Happy Ever After Read online

  She was feeling oddly fatalistic about the visit. This was something she should have done years ago, she thought, as she glanced down at the glossy magazine Polly had pushed into her hands as they’d hugged goodbye on the platform. Only years ago, of course, it would have been too raw. She’d have been too young. No, now was the right time.

  Not only was it the right time, but also the right thing for her. And after all, even if everyone knew about the demolition, there was nothing to say any of them would turn up, was there? Why would they want to? Surely they’d have put it behind them, made new lives for themselves? They’d all been so young, such close friends, but all so different. She couldn’t imagine any of them feeling as she did. No, they wouldn’t be there.

  Not Heidi, or Jez – surely not Tess and Simon - and definitely not Mack. Of course, not Mack…

  Cindy took a deep breath. She mustn’t think about Mack. She’d tried not to think about Mack for nearly thirty years, there was absolutely no point in thinking about him now…

  Ivy, who had excitedly replied to Cindy’s letter by return, hadn’t mentioned anyone else, and had confirmed that the White Bull still did B&B, adding that Cindy was more than welcome to stay with her in Daffodil Lane.

  Cindy had replied that she didn’t want to put Ivy out, so she’d book a few nights at the White Bull, but would love to meet Ivy for lunch at the Silver Stars Café – if it still existed – as soon as she’d settled into her hotel.

  Then, reverting to 21st century methods, she’d booked her stay at the White Bull and discovered that the Silver Stars Café was now The Copper Kettle Tea Rooms, and posted Ivy a card arranging to meet there at one o‘clock.

  Now Cindy ignored the magazine with its high-cheekboned models and clothes she’d never buy even if she could afford them, and the tittle-tattle about celebrities she’d never heard of, and stared out of the window again.

  The demolition was scheduled for Wednesday. It would give her, Cindy reckoned, plenty of time to become acclimatised. She’d be able to retrace her youthful steps round Benfield before Bluebell Walk bit the dust. And if she cried or panicked, which she was sure she wouldn’t, then no-one would notice. And if she found it all too painful – she could simply return home again, couldn’t she?

  Two hours later, the train drew slowly towards Benfield station. Several passengers were already on their feet, reaching for luggage, shoving one another to be first at the doors.

  Cindy sat transfixed at the first sight of her home town in almost three decades.

  She could see some obvious changes: stark new housing estates alongside the railway, a large supermarket on what had been the water meadows where they’d played on hot summer days, a couple of high-rise buildings where the ancient Nissan huts of the council offices had been.

  But otherwise, as far as she could see, Benfield was still the same. It was still an incongruous mix of ugly back-to-back houses and beautiful countryside. The lush fields were dotted with sheep, the trees dripped with blossom, and snaking narrow roads climbed the misty hills.

  Cindy, swallowing the lump in her throat, took a deep breath and removed her holdall from the rack. She knew it was an unrecognisable Cindy who would step down on to Benfield’s grey station platform. A sensible middle-aged Cindy, dressed in jeans and a longish sweater suitable for early spring, would be returning – a far cry from the young hippie-punk hybrid Cindy who had left in the 70s.

  That Cindy, a contradictory mix of leather and lace, with her tiny skirts and big boots, her harsh chains and pretty beads, her spiky hair and her heavy make-up, had been the genuine “punk rocker with flowers in her hair” of the song.

  Cindy almost laughed at the memory as she filed through the ticket barrier, knowing Polly and Dylan would be shocked rigid at the old Cindy.

  Oh, yes - a lifetime ago, she’d been the pretty-punk queen of Benfield… Happy, carefree, dancing to the Damned and the Undertones and the Clash, knowing exactly what she was going to do with her life. At least, until… She shook her head. She mustn’t think about that now. Not now. Maybe not ever again…

  The White Bull must have gone through several incarnations in the last thirty years, Cindy thought, having checked in and being given a key to a single room on the top floor. Throughout her childhood it had been frequented by businessmen and commercial travellers – in the days before company reps had super-fast cars and whizzed all over the country along motorways in a matter of hours. Now, it seemed to cater mainly for one-night stop-overs for people who were travelling to somewhere else. No-one would choose to stay in Benfield for a holiday – it simply wasn’t that sort of place.

  Her room, neat and functional, was fortunately away from the railway line and looked out over the main street. Having unpacked her minimal belongings, Cindy leaned her hands on the window sill. The rooftops of the High Street hadn’t changed, being a higgledy-piggledy mass from various architectural decades, but the shops beneath them seemed to have altered out of all recognition. Gone were most of the little independent retailers, replaced with the same stores you could find anywhere. And there were plenty of charity shops too, and more estate agents than anyone could ever want.

  There wasn’t, Cindy thought, anything like Dexters. Not that Benfield had ever warranted a department store anyway, although if they were going to be building lots of new houses maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea.

  Still, she had a couple of days to think about the changes, didn’t she? It was nearly one o’clock and Ivy would be waiting at The Copper Kettle.

  It was with some shock that Cindy walked towards the café and realised that she didn't recognise a single face she passed. Growing up in Benfield, everyone knew everyone, there would be smiles and greetings. Now these busy bustling people were all strangers. The past had gone, and the people with it.

  She hesitated outside the Copper Kettle. With its leaded light windows and chintzy blinds it looked every inch the country village tea room. How different it had been when it had been the Silver Stars.

  Unbidden, the memories flooded back – how exciting the Silver Stars had seemed, with its reflective windows so that no-one outside could see what was happening inside, giving it an air of mystery.

  How they all loved to congregate there – Cindy and her crowd – and drink cola and coffee and eat Danish pastries and spicy salads. It was their place. They sat there, listening to the juke box, and planning their grown-up lives away from boring Benfield. They spent hours laughing about the present and planning the future: school, exams, travelling, first jobs, and how they’d never become like their parents. Hours spent laughing, talking – and falling in love.

  Cindy took a deep breath. Oh, how well she remembered falling in love.

  There could never be anything as heady, powerful and wonderful as first love. That was why she understood how Polly felt about Josh, because more than thirty years earlier, she’d felt exactly the same.

  Cindy and Mack. The names were linked together for ever. For ever and ever – until…

  She pushed the door open. The tea rooms clearly did a good lunchtime trade, and for a moment Cindy thought Ivy hadn’t arrived. Then she saw her. She smiled before Ivy looked up. How little she’d changed; still plump and motherly, with a halo of permed curls.

  ‘Hello, Ivy…’

  ‘Cindy! Dear! Oh, how lovely this is…’ Ivy’s eyes filled with tears as she stood up and hugged her. ‘Oh, it’s so good to see you. You look well, dear. And still so pretty.’

  ‘You too,’ Cindy sniffed back her own tears. ‘Oh, Ivy, I’m so sorry to have lost touch.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Ivy waved her hands as they sat down. ‘I completely understand. Shall we order, dear? Then you can tell me about your family and everything.’

  As soon as the waitress had arrived with their food, Cindy briefly filled Ivy in on the last thirty years of her life, and in fits and starts and much back-tracking and oo-hing and ah-ing over Cindy’s photographs, they caught up on the highlights of their ye
ars apart.

  ‘… there’ve been so many changes, here,’ Cindy said. ‘All those new houses…’

  ‘And lots more going up when they pull down Floribunda,’ Ivy said robustly. ‘Though lord knows who they think’ll buy them all – what with the credit crunch and what have you. What they need is affordable housing for renting – like we all had. Something to give the youngsters a start without bankrupting them. Oh, hark at me. I’m living in the past.’

  ‘So am I,’ Cindy said quietly. ‘Which is why I had to come back. I needed to do this – to see the house go.’

  Ivy nodded and patted her hand. ‘I know, dear. I know. Will you cry?’

  ‘No,’ Cindy said firmly. ‘Definitely not. What about you? When Daffodil goes?’

  Ivy crumbled the last of her bread roll. ‘It’ll be sad – the end of an era – but I’ve seen plenty of those. I used to cry about losing things, dear. Now I only cry about losing people and animals. You learn what’s important. Oh, I like having my bits and pieces around me. My memories. But I’ll take them with me to the next place, and the memories will stay up here,’ she tapped her head lightly. ‘No-one can take away what’s up here, dear, can they? Not with bulldozers and demolition machines anyway.’

  Cindy sighed. No, they couldn’t. In which case, would watching Bluebell Walk destroyed really help her? Watching all the bricks crumble and the dust fly wouldn’t rid her of the memories, would it?

  Ivy smiled. ‘Don’t look so sad, dear. Lots of water under both our bridges. And for you, in particular, time to let go.’

  ‘I have – ‘

  ‘No you haven’t,’ Ivy said softly. ‘I know you well, Cindy. Knew you as a child. You were always sensitive and caring – even at your wildest. People don’t change that much. Which is why I wanted you to come back.’

  Cindy smiled. ‘I could never fool you, could I? I could pull the wool over mum and dad’s eyes – but never yours. Yes, you’re right. I’ve never forgotten. Never let it go. How could I? Oh, look - shall we go? Talk about this outside in the sunshine’

  They finished their coffee, and despite Ivy’s protests, Cindy paid the bill and they made their way into the High Street.

  Several questions still had to be asked. Cindy had hoped Ivy would have volunteered the information, but as she hadn’t, she had to know…

  ‘I wondered,’ Cindy said as they walked slowly past the new and unfamiliar shops and the kebab houses, the Indian restaurants, the Chinese take-aways, ‘if anyone else from the old days would be here to see Bluebell Walk demolished…?’

  ‘I’m not sure, dear,’ Ivy said. ‘I’ve heard tittle-tattle about who’s coming and who isn’t. Some of them still live locally – the Brewsters and the Newmans and the Doyles – so they’ll be there anyway, of course. Not sure about the others – except young Tess and Simon of course. They got married, did you know that? No, of course I don’t suppose you stayed in touch once your parents moved away, did you? Had two daughters and they’re grandparents! Can you believe that? That makes me feel very old I can tell you.’

  Cindy wasn’t surprised they’d got married. They’d always been close and were well suited. But grandparents? Already? It would be great to see them again – oh, but would they want to see her? Probably not…

  So, Cindy thought, an icy hand closing its fingers round her heart, Tess and Simon would be there, and maybe Heidi and Jez? And -

  Ivy was still reeling off a list of old Bluebell Walk residents. ‘… and then I’d heard the McKenzies might turn up…’

  Cindy stopped walking. She swallowed. The McKenzies. Mack’s parents!

  ‘Really? Why on earth - ?‘

  ‘I’ve no idea, Cindy. They moved to Scotland years ago – haven’t seen ‘em since. Tess said she’d heard they were coming back, that’s all.’

  Mack’s parents had every reason never to want to hear Cindy’s name again – let alone see her, didn’t they? Oh, heavens… She should never have come. She should have left the past where it belonged.

  ‘And is that the lot?’ Cindy, fighting the urge to catch the next train home and return to the unconditional love of her children, and the security of Dexters and her friends, eventually found her voice. ‘No-one else?’

  ‘Among your particular crowd, dear? Well, Tess said young Heidi may come. She’s living in France but might tie it in with a visit to her mum – she’ll just turn up on Wednesday morning I expect. Jeremy – Jez - is in America with his new family, so he won’t be here. And that’s the lot of your little bunch, isn’t it?’

  Cindy sighed. The lot… Not quite – but then it couldn't be, because of her, could it?

  Ivy smiled gently. ‘Well, all apart from Mack of course, and he – ‘

  ‘Don’t,’ Cindy shook her head. ‘Please don’t talk about M – Mack.’

  ‘All right, dear. I do understand. Now, I don’t know what plans you’ve made,’ Ivy continued, ’but I’d like you to come to lunch at my house tomorrow. I’ve invited Tess. Just Tess – not Simon or the girls or the grandchild. I thought it would be good for you two to have some time together. Tess was always the sensible one, wasn’t she?’

  Cindy stopped suddenly and looked across the High Street in surprise at the block of luxury flats – Odeon Walk – where the cinema had once been. So many changes…

  Yes, Tess was certainly the sensible one. Tess, the only one who had shown any sense at all.

  ‘That’d be lovely,’ she smiled at Ivy. ‘It’ll be nice to see her again before – well, before Bluebell Walk comes down.’

  ‘I thought it’d be best to leave you to your own devices for today,’ Ivy extracted her hand from Cindy’s arm. ‘Let you find your feet. And I’ve got bingo this afternoon and I help out at the old people’s home tonight – and don’t you laugh, young lady! You might think I’m ancient – but I don’t! And while I’ve got my health and strength I’ll keep going until I drop.’

  Cindy laughed. ‘I’m sure you will – and you’ve never seemed old to me. Never. You were always wonderful – especially…’

  ‘Shush,’ Ivy gave her a quick hug. ‘Don’t say anything, dear. That’s all over, isn’t it? Well, thank you so much for coming – and for buying lunch. And I’ll see you tomorrow. About twelve, dear? And don’t look so sad.’

  Having spent the previous afternoon exploring the new parts of Benfield and reliving her youth in a wash of nostalgia; and the evening, after dinner in one of the new High Street restaurants, in her room at the White Bull on the phone to Polly and Dylan, it was half past eleven on Tuesday when Cindy turned the corner from Primrose Close and looked at Bluebell Walk for the first time in over thirty years.

  Nothing could have prepared her for the hammer-blow of emotion.

  The street was deserted today, and the houses, ready for their demolition, were empty of course. Heavy barricades surrounded the entire terrace and the houses looked cold and desolate with their windows boarded - blank and blind – and their neglected gardens still bleakly winter-tangled.

  But in her mind, all Cindy could see were the once-brightly coloured doors and the windows open and the sounds of laughter and people talking and children playing… She could see all of them as clearly as if they were there; as if she were watching a film. All the sights and sounds of her growing-up years played out around her. The whole deserted road was peopled by ghosts…

  Her eyes blurred, she sniffed back her tears. And she’d told Ivy she wouldn’t cry - huh!

  She walked slowly along the row, remembering each of the families who had lived in each house, vividly remembering coming home from school and her mum always being there and chatting about her day as they had tea on the much-scrubbed kitchen table. And then her friends coming round and…

  Cindy stopped outside number 7. The McKenzie’s old house.

  Icy fingers clutched her heart, her pulse rate increased, her mouth was dry.

  Oh, Mack… How she’d loved him – still loved him – would always love him.

>   No wonder her marriage to Steve had failed – not his fault, but Steve had always been second-best – Cindy was in love with Mack, always and forever. And Steve could never compete with a ghost could he?

  Turning quickly, Cindy almost ran out of Bluebell Walk, away from the wraiths, away from the haunting memories, and hurried towards Daffodil Lane.

  ‘Hello, dear,’ Ivy opened her front door. ‘Right on time – is everything all right? Did you sleep well?’

  Cindy nodded quickly. ‘Fine, thank you – everything’s fine. Is Tess here yet?’

  ‘She is,’ Ivy nodded, ushering Cindy towards the front room through a hall that hadn’t changed in decades. ‘I’m going to pop out in the kitchen and rustle up a bite to eat, dear. Leave you two girls alone. In you go…’

  In a split-second Cindy took in the fat chintzy furnishings, the masses of photographs and ornaments, the lace antimacassars. It was still the sanctuary of her childhood, and as always, she felt her fears subsiding.

  ‘Cindy!’ Tess, older of course, but still unmistakeably Tess, stood up. ‘Oh, my word – this is so…’

  With a sob, they hugged one another.

  ‘Sorry,’ Cindy gave a stifled giggle. ‘You look… I mean… This is…’

  ‘I know,’ Tess wiped her eyes. ‘I can’t believe you’re here. Simon sends his love and Ivy says –‘

  Then they both started talking at once, catching up, recapping, their words tripping over one another.

  ‘… so I had to come back,’ Cindy finished. ‘Although I think watching the houses pulled down will be far more emotional than I’d expected.’

  Tess nodded. ‘Me and Simon reckon so, too. It’s okay while they’re still there – but once they’ve gone… Still, it’ll be great to be together again. Heidi is definitely going to be there – shame about Jez, of course, but he’s in the States and we’ve promised to send him all the details on email. So we’ll all be back together again tomorrow.’