Cold Feet: The Lost Years
Cold Feet
Carmel Harrington
www.hodder.co.uk
About the Author
Sunday Times Bestseller Carmel Harrington is from Co. Wexford, where she lives with her husband Roger and two young children, Amelia and Nate. Her latest books are The Woman at 72 Derry Lane and The Things I Should Have Told You, and her other bestsellers include Every Time A Bell Rings, The Life You Left and Kindle Book of the Year 2013 winner Beyond Grace’s Rainbow. Carmel’s books are published worldwide, and have been translated into eight languages to date.
She is a regular on Irish television as a panellist on TV3’s Elaine Show. In addition, she is Chair of Wexford Literary Festival, which she co-founded.
For more information visit www.carmelharrington.com
You can find Carmel on Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram:@HappyMrsH.
For my daughter
Amelia Rose
First published in Great Britain in 2017 by Hodder & Stoughton
An Hachette UK company
Copyright © 2017 ITV Studios Limited.
Cold Feet is a trademark of ITV Studios Limited
“Cold Feet” television series © 2016 Big Talk Productions
Limited, © 1998-2003 ITV Studios Limited.
All rights reserved.
The right of Carmel Harrington to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library
ISBN 978 1 473 66654 2
Hodder & Stoughton Ltd
Carmelite House
50 Victoria Embankment
London EC4Y 0DZ
www.hodder.co.uk
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
TRUST
PROLOGUE
The trip down memory lane and a black cab farewell to Didsbury
Adam and Rachel’s house, Didsbury, Manchester
September 2003
Adam looked down to his right, to the spot on the floor where his wife and he had sat, side by side, planning their future. They’d just moved in together and surrounded by packaging boxes, she’d rested her head on his shoulder and said, ‘You know what I’m looking forward to the most? Us not having to be apart again.’
Rachel.
Now, those once beautiful words seemed barbaric and cruel, taunting him.
He rocked his infant son Matthew in his arms and took a final look at the house they had once shared. It was time to go.
‘All loaded up, ready when you are,’ the taxi driver’s voice shouted through his front door.
‘On our way.’
It was the most difficult decision of his life, selling this house. But he knew that he couldn’t stay here. Not without her.
This home had been a silent witness to all their moments, whether mundane or momentous, yet always unforgettable. Make ups and break ups, laughter and tears, infidelities and lies, heartbreaking fertility issues, Adam’s cancer, their marriage and finally the joyful arrival of Matthew. They finally had their happy ending.
Until a cruel twist of fate snatched Rachel away from them both.
The moment his wife died, their house ceased to be a home for him.
Yes. It was time to leave.
He hadn’t told his friends he was going today. He couldn’t handle the emotional goodbyes that would have ensued.
Rachel’s death had cast ripples throughout each of their lives. It made them re-evaluate things and changes were already apparent. Jenny, recently returned from New York, with her little boy Adam, was pregnant. The baby’s father was not on the scene. Adam’s best friend and her ex-husband, Pete, had also just split up from his Australian wife Jo. Jenny once said that she thought it was possible to fall in love all over again with the same person. And it appeared she was right, because that’s exactly what was happening over in the Gifford house. Jenny had moved back in with Pete.
To everyone’s relief, Karen and David had called a cease fire on their acrimonious divorce. David was now dating his divorce lawyer Robyn. He liked to live dangerously that fella. Karen was in Spain with her children, visiting her mother, trying to make sense of the loss of her best friend Rachel and her newly single status.
‘It’s time.’ A voice said.
He looked up and saw her leaning against the doorframe.
Rachel.
His wife might have died, but she never left him.
’You’re coming too,’ he said to the ghost of his wife. It wasn’t a question. It was a statement.
‘Of course.’
‘So what happens now?’ Adam asked.
‘It’s time for a new beginning,’ Rachel replied.
‘I’m not ready for that,’ Adam said. He felt panic begin to bubble its way up inside him again.
‘Well, for now, let’s just go to your dad’s in Belfast and see what happens next,’ Rachel said.
Her voice calmed Adam, as it always did.
It was time to leave.
CHAPTER ONE
The quicksand and the wet facecloth
Bill’s House, Malone Road, Stranmillis, Belfast, Northern Ireland
October 2003
Adam ran down the long corridor, scanning the closed classroom doors as he went. All empty now, save for the echoes of its past. He knew he was getting close. His feet sank into something cold and mucid. It crept its way up his body.
Matthew!
He looked around, desperately searching for something to help haul himself out. He needed to reach his son. Matthew was in danger, the dark figure on its way to take him. His mind was now fully alert.
He turned to his left, slower than he wanted, because his body was now swathed in quicksand, up to his chin. The more he fought to free himself, the more he began to sink, lower and lower, until the muddy, unrelenting sand filled his mouth and nose. He felt hysteria threaten to overtake him. His hear
t rate doubled in speed, hammering inside his chest. Both ears thumped fiercely in protest at the assault.
Matthew!
‘You’re dreaming,’ she whispered in his ear.
His eyes flew open. He was back in his room. He’d escaped the quicksand, but his body still felt heavy and uncooperative. With every ounce of his strength, he forced himself to twist towards his son. As his mind reeled through possible horrors he might find in his cot, terror overtook him. And then the figure emerged from the shadows, dark and menacing.
His face was nasty and mean.
‘You’re still dreaming, none of this is real. Wake up,’ she said again.
Moments passed, intolerably slow. Adam fought to open his eyes, to escape from the darkness, to save his son from that ominous figure.
Matthew!
Finally his eyes opened wide and he gasped out loud.
Matthew was unharmed – of course – asleep on his back, arms above his head, starfish-like. He was oblivious to the hell his father had just been through. Satisfied that his son was safe, relief came crashing in and Adam broke out in a cold sweat, shaking from head to toe. He pulled his duvet up high, under his chin.
His eyes never left Matthew and, as the warmth of the duvet helped quell his shakes, he scanned the room once more, looking deep into the dark corners. Only then was he satisfied that danger had not crept into this room in the darkness of the night to steal his son.
He reached over to touch his face. For the millionth time since Matthew’s birth, he felt bewildered awe and gratitude that this little thing, this perfectly wonderful little man, was theirs.
Only his now.
Fresh pain clipped his body.
‘He’s fine, love,’ Rachel said, her voice steady and calm. Then she continued, her voice still gentle but now with a note of concern in it, ‘You have to stop having these panic attacks. You’ll not make it to forty if you continue the way you’ve been going these past few weeks.’
The last of his fear – irrational, maybe, but very real to him – disappeared at the sound of his wife’s soft voice. He rolled on to his right side, towards her, leaning his head on his arm. Seeing her there, watching him with great tenderness, made everything all right again.
He was back on solid ground, the quicksand gone.
‘Hello, you,’ he said, grinning like a schoolboy. She was the only woman he’d ever met who made him feel young and old all at once.
‘Seriously, Adam, you’ve got to stop getting into such a state. I’m worried about you,’ Rachel said.
‘I know,’ Adam replied. ‘Don’t be. I’ll relax. Honest.’ It felt good having her worry about him all the same.
She was the keeper of all his secrets, she knew every single irrational fear he had.
‘Was it that same dream again, or something new this time?’ Rachel asked.
Adam nodded. ‘Same one, Rach. Like clockwork, every night, since I arrived at Dad’s house. I never had dreams like this before in my life. It must be something to do with the air here in Northern Ireland – the land of mythical stories and all that!’
‘That’s as maybe, but you do know that it’s highly unlikely that you’ll ever see your old high school again. They’ve torn it down. It doesn’t even exist any more. So unless you go back in time, you’re safe enough.’ She smiled, reading his mind. ‘And Marty McFly isn’t going to rock up to your front door in his DeLorean to take you back to your old school.’
‘Killjoy!’ He stretched his arms above his head and grimaced at a new twinge in his back. His dad’s spare bed had seen better days and his back was beginning to complain. ‘Right now, my body is telling me it wouldn’t mind being fifteen again! Mind you, I was a good-looking lad back then. I was well fit, as the young wans would say.’
‘I don’t doubt it,’ Rachel replied, amusement dancing in her eyes. ‘And if I may be so bold, you’re still fit now.’
Adam smiled his thanks and his body flooded with love for this woman. How did she do that? Manage to make him feel loved and safe and secure in just a few moments?
‘If I had a time machine, there’s only one time I’d go back to,’ Adam said.
He closed his eyes, but couldn’t close his mind to the image of Rachel’s car being smashed by a lorry, then battered by an oncoming car.
Yes. If he could go back in time, he’d make sure she was never behind a wheel that day, and he’d make it his life’s work to keep her safe.
‘Was he there again? Your old headmaster, Mr Irwin?’ Rachel asked interrupting his thoughts. A frown creased her forehead.
The shadowy figure in his dreams was that of his old schoolmaster. ‘Yep. Auld bollicky Will himself. I’d never forget that face. Like it was yesterday I can see him standing at the top of the class, ruler in hand. Ready to beat ten shades of shite from me and Pete. The old bollox.’ Adam shuddered at the memory.
Rachel’s laugh filled the room. How Adam loved that sound. How he missed it.
‘He was a tyrant and a monster, by all accounts. And there wouldn’t be a bit of exaggeration on your behalf at all, Adam Williams, I’m sure.’ Indulgence and amusement was written all over her face. She was half-teasing him, half-agreeing with him, in the way she’d done for years. And he loved it.
‘Oh, trust me, I don’t need to make up anything when it comes to that fella. He had a fair right arm on him. One belt of that ruler and you’d be scarred for life,’ Adam said.
And then a memory that he’d long since buried surprised him.
He was nine or ten perhaps, dark unruly hair framed his young face. He was standing in front of his mother, sobbing. She gently patted his arm, with a damp facecloth in an effort to soothe the red welt that had been inflicted earlier by Mr Irwin. His mother was a great woman for the facecloth – a firm believer that it was the cure for all injuries. Headaches, falls, bugs, all made better with the gentle placement of that cloth on his forehead. Followed by a kiss.
He reached up and touched his face in the memory. He was thrown by the look he remembered on his mother’s face. When he thought of her, her face was pinched in a sad frown, earned from the many disappointments of her life. It looked different in this memory. Her face was softened with concern for him, her only son.
Somehow or other over the years, he’d forgotten that there was a time that she’d loved him.
And he loved her.
‘Go on then, show me your battle wounds,’ Rachel said, peeking over his shoulder. Adam sent the thought of his mother back to whatever part of his mind it had been hiding in these past ten years. He didn’t want to think about her. Not now.
He scoured his arms. He was sure he had a big scar there somewhere. He’d been belted enough times by Bollicky Will Irwin. ‘Ha!’ he said, triumphantly. He pointed towards a teeny pink line.
‘I’ve got bigger stretch marks,’ Rachel said dismissively. But before Adam could retort with something really witty, the door to his bedroom creaked open.
‘Everything all right in here?’ Bill asked.
Adam’s father looked around the small room, wondering who on earth his son was chattering away to.
‘All’s good,’ Adam said. He felt guilty. He shoved that emotion away, refusing to dwell on it any further. He was talking to his wife, and there was no law against that.
‘Tea’s made, porridge is cooling, it will be the perfect temperature for his lordship in ten minutes or so,’ Bill said, nodding towards his sleeping grandson. He turned to walk away, then thought better of it, moving closer to Adam in the bed. ‘I thought I heard voices as I came up the hall. I was sure you were chatting to someone.’ Confusion clouded his face.
He waited for Adam to answer, but his son remained silent.
Bill continued, ‘Matthew’s asleep though, so it’s a bit of a puzzle as to who you were talking to, all the same.’
‘The wee man is great for the sleep,’ Adam said, deciding it best to just ignore the comment about the chat. ‘I’ll get him up now. We’ll b
e down in a bit.’
Bill didn’t move, his face twisted with worry. He looked like he was about to say something again, so Adam decided to cut him off before he had the chance to ask any more questions he could not answer. ‘Thanks, Dad. See you in a bit.’
Bill walked out, with one last furtive glance behind him, before he closed the door.
Rachel started to laugh, clutching her chest in mock pain. ‘My heart! Gosh, it’s been a long time since I was nearly caught in a man’s bedroom by his parents!’
They giggled at this for a moment. Then Matthew began to stir, kicking his little legs around the cot.
‘All his granddad’s talk of food has woken him up,’ Adam said, feeling his heart leap in joy. It always felt like the first time all over again, when he held his son in his arms each morning.
‘I’d give anything to hold him,’ Rachel whispered, and the yearning in her voice cut holes in his already splintered heart.
He tried to respond, to say something that was understanding and supportive, but his words were strangled by a sob. Instead he picked up Matthew and held him close, closing his eyes as he breathed in his baby smell. His little head, soft and downy, nestled under Adam’s chin and a pudgy hand reached up and honked his nose.
‘Oi!’ Adam said, pulling his hand away. Adam’s nose was Matthew’s new favourite toy.
The tug worked like a slap to the face. Adam was okay again.
The fear, the profound grief that felt like it could gobble him up whole, subsided once more.
He knew it hadn’t disappeared, he knew that it was one thought away from jumping back up to attack him. But for now he was fine. He had to be. For Matthew’s sake.
He turned to Rachel, determined to offer some form of comfort to her, but the room was empty again, bar him and Matthew.
‘Let’s get you washed and dressed,’ he said to his son, who gurgled his appreciation.
When he made his way downstairs, Bill reached out and took Matthew from him. He started to sing the song that he’d made up, to the tune of the beautiful melody of ‘Danny Boy’.