The rain started to fall in earnest. Becky dropped the scouring pad and grabbed two towels from the hooks by the sink. So as not to reward him for flying off the handle and three week of stubborn sullenness, Lauren and Becky had told her not to be too nice to Charlie, but the man did have the moral high ground and she wasn’t going to let him catch pneumonia.
She trotted to the front door, drying her hands as she went. Nerves tickled the sides of her stomach as she remembered their last encounter and it was a comfort to find a far calmer version of Charlie on the doorstep.
‘Hello,’ she said, ushering him across the threshold and handing him the second towel. ‘Leave your shoes and coat by the door, and come through. Kettle’s boiled.’
When he entered the kitchen, Charlie put the towel and a rain-spattered plastic bag down on the counter, then leant against the fridge while Becky made tea. His gaze followed her around the kitchen, watching her spin and sway, rarely doing one thing at a time. As she opened the cupboard to get teabags she dipped to open a drawer to retrieve a teaspoon. She twisted the top off the milk with her left hand as she held the kettle in her right and poured steaming water into the mugs, and then stirred the tea in one mug while pouring the milk into the other.
Routine complete, she placed his tea on the counter next to him. ‘Sugar?’
‘No. Thank you.’
‘Sweet enough already. Like me.’
His lips curled as he wrapped his hands around his mug. With relief, she pushed on through the breaking ice. ‘Guess how many sugars the great patisserie artist Ms Sharon Sweet takes?’
When Charlie looked up the small smile was still there. ‘Two?’
‘Good guess, but you have to remember this is Ronnie we’re talking about. It’s three. And on most days she could probably do with four.’ Becky retrieved her own mug from next to the kettle and placed it by Charlie’s. Resting her fingers on the counter to disguise their trembling, she knew she couldn’t avoid the reason for his visit any longer. ‘You’re here,’ she glanced up to catch Charlie’s eye. ‘So I guess Phoebe finally explained what happened?’
He nodded. ‘She found and contacted her mum, arranged the meeting. She was going to go to London alone but then you found out and wouldn’t let her go on her own.’ He paused, dropped his gaze to his mug and mumbled, ‘Thank you for that.’ He cleared his throat and continued. ‘She also said you told her she should tell me where she was going and why, and she made you promise not to tell me about it.’
‘She’s good at getting her way.’
‘The makings of a good lawyer.’
‘She told you about that too?’
‘I know a lot more about Phoebe today than I did a few days ago.’
They settled into silence again, Becky taking comfort from the knowledge that this little drama, if nothing else, had brought Charlie and Phoebe closer.
She returned to the big unresolved issue. ‘Have you decided what you’re going to do?’
‘About the divorce?’ He shrugged in response to her nod. ‘I guess I’ll go along with whatever Mel wants. Our marriage was over long ago. Anyway, Phoebe says her mum’s engaged and it would be hypocritical of me to get upset about that.’
Becky agreed. A man pursuing a raven-haired gallery manager in both the real world and his dreams could hardly claim to still be in love with a woman he hadn’t seen or spoken to for six years.
‘Is Mel’s fiancé handling the divorce for her?’ she asked.
‘He is.’
‘Then if you’re not going to contest, I imagine you’ll be a single man by Christmas. It’s not often a solicitor is so motivated to work quickly.’
Her last comment drew another wry smile as he played with the handle of his mug, the back of his hand brushing against the plastic bag, making it crackle and drip.
‘What’s in the bag?’
‘Oh, yeah.’ He picked it up and slipped out a present wrapped in cartoon-dinosaur paper. ‘Phoebe said it was Dylan’s birthday yesterday. So, um, here.’ He thrust the gift towards her.
Rarely surprised—and pleasant, touching surprises were the unicorns of surprises—Becky needed to take a moment before replying. ‘Thanks. You didn’t have to do that.’
‘It’s just a book. He had it from the library. It made him laugh.’
Becky was very glad she hadn’t left him outside to catch pneumonia. It was a small gesture but, as she had to remind herself, what would be a throwaway comment or action from anyone else was often a significant message from Charlie, backed up with a great deal of thought and effort. ‘That’s really kind. He’ll love it. Would you like some birthday cake?’ She pointed at the pink-and-white cake box next to the sink. ‘Ronnie’s finest vanilla buttercream.’
‘Sure. Thanks.’
‘Why don’t you take the tea into the front room? I’ll be through in a minute.’
As she cut two slices from the remains of Dylan’s teddy bear cake, Becky wondered if this was as close to an official rehiring as she was going to get. Perhaps if she could convince him to hang around for a while, the tea and cake would relax him into a climb down. Either that or she’d have to wait for him to paint her a picture entitled Sorry I shouted at you. Let’s start again?
She joined him in the living room. ‘Do you want to stay and watch a film? I usually watch something on Thursday nights because there’s never anything decent on TV and I don’t often have time at the weekends.’
‘What film? Not some weepy girly costume thing?’
‘I try to stick to light-hearted stuff. My weekend work comes with enough weepy girly costume things to last me.’ Becky opened a cupboard next to the television and pointed at her DVD collection. ‘You can choose,’ she said, taking a seat. ‘Are you ready for back-to-school next week?’
Charlie knelt in front of the films and appraised them. ‘Ready for everything except Mrs Howard.’
‘Who is?’
‘An octogenarian who does her best to sexually harass me.’
Becky almost inhaled her tea. ‘How?’
‘She’s pinched me a couple of times, but mostly she winks a lot and makes comments.’
‘Ask her to stop.’
‘That would involve being alone with her.’
Becky snorted.
‘It’s not funny.’
Picturing strapping, six-foot-two Charlie cowering behind his easel, a feisty old lady in hot pursuit, Becky’s giggles intensified.
Charlie ignored her amusement and changed the subject. ‘What’s work like for you?’
‘It usually slows down once we’re out of the summer, but I think venues have started giving out my number. And I suspect the local wedding planners, although they look down their noses at me and would never admit it, are telling their clients about me too.’ She shrugged. ‘It makes sense. The invisible woman makes their events go perfectly and they get all the credit.’
He still had his back to her. She had forgotten the clock on the mantelpiece thudded like that. It boomed through the gap in conversation until Becky’s impatience got the better of her. Time to be pushy.
‘And I have this one client who is proving to be a bit of a pain. He seems to have … what’s the fashionable term for it? Oh yes, trust issues. In fact, I’m not sure if we’re still working together.’