Page 10 of Winter Nights at the Bay Bookshop
‘She is, but we’ve got nothing in common.’
‘How do you know until you go on a date?’
‘It lists her interests.’
She glanced at the profile, shaking her head. ‘You can’t make a decision about compatibility based on a few sentences. Your problem is that you look for perfection and it doesn’t exist. Your grandpa wasn’t perfect but did that stop me falling in love with him? All humans have imperfections and that’s what makes them interesting, exciting, challenging.’
‘I know, but…’ I shrugged. ‘I want perfect. I can’t help it.’ We weren’t talking perfection in looks – I wasn’t that shallow. It was the perfection of the match that I wanted – someone I could talk to endlessly but with whom I could also enjoy the silence, someone with the same interests as me and the same outlook on life, someone who told the truth and kept their promises. Surely that wasn’t too much to ask.
‘Then you’re likely to end up alone which will be a crying shame because I think you’d be an amazing husband and father. You have so many wonderful qualities. You, my darling boy, are ridiculously handsome and, when they were dishing brains out, I think you got a double dose. You’re thoughtful, generous and funny. But you do overthink things and you’re so cautious and considered.’
‘What’s wrong with being cautious and considered? My Study Hub would never have been the success it was if I hadn’t taken my time to get it right.’
‘I wholeheartedly agree, but there’s a big difference between the approaches needed for a successful business and a successful personal life. Sometimes I think it would help if you were a little more spontaneous. Throw away the plan and see where life takes you.’
‘I can be spontaneous. I was when it came to selling the business.’
She shook her head. ‘You might have met up with that Calvin Warboys fella quickly but you tookmonthsto make the actual decision. Remember I saw the pros and cons Post-its list on your office wall.’
So to prove to Nanna that I could be spontaneous, I contacted Cat and was stunned when she agreed to a date with me, and even more stunned when she wanted to see me for a second one. I liked Cat and she made me laugh, but she was obsessed with her appearance and keeping up with the latest fashion trends. On our third date she shared that, when she was maxed out on her credit cards, she kept the tags on dresses, wore them out, then returned them to the shop the next day.
‘Everyone does it,’ she said when I challenged her on it. ‘Stop being such a boring bookworm and live a little.’
At that point, it was clear that there wasn’t just a massive difference in our interests but a chasm in our values too so it was time for me to bow out. I instigated theI don’t think this is workingconversation but Cat talked me down.
‘I know I’m high maintenance,’ she said, ‘and I’ve no intention of changing that for you or anyone else. It’s who I am, just like being steady and reliable is who you are. I know I joked that you should let your hair down and live a little, but I was wrong. I don’t think you should change being you because you’re great the way you are and, someday, you’ll meet someone who wants that and who isn’t flaky and chaotic like me. Until she comes along, why don’t we have a bit of fun together?’
So we did and it was all right for a while because neither of us were in danger of getting hurt. I knew she was using me as a shield to stop her running back to Miles but the thought that I was using her – even though she had no issue with that – niggled away at me. I didn’t really miss Cat after we finally agreed to call it a day but I did miss her sister because I’d developed a friendship with Danika. There were only fourteen months between them but the sisters couldn’t have been more different. They looked nothing alike, Danika being brown-eyed and brunette like their dad and Cat being blue-eyed and blonde like their mum. Danika was organised and structured, whereas Cat was all over the place and her timekeeping was shocking. Every time I turned up for a date, Cat was at least half an hour off being ready so I sat in the lounge and chatted to Danika, with whom I discovered I had so much more in common.
I’d been driving on autopilot and registered that I was in Hutton Wicklow so I parked by the green which gently sloped down to the slow-flowing river and exited the car, looking up at the pretty whitewashed cottage where Nanna had been raised. My great-nanna had still been around when I was a child so Nanna had often taken me to visit her before going on a long circular walk. I could clearly picture Great-Nanna on the doorstep wearing a floral tabard apron with a large pocket on the front from which she always plucked a packet of sweets for our walk and a couple of crusts of bread for us to feed to the ducks.
Noticing the curtains on the cottage twitch, I turned to face the river. A woman was crouched beside a young boy who was tossing what looked to be rice and peas towards three ducks. Another two ducks appeared from under the road bridge and the boy squealed excitedly. I could understand that as I’d been duck-obsessed when I was little thanks to so much time spent here feeding them. I’d bring my own kids here to feed the ducks and hope they developed the same love I had. Tutting to myself, I set off alongside the river. What kids?
A wooden footbridge joined a lane which ran past a row of six cottages and across a couple of fields towards the ruins of Hutton Wicklow Castle – a fortified family home built by a wealthy landowner in the early fifteenth century. As I got closer, my pace slowed and I took several deep breaths, battling to keep my emotions in check. This place held so many memories for me and, although most of them were happy, there was one overwhelmingly painful one.
A dog walker said, ‘Hello,’ as he passed with a bouncy black-and-white springer spaniel and tossed a ball for the dog to chase before disappearing from view. There was nobody else in sight so I had the castle to myself, as was often the case. I paused to take in the stunning view from all directions and smiled as I picked out The Lodge before settling down on a boulder.
My younger sister, Pia, had declared Hutton Wicklow Castle herfavourite place in the whole world. I could clearly picture her standing in front of the crumbling walls, arms outstretched, her knitted white dragon draped over her shoulder as she gazed up towards the top of the ruins.It’s magical here! Can you feel it, Lars? As magical as Christmas!
Swiping at the tears trailing down my cheeks, I swallowed hard on the lump in my throat. ‘I miss you, little pixie.’
I stayed for a while, lost in my memories, but was pulled from them by a yappy Jack Russell demanding my attention. The owner apologised as she clipped on a lead and dragged the dog away, but that was my cue to leave. I continued across another field before dropping down to Hutton Valley where a wooden boardwalk ran alongside the river for just over a mile, flanked on either side by trees. The boardwalk ended at a footbridge across the river and a short track leading to a small car park and picnic site which were deserted today. At the far end of the car park, I joined a woodland trail which rose steadily to join Hutton Valley Lane where a dozen houses, including The Lodge, enjoyed the most stunning views over the woods, river, castle and countryside.
The Lodge had always been my favourite property on Hutton Valley Lane and it still didn’t seem real that I owned it. As a kid, I’d called it Duckling Lodge because the owners, like me, clearly loved ducks. On the left side of the barred wooden gate across the drive was a plaque of a male mallard duck (a drake) with a trio of ducklings and on the right side was another plaque of a female (a hen) with five ducklings, looking as though they were on their way to join the rest of the family. There were ornamental ducks and ducklings either side of the front door too and a pair of soft toy ducks in the window of one of the bedrooms. Every time we did our circular walk, we paused to say hello to the ducks and I told Nanna I’d live there one day. I never imagined that I really would.
‘I’ve got something to show you,’ Nanna had said, reaching for her iPad a couple of weeks after our visit to Bay View.
‘Let me guess. A house?’
Since securing her new apartment, Nanna had become a little obsessed with finding me somewhere to live and had thrust her iPad in front of me most days, showing me properties she thought might be suitable.
‘Ah, but this isn’t justanyhouse,’ she said, her eyes twinkling as she passed me her tablet.
I glanced at the photo of the property and gasped. ‘No way! It’s Duckling Lodge.’
‘And it could be yours.’
‘It needs a lot of work,’ I said, chewing on my lip as I scrolled through the photos of a dated kitchen, pink bathroom suite and floral wallpaper throughout. It appeared to have been adapted for a wheelchair user too with a stairlift, ramps and other aids which I wouldn’t need.
