Where there’s love

Where there’s love
Author: LB Griffin
Christmas Eve five years ago Mark kissed me, sweet, full of promise. Mark, my childhood sweetheart, who became my husband, and later father to our two beautiful daughters. He was always the romantic, he’d told me he had a little surprise up his sleeve. He had it all planned. Or so he thought.
“Luce. I’m sorry. I’ve forgotten something. I’ll be back in a jiffy.” He stopped at the door. “Hey.”
“Yes?”
“I wanted to take another look at you.” He smiled, a twinkle in his eye. “You’re beautiful.”
I blew a kiss. As the door closed, guilt crushed my heart. I’d lost the locket he’d given me on our wedding day. I’d looked everywhere and had yet to say.
Mark never found out.
A child, learning to ride his bike fell off the pavement and into the road. Another car, swerved, flipped over, straight into Mark coming in the opposite direction. The child lived.
Mark didn’t.
I struggled to get on with life after that. Our girls, Sammy, and Frankie, like me, were devastated. Their father, my husband, a sweet, wonderful, man we adored, stolen in a nanosecond. No chance to say goodbye. We clung to one another. I clung harder. I couldn’t move on, no matter how much my girls told me to, and not in an unkind way. They were grown up, with lives of their own. It was right, for them. They said I should get on a dating site. I thought they were mad. It made me even madder, inside. I didn’t want to move on. I wasn’t ready. I didn’t think I ever would be.
This Christmas Eve. I slipped out of bed shivering. The air so cold I could see my breath. This wasn’t right, the heating should have come on. Even frost stars clung to the inside of the window. I scraped a patch into a circle and peered out. Snow fell thickly. I stared at the neat lines of poly tunnels, turned igloos. Mark’s dream to grow our garden centre business was booming. I’d thrown myself into the project. My way of being with him, closer to him, tasting the air he would have breathed, touching the soil he had turned. Every Christmas Eve I closed shop as my girls, and I celebrated Mark’s life. We raised a glass of his favourite whiskey in his honour, and toasted the kind, gentle, marvellous man he was.
The girls and their partners were coming to complete our tradition. I’d decided, as it was a Sunday, to pull out all the stops and make a full-on roast. The first in five years. It was a step forward I guess, but without heating it would be awful. Not a warm reminder of Mark as planned. I flung on my dressing gown and dashed downstairs. The only thing I could think was to put the oven on and leave the door open. At least there would be some heat in the kitchen. I went back to the boiler and tried everything. Nothing. No familiar chugging or clanking, even after pushing all the buttons and hitting the side with a wrench. This was Mark’s department. Maybe I should have got it serviced. I scrolled through the internet for a heating engineer. I wanted someone local, a small business not a million miles away. I rang six or so. The answers varied. Weather. Busy. Tomorrow, maybe, or possibly end of next week. No promises. I searched and found another. It would be the last, then the big boys would have to be contacted. I couldn’t let my family down.
I made the call.
“Hi Sweetie. How are things?”
What?
Confused, I responded.
“Um? Not so good as it happens, but I guess I’ve got a wrong number and you’re not a heating engineer?”
“Sorry.” The man laughed, his voice deep, warm, welcoming. “I am a heating engineer, but I was expecting a call from my daughter. How can I help.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. I hadn’t got the wrong number, and maybe he wasn’t so weird.
“My boiler’s died.”
“Poor you, it’s freezing. Where do you live?”
“Green’s Garden Centre. Do you know it. It’s on the… ”
“No need for directions, I know it well. Visited loads of times. Love the plants, and the cakes in the shop, well, enough said. I can be there in thirty minutes.”
“Really. Thirty minutes?”
“Yes.”
“Seriously.”
“Why, have you changed your mind. Is it fixed?” His laugh infectious.
“No. Please. Yes. That would be great. Thank you.”
Without the boiler the chance of a shower was out of the question. Besides, it was freezing. I dashed back to my bedroom and hurriedly pulled on baggy jeans, my favourite sloppy-jo over layers and hooked my dressing gown over the lot. The mirror looked back at me and said ‘hideous.’ I didn’t care. So what if the boiler man was coming. All I want is for him to save the day. I scrubbed my teeth, dragged the brush through my hair, then headed back toward the kitchen. I could finish food prep, then check the plants later.
A thud followed the doorbell ringing. Opening the door I stared at a man around my age with twinkly eyes, a full head of dark hair, and a great smile. I stared.
“Lucy?” He had a toolbox in his hand. “I’m Tom. I believe you need someone to fix your boiler.”
I gathered my composure. “Yes. Come on in. I’m just about to put the kettle on, fancy a brew?”
“Perfect. Milk, no sugar, thanks. But I’ll put these on before I come in.” He stamped snow from his boots and slipped on blue shoe covers.
I found myself smoothing my hair, apologising for the state I was in, and all before I put the kettle on.
What the hell was I thinking? What difference did it make?
While he got to fixing my boiler, I peeled vegetables, feeling oddly confused. When the kettle shrilled, it made me jump.
“Perfect timing. It’s all fixed.” Tom came through to the kitchen door grinning from ear to ear.
“Really? That was quick.” I poured water into the pot and stirred. “How much do I owe?”
“Forget it.” His eyes landing on a Victoria sponge I’d made yesterday. “Though, if you want to pay me, a slice of that wouldn’t go amiss.” He chuckled.
“Of course.” I settled a piece neatly on a plate. “But I should still pay you. Coming out in the snow and everything.”
“No. Honestly. It was a simple fix, though your boiler is way overdue a service and I can’t leave it like that.”
“You’re right.” Feeling sheepish. “The things in the house kind of get away from me at times.”
“I can do it before I go. If you like.”
“Really, do you have the time, what about your daughter?” I began boxing up the rest of the cake for him to take home.
“She’s abroad, and I have my phone.” He said, settling into the armchair near the kitchen table. He looked so comfortable. I poured tea, put the dinner on, and we drank in companiable silence whilst he ate cake. There was something about Tom. He made me feel different. The way he looked at me. For the first time in a long time, I wished I didn’t look a disaster on legs.
I found him easy to be with, easy to talk to. No sides to him. I learned he was a sax player and did gigs at some of the local pubs Mark and I used to frequent. I found myself telling him about our tradition since Mark’s death and realised it was the first time I’d spoken about him, to anyone, outside the family. It felt good.
Tom spoke sadly of his wife who passed some years ago. Though his voice held pride for his daughter, a surgeon who worked for Médecins Sans Frontières. He worried for her safety and hoped to see her soon. Then, before I knew it my girls arrived, and we were still in the kitchen on a second brew and me mixing a batch of Yorkshire puds. They found us laughing as if we were lifelong friends.
I introduced him to everyone, Sammy, Frankie, and their partners. The girls gave him an obvious once over I flushed with embarrassment.
“Well. I think that’s my cue to service the boiler, Lucy.” Tom swooped down and collected his toolbox. I’ll make a start. “Good to meet you all.”
The moment he tramped up the stairs the girls were all over me, wiggling eyebrows, quickly closing the kitchen door.
“A service, eh?” said Frankie.
“Stop it!” I held back a giggle.
“Never heard that one before!” Sammy laughed. “But he seems nice!”
“Nice. Ice. He’s a hunk. For an older guy,” said Frankie. “Did you see the way he looked at you, Mum?”
“Stop!” I flushed. Though I had felt there was a connection. A possibility. Even if it was just a friendship, it was a long time since I had a friend, someone I could talk to. I’d pushed everyone away long ago.
“Mum!” Frankie was on my case again. “Is he married?”
“No.” Glad I knew, but sad for his loss.
“Right then. Come on, you have just got to find something decent to wear. And, if he hasn’t got plans, and as he isn’t married, we’re inviting him for lunch.”
“What?”
Frankie pulled me toward the stairs and Sammy pushed me from the rear leaving their husbands to laugh at their antics.
Frankie and Sammy, tutted, hummed, and hawed at my collection of clothes. I hadn’t bought anything new for years. They managed to find a dress, tights, ankle boots. They did my hair, slapped on lippy and pinched my cheeks. Sammy squirted me with her perfume. I admit it felt marvellous.
Tom was in the kitchen with the boys, they were settled watching the footie, beer in hand.
He turned as I entered and yes, his eyes travelled over me in appreciation. My heart fluttered.
“I’ve been asked to stay for lunch. Is that all right with you? I really don’t want to impose.”
“No, not an imposition at all. At least I feel I’m paying for some of the work you’ve done?”
I smiled, feeling relieved.
Tom came toward me, his palm cupped. “I found this.” He held something small, delicate.
“How on earth?” I lifted the locket, it sparkled and danced in the light. “Where did you find it? I’ve searched high and low, like forever.”
“I hope you don’t mind, but I had to move the bedding out of the airing cupboard and spotted it on the floor. Maybe it was caught in the middle?”
“Mum!” Sammy and Frankie were by my side in an instant. They knew how I felt about the locket.
“Thank you.” I looked at Tom. “You’ve no idea.” My throat dried as I unclipped the clasp. On one side revealed Mark’s twinkling eyes smiling, holding the girls in his arms. On the other side, us on our wedding day. I clutched it tightly.
“Mum?”
“I need a moment love.” I stepped out into the crisp, fresh, air and gazed at the work Mark began. His dream had become mine. I gently cradled the locket in my hand. How would Mark feel about me moving on? Would he mind. Flakes of snow fell all around, but a warm breeze came from somewhere.
“Hey,” an echo, a whisper of back then. “I wanted to take one last look at you.” Mark smiled, a twinkle in his eye. “You’re beautiful.”
“I love you.” I murmured. He vanished. I would always love him. Never forget him. Not ever, but I knew now I could try and move on.

END