‘Second week of September. I have Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday evenings this year. Come by whenever you like.’
‘OK. Thanks,’ she said, waving at his back as he ducked into the safety of the kitchen.
The second the kitchen door closed, Ronnie got back to business. Rubbing her shin, she said, ‘I told you he and Mike would be best mates in minutes.’
‘Well, you seem happy to have him around.’
‘True. And I’d say your project is on track. You were right about Rachel inspiring him and now he’s painting. You just need to keep an eye on him and make sure he doesn’t stuff it up.’
Becky agreed. The peak wedding season was drawing to a close and she was looking forward to a change in pace. Charlie had finally connected with his muse and, as long as he stayed positive, she was confident things could only get better.
That said, it didn’t come as a complete surprise when he fired her a few days later.
SEPTEMBER
Chapter 20
September arrived on a Monday. It was before eight when Phoebe rammed a slice of toast between her teeth and slipped into her flip-flops. Charlie admired her determination to enjoy the final days of her summer holidays as he watched her shout goodbye over her shoulder and race out the house to join her friends for some retail therapy in Barnsby.
Charlie had barely noticed Phoebe’s recent comings and goings. In the last week of August he finished two more paintings, took care of Dylan on Friday and Saturday and found time to flick through his course syllabus. So he was looking forward to a quiet day when the postwoman knocked on the door and asked him to sign for a delivery. Turning the A4 white envelope over in his hands, Charlie hummed and bounded into the study for a letter opener.
As he skimmed the envelope’s contents, the happy tune died on his lips.
Melanie Bradley, wife of John Charles Handren, was applying for a divorce from the aforementioned spouse. Her solicitor, Mr William Gregson, asked Charlie to decide whether he wanted to contest her application and be so kind as to complete and return the enclosed forms accordingly.
Charlie folded onto the nearest sofa and stared into the garden. Outside the last breeze of summer was worrying the trees and birds were stabbing the lawn. Inside the only movement was his wedding band, which glittered as he twisted it back and forth.
When Phoebe came home for lunch he didn’t tell her about the letter. It was proof he had failed. Although he had known divorce would probably happen one day, a small part of him had always hoped he could fix his family.
He smiled and nodded robotically as Phoebe talked, pushing his lunch around his plate until she finished and went upstairs. Then he wandered out to the studio to brood without having to mask his disorientation and swelling anger.
He couldn’t claim to be in love with Mel any more and he had made his peace with her absence long ago. But surely he deserved more consideration than this? Six years with barely a word from her. After nineteen years of marriage, was a phone call too much to ask?
Amazingly the world continued to turn, the sun set and rose, and Charlie still didn’t know how he felt about the small pile of papers sitting in the study when the phone rang shortly before midday on Tuesday.
‘Hello?’
‘Charlie?’
Be careful what you wish for, he thought. Yesterday he had wanted to talk to her, but now she had got in touch his throat was closing up, strangling any attempt he made to speak.
‘I see you’re still talkative. That hasn’t changed,’ Mel said, and Charlie remembered how she had always tried to cover her nerves with sarcasm. At least he wasn’t the only one finding this difficult.
‘Hi. I got the letter from your solicitor. I assume that’s why you’re calling.’ He covered the mouthpiece and cringed, squeezing his eyes shut and taking in a whistling breath through gritted teeth.
‘Yeah, um, that was mostly why. But I think we should talk and I want to explain some things and say sorry.’
‘No rush. Only been six years.’
‘I know. It was Phoebe and Becky coming to see me which gave me the push I needed to do this. I shouldn’t have left it this long, but after talking to them I realised I’ve been holding on to you unfairly …’
Mel kept talking, but Charlie wasn’t listening. His world, which had been increasingly rosy of late, was covered in a red mist. He gripped the phone so tightly his knuckles went white.
‘Mel,’ he said, ‘I’m glad you’re well. You’ll be hearing from my solicitor about the divorce. Bye.’
He punched the button to hang up and threw the phone behind him as he made for the car.
Becky had just got Dylan down for his afternoon nap when she heard the banging on her front door. She ran downstairs, cursing and shushing the unexpected visitor.
Opening the door, she found Charlie attempting to pace a trench into the doorstep. The crease between his eyebrows was so deep and immobile she knew this wasn’t a casual social call. The vein in his right temple was also throbbing, another red flashing light on the dashboard of Charlie’s mood.
‘Where’s Dylan?’ he demanded.
‘Asleep upstairs. What’s going on?’
He stopped pacing, but didn’t raise his head to look at her. His voice was quiet, its tone flat and dead. ‘You’re fired.’
He stalked down the drive.
‘Wait!’ Grabbing her keys, Becky ran out of the house. She swung herself in front of him, blocking his path, and held up her hands. ‘What happened?’
‘I’m surprised you don’t know. Seeing as you have more control over my life than I do.’
Oh great, she thought. This conversation. Already.
‘OK, you’re upset.’ She tried to catch his eye, but he was looking everywhere but her face. ‘Why don’t we talk about this inside?’
‘No!’ His nostrils flaring, he raked his fingers through his hair. ‘I’ve just been talking to my wife. You remember my wife? She tells me you met recently. So I guess I can give you credit for the divorce petition I received yesterday.’
‘Ah. Let me explain—’
‘No.’ He pushed past her, strode to his car, yanked the door open and threw himself in. ‘You had no right. And to drag Phoebe along with you …’ He grimaced and shook his head. ‘That is unforgiveable. Let me know if I owe you for any expenses, but otherwise I never want to hear from you again. And stay away from my daughter.’
As his car disappeared under the railway bridge, the adrenaline which had carried Becky through the past few minutes ebbed away. Blood thudding in her ears, she slumped against the garden wall and let her head hang forward.
The tears came quickly, but frantic blinking kept most of them in check. Becky closed her eyes, swiped at her damp cheeks and swore. Everything had been going so well! Just when she was on her way to forming a solid working relationship with Charlie. It was only a few days since she’d congratulated herself on getting more smiles than frowns from him.
She straightened up and turned towards the house. Her gaze drifted to the upstairs window and Dylan’s curtains. She raised her hand to the back of her neck to rub the collection of tight knots there. It was like trying to massage concrete. Sighing heavily, she removed her glasses and ran her fingers over her itchy eyes.