The Life and Second Life of Charlie Brackwood (The Brackwood Series Book 2) (3 page)

I told him I would be there and thanked him for the opportunity he was giving me.

On my ride back to Grassington the clouds turned an angry shade of grey and before long I found myself caught in a shower.  I was so happy to experience such a mundane phenomenon that I held my arms out wide and turned my face to the sky as I let momentum pull me downhill. Thoughts of the four year old boy I had unofficially adopted in the afterlife entered my mind then. I knew Timmy would get a thrill from experiencing this. I let the rain wash away any lingering anxiety about the woman I had come to help. Nothing bad could happen to Lucy now that I was at hand to save her. I inhaled the scent of the countryside in deep, dizzying breaths and listened to the birdsong resume when the rain clouds had made way for the sun’s warming rays.

Once I was back at the cottage I spent the afternoon cleaning Adam’s house. By the time I had finished the place was gleaming. As I placed the mop and bucket back where I had found them in the kitchen, I remembered the leather-bound book I had found in the wardrobe that morning. I brought it down to the living room and took a seat in the snug armchair as the sun started to make its descent. I opened the first page.

24 April 2012

I realised the other day that I am an English teacher, a lover of words and stories, who has never owned a diary. This to me seems unnatural, a sort of rejection of my own profession. I’ve lectured my students many times on the importance of a diary, the advantages that keeping one would bring to their writing, and here I am only just beginning my first-ever journal. Truly shocking.  

The motivation for my sudden urge to transfer thoughts to paper is mainly due to our son’s recent ability to crawl. I have realised that he will soon be walking and talking. By writing my account of these events in a diary, I can preserve the moments that are special and relive them once more in my old age. I may decide to give the diary to Ben on his eighteenth birthday or even his wedding day. No doubt there will be many tears from Emma when this day finally comes.

Emma is finding things hard. Motherhood has not come naturally to her and when I leave them both every morning for work I do wonder how she copes. I say my goodbyes in the midst of his high-pitched cries and am ashamed to say that instead of feeling sad to depart, I feel relief. Sometimes the responsibility we have as parents is overwhelming and we forget the people we used to be. Gone are the days of free-spirited independence with only ourselves to think of.  

The past six months have been a blur, with many late-night feeds and nappy changes all mingling together into one huge mass of responsibility... but also joy.  Of course there’s joy. The birth of a child is such a happy event. Although I do sometimes wonder whether Emma’s joy is genuine or assumed. A way of telling herself she’s happy. Sometimes I will catch her looking at Ben with frustration, and occasionally anguish, glinting in her ordinarily calm eyes.

A female colleague of mine has openly confessed to suffering from post-natal depression and I often wonder whether this might be behind the sadness I see in Emma’s expression. Whether she blames Ben for her lack of freedom.

Chapter Three

The next morning I woke up feeling rested and ready for the day ahead. The thought of getting my hands dirty again, of spending the next eight hours immersed in good, honest graft, sent a thrill through me and I found myself ready and waiting for Russ with time to spare. As I leaned against the wall of the pub I watched the village come to life. I listened to the gentle trickle of the river, a little louder this morning due to the heavy rainfall overnight. The sound was comforting and I closed my eyes momentarily.

“What’s up with you, lad?” a voice boomed in my right ear. “You still a bit stewed from the night before?”

Startled by the interruption, I opened my eyes suddenly to find grumpy Mr Raven peering at me disapprovingly. I smiled when I realised that I was more than happy to see him again.

“Not at all, Mr Ra— I mean, sir. I was merely taking in the wonderful scenery of this lovely village of yours.”

“Aye… but it looks a damn’ sight better with yer eyes open, lad,” he chuckled, and hobbled past me using his walking stick for support.

Russ’s car stopped just inches from my feet.

“Old man causing grief again?” He laughed as he leaned over to open the passenger door.

“Nothing but an interfering old busybody, that one.”

“I don’t mind,” I said as I climbed into his car, “I grew up with busybodies.”

As I relaxed into the passenger seat I felt overwhelmed by the familiarity of it all: the landscape of my youth flying past the open window, the sound of Russ humming along to the radio while I sat by his side and silently suffered his terrible driving… I could almost believe I had never left.    

The current song on the radio finished and the sound of the Beach Boys’
Sloop John ‘B’
filled the car with easy melody. I knew what Russ would say next and watched as a grin spread slowly across his face.

“I went to the pub with Brian Wilson the other day and—”

“—and he wouldn’t let me get a round in,” I finished for him.

It was a joke he’d been telling for years. The Beach Boys were a huge part of our shared youth and this joke was a fond memory. Russ glanced sideways at me, his brow furrowed..

“You know… I’ve never met anyone else who knows that joke.”

“It’s a good one.”

“Should be, I made it up.”

He continued to look at me strangely as I stared back at him, trying hard to appear impassive.

Finally he laughed and the tension was broken.

“Maybe I didn’t make it up after all.”

As I glanced away from Russ’s gaze I realised we had arrived at our destination. I had assumed the work I was to be involved in would be at his house or perhaps that of his elderly parents. But I recognised the long driveway before me instantly.  

I knew the house at the end of it, I knew what lay behind every window. I could visualise the rise and fall of the landscape the windows overlooked. I knew that not one inch of the scenery beyond could be seen in fog, I knew what the fells looked like under a thick blanket of snow and I knew the exact shade of orange the leaves of the distant trees turned in autumn.  

I got out of the car and stared up at my own house. It looked the same as the day I’d left it.  

“Huge, isn’t it?” said Russ as he came to stand beside me.

“It’s impressive. Is it yours?”

“Nah, not my style, mate.”

I nodded and got back to the task at hand. “What can I help you with?”

“Follow me, I’ll show you.”

Russ walked past the front entrance to the house and made his way to the side gate and then into the walled garden beyond. I spotted a robin fluttering its wings in the birdbath that stood in the centre of the lawn. When it heard our noisy approach it let out a high-pitched cry and flew up into a branch of the tree I’d spent many an hour knocking nails into.

High up in it, looking just as stable as the day I’d created it, was the treehouse I had built for Lucy. It blended into its surroundings perfectly and was partly hidden by the leaves and branches that shaded it, a form of camouflage for its man-made appearance. I looked around for any sign of Lucy and wondered if Russ had told her he’d be bringing a complete stranger to her home.  

“So,” he said as he walked towards the treehouse, “as you can see, this old thing is a bit the worse for wear. The wood needs completely repainting to stop rot from setting in, otherwise we’ll be using it as kindling come a year or two.”

I nodded, glad that the treehouse was getting some care and attention.

“The lady of the house is Lucy and this here playhouse is important to her,” he continued.  “She’s been through a lot lately and I promised her I’d get on with some odd jobs, but I’m no superhero… I’ve got me own business to run. I’ll help you today but there’ll be some days you’ll have to manage on yer nelly. You’ll get paid at the end of every week, mind. How’s that sound?”

I told him it was fine and that I’d do my best to help him out. I found myself wondering if God had played a part in giving me this opportunity, whether my meeting with Russ had been predetermined to bring me closer to Lucy and therefore better able to protect her. I looked back at the house in the hope I would catch a glimpse of her.

I was interrupted by Russ handing me a brush and a large tin of paint.

“Great treehouse,” I said, climbing the ladder to the roof.

“Yeah, if you like that kind of thing,” Russ threw back. “I hope you have a head for heights.”

“I don’t mind them,” I said, dipping the brush into the dark liquid and trying hard not to appear smug.

“You a roofer?”

“No, I’m an English teacher, hence all the extra time I have.”

“Ah, right.” Russ sounded surprised. “I assumed you were unemployed… thought I was doing you a favour by offering you work.”

“You are. I appreciate the offer and I’m in need of some extra cash.” I looked down to see Russ nod as he acknowledged this. “I do have one question, though.”

“Go on,” he said, concentrating on his brush strokes.

“What makes you trust me, a stranger?  How do you know I’m trustworthy?”

“I don’t, I suppose. I just wanted to help you out and, well… there’s something about you that I trust. I know an honest man when I see one.”

Apart from when it was applied to women, Ross’s confidence was usually justified. He was a good judge of character.

“Plus, there are cameras all around the perimeter of this house. If you were up to no good. we’d soon know.”

I thought about this last statement and wondered if anybody bothered to look at the twenty-four-hour footage taken from the garden boundaries. They might well hold vital information about the circumstances surrounding Lucy’s husband’s accident. I was also keen to find out whether the cameras were enough to protect her.

 We fell into a comfortable silence as we worked and my mind started to revisit old memories.  

The friendship between Russ and I had been rocky in the past due to us both competing for Lucy’s affections. Once he found out about Lucy and I our friendship turned sour. However, after our reconciliation in the ice cream parlour it began to regress into the easy, supportive relationship it once was. Although it was hard at first and required an effort by each of us, eventually we could all be in the same room without any awkwardness bubbling beneath the surface. I was respectful of my best friend and would not show affection for Lucy in his presence. She once brought this up in conversation and I told her I felt uncomfortable about showing my feelings for her in public; the issue was never raised again.  

Russ was determined to treat Lucy in the same teasing manner he had before she and I became a couple – she never noticed any change in his behaviour. However, I often saw the anguish beneath his friendly manner, when he thought no one was looking. Shortly after our reconciliation, Russ introduced Lucy and me to his new girlfriend: the light of his life, or so he would tell everyone. Erin was small with a short hairstyle that gave her a pixie-like appearance. Her bohemian looks often made her stand out in a crowd and her bubbly nature was infectious. Lucy warmed to her instantly.

Erin was drawn to any activity considered high-risk, so when she told us she was having motorbike lessons neither of us was surprised. She was a free spirit, someone who lived life full on. I was fond of her and would often praise Russ on his choice of partner. He would insist that it wasn’t a matter of choice: Erin had stalked him until he eventually gave in. However, he appeared mesmerised by her wild-child demeanour and would spend all of his free time with her.

 Erin was a receptionist by day and the lead singer of an all-girl rock band named The Hissy Chicks
by night. Russ would be found in the front row of every gig, whistling and bobbing his head to the music. It wasn’t long before he and Erin moved in together and I felt proud of the mature attitude my friend had finally developed.               

When they weren’t lost in each other’s loving gaze, the four of us would get together and enjoy road trips in the rain and picnics by the river. Lucy and Erin struck up a close friendship and would talk for hours about books, art and music. They attended an African drumming class at the village hall every week and Lucy would come home after it with a beaming smile on her face, laughing about Erin’s antics. Finally she had a female friend she could confide in and receive support from, and I couldn’t have been more relieved.

Lucy was doing well considering her past problems with drugs during her last year of university. She hadn’t relapsed, and her anxiety medication had been decreased. She began to lean on Erin for support and seemed to feel great trust in her. Before long, Erin knew about every aspect of Lucy’s past and showered her with support and acceptance, something I knew Lucy secretly craved. Her friendship with Erin created a confidence in her that I could never have helped her achieve. She appeared content and comfortable with who she was, and the fact that she was confiding in Erin meant that some of Lucy’s troubles were offloaded and her relationship with me could revert to being a fun, light-hearted one.

Basking in Erin’s unwavering affection, Lucy frowned less and smiled more. My treehouse business was becoming more popular and I was struggling to find staff who met my high standards. This meant the time I could spend with Lucy was reduced, so Russ would often check in on her in the evenings. She adored his company and it was plain that they spent most of those evenings together in fits of laughter and playful banter.

After a while, Erin’s visits decreased until eventually they were non-existent. After some coaxing, Russ eventually admitted that their relationship had failed and she had moved out of the house they shared without leaving any forwarding address. When I asked, he said personality differences had caused the break up, but I always had the feeling it was something else.

Shortly after Russ’s split from Erin I decided it was time to ask Lucy an important question. I knew that my plans to propose to her were coming at a tough time for Russ but my loyalty to him meant that he had to be the first to hear of my intentions. He took the news graciously, with little outward reaction, but I felt guilty, knowing I had caused my best friend pain and discomfort, even if he didn’t show it. A milestone in my life that should have been full of happiness and congratulations was instead riddled with guilt and anxiety.

A few days before the planned proposal Russ and I spent a night camping in Kettlewell, a small village not far from Burnsall that was known for its pleasant fishing spots. There was awkwardness in the air at first. Looking back, I suspect we were both afraid of saying the wrong thing. I broke the ice by asking him if he had seen much of Erin. He told me she had moved to London with her band in the hope of attaining a record deal and therefore fulfilling her desperate need for fame. I detected a bitter undertone to his words but he insisted that the break up was amicable and he didn’t want to hold Erin back from achieving her dreams. We fell into silence. After a short time he turned to me with a serious expression on his face.

“I’m made up for you. You know that, right?”

I nodded and looked down at the grass. It was unusual for Russ to talk about his feelings like this.

“Any bugger can see Lucy is happiest when she’s with you.” His words hung in the air. “I really am made up for you, mate,” he said again.

His expression was sincere and I saw that he meant it. I forced my smile to match his and hoped that no trace of pity remained visible on my face.

“Glad to hear it, pal, because I was hoping you’d be my best man.”

He looked at me, shuffling his feet as he thought about it. Of course he had to play the fool when he replied.

“I shall be honoured, my liege… honoured.”

We shook hands then and I felt the tension that had been building in my shoulders disappear.

“Hang on here a moment, bud.”

Russ’s voice cut into my thoughts and I was transported back to the present day. I had made good progress on the treehouse but could see there was still a lot more to be done. I watched Russ as he expertly jumped down from his perch and jogged over to the house where he disappeared through the door leading to the kitchen. I watched as he encountered someone who had their back to the window. The door creaked open and a custard-coloured ball of fur came pounding out. I knew this was Snoop, the dog Lucy had given a home to after my death. The dog began sniffing around the garden, but didn’t seem to have noticed me. I turned my attention back to the kitchen window. Russ was pointing in my direction over the stranger’s shoulder, no doubt explaining the reason for my presence. The stranger began to turn towards me.