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Was he punishing his mother and his twin?
‘Stubborn, refusing to see any other point of view except your own. That’s what killed your dad.’
No, what had killed his dad was Brad’s selfishness.
He should’ve come home for the weekend and gone out on the boat with his dad, instead of going off with Abby for a romantic weekend away. OK, so she’d won the trip in a competition, but she could’ve taken Ruby with her instead and made it a girly weekend: and then Brad would’ve been there for Jim. He would’ve made sure that his dad had his angina medication with him on the boat. He could’ve administered it, bought time until the emergency services could get to them.
Though he was horribly aware that Abby had said pretty much the same thing. If only Jim had listened to his doctor and taken his medication with him. If only Jim had waited.
But everyone knew that James Powell was a Type A personality and the word ‘wait’ simply wasn’t in his vocabulary. Jim was a larger-than-life character, a sharp barrister who’d lived for his job and been bored stiff being stuck at home. Of course he wouldn’t have waited to go out on the boat until someone else could be with him. He would’ve argued that he was perfectly capable of crewing the boat alone. He’d hated the whole idea of having to retire early on the grounds of poor health. Being diagnosed with a heart condition that could kill him if it wasn’t kept under control had been the worst thing that could’ve happened to him. He’d needed something to fill his time, and the boat was the one thing that had stopped him going crazy.
If Brad had only come home, that weekend...
But he hadn’t.
And Jim had taken the boat out on his own. He’d had an angina attack and collapsed. The chest pain had been so bad, he hadn’t even been able to call the emergency services; he’d only been capable of hitting the last number redial on his phone.
Brad’s number.
‘Chest. Hurts. On boat. Call coastguard,’ he’d gasped.
‘I’ll do it now. Where’s your medication, Dad?’ Brad asked.
‘Home.’
Meaning that there had been nothing to help with the pain.
Abby had been in the spa, having a facial, but thankfully she’d left her mobile phone in their room. With shaking hands, Brad had put his dad on speaker on his own phone and called the emergency services from Abby’s.
‘I’m getting someone to you now, Dad.’
‘Should’ve waited.’ Jim had squeezed the pain-filled words out.
‘That doesn’t matter now, Dad. Stay with me. Stay with me. It’s going to be OK. I’ve got help coming. I know it hurts to talk, so I just want one word from you every couple of minutes so I know you’re still with me. OK?’
‘Yes.’
‘Stay with me, Dad. I love you. It’s going to be all right.’
But Jim had been in trouble way before the helicopter and the lifeboat had reached him. Miles and miles away from the coast, knowing it would take him hours to drive to Great Crowmell even if he left the hotel that very second, Brad had been unable to do anything to help. He’d heard the clatter of the phone onto the deck and guessed that his dad had dropped it.
‘Dad! Dad! Stay with me. Pick up the phone. Please pick up the phone,’ he’d pleaded.
But Jim hadn’t answered. All Brad had been able to hear was the hum of the engine and the screaming of the seagulls, until finally the phone had been picked up by one of the lifeboat crew.
‘This is the lifeboat. We’ve winched down the paramedic from the helicopter. You’re his son, who called us out, right?’
‘Yes.’
‘OK. We’re going to fly your dad back to hospital. Can you give us some information?’
‘Anything you need,’ Brad had said, and had gone through his father’s medical history.
But it had been too late.
Jim had had a massive heart attack in the helicopter and the crew hadn’t been able to resuscitate him. He’d died on the way to hospital.
Stop wearing that hair shirt and thinking you have to atone for something that really wasn’t your fault.
Now that was where Abby was wrong. Brad didn’t blame himself for his father’s death. Even if he’d been there, if he’d given his father the medication, there was a very high chance that Jim would still have had that heart attack and died on the way to hospital.
That wasn’t what crucified him every single day.
It was the fact that he’d been the last person to speak to Jim while he was still alive—while his father was still conscious—and he’d known that he couldn’t do a thing to save his dad. That the lifeboat and the air ambulance wouldn’t get to him in time. And then, in the days after the funeral, he’d realised that he would never get the chance to prove to his dad that he’d made the right career choice, following his heart to become a scientist rather than following in Jim’s footsteps and becoming a barrister.
Brad just hadn’t been able to cope with it all. To keep himself functioning, he’d had to build a wall round his heart. And that hadn’t been fair to Abby: so he’d done the right thing by the love of his life. He’d set her free to find happiness with someone else.
And she thought he was being self-indulgent and wearing a hair shirt?
He stared into the darkness.
If only things had been different.
If only.
Eventually, he slept. His dreams were vivid, to the point where he actually reached out for her, the next morning, thinking she was curled up in bed beside him.
Of course not. How stupid of him. Those days were long gone. She wasn’t next to him, she was next door. There was only a single brick wall between them, but they might as well be on different planets.
Brad dragged himself out of bed and had a hot shower, but he didn’t manage to scrub away the guilt and remorse. Or the sick feeling that today he was going to have to face everything he’d spent years avoiding.
Toast and coffee—thanks to the supplies Abigail had left him—made him feel more human.
OK.
He’d do the hardest bit first.
He headed into the centre of the town to renew the ticket for his parking space, then went to buy flowers. It meant he had to walk past the quay, and he could see another boat moored in the place where his father’s used to be. Well, of course there would be. His mother had never really been into boats, so there was no reason for Rosie to keep the boat or the mooring after Jim’s death.
But it still felt as if a little piece of his dad had been wiped away.
He bought a bunch of flowers from the shop in the middle of the high street, then walked to the church on the edge of town. It was a big old barn of a place, built of flint, with a massive tower, a lead roof and tall arched windows.
What he liked best was the inside of the church, and not just because it was full of light from those enormous windows. He turned the massive iron handle and pushed the heavy door open. He could remember coming here with his father, who’d showed him the ancient graffiti of the old-fashioned sailing ships scratched into the stone pillars, explaining they were probably prayers of thanksgiving for safe returns from long voyages.
If only James Powell had made a safe return from his last voyage.
But you couldn’t change the past.
Brad shook himself and wandered through the church. There was the hexagonal stone font with its carved wooden cover and the smiling stone lions at the base—the font where he and Ruby had been christened as babies. And the ancient wooden pews with their poppyheads and carved bench ends, parts of the carvings polished smooth over the centuries where children’s hands had rubbed against them. He’d always especially loved the carvings of a cat carrying one of her kittens and the mermaid.
This was the church where, if they’d waited until after his graduation, he would’ve married Abigail. Just as Colin would wait for Ruby on Saturday, Brad would’ve waited at the altar for Abby. But, because he’d been young and impetuous and desperately in love with her, he’d wanted to marry her before he went away to university. He realised now how much they’d deprived their families of a celebration. How stupid and selfish he’d been.
There were tea-light candles on a wrought-iron stand near the font, a couple of which were already lit. He lit one for his father using the wax taper provided, and stood watching the flame flicker for a while before putting some money into the slot in the wall safe.
Outside, several more graves had been dug in the churchyard since he’d last been here. And it was the first time he’d actually seen his father’s headstone.
His mum had made a good choice. Together with the dates, she’d kept the words simple: James Powell, beloved husband, father and son. And on the back there was a carving of a boat, his father’s favourite thing.
The stone vase-holder in front of the headstone was already full of flowers. Of course it would be; either Rosie or Ruby would’ve made sure of that. He should’ve thought to buy one of those pots on a spike that you could push into the earth, or bring some kind of jam jar to put his flowers in. Too late, now. He placed the wrapped bunch of flowers on the grass next to the vase, and sat cross-legged in front of the stone.
‘Well. I guess it’s about time I showed my face here,’ he said.
Understatement of the century.
He could almost see his father’s rolled eyes and hear the sarcastic comment.
‘I’m sorry, Dad,’ he said quietly. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t save you. I’m sorry I was too far away to help.’ He dragged in a breath. ‘I’m sorry I’ve made such a mess of my life—though at least my career is doing OK. I know you were disappointed I didn’t follow in your footsteps, but I would’ve made a lousy lawyer. I’m a good scientist. I love my job. And I think you’d approve of me being one of the youngest managers ever in the pharmaceutical company, in charge of a really big project.’
No answer. Not that he expected one. But a sudden gust of wind or an unexpected ray of sunlight would’ve been nice. A sign that his father had heard him.
‘I’m sorry I haven’t been there for Mum and Ruby,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t trying to neglect them. It was the whole idea of coming back here. Where I’d failed you. I know, I know, I should’ve manned up and driven here instead of always expecting them to come and see me in London. But, the longer I stayed away, the harder it was to come home. I couldn’t face walking into the house, expecting to see you and then seeing the space where you weren’t there—it’d be like losing you all over again and I just couldn’t bear it.’
And how he missed his father. They’d had a difficult relationship at times, but Brad had respected his father and what he’d achieved, even though they’d disagreed about Brad’s career choice. James Powell was a big bear of a man, always laughing and joking, full of outrageous stories about his days in court. Brad had sneaked into the public gallery at court one day, to watch his father at work, and he’d seen how brilliant James was—persuasive, knowledgeable, putting his client’s case in a way that the jury understood but without patronising them. He’d been spellbinding. A father to be proud of.
And he’d died way, way too soon.
Brad sighed. ‘You were right about me and Abby. We were too young to get married. Of course it didn’t last.’ And how selfish he’d been to drag Abby into his teenage rebellion. If he’d waited, maybe they would still be married now. But they weren’t. Another failure. Something else he hadn’t wanted to face, here in Great Crowmell. The place where he’d fallen in love with Abigail Scott.
The break-up had been entirely his fault. He’d been the one to push her away.
Though seeing her again had made him realise that his old feelings for her were still there. They’d never really gone away. He’d ignored them, buried them even; but now he was home and close to her, it was harder to block them out.
He couldn’t possibly act on those feelings. He didn’t trust himself not to mess it all up again, and he wanted to give Abby the chance to be happy—even if it was with someone else. But maybe they could be on better terms than they’d left it last night. When she’d told him things he hadn’t wanted to face and, instead of talking it over with her, he’d walked out and refused to discuss it.
‘Did you ever regret things, Dad?’ he asked. ‘Did you ever wish you hadn’t said things, or that you’d done something differently?’
Of course there was no answer.
Though his father had always been so confident, so sure that he was right.
Abby’s words slid back into his head. Your dad was a stubborn old coot. I loved Jim dearly, but he didn’t help himself and he didn’t listen to anyone.
She was right; and that was probably why James had been so confident. He didn’t listen to anyone who didn’t say exactly what he wanted to hear. And Brad couldn’t ever remember his father apologising; though Jim had come close to it in that last phone call, when he’d admitted he should’ve waited instead of going out on the boat on his own.
Brad sighed. ‘Abby loved you. Even though you were stubborn and didn’t listen to anyone except maybe your clients, she loved you.’
She’d loved Brad, too. And he’d been so sure he was right, not listening to her. Just like his father. Funny, he hadn’t thought that he could be as difficult as James, but maybe he was. Being stubborn and refusing to give up had stood him in good stead professionally; the flip side meant that being stubborn and refusing to talk about things had ruined his marriage.
‘I owe her an apology,’ he said. ‘For a lot of things. I need to go and talk to her. But I’ll be back. I’ll come and see you on Saturday. And we’re going to smile all day until our faces hurt, for Ruby’s sake.’
When he walked back into the florist, the assistant raised her eyebrows. ‘Back again?’
He nodded. ‘Can you wrap up six roses for me, please?’ And there was only one colour he could choose. ‘Cream ones.’
‘Going to see your mum now, are you?’
That was the thing about growing up in a small town; everyone knew you, and they knew your business, too. ‘No. Actually, I’d like a different bouquet for her, please—something with lots of pinks and purples.’ Her favourite colours. ‘Can I pick it up in an hour? Oh, and if you have one of those vases on a spike you can use in the churchyard, I’d like to buy one of those, too, please.’
‘Sure.’
He paid for everything, taking just the roses and the vase with him, then bought a bottle of water in the newsagent next door.
Then he noticed the shop next to the newsagent. Scott’s Ice Cream Parlour. That was new. He’d been so focused on visiting the churchyard that he hadn’t noticed it when he’d walked here before. So where would Abigail be today? Here, or at the café by the beach?
Inside, there was a young girl serving; he didn’t recognise her.
‘Can I help you?’ she asked with a smile.
‘Um, I was wondering if I could have a quick word with Abigail, please?’
‘She’s not here, I’m afraid. Can I take a message?’
‘No, it’s fine.’ It looked as if he’d have to catch her at home.
‘Do I hear someone asking for our Abby?’ An older woman came out of the back of the shop and stared at him in surprise. ‘Oh. Brad. You’re back.’
‘Hello, Gill.’ He remembered her from the beach café, years back. ‘Yes, I’m back for Ruby’s wedding.’
She eyed him warily. ‘I can get a message to Abby, if you like.’
It was kind of nice that Abby’s staff were protective about her, he thought, not actually telling him where she was until they’d checked with her first. Though it didn’t help him.
‘I’m not going to fight with her,’ he said softly. ‘I just wanted a quick word with her about wedding stuff.’ That last bit wasn’t strictly true, or anywhere even vaguely near the truth, but the first bit was heartfelt.
Gill frowned, and he thought she was going to stonewall him. But then she nodded. ‘OK. It’s Tuesday, so she’ll be at the beach café.’
‘Thank you, Gill.’
‘You’re welcome.’ Her gaze dropped to the flowers and the vase he was carrying, and this time there was more sympathy in her expression. ‘Going to see your dad?’
‘Yes.’ She didn’t need to know it was for the second time—or that these flowers were for Abby.
‘He was one of a kind, your dad. He’s still missed around here.’
The words put a lump in his throat. ‘Thank you.’
At the church, he sorted out the flowers he’d left at the grave earlier, pushing the spike into the earth and then filling the vase with water; then he headed for the beach café. He’d forgotten what a long walk it was from the harbour to the beach. It had always felt like seconds when he was a teenager, walking there hand in hand with Abby. Now, it seemed never-ending. And he couldn’t remember the seagulls being quite so irritating and screamy, either.
