party,’ I’d replied. ‘I think he was just as surprised by that as I was; he thought she was a dental hygienist. You know, I was a bit surprised he chose a grotty motel to have an affair in. With the money he makes, he could’ve at least sprung for a Best Western.’
My fate had been sealed after that. Through gritted teeth, Helen had said that while I was good at aspects of my job – creative, intelligent and good with people – I was also a walking disaster when it came to being organised and seemed to attract chaos wherever I went.
So here I was, sat in a church filled with people who probably hated me, and desperately wishing I was somewhere, anywhere else. A tragedy had driven me away from this beautiful corner of the world and, ironically, one had brought me back. As soon as I’d heard about Nana Lily passing away, I’d immediately made arrangements to come back. Of course it was nothing more than I deserved: what happened had all been my fault after all. I deserved to be cut off from the place and people I loved so much. Self-imposed exile in London was the least I deserved. Staying in Luna Bay after everything that happened just hadn’t been an option. I’d ruined a whole family’s lives after all. Leaving had been my way of trying to spare them any more pain. What I’d done was bad enough without them having to see me every day, living my life.
However, after screwing things up in London, I’d had to come right back to where I’d started from: Luna Bay. Eight whole years of building a life for myself had been undone, because I didn’t have a clue what to do next. I’d heard of life throwing curveballs, but this was taking the piss.
After the service, we decamped to The Purple Partridge – Luna Bay’s most popular pub – for a small wake. As foamy grey waves lapped against the beach directly below the pub’s outdoor terrace, around thirty of us stood inside, drinking and reminiscing about Nana Lily. It was cold and wet for mid-April, but in a couple of weeks or so the village would burst into colour as summer arrived.
‘I remember making fairy cakes with her and licking the spoon,’ I said, feeling a tug at my heartstrings. George, as if sensing how much pain I was in, squeezed my hand. ‘She always made the best cakes. I loved her vegetable patch too, and the chickens! They always had daft names, didn’t they? My favourites were Steve and Harold.’
Mum and a couple of Nana Lily’s friends laughed. I could tell they were all lost in their own private memories of her, sad that they were now all they had left to remember her by. I was sad too, for different reasons. Namely because I’d hardly seen her in the last eight years.
I felt Mum’s arm around my shoulder and she pulled me close. ‘She was always so proud of you Lucy. She’d tell anyone who’d listen that her granddaughter was living it up in big bad London! Oh talking of which, how did your thing at work go? Did you get the promotion?’
She looked at me hopefully, her eyes red and puffy from crying at Nana Lily’s service. I froze, open-mouthed as I remembered the stonking great lie I’d told. Instead of coming clean and admitting I’d been sacked, I’d said I was up for promotion instead, so as not to burden my parents with any more things to worry about.
Classic Lucy Harper.
‘Yeah I did!’ I found myself saying. My brain and my mouth had clearly chosen not to communicate with each other and my eyes widened with shock. ‘They’ve given me some time off as a… treat for doing so well. I start as soon as I go back.’
Oh dear Christ, I thought, you bloody liar.
Mum looked like she might burst with pride and squeezed my shoulder. I felt awful for lying, but justified it to myself by saying it was for a good cause. I didn’t want her to be any more upset than necessary and I’d tell her the truth when things had settled down.
‘That’s my girl!’ She kissed me on my cheek. ‘My little superstar.’
My insides twisted and squirmed. I was such a terrible person, I thought.
‘I’m going to the bar, do any of you want anything?’
Nana Lily’s friends muttered that they’d like a Scotch and a dry sherry, while Mum was sticking to her orange juice. I slipped away from the awkward conversation and made my way to the bar. I claimed the only free stool left and let my head sink down to the solid wood beneath me. Dad was lucky, I thought. He’d gone home to attend to what he’d called a ‘minor plumbing problem’, so wasn’t here to bear witness to me lying through my teeth. A neighbour of ours had called to say she’d heard running water, so he’d dashed off to see what was going on.
‘Bad day?’ a gruff voice in front of me asked. It was a soft Yorkshire accent that made me want to smile and do a happy dance.
I looked up and saw a young man, around my age, standing before me. He was attractive in a quirky way; he had huge slate-grey eyes, a nose that was slightly crooked as though he’d been in a fight and full bow-like lips. A few stray locks of wavy brown hair skimmed his forehead, while a smattering of stubble was dotted across his creamy skin. He held a pint glass in his strong, veiny hands as he dried it with a towel. I decided to name him Fitty McFitterson until I knew his real name.
‘The worst.’ I groaned and tapped my head on the wooden bar a few times. ‘I sang Big Yellow Taxi in front of everyone at my nana’s funeral and everyone laughed!’
‘That’s nothing; I was up at four a.m. to accept a delivery from the brewery, a tap burst in the gents’ toilets then when I cleaned that up, the lights went! I thought we were going to have to cancel the wake, but luckily we got them fixed.’
This guy was starting to remind me of Eeyore from Winnie the Pooh. He sounded so beaten down and sad.
‘I embarrassed myself in front of a church full of people who aren’t going to forget in a hurry. I think I win.’ I glanced up at him, hoping he wouldn’t contradict me. Being right was about the only thing I had just now.
‘All right, you win. This time. Do you sing at other occasions or is it just funerals?’
I blushed and shoved my head into my hands so Fitty McFitterson didn’t see. ‘Oh no, I do the whole lot: weddings, birthday parties, bar mitzvahs. Need someone to awkwardly burst into song on special occasions? I’m your woman.’
He leaned on the bar, bringing his face level with mine and rolling the sleeves of his white shirt up to reveal more of his muscly arms.
Oh, mama!
I gave myself a shake. A guy this good-looking wasn’t likely to be available and I was heading back to London as soon as humanly possible. Though what I was going to do when I got there was anyone’s guess…
‘I’ll bear that in mind. Have you got any more party pieces, like juggling or doing impressions? I’ve got a mate who can burp the whole of Hot in Herre by Nelly.’
I let out a small chuckle that sounded like a chipmunk being tortured. Today really wasn’t my day.
‘Very impressive! Nah, making a fool of myself is my speciality. I’m a one-trick pony,’ I laughed. ‘Actually no, I’m pretty good at getting fired too. But that’s it, no more party pieces.’
Fitty McFitterson managed a smile and looked at me. ‘I’m sure that’s not true. You look like a woman who has loads of tricks up her sleeve. What did you do?’
My stomach started doing an acrobatics routine so accomplished
