Page 29 of My Summer of Magic Moments

‘I see …’ The estate agent had spare keys. Claire wasn’t sure how she felt. There was a strange queasiness in her gut. Yes, she knew it was up for sale. And it hadn’t all been good at the house; her illness, the shock of his betrayal, but it hadn’t been all bad either. They’d had their happy times, their early years together, and it had been their home, her home. And where would she go?

‘They want to come back for a second look. They’re wondering if they can come round this evening – they haven’t got time in the week. Are you in? Shall I tell the estate agent that’s okay.’

She felt a bit numb.

‘Claire?’

‘Yes. That’s okay. I’ll be here.’

‘Claire? Are you all right?’

He so didn’t have the right to ask that question any more, to pretend to care about her.

‘Yes, I’m fine,’ she said firmly.

A couple in their thirties were looking round her home. It felt weird as she pointed out the features and benefits of the location and the nearby amenities, let them peer into the dishwasher, open up the boiler cupboard, wander through the master bedroom. It was as if she was opening up her heart too, but as she politely closed the door on them, it also felt like a release. She had known it would have to happen – she couldn’t afford to buy Paul out. She’d only be rattling around here – too many rooms, too many memories. If the house went, it would force her move on too, physically as well as emotionally. She’d have no choice, and with half the money, she’d be able to put down a deposit on something smaller of her own. She could see it working out fine. Paul wasn’t coming back, and she didn’t want him to.

After they’d gone, she made herself a mug of strong tea and sat on the sofa gazing out at the small back garden, fenced in, neat with shrubs, and wished she was on that balcony back at Bamburgh beach looking out across the bold North Sea. Her thoughts crept back to Ed and his kiss and that crazy stormy afternoon when they’d been so close to making love. Well, okay, having sex. It was stupid to think the love word came into the equation. Damn, though. Even if it had just been the once, a one- night stand, it would have been great to know his body, to know what it felt like to be in his arms. If only she hadn’t panicked. If only she still had a normal pair of unscarred breasts for him to see and touch, and the two of them had carried on being drawn into a bubble of love. All right, lust then. Now, that would’ve been nice. For one night only, Mr Ed … Shit, she didn’t even know his surname. No matter. This was a one-night-only fantasy, remember.

She finished her tea and decided to pack up some more boxes. She might as well get organized in case that couple liked the house and put an offer in. She concentrated on finding things she wouldn’t be needing in the near future: old DVDs, CDs, spare bedding, towels. You didn’t need an awful lot for one. She sectioned off a pile of Paul’s things, most of which had gone with him already, and anything that looked a little old, or worn, or she just hadn’t used for a long time she put into the bin or the charity pile. It felt quite therapeutic.

12

Friendship

Walking back into the three-storey, brick-built, Newcastle-upon-Tyne newspaper offices, which were on a side road two blocks from the main shopping area of Northumberland Street, had felt strange. It was as though she’d been away far longer than three weeks. It was probably the cumulative effect of the past year’s illness, her treatments, time off for surgery, for chemo. Nothing had been normal for quite some time now. She craved normality now – she just wanted her life back how it was, though she knew it would never be quite the same. Such was life – a journey, a forwards leap, sometimes a slow crawl or a few steps backwards. This morning she was ready to leap.

That didn’t stop her feeling a little nervous as she mounted the steps she’d been up hundreds of times before. Would she still be able to do her job well? Would her new ‘Magic Moments’ idea for her column go down okay, or would the boss think it weak or boring? What would the reader response to her new column be?

She was greeted by ‘Hello’s, ‘Hi’s and smiles as she walked through to her desk. She waved at Jo and Emma, friends as much as work colleagues, and felt boosted by their grins. There was no sign of Andrea across the way at her desk area yet. Then Claire spotted a lovely large pink daisy-like flower – gerberas she thought they were called – a single happy bloom in a bright-pink pot that looked suspiciously like Andrea’s pen pot. An envelope was propped next to it saying ‘Welcome Back’, and next to that there was a pink-iced cupcake with tiny sugar flowers on the top. How pretty.

She was opening the card when a head popped up over the partition screen – dark-brown hair jutting out at quirky angles and kind blue eyes that were smiling. Andrea gave her a grin just as Claire read, ‘Welcome back, gorgeous girl! Missed you! Xx.’ Andrea had signed the card, as well as many of her colleagues.

‘Aw, thank you, Andrea. That’s so lovely. What a great welcome back. Mind you, I’ve only been away three weeks.’

‘I know, I know. But I missed you … and these guys missed you too.’ There were nods and smiles from all around the open-plan office.

Claire mouthed a ‘thank you’ across the room and made a thumbs-up sign.

She settled back into her work contentedly that week. It was good to be amongst friends and colleagues again, doing research, taking interviews over the phone or going out and about in person. She loved not only meeting different people, telling their stories, but also the writing, the editing, the buzz and sometimes panic of the deadline, the excitement of seeing her article in print and online. Best of all, the first ‘Magic Moments’ article was getting some great feedback, thank heavens. She’d already had several emails in, mostly positive, and the newspaper Facebook page had run a link to the website version of her article and had received over twenty comments so far. ‘Loved it! Really cheered me up and made me think of what’s important in life.’ ‘The best things in life really are free. A laugh, a smile, a hug, a friend. Thanks Claire for reminding us all of this.’ And another: ‘My magical place is at my family’s favourite picnic spot – we call it the brick yard but it’s the most beautiful place in the world – next to a babbling brook, toes dipped in the freezing water, the smell of wild garlic in the air mixing with wood smoke and the sounds of laughter – soul at rest, imagination running wild.’ There were several more that made her smile – and one downer: ‘Found this so boring! My magic moment would be winning the lottery – and I’d blow it all on a huge party, holidays, a yacht, and a mansion.’ She wondered if the guy responding had ever read her cancer blog; none of that would be much help to him if he got it, unless he was paying for hotel-style accommodation in a private hospital wing with a fancy menu for meals. She scolded herself for being a misery. But then, she bantered back to herself – it might be harsh, but it was true.

As the weeks passed, the rhythm of her working days pulled her back to a new normality. This was it. Life on her own, post-cancer. The bustle of the morning bus commute into the city centre (it was never worth taking the car; parking cost a small fortune). Time spent with friends and family after work or at the weekends, chatting over tea, cake or a glass of wine – all these things felt lovely. And she was slowly getting used to the quiet times in the house by herself. Somehow it had been easier, quite pleasant, actually, when she’d been away on her own by the sea, but here, in a house bought for two, it didn’t quite work in the same way. Oh well, it would be sold soon enough.

One weekend she decided to bake herself some bread, then realized she still had Lynda’s recipe book. She’d have to post it back – after copying out her favourite recipes. Or, maybe, just maybe, she could nip back up to Bamburgh for a day trip. That might be nice. It wasn’t that far – about an hour in the car – but she felt she needed to find her feet a bit better back in Newcastle first. It was a little too raw, the memories of that break still tugging at her emotions in a strange way. She seemed to be missing her cottage a little too much, and heading back any time soon wouldn’t help matters.

Coffee-break time. Claire was making the hot drinks for the colleagues in her desk zone. The kettle bubbled to a boil as she scooped out Nescafé granules into the mugs. A rather grubby collection overall, she noted – some of them looked like they’d been hanging around since the 70s. Except for Andrea’s, which was bright pink and had Journalist – will work for cupcakes written on it. Claire’s mug said Keep Calm, I’m a Journalist in white on a plain red background. Paul had bought it for her a couple of Christmases ago. She’d never really liked it that much, to be honest. She might go and buy herself a pretty Cath Kidston one.

‘Coffee, one sugar, dash of milk.’ Andrea appeared in the small kitchen behind her.

‘I know that much – I’ve been making you coffee for years.’

‘I know. Just trying to sneak five minutes away from my desk and Dragon Julia’s deadline. It’s creative space time. If I read that same article over once more, I swear my head will explode.’ She grinned. ‘Anyway, I’ve been planning. You need a night out.’

‘I do?’

‘Yes, absolutely. Now you’re back and fit and well, it’s time to hit the town like we used to. You, me and the girls. What do you say?’

‘Ah, I’m not so sure … I haven’t been out like that in so long. I’d feel ancient.’