at her.
‘Hello, horrors!’ Cheerfully, she pushed through the throng to embrace Angie, who took the doughnuts with one hand and promptly tumbled baby Lily into her arms with the other.
‘These are for later!’ Angie informed her gang firmly.
Somewhat hampered by her entourage clinging to her legs, and clasping Lily to her, Charley waded after her mate and into the kitchen.
‘We’re still having breakfast,’ admitted Angie. ‘Except Lily. She’s had hers. Twice!’
Cradling Lily’s soft little body, Charley gazed down at her lovingly. Lily contemplated her temporary carer for a moment, frowning earnestly then, perhaps suddenly recognising her, she gurgled delightedly, blew an endearing little bubble and Charley nearly dissolved onto the kitchen floor.
‘We’re with you after breakfast,’ said Beth, Angie’s eldest, as the children clambered back into their places round the table.
‘Mummy’s doing dwarwing,’ three-year-old Finn informed her importantly.
‘If that’s okay?’ Angie added hurriedly.
‘Of course it is!’ Then, turning to the kids, Charley foolishly asked, ‘What shall we do?’
‘Uh-oh! Rookie error!’ Angie warned, with a sharp intake of breath.
‘Football!’ demanded five-year-old Elliot, immediately dropping his cereal spoon and rushing to get his ball.
‘Nooooo!’ wailed Beth. ‘I want Charley to watch me on the trampoline!’
Finn was already climbing back onto his chair having fetched his shiny plastic cutlass. ‘Piwats!’ He brandished his weapon menacingly, just inches from Charley’s face.
‘Wooaah!’ Charley lurched back out of range.
‘Well, I’ll leave you to it, shall I?’ Angie beamed, clearing the table.
Charley was momentarily flummoxed. How on earth was she going to manage three spirited, hugely energetic kids, plus a baby, all determined to do different things? She turned in mute appeal to Angie for arbitration.
‘I don’t mind what anyone does, but I need the table!’ insisted Angie.
Great help, thought Charley. Then, instinctively realising the worst thing to do would be to favour one child’s preference over the other two, she said, ‘Right! We can do all those later. But first…’ She took a couple of beats, partly to tease but mostly to give herself time to frantically think of something. ‘First… we are going to go dinosaur-hunting in the garden!’
‘Dinosaurs!’ bawled Eliot, instantly abandoning his football and leaping off his chair.
‘Grrrrrr,’ yelled Finn ferociously, clenching his little fists into claws like a Tyrannosaurus rex’s front legs.
But Beth drenched Charley with a withering look. ‘There aren’t any dinosaurs in the garden.’
‘How do you know?’ challenged Charley, and instantly up-aged the game to engage the bright little seven-year-old. ‘We’re palaeontologists looking for fossils.’
Beth’s eyes lit up. ‘I’ll get the trowel!’
‘And the buckets and spades for the little ones!’ called Angie as her daughter ran out of the kitchen.
Charley tucked Lily into her buggy, gave her a board book, and they followed the dinosaur hunters into the garden.
‘Good luck!’ called Angie over her shoulder, already sketching outlines onto her canvas.
A couple of hours later, after fossils had been found, goals had been scored, pirates made to walk the plank and Beth had scared Charley to death by doing backflips on the trampoline, Lily was getting fractious.
‘She’s prob’ly got a pooey bum,’ Eliot told her sagely.
Nipping through the kitchen on her way to change Lily’s nappy, Charley glanced over at the table to look at Angie’s progress. Two large coupe glasses, filled with fizz and poised as if clinking together, dominated the canvass. A mass of bubbles floated up from the glasses and appeared to burst into stars. The slogan Pour the Prosecco… It’s my time to shine! was sketched in pencil, framing the glasses.
‘Oh, wow, Ange. That’s fab!’
‘Getting there,’ said Angie self-deprecatingly, pausing to eye her work critically.
‘I’m doing Lily’s bum, so the others are out there, alone!’ warned Charley.
‘Oh, they’ll be fine for a few minutes.’
‘Finn’s got his cutlass…’
Angie dropped her paintbrush immediately. ‘I’m on my way!’
Upstairs in Lily’s nursery, Charley swiftly changed the little girl’s nappy and then, knowing that Angie was looking after the older children, she indulged herself with a five-minute cuddle. Closing her eyes, she inhaled the baby’s sweet, milky smell and was immediately overwhelmed with an almost physical ache of longing. If Josh hadn’t died they’d have had two or maybe even three kids by now, and she’d probably be hanging round with Angie and her mob every day, instead of trying to grab a few odd hours with them here and there. Taking Lily’s podgy little hand, she held it against her mouth, adoring the softness of her skin against her lips. The baby’s huge eyes watched her wonderingly, until Charley blew a raspberry on her palm. Instantly, Lily’s face broke into a huge gummy grin, and her little body shook with an infectious chuckle. So Charley did it again.
By lunchtime, Angie had got to the stage where she needed to let the painting dry for a few hours. Will was still stuck at the school so the two women pulled together a scratch picnic, packed the food and the kids into the car, and headed to the playground for the afternoon. When they got there, Angie strapped Lily into her sling and she and Charley stood behind the swings, taking it in turns to push the bigger children.
‘Thanks for this morning. I owe you,’ said Angie.
‘Are you kidding? I’ve had a ball! I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t love being with the kids. And you, of course.’
‘Higher!’ demanded Beth.
‘Higher!’ echoed the boys.
So Angie and Charley obliged, the kids squealing with pleasure.
‘I know, but it’s nigh on impossible to do any artwork with the kids around. I’m either feeding Lily, wiping bums, or trying to keep them out of A&E!’ Angie joked. ‘And if I couldn’t do any art I’d spontaneously combust!’
Charley knew her friend was only half kidding. Angie was genuinely talented, and had given up a career as a graphic designer to have her kids. Until Charley had opened her shop, the only outlet for her mate’s creativity had been painting the walls. Literally. Angie’s kitchen was a field of sunflowers in full bloom while Jack’s giant beanstalk wove itself along the wall of the hallway and up the stairs. Beth’s bedroom was an underwater world, its dark blue walls teeming with fish, mermaids and a giant octopus. The boys slept between a vast pirate galleon on one wall, and a desert island on the other, with a flock of seagulls wheeling across the ceiling. Lily’s room, now Charley’s favourite, was painted duck-egg blue, with a family of pale grey elephants leading each other, trunk in tail, around the walls.
‘I really do appreciate you giving up your Sunday,’ Angie was saying. ‘I know how full-on the shop is. You must get hardly any time to yourself. Or with Ricky.’
There was a beat before Charley said, a shade tersely, ‘You’re the second person who seems to think I should spend my Sundays with Ricky.’
Angie looked taken aback. ‘That’s not what I said. Or what I meant.’
‘Sorry. I know. I’m just a bit… touchy about Ricky at the moment.’
Angie’s face clouded over. ‘Why? What’s happened?’
‘Nothing – except everyone seems to assume that we’re… that it’s permanent.’
Angie didn’t say anything, and for a while the only sound was the creaking of the swings, the rustling of the leaves in the trees and the occasional chorus of ‘Higher!’ from the kids.
Eventually Angie prompted Charley. ‘Everyone?’
‘Yes! It was obvious when we were in Tuscany that his entire family were expecting us to get married. Why else would I have to be introduced to every single member of his extended family? Ricky seems to assume we’re “forever”, Tara’s badgering me to let Monnie be a bridesmaid, and even Pam seems to think I should spend all my spare time with him.’
‘Maybe she’s just trying to let you know she’s okay about you being with Ricky, after Josh?’ When Charley didn’t reply Angie went on gently, ‘You know, after Josh, I think it’s completely understandable that you might be…’ She paused, as if choosing her words with care, ‘…cautious, or wary about making a commitment—’
‘I’m not being cautious, or wary!’
‘Seriously? You’ve been holding yourself back from the moment you met Ricky! You’d known him months, literally months, before you even lowered your guard enough to go out with him. And, credit where credit’s due, he didn’t even try to rush you. He waited for you to… catch up.’
Angie’s challenge was light-hearted, nevertheless Charley sought cover in denial. ‘Catch up? I have no idea what you’re talking about. Ricky wasn’t even remotely interested in me to start with.’
‘Oh, right. So all those times he brought you coffee when you were first setting up the shop, or when he took in all your deliveries when you weren’t open, or brought his lunch up so he could have it with you, he was just – what? Being nice?’
‘He was just being… neighbourly. Helping another shopkeeper. That’s just how he is. He still does that now.’
‘What, he takes coffee to Del in the florist’s, does he?’
‘Well, no.’
‘And helps her lug in delivery boxes?’
‘Probably.’ Charley’s tone was becoming increasingly defensive.
‘And he offers to get her lunch from the deli?’
Angie raised an eyebrow in query and Charley did her best to ignore it. Nonetheless, her mind flipped back to the early days of setting up the shop when – there was no denying it – Ricky had been hugely helpful and supportive, always there when she needed anything, and she’d relied on him for a good deal of advice – anything from choosing a till or how to get a card-reader, to where the cheapest parking was and the cleanest public loos.
She remembered the day she’d brought the furniture to shop. It was a pile of second-hand stuff from charity shops which she and Angie had painted up. There were so many bookcases, chairs and tables crammed into the car she couldn’t even close the boot properly. Technically, she wasn’t allowed to drive along the pedestrianised area and park outside her shop but there was no way she could carry the furniture from the multi-storey. So, heart in mouth, she’d taken the risk, hoping she wouldn’t get a parking ticket, or worse, clamped, while she unloaded. No sooner had she opened the boot when a male voice had called out, ‘Hey!’ stopping her in her tracks. Her heart had sunk, expecting it to be a parking attendant, but it had been Ricky.
‘Let me help,’ he’d said, hurrying over, but she’d waved him off airily.
‘Thanks but I can manage, honestly.’
‘Did I say you couldn’t!’ he’d asked good-naturedly, coming across to her regardless, his eyes gently laughing at her.
‘No,’ she’d happily conceded, and had stood back while Ricky had swiftly deposited all the furniture in the shop in less than five minutes – a mere fraction of the time it had taken Charley to load it.
She’d thanked him, but he’d shrugged cheerfully and said, ‘Give me a shout if you need me,’ and headed back to the bike shop.
Later that day, after she’d spent hours arranging and then re-arranging the shop until she thought it looked okay, she’d been glad when he’d popped in and she’d been able to ask his opinion.
‘Be honest,’ she’d said. ‘Does it say “shabby chic”, or a “pile of old junk”?’
‘Actually, just chic,’ he’d replied. ‘Not even a hint of shabby.’ And then afterwards, he taken her to the deli to get some lunch.
They had rapidly fallen into an easy friendship, and she’d thought that was all that Ricky had wanted. It was certainly all that she had wanted until… well, until later when her feelings had evolved. But maybe Angie was right. Maybe she had misread those early signals from Ricky, and perhaps it was caution that had led her to misread her own feelings too.
Just then Finn interrupted them, breaking into her thoughts, asking to be lifted out of the toddler swing so he could go on the slide. So then all three of the kids ran off to the slide. Charley watched fondly as Beth helped her littlest brother climb up the steep metal steps, staying close behind him in case he fell.
‘Thank you, sweetheart,’ called out Angie, who, it seemed to Charley, missed nothing. Then she turned to Charley and queried, ‘But you’re still not sure?’
Charley shook her head. ‘I love him, but I don’t love him the way I loved Josh. I’m not head-over-heels in love with him, the way I was with Josh.’
‘Give it time,’ advised Angie. ‘You’ve only been going out for a few months.’
‘But the moment I met Josh I knew he was The One.’
‘Okay, but it’s not like that for everyone. You can’t compare him to Josh.’
Why not? thought Charley.
‘People fall in love in different ways,’ Angie was saying. ‘Look at Will and me. It wasn’t love at first sight. Not by any means. We sort of drifted together. I liked him, and he was fun to be with, and then, one day he was making me a cuppa and he handed me the mug with the handle pointing towards me and, and I thought “I love the way he does that”, and I suddenly realised I didn’t just love the way he handed me my tea, I loved him. But we’d been going out for well over a year by then.’
‘But that doesn’t seem fair on Ricky, keeping him hanging around, in case I fall in love with him.’
Angie looked her in the eyes. ‘Would you prefer to be with him, or prefer to be without him?’
Charley thought for a moment before she answered, honestly, ‘With him.’
‘Well then!’ finished Angie.
But that’s not enough, is it? And what if I only want to be him for the wrong reasons?