Maddie Please - The Summer of Second Chances - The laugh-out-loud romantic comedy

Completely unexpectedly I began to cry. Why was I here? Why had Ian rushed off that night? I was frightened without him, that was the truth. I was used to him being there, used to his energy, his drive, the sheer noise of him. His crazy enthusiasm, his irritated muttering about customers as he worked his way through his correspondence.

When he was at home he usually had some paperwork to check or emails to read at his end of the kitchen table. Sometimes he would read me snippets from women who couldn’t decide what they wanted.

Should I have worktops made of black granite or white Corian? Shaker-style doors or high gloss? Cream or Faded Cashmere?

Tell me what you think, Mr Lovell? Which do you think would suit me best?

‘It’s your money,’ he would shout at the screen, exasperated, ‘it’s your fucking kitchen, it’s not that difficult, just make your bloody mind up!’

And then he would look up and catch my eye and grin.

I wiped away my tears and sipped my coffee. The other bedroom was wallpapered in a leafy William Morris print and looked out over the lane. The vandalised wardrobe was probably Victorian mahogany and too large for the room, but, inside, it was fitted out with named compartments, each with a little engraved brass plate. Gloves, socks, ties, collars, braces. Just gorgeous. The wood was glossy and patinated with age. Why would someone stick pictures all over it with lumps of Blu-Tack? Who knew.

In the bathroom I had cleared away the worst of the debris, sprayed limescale cleaner over the scummy shower screen and the toilet and left it to work. The floor was dirty and covered in dried mud but the little leaded window opened onto the garden and there was the promise of a rose that had climbed around it, ready to blossom later in the year.

I went back down the claustrophobic stairwell, my feet careful on the narrow treads. Ian would have hated this more than anything. He couldn’t bear enclosed spaces, low ceilings, dark rooms.

I wondered if I had the energy to finish emptying my car. I was hungry again and I knew there was a box of food in there somewhere, it was just a pity I hadn’t thought to put it somewhere accessible.

Sod it! I suddenly remembered a box of fish fingers going in, which would undoubtedly have defrosted by now. I pulled off my rubber gloves and found the car keys.

Outside it was warmer than it had been for days. The sun was brilliant, the sky cloudless. Of course that meant that the inside of the car was getting warm too. I pulled a couple of bags and boxes out from the back seat of the car and dumped them on the drive, hoping to find the box of provisions. I didn’t realise until that moment how disorganised I could be. It also struck me for the first time that a box of spoiled food was a complete waste of money.

‘Need a hand?’ said a familiar voice.

I turned to see Bryn, standing in his front garden. I think he might have been weeding. Possibly he was planting something or he could have been putting down rat poison. I think he was wearing a pair of ripped and filthy jeans but I know for a fact he didn’t have a shirt on. And I couldn’t take my eyes off him.

I stood open mouthed for several seconds, a slow blush developing. I could feel it spreading from the backs of my knees right to the top of my head it was that bad. I must have been puce. It was quite possible that my hair was blushing too.

I babbled something unintelligible and Bryn walked towards me, stepping carefully over his newly planted borders. I’d heard about six-packs but I’d never been that close to one in my life. He pulled on a black T-shirt that he had draped over the front gate. I felt a pang of disappointment but realised it was probably just as well. He was wearing serious-looking CAT boots, something I have always had a weakness for, so that didn’t help. They were quite large too, which made me think of various rather rude comments.

‘I said, do you need a hand?’ he said.

‘Um,’ I turned away and looked in the car, ‘yes please, if you don’t mind. There’s a lot of heavy stuff here.’

I grabbed the first thing I saw; a small overnight bag that a six-year-old child could have safely wheeled to the door and he took it and stood waiting for me to find him something else.

I kept my gaze steadfastly fixed in the boot. Don’t look at him. Keep calm. Don’t look at him.

I spotted the cardboard box that I had filled with food from the freezer and then forgotten about.

‘I could take that in, if you like?’ Bryn said, his voice unnervingly close behind me.

The embarrassment of having to admit my ineptitude was too much.

‘No, no, that’s OK. I’ll manage,’ I said, wishing he would go away.

I tugged at a few over-stuffed black bin liners and managed to spill a pair of my (joke Christmas present from Karen) days-of-the-week knickers onto the driveway. The pair with Magic Monday stared up at us. And of course it was actually Monday.

‘I hope you haven’t got Thursday on,’ Bryn said, straight-faced, ‘that would never do.’

I gave a weak laugh and stuffed them into my pocket, then reapplied myself to the cardboard box of frozen food. As I dragged it from the car the bottom, soggy with thawed ice, dropped out and my stash of fish fingers and potato waffles (secret vice for when Ian was away) scattered all over the ground.

‘Mmm, delicious,’ he said.

‘Oh God,’ I groaned.

To his credit Bryn didn’t laugh, he reached across and lifted out a plastic crate of tinned food instead and took that into the house. I followed with some carrier bags filled with my last crop of vegetables from my garden.

‘Wow, it looks incredible in here,’ Bryn said as he put the crate down on the table. ‘You’ve done a great job. You’ll have the place ship-shape in no time. Very nice.’

‘Gorgeous,’ I said, looking at the muscles in his arms. ‘I mean, this cottage could be gorgeous. Actually it’s been rather enjoyable. Cleaning the kitchen. I didn’t think I’d ever say that but – well, I’m rather pleased with it so far.’

‘You’re working wonders,’ he said and I felt a disproportionate sense of pride. I had worked wonders, and I’d done it on my own too, at no cost.

I felt a bit silly and fluttery and quite lightheaded, but that might have been because I hadn’t really eaten anything since the grim breakfast sandwich.

He turned round and I quickly began to put things away.

‘Thanks,’ I said, lining up the tins of tomatoes with some precision so I didn’t just stand and gawp at him.

‘Any time.’

‘I would offer you a cold beer or something but…’

‘But you don’t want to? It’s fine,’ he grinned.

‘No, it’s not that at all, I haven’t got any,’ I said, flustered.

‘I have, if you fancy a quick one?’ he said.

I could almost hear the brain cells responsible for double entendres jiggling about like a crèche of unruly toddlers.

‘I’ve got an awful lot to do,’ I said.

‘Maybe later?’

I began to line up herbs and spice jars and made a lot of umm noises. Then I unpacked various different sorts of oils. Olive, vegetable, sesame, walnut…there were quite a few. Plus five different types of vinegar. What did I need that lot for? Did I think I was going to be on Masterchef ?

‘Keen cook, are you?’ Bryn said, picking up the champagne vinegar and reading the label.

I took it from him and put it into the cupboard. ‘Oh, you know…’

‘You could have me for dinner one day.’

The brain cell toddlers jostled about a bit more.

‘I mean, you could invite me over.’

Ah. ‘Perhaps when I’m settled.’

‘I love fish fingers,’ he said. He had a wicked grin and very white teeth against his tan.