The Last Piece of My Heart

  ‘She always felt bad about the way things ended between you two.’

  He falls silent. ‘It is so freaky when you come out with stuff like that.’

  ‘Oh, God, sorry!’ I exclaim as he laughs, shaking his head.

  ‘It’s all right, it’s just surreal. It’s like you actually knew her.’

  ‘Why don’t you read her diaries?’ I ask.

  ‘They’re not meant for me,’ he says simply. ‘I’ll never read them.’

  ‘But you wanted to keep them. Was that just for me? For the sake of the book?’

  ‘No. There’s no way I could ever bring myself to throw them away. April might want to read them one day. It’s a bit odd, because she wouldn’t be reading about her mother: she’d be reading about the person who became her mother. It’s hard for me to know, or even recall, how similar those two people are.’

  ‘I don’t know, either,’ I reply. ‘But I like the younger Nicki a lot. She makes some bad decisions, sure, but she’s a good person at heart. She’s fun. Funny. I would’ve wanted to be her friend if I’d known her.’

  ‘I think you would have wanted to be her friend if you knew her in later years, too,’ he says. ‘She definitely would have liked you.’

  His comment means a lot. It bothered me, his admission that Nicki would have hated someone else finishing her book. The knowledge that we could’ve been friends makes me feel more at peace with what I’m doing.

  ‘Thank you for telling me that,’ I say quietly.

  The conversation gives us both pause for thought.

  ‘Here at last!’ I say when Charlie pulls into the car park. ‘This had better be worth it.’

  Right by the entrance is a series of posters with photographs and the story of Heligan. I already know much of it from Wikipedia, but the pictures catch my eye.

  The gardens were created between the mid-eighteenth century and the beginning of the twentieth century and are typical of the gardenesque style with areas of different character and in different design styles. There are aged rhododendrons and camellias, a series of lakes fed by a ram pump over a hundred years old, productive flower and vegetable gardens, an Italian garden, and a wild area that slopes steeply down into a series of valleys that ultimately drain away into the sea at the old fishing village of Mevagissey. The wilder area is filled with subtropical tree ferns and includes sections referred to as the Jungle and the Lost Valley.

  Many of Heligan’s gardeners were killed in World War One, and, in the 1920s, the owner leased out the estate. The gardens fell into a serious state of neglect and were lost to sight until the 1990s, when a huge restoration project was undertaken.

  One of the pictures shows a wooden door in a redbrick wall. Light spills through from the other side, and underneath is a quote from archaeologist and Eden Project creator, Tim Smit: ‘Wild horses could not have stopped us pushing that door open.’

  I’m even more excited to get going after that.

  Charlie brings April’s pram, and although it makes navigating some of the steeper paths virtually impossible, at least she can nap in peace. He keeps encouraging me to go and explore on my own – I do eventually, because I want to climb the rope bridge over the Jungle – but I meet up with him and April for lunch by the house. We get a couple of burgers from the barbecue hut and sit at one of many picnic tables in the shade of the trees.

  ‘Have you been here before?’ I ask Charlie.

  ‘Just once,’ he replies. ‘Years ago. It’s nice to come back.’

  ‘It’s unbelievable,’ I say. ‘I reckon I could stay all week.’

  ‘You’d probably need that long to see everything.’

  I tuck my hair behind my ears so it doesn’t get in the way of my next mouthful.

  ‘What do you do to your hair to make it wavy?’ Charlie asks, studying me from across the table.

  ‘It always goes like this when I let it dry naturally,’ I reply. ‘The hairdryer blasts all of the curl out. I’m not even trying to straighten it – it does it without a brush.’

  ‘It suits you like that,’ he says, jigging April gently on his knee.

  ‘Um, thanks,’ I reply awkwardly.

  ‘It looks nice the other way, too, though,’ he obviously feels compelled to add and now he’s the one looking self-conscious.

  I grin at him as he rakes his hand through his hair.

  ‘Mine needs a cut,’ he mumbles, trying to keep it back from his face.

  ‘I like it long.’

  Er, excuse me? Now I’m the one giving him my opinion about his looks?

  ‘Do you?’ he asks inquisitively.

  I shrug. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘I’ve been using Nicki’s old headbands to keep it out of my eyes.’

  ‘I know,’ I say. He gives me a questioning look. ‘The little photo of her above her computer log-in,’ I explain. ‘She’s wearing the yellow one.’

  ‘Oh, yeah,’ he remembers.

  ‘Very Harry Styles, circa 2013,’ I say.

  He throws his burger down in disgust.

  ‘Sorry, was it 2014?’ I ask. ‘I might have my dates wrong.’

  ‘Right, that’s it, I’m getting a haircut.’

  ‘No, don’t,’ I beg, and then immediately wonder why I’m bothered either way. ‘Do you want me to take her for a bit?’ I nod at April. These burgers are delicious but a bit sloppy – it must be a struggle to eat one-handed.

  ‘Have you finished?’ he checks.

  ‘Pretty much.’ I take one more bite and go around to take her from him.

  ‘You sure?’ he asks hesitantly, noticing I still have a third of my burger left.

  I can’t speak, so I nod and make assertive-sounding noises with my mouth full until he smiles and hands his daughter over.

  I return to my side of the table and straddle the bench, so April can stand up in the space between my legs.

  ‘Not a baby person,’ Charlie mutters after a while, shaking his head at me.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You. Saying you’re not a baby person. What a load of rubbish.’

  ‘This one’s different,’ I reply, returning my gaze to April. She’s holding my hands, bending her knees and bouncing up and down while making gurgling noises as if earnestly trying to communicate with me.

  ‘Does Elliot want kids?’

  I stiffen at his question. Only last night he asked if Elliot and I wanted children, but he meant us together as a couple and I managed to avoid answering. Now he’s getting down to the nitty-gritty and I don’t know what to say.

  I decide honesty is the best policy.

  ‘No,’ I reply flatly.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see him freeze. ‘No?’ he checks.

  ‘No.’ And then I add, ‘He’s not a baby person, either.’

  ‘So you don’t want kids?’ he asks me, stunned.

  ‘Is that so awful?’ I cast him an imploring look.

  Please don’t judge me. . .

  ‘No, it’s just surprising, that’s all.’ He seems thrown.

  ‘I don’t really like talking about it.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ he replies, but I know I’ve unimpressed him. Is that even a verb?

  Maybe it’s my imagination, but there’s a tension between us after that. I’m gutted. I wish he’d kept his questions to himself.

  Chapter 26

  If Charlie likes me less after my ‘no kids’ revelation, then he seems to be over it by the next day.

  ‘Adam’s coming this way for a pub lunch. Will you join us?’ he asks amiably when I turn up on Saturday morning. ‘We’re only going into Padstow.’

  ‘I’d love to. Are you sure?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  I exhale with relief. I couldn’t get to sleep last night because I was mulling over our conversation at Heligan. I don’t know why it got to me – why should I care what he thinks? And why should he care what I want from my life anyway? But I had this horrible feeling that I’d offended him, and, regardless of whethe
r or not it should’ve bothered me, it did. Now I can see that I overreacted.

  I go upstairs and crack on with my notes, pausing only when I hear the doorbell ring. It perks me up no end seeing Adam again. He has such a cheerful disposition. He seems happy to see me, too.

  Half an hour later, we stroll into Padstow, choosing a different pub from the one we spent most of the evening at last Friday. This venue is further around the corner past the harbour, but it has a beautiful sea view, and we keep getting wafts of sugary cinnamon smells from the donut van just across the road. We got here early enough to snag an outdoor table – a bit of a feat for the last Bank Holiday weekend in August.

  ‘I’ve been reading your blog,’ Adam says, with a nod across the table at me.

  ‘Have you?’ I ask, pleased and surprised that he’d bother.

  ‘Jesus, some of those comments are vicious, aren’t they?’ He looks horrified and I’m instantly tense.

  I try very hard not to think about the trolls, so I don’t like reminders.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Charlie asks, whipping his head around to stare at his brother. They’re sitting side by side on a bench seat.

  ‘I’m not sure I want to repeat them.’ Adam raises his eyebrows at me.

  ‘No, don’t.’ I hastily shake my head as Charlie looks between us. I don’t want Adam to say those things out loud. Not here, not now, not ever, actually.

  Slag. . .

  Those men are pathetic for even looking at you. . .

  I inwardly cringe. ‘It’s fine,’ I lie. ‘Water off a duck’s back.’ I wave Adam away. ‘I don’t even read the bad ones.’

  But the ones that catch my eye are ingrained in my mind forever.

  You give women a bad name. . .

  Who the hell do you think you are?

  ‘I’m glad to hear it,’ Adam says. ‘Christ, I was a bit gobsmacked. I expected it to be all hearts and flowers and soppy shit, not like that. People can be mean. And it’s not even just the girls, is it? The guys are venomous, too.’

  Stupid bitch. . .

  Filthy slut. . . . . .

  I’ll give you one that shuts you up. . .

  I wish he’d stop talking. I wriggle on my bench seat, uncomfortably. ‘Some people don’t have anything better to do,’ I say with a forced air of nonchalance, looking out to sea at the passing sailboats.

  The pitiful comments are the worst.

  I feel sorry for you. . .

  You’re clearly a very troubled individual. . .

  You should get help. . .

  I return my gaze to Adam and try to inject more confidence into my voice. ‘At least the blog’s getting attention. People are talking about it. That’s a whole lot better than people not talking about it. . .’

  ‘Eesh, I don’t know,’ Adam replies, shaking his head.

  Charlie is still looking at Adam.

  ‘What?’ Adam asks him. ‘She doesn’t want me to repeat it.’ He nods at me.

  ‘I don’t want you to repeat it, either,’ Charlie says in a low voice. ‘I think you should probably stop talking about it.’

  ‘She says it’s water off a duck’s back!’ Adam exclaims defensively as my face heats up. ‘And there are loads of nice comments, too,’ he adds. ‘Loads of nice comments.’

  That, at least, is something. I may have a lot of ‘haters’ – another word I despise – but plenty of people rave about my blog, too.

  It’s so empowering. . .

  Funny how it’s easier to remember the malicious comments.

  Charlie returns his attention to his daughter. She’s making her way through some sandwich fingers he brought with him.

  ‘Anyway,’ Adam says, still looking at me. ‘I was checking out your website because I wanted to know more about Beau before I saw Michelle, but you haven’t written about him yet, have you?’

  ‘I haven’t posted anything, no.’ Although I started writing about him a couple of weeks ago. ‘Have you caught up with her?’

  ‘Yeah, I saw her a couple of days ago. She definitely dumped me for the same guy. Beau Riley.’

  ‘Are you serious?’ I perk right up. ‘Does she still know him?’

  ‘No, they lost touch. But she has a friend of a friend who used to hang out with him, so she thinks she should be able to find out where he is. She reckons she’d know if he still lived in Bude, though, so he must’ve moved on.’

  I deflate. ‘Damn. I was hoping to catch up with him while I’m here.’

  ‘How long were you together?’ Adam asks.

  ‘About six months,’ I reply.

  ‘After Seth?’ Charlie chips in.

  ‘Yes.’ I’m surprised he remembers. I thought he was too distracted with April to take in much of what we’ve been talking about.

  ‘ “The perfect antidote”,’ he adds, repeating what I said last Friday night.

  ‘Beau was lovely,’ I say nostalgically.

  I’d returned to freelance travel writing after abandoning Mum’s Japan cruise. I’d been commissioned to go down to Cornwall and write a piece about the area’s best surf beaches and Beau was one of the surfers I spoke to. I was supposed to be in Cornwall for only a week, but Beau and I hit it off instantly. He had crazy red hair and a face full of freckles, with light-brown eyes. He was a real flirt – as was I – so, when he invited me to a party, it was a no-brainer. We ended up going back to his flatshare afterwards and falling drunkenly into his bed. I’d already prepared myself for it being a one-night-stand, but the next morning he woke me up with kisses and asked me to spend the day with him. We only made it out of the house because we were hungry and all he and his flatmates had to eat was mouldy bread.

  He was three years younger than I was – twenty-five to my twenty-eight – but he could’ve been twenty for how sorted he was. He lived with two other uber-relaxed surfers who were also content to do nothing more than surf and party.

  I went back and forth between Bude and London for the next six months, but eventually accepted that we were never going to work. Beau was so chilled, and in many ways I loved that – I didn’t expect him to change, and he sure as hell wasn’t planning to – but I didn’t really respect him. Sometimes he came across as just plain lazy, and I guess I like guys with more ambition.

  We amicably parted ways. But I’ve always thought of him fondly. He came into my life when I really needed it – a great big plaster for my Seth and Mum wound.

  We head back to Charlie’s after lunch, but Adam sticks around, and in the middle of the afternoon I wander downstairs to get a drink. The telly is on in the living room, so I poke my head around the door to see what’s up.

  Charlie and Adam are sprawled out on the two sofas watching the Formula 1 qualifying. Charlie cranes his head to look up at me.

  ‘We’re going to get a takeaway tonight and watch a movie,’ he says. ‘You in?’

  ‘Sure!’ I love the idea.

  ‘What do you feel like? Indian? Thai? Chinese?’

  ‘I don’t mind. Thai?’ It feels appropriate.

  He glances at his brother. ‘That okay?’

  Adam shrugs. ‘I’m cool with anything.’

  Later, Adam heads out to collect the food while Charlie puts April to bed. I’m at a bit of a loose end, so I go and stand in the doorway of the bathroom while April’s in the bath.

  ‘Can I do anything?’ I ask Charlie. He’s kneeling on the floor beside the bath.

  ‘You can pass me her towel. It’s the white one hanging behind the door.’

  He lifts his daughter out of the bath and I wrap the towel around her. He snuggles her up against him. I lead the way into her bedroom.

  ‘Babygrow?’ I ask, going to her top drawer.

  ‘Nappy first,’ he replies with a warm smile. I think he likes me helping, and for some reason I’ve been struck with an unfamiliar compulsion to do just that.

  I get a nappy out and open it up, placing it on her change station.

  ‘Can I do it?’ I ask, as Charlie lays
April on top of the nappy. He glances at me with surprise, but steps out of the way.

  I’ve watched him change plenty of nappies, but it’s harder than it looks. He chuckles and comes to my aid after two lopsided attempts.

  ‘She has to go right in the centre, otherwise she’ll leak,’ he explains. He looks around. ‘Where’s her babygrow?’

  ‘Here.’

  Again, an inexplicable urge to help overcomes me. April looks up at me and smiles, chattering away happily as I insert one foot and then the other into her babygrow. Charlie folds his arms and watches, entertained, as I try to button it up.

  No, that’s not right. . .

  I furrow my brow, trying to work out where I went wrong. I seem to be out of poppers to press, but there’s still a floppy bit of material here.

  ‘You’d better do it.’ I admit defeat.

  ‘The ones around her nappy still confuse me sometimes,’ he confesses, even though he seems to know exactly what to do.

  ‘She could do with a mobile over her cot,’ I note as I fold down her cot sheet. Maybe I could get one for her birthday. And then I have a brainwave. ‘Actually, could you turn that sea glass into a mobile?’

  He raises his eyebrows, thinking. ‘That’s a really nice idea. I wonder if I could make it work. . .’

  ‘Bummer, there goes my present idea,’ I joke, looking around her room for more inspiration. What else does she need? I’ll have to put my thinking cap on.

  ‘Night-night, then,’ I say, leaving them to it as Charlie lays April in her cot.

  A cry stops me in my tracks. I turn back and April is holding her arms out to me. Charlie looks from her to me, taken aback.

  ‘Can I give you a kiss goodnight?’ I ask April, my chest feeling unusually thumpy.

  I walk back over to her cot and, as I bend down to kiss her cheek, her arms fold around my neck.

  ‘Aw, you’re such a sweetheart,’ I murmur. I can’t resist scooping her up for a proper cuddle. ‘Sorry,’ I mouth at Charlie. I know he’s trying to get her to sleep.

  He shakes his head with bewilderment as I cradle her in my arms. ‘Can I sing her a song?’ I ask him quietly, but April interjects.