And there she was, back at uni with the man who made her feel special. He managed to push her insecurities to the back of her mind. She could still conjure up that empty feeling when the cool girls sniggered, nudging each other in the ribs; here comes Mediocre Maddie. Never picked for the netball team even though she was one of their fastest sprinters.
But Greg had stopped all that; she felt magical with him. Mediocre Maddie was forgotten.
He believed in her.
‘Maddie?’
Suddenly she was back in the room with him. ‘Sorry miles away,’ she said as they both stared at the painting on the mantelpiece.
65
August drifted by without warning. Maddie noticed as adverts popped up for school uniforms and new terms on the TV and on her Facebook page and she realised another new season was ahead.
The days had settled into something of a new routine. Ed was enjoying his job at the water sports centre more and more; he wasn’t always working with Greg, but as interim manager of the centre, Greg did oversee much of what went on, and on several days Ed would come back with tales of children getting up to mischief, how they’d go out of their depth, take the wrong canoe out, or fail to secure their windsurfer properly and how he and Greg had managed to sort it out.
Maddie started her pottery again at Shore Café. She wasn’t working her full hours yet, though it was apparent that Sue was relying on Maddie more and more as the weeks went on. ‘You could run the place yourself, pet,’ she’d said as she winked at her the other day. Her hands had healed quite well, but she still couldn’t do any of the washing up without wearing special gloves. Her crockery was selling fast and she was also stocking the tourist office; she put time aside most days either in the garden or at the beach, to sketch or paint. It was her therapy.
The evenings were long and glorious. It had been a magnificent summer. Some evenings she and Ed would take a picnic and a rug down to the beach and share a meal on the sand, watching the holidaymakers. Maddie was always thankful that she didn’t then have to pack up and drive any distance home. She could just walk back to her cottage, water the flowers in her rockery, sit with a glass of wine and listen to Radio 4, paint, sketch or read a book. When they didn’t head to the beach for a picnic, they’d have a tray supper watching bad TV then both collapse into bed, tired from their day’s work. And repeat.
She hadn’t seen or heard from Greg for several weeks after he’d dropped off the painting kit, and she knew in her heart that this was going to be her ‘new normal’ now, an uneasy kind of friendship. Some days the thought of what they could have had would be like a jolt of pain to her stomach, but she contented herself with the fact that he and Ed were getting on. It was all she could hope for. The sooner she got on with selling Maris Cottage, the better. She was glad she’d decided to put the cottage back on the market, but disappointed each time there was a viewing and nothing came of it. She wanted to move on.
It was Wednesday and for the last week or so instead of cycling, Greg had been dropping Ed home on the occasional day as his bike was playing up and it was incredibly hot. When his truck had first pulled up a couple of weeks ago, her heart had been in her mouth, but she’d just heard him say goodbye to Ed. The door had slammed and he’d driven off. It happened several days a week and she’d trained herself not to look out the window.
I don’t know if I can get over it.
Now, she heard the truck pull up. It was five o’clock and she’d had a particularly long shift at the café already. Sue had been ill that morning, and she was there on her own most of the morning looking after the place with a steady stream of tourists wanting tea and cakes, scones, iced coffee and toasted cheese sandwiches. She’d also been kept busy wrapping up pieces of pottery – her pieces were selling well, especially the ‘bespoke’ pottery with peoples’ names, significant dates or just ‘Summer 2019’.