How Laura Lewis Met Richard Brown

Chapter Eight

Laura closed the front door and breathed out a deep sigh of relief. The engineer had been friendly, efficient, and, more importantly, had got her back online.

She quickly filled the kettle and placed it on the Aga. She was dying for a cup of tea. Barry, the engineer, had declined her offer of tea. He’d laughed, saying that he’d already had five cups and that it wasn’t yet ten o’clock. He’d checked that everything was working by asking Laura to log into her emails. She now clicked on her last email to Lottie and began to compose a new message.

Back online. So, email me whenever you like. It was really lovely seeing you the other day. And I do miss you and Mum and the kids. But I need this time alone. I’ll be fine. I’ll be happy again. Trust me. Write soon.

She sent it before she could change her mind.

As she went through the comforting rituals of making a pot of tea, Laura wondered what she was going to do with the rest of her day. She now wished that she’d put her name down for overtime, but perhaps that wasn’t such a good idea. She needed the time to figure out this new life of hers and she needed time away from work to rest. She could only care for others if she looked after herself and that meant enjoying her days off. What she couldn’t do was go to bed, even for a few hours, not with having worked the nightshift last night. Doing so would completely mess up her body clock. She would go to bed a little earlier, catch up on sleep that way. She just needed to keep herself busy and stay awake until at least eight o’clock.

Laura hadn’t been on the bus since arriving in the village. Perhaps it would be a good idea to jump on one and head into the city for the day. Window shop, go to the bookshop and grab a coffee. The more she thought about it, the more she liked the idea. Yes, a bus trip would do her good.

* * *

The bus was crowded and almost every seat was taken when Laura stepped aboard, greeted by heating cranked up to the max against the January chill. She found a seat towards the back of the bus, by the window, unwrapped her scarf and removed her hat as soon as she sat down. She had assumed the bus would be empty, as she’d been the last passenger off when she’d arrived in the village, but obviously this bus had travelled a different route.

The window was steamed up, and even when Laura wiped the glass with her sleeve, it quickly steamed up again.

She wished she’d brought her Kindle. In her hurry she had left it charging in the kitchen. She had her smartphone and it was loaded with podcasts, but she had no earphones. She’d have to buy some.

She had been late leaving the house because of Maureen’s phone call. As Laura gazed out of the misted bus window, she replayed the conversation in her mind. How she had reassured her mother that she was fine, that she had settled in and was off out soon with a friend from work. A white lie to make her mother feel better, but even at the age of thirty-five she felt guilty for the lie that had tripped so easily from her tongue.

Maureen was a born worrier and Laura knew that her mother worried even more now that she was all those miles away from home. Maureen refused to believe in Laura’s need to get away.

Laura tore her gaze away from the window. She couldn’t see anything other than the streak of greens and the odd car that passed by.

She turned her attention to the other passengers.

None of them looked familiar and no one had tried to catch her eye or say hello. Then again, she hadn’t really been looking. She wanted a quiet day, time alone with her thoughts. No chatter. No need to listen to anyone else. She only wanted to hear the voice in her head, the one that told her everything really would be all right.

* * *

Laura kicked off her shoes and dumped several shopping bags onto the kitchen table. She now had more than enough food for the week, a stack of library books to work through and had treated herself to a new pair of jeans that she’d spotted on sale. She had ignored the brightly coloured dress reduced to less than half price. There was no point in buying a dress that she would never wear. The jeans were practical, skinny and made her feel good.

She carried the books into the snug and placed them on the coffee table by the little lamp. One of the books was on nursing patients with dementia. Laura planned to take it into work to show Cerrie. Just for a quick read . It will give you some ideas , she’d tell her. Cedar House was a care home, not a nursing home, meaning people with dementia were nursed in more suitable environments, such as a nursing home that specialised in dementia care. However, Laura felt it important that carers knew what signs to look out for, in the best interest of their residents, and could liaise with local GPs and other specialist services, ensuring residents got the best care. Laura knew that she should discuss her concerns with Hazel, but she didn’t want to draw attention to herself. She’d keep quiet for now. Maybe she should talk to Linda? Perhaps she would be prepared to talk to Hazel?

Laura returned to the kitchen and began to unpack the shopping. She removed a ready meal — chicken in a sweet-and-sour sauce — from its plastic sleeve, pierced the film with a fork and placed it in the microwave.

By the time the microwave pinged, Laura had put all the shopping away. Grabbing a tea towel, she scooped the tray up and out of the microwave and popped it on a plate, although she would eat it out of the tray. Less washing up.

She carried the plate into the snug, put it on the coffee table and sat down in the cosy armchair. It was then that it hit her. The fact that she was alone with a ready meal and a pile of books. But this was what she wanted. Time alone. A kind of penance for what had happened. But she was alone, even when surrounded by people on a busy bus, in the library, at work.

She still craved to be near people. To feel that connection. To listen in to conversations. To hear their stories. To feel life, even though she felt that her life had been put on hold. That she could feel nothing.

Laura pushed the plate away. No longer hungry. She’d put it in the fridge for later.

Without knowing why, she picked up the library book on the top of the pile — a psychological thriller that everyone was talking about — and headed back into the kitchen. She dropped the book into her shopping bag, found the bag of jelly babies and popped an orange one in her mouth. Then, having shoved her feet into her work shoes, she picked up her house key and opened the front door. She needed a drink.

* * *

Richard picked up his pint and took a well-earned gulp. It had been one of those days.

He closed his eyes and tilted his head back. He’d been in a bad mood ever since his run-in with Gertie. He should have called round tonight to see her, but the staff meeting had gone on far too long. It had only finished half an hour ago and when he’d gone to pick up Henry from Auntie Megan and Uncle Jack’s house, Henry had been having such a fun time that when Jack had suggested a quick pint at the Fox and Hound, Richard had jumped at the opportunity.

‘Looks like you needed that.’ Jack grinned at his brother-in-law.

Richard grinned back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

‘Want to tell me what’s on your mind?’ Jack’s piercing blue eyes, so like Sally’s, gave him that knowing look. He wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

‘I had an argument with Gertie, a stupid argument, and I need to apologise to her,’ Richard said.

‘What about?’ Jack asked before shoving a salt-and-vinegar crisp into his mouth.

Richard clutched his pint glass. He wasn’t sure how Jack would feel about Gertie’s comments. He cleared his throat. ‘She told me it was time to move on. That I was living in the past, that . . .’

Richard stopped mid-sentence. His face now flushed at the thought of how he’d reacted. How he had spoken to his gran.

‘Just tell her you’re sorry. That you were upset. She’ll understand,’ Jack said, his mouth still full of crisps.

‘The thing is, she hasn’t been looking well these past few weeks. I’m worried about her. And I was going to have a chat with one of the staff, but I just stormed out, dragging Henry with me.’

‘Oh, mate.’ Jack patted Richard’s arm. ‘I think you need another pint.’

* * *

Half an hour later, Richard was on his second drink, this time a cola, and had told the entire story to Jack. The truth was, Gertie had touched a nerve. He should move on with his life, not just for him, but for Henry. He just wasn’t sure how.

‘These things take time, though, Richard. You and Sally were together a long time.’

‘We were, and you can’t undo that, can you?’ Richard’s voice shook. ‘You can’t just unfeel everything, stash it in a box and hope for the best. That’s just asking for trouble, that is.’

Jack nodded, sipping his pint.

‘I still think she’s going to walk through that door.’ Richard laughed, but there was no humour to it. ‘You must think I’m mad.’

‘Of course I don’t. You’re just a man who still loves his wife. There’s no shame in that.’ Jack stared at his pint.

‘No shame perhaps, but it’s not healthy.’

Jack shook his head. ‘There’s nothing wrong in remembering Sally. I think about her every day — she was my sister. But . . .’ Jack hesitated, picked up his pint glass and drained it before speaking. ‘But what I do know is that she’d want you to be happy again. I just know she would feel that way.’

Richard knew Jack was right. Sally had told him during those last months that she wanted him to be happy. That she wanted him to find someone else to share his life with. And that that someone might become a mother figure for Henry. She had wanted Richard to live. But he knew that he wasn’t ready and trying to voice exactly how he felt was impossible. There were no words.

So, he said nothing.

* * *

Laura took a deep breath before pulling open the heavy oak door belonging to the Fox and Hound.

Her heart hammered in her chest. Not because she was walking into a pub alone. She had done the same thing many times before. She was nervous because she was unsure of how people would react to her. The new girl. Buttermarsh was such a small village. Everyone knew each other.

The warmth enveloped Laura as she made her way towards the bar past the small wooden tables. She strode quickly, with purpose, eyes forward, refusing to meet the gaze of the locals. She could feel eyes burning into her back. It was then she remembered Gwen, the older lady who’d called round the day she’d moved in — she remembered Gwen saying she owned the pub with Bill.

A big, burly man stood behind the bar. With rippling muscles and a tattoo of what appeared to be a German shepherd dog on his arm. He smiled at Laura as she approached.

Was this Bill? She couldn’t quite see Gwen with him. For starters, he seemed a lot younger than her. But then again, appearances could be deceptive.

‘What you drinking, love?’

Laura scanned the bar’s optics and bottles.

‘Just a coffee, please,’ she said while she rooted in her bag for her purse. She had to remove her library book and bag of jelly babies to find it.

She looked up to see the barman smirking at her. ‘You must be Laura?’

Laura nodded.

‘I’ll get you that coffee. First drink is on the house.’

‘Thank you,’ Laura said to his retreating back. She hadn’t expected that, no matter what Gwen had said.

She put her book and sweets back into her bag, and when she looked up again, the cup of coffee had been placed in front of her on the bar.

The barman smiled once more. Stuck out his hand. ‘I’m Bill, by the way. Gwen said she’d met you.’

Laura shook his hand and peered over his shoulder, half expecting Gwen to jump out from behind him.

‘Nice to meet you,’ Laura said, picking up her cup. She needed to find a quiet table.

‘You too,’ Bill said before turning his attention to an elderly man waiting to be served.

Laura scanned the room for an empty table. She spotted one by the fire. A small table for two which had just been vacated. She walked slowly so as not to spill her coffee. As she sat down, she caught the eye of the man sitting at the next table, chatting to a younger man with blond hair.

Where had she seen him before?

And then it struck her. It was Richard. Gertie’s grandson.

Laura watched him pick up his glass of cola. His eyes met hers over the rim of the glass.

They were a dazzling blue.

Blinking, she quickly pulled her bag towards her and pulled out her book.

She wasn’t sure if Richard knew who she was. The woman he had nearly bumped into outside the home.

But, then, why would he remember her?

Laura picked up her book and began to read.