Page 47 of My Summer of Magic Moments

So here she was in the kitchen, starting to box up her cookery books, and there in her hand was the Paul Hollywood bread bible that Ed had given her. She paused, flicked through its pages, a weird nagging ache in her gut.

Her sister’s comments niggled in her mind. It had felt so lovely with Ed, so genuine at the time. Could she have got it so very wrong? She hadn’t given him a chance to explain, Sal was right. Did he deserve one? Was she so afraid of getting hurt again that she’d jumped to conclusions? Or was she just clutching at straws again even now?

Ah, sod it. Her intuition was probably right. She wouldn’t be going back to that seaside cottage again, ever. And, she certainly wouldn’t be giving Ed a second chance to hurt either her or his own family again either. Just let it be, her conscience told her. She didn’t need any more upsets in her life.

The doorbell rang. She put the book into the box with the others and went to answer it.

‘Need a hand with your packing?’ It was her mother. ‘I thought you’d have a lot to do, and it might be a bit grim doing it all on your own.’

‘It’s not so bad – I’m getting there. But I’ll not say no to some help.’

How did mums have the knack of knowing when you needed them, even when you hadn’t thought about it yourself?

Late the next morning, she got a phone call on her mobile from her sister. ‘Hi, Claire. I’m just in town. I’ve managed to escape for a couple of hours. Mum’s got the boys. It’s nearly lunchtime and I wondered if you might be able to nip out and join me?’

‘Actually, I’m not quite back at the office yet.’ She’d been out that morning interviewing Reece, the lad with cancer, and his family. It had been quite emotional. ‘Where are you?’ It would be her lunch hour in twenty minutes. She may as well carry on and take it now and head back to work afterwards – no-one was expecting her just yet. And chatting with her sister might be just what she needed.

‘Centre of town, near Grey’s Monument. I’ve just been in Waterstones.’

‘Right, I’ll head that way now. Meet you at Carlo’s in, let’s say, ten minutes?’ Claire suggested.

‘Perfect.’

‘Well this is nice,’ Sally greeted her in the foyer of the bistro.

‘Yes, it’s worked out well for me too. Another ten minutes and I’d have been back at the office and probably have been collared by Dave off-loading some urgent task on me.’

They were ushered through to a cosy table by the window, where they took their seats. Sal ordered a glass of Pinot Grigio, Claire a cup of tea.

Claire sat quietly, thoughtfully.

‘Everything okay, Claire?’

Her gaze was fixed on a brightly coloured painting of the Tyne Bridge on the opposite wall. ‘It’s not bloody fair. I’ve been to the hospital today, interviewing that lad Reece and his family. The one with lymphoma. Sal, he was so brave, all wired up to that chemo line and chatting away talking about his charity. The lads in his football team are doing all sorts of things in support – car-washing, grass-cutting, cake-baking. And his school’s putting on a big summer fete.’

‘Well that sounds good. That there’s so much going on for him.’

‘But he shouldn’t even be there. He was so pale, no hair, all wired up and putting on a brave face. He should be out playing football with the other lads, running around like your Ollie and Jack.’

‘I know … God knows how I’d feel if it was one of my boys in there. It seems so cruel, doesn’t it? But Claire, life’s like that sometimes. Shit happens, and often to the best of people, people who don’t deserve it. You know that well enough.’

‘But a little kid.’ Claire drummed the tabletop with her fingertips. ‘He’s never smoked or had a drink or done anything. He might not even get the chance to, bless him. Might never drive a car, have a girlfriend, have kids, even bloody grow up …’ Claire’s eyes were misting now.

‘I know, it’s crap. Cancer’s so fucking arbitrary.’

Claire looked up. Her sister hardly ever swore.

‘It doesn’t discriminate – young, old, class, colour, creed,’ Sal continued. ‘But it is what it is. An illness. An awful, horrible illness.’

‘It’s a bloody bastard.’

‘It is that. There were many times I cursed it when you were going through all those treatments.’

‘But at least there were treatments, and I got through, didn’t I.’ Claire was trying to see the bright side. ‘God, I hope that little boy gets better.’

‘Yeah … Fingers crossed for him and his family. But he’s fighting it, Claire, and doing so much more. All this charity stuff. He’s got support from his family, friends, strangers, and you. You can make a difference by telling everyone about it, putting it in the newspaper. Your article can make so many more people aware of his charity. And that’s all you can do, sis. Make something positive happen from it.’

‘Yes, I can do that much for him. You’re right – life isn’t always so bad, is it? It’s just been a hard few days.’ And she let her mind drift to a better place, to Bamburgh and the sea, the views and the quiet, special moments she’d had there, at least before the latest incident. Life could be harsh, but it could also be beautiful and awe-inspiring, scenic, peaceful, playful. All the good stuff really did outweigh the bad stuff. It had to.