The Palace of Complete Happiness: and other love stories Read online

  The Palace of Complete Happiness

  and other love stories

  Kate Blackadder

  Copyright © 2018 Kate Blackadder

  The right of Kate Blackadder 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 can be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without the prior permission in writing

  from Kate Blackadder.

  Cover design by Mark Blackadder.

  All of these stories have been previously published in magazines –

  see individual stories for details.

  Table of Contents

  Two for Joy

  Bonnie Prince Charlie

  Sam Something

  Summertime Blues

  A Green Wedding Dress

  Please, Mr Postman

  Ae Fond Kiss

  A Parallel Universe

  See You Later, Alligator

  And Pomona Came Too

  Making a Scene

  Meet Your Match

  For Love or Money

  The Palace of Complete Happiness

  Two for Joy

  ‘One for sorrow, two for joy,’ Jess chants, indicating the park railings where a couple of birds perch, rather determinedly looking in opposite directions.

  ‘They don’t look very joyful,’ I say. ‘Anyway, the poem’s about magpies, isn’t it? These are crows.’

  Jess looks disappointed. ‘Are you sure?’ she asks, going closer.

  She’s the only person I know who would be thrilled if a passing seagull, bloated after an afternoon of stuffing his beak with discarded fish and chips, decided that the top of her head was a good place to leave a deposit. It’s lucky apparently – although presumably not if you’re on your way to a job interview or a wedding.

  ‘I’m sure. I’ve got my glasses on. And you should wear yours,’ I say as the crows take off, complaining indignantly to each other about being disturbed. Or that’s what it sounds like anyway.

  Jess half-heartedly rummages in her shoulder bag. ‘They make me look dorky,’ she complains. They don’t, but she’s got a thing about them. Replacing the unopened glasses case, she screws up her eyes and raises her head to the sky. ‘I’m hoping my luck changes tonight. If there are no magpies to bring me joy can you keep a lookout for any black cats, Aly? I must avoid them crossing my path at all costs.’

  From long experience I know it would be useless to point out that the success or otherwise of Jess’s forthcoming date, this time with a man she’s met on the internet, will depend neither on cats nor magpies. She joined a dating site after reading her horoscope in a magazine at the dentist’s: Put some magic into your love life this week. And then on the very next page she saw the advert for magicmates.com.

  ‘See, Aly?’ She’d flourished the purloined magazine at me. ‘Even you can see that as a sign.’

  ‘Where are you meeting this Nat guy?’ I ask now. ‘You only know what he’s told you about himself – he could be all kinds of weird.’

  ‘Oh no – he looks lovely in his profile pic,’ Jess says dreamily. ‘We’re meeting at the multi-storey and then I expect he’ll whisk me away to … ’

  I interrupt. ‘You’re not getting in a car with him?’

  ‘’course not.’ She shakes her head at me. ‘I’m not daft. We’ll go for something to eat I expect. He’s probably booked somewhere fab.’

  ‘Text and let me know where you are,’ I say. ‘It’s a basic safety precaution.’

  ‘You’re a nag, you know that?’ Jess teases. ‘OK, I will, if it makes you happy.’ She checks the time on her phone. ‘Enjoyed the walk – thanks for the ornithology lesson! Must dash. A friend at work – her auntie reads tea leaves. She said she’d see me this afternoon. Don’t roll your eyes! I’ll text you later.’

  Jess and I met at university eight years ago. We weren’t doing the same course but I was walking through the campus when someone behind me shouted, ‘Stop!’ It was a girl with red wavy hair, wearing round glasses.

  ‘You were about to walk under a ladder,’ she said breathlessly. ‘Didn’t you see it?’

  ‘I did. What’s the problem?’

  She took the glasses off, stuffed them in her pocket, and stared at me with big green eyes. ‘It’s unlucky!’

  ‘Only if someone was painting the window frames and dropped the tin on my head,’ I pointed out. ‘I’m a scientist. I don’t believe in superstition.’

  ‘It’s unlucky,’ she repeated. She took my arm and steered me round the ladder – and ever since she’s tried to convert me to what she calls magical thinking and I call (when I’m being polite) irrational beliefs.

  I think back to that day as I watch Jess hurry towards the park gate. We’ve always kept in touch, but last year we ended up living in the same town and she’s been able to cry – literally – on my shoulder every time a relationship bites the dust. After a while she sees another ‘sign’ pointing her in the direction of romance and off she goes again.

  I blame her granny who brought her up – I’ve only met her once but she was unforgettable. At the reception in university grounds on graduation day she suddenly crouched down and called out that she’d found a lucky four-leafed clover. Short-sightedness (and a reluctance to wear specs) evidently runs in that family – everyone else could tell from yards away that it was a daisy.

  In the evening I go to the pub with some friends and try not to worry about Jess, but I can’t help it – she’s too trusting and this is the first time she’s tried Internet dating.

  She texts at 7.30. Seems nice tho not much like his photo! Going to Bill’s Burger Bar.

  Bill’s Burger Bar! Very romantic. Not. And Jess does deserve a break on the romance front, someone who – gets her. And this Nat clearly doesn’t, not even on a basic level. Jess showed me the profile she’d written for magicmates.com and she put down that she was vegetarian. They’ll have bean burgers at Bill’s I’m sure but it wouldn’t be Jess’s first choice when going out to eat. Still, it’s only a getting-to-know-you first date. She’ll give him the benefit of the doubt.

  Enjoy your burger! I reply, deciding not to comment on the first half of her text.

  As the conversation swirls around me I’m remembering what else was on her dating profile.

  I’m Libra – perhaps you’re Scorpio?

  I’d felt a funny little pang when I read that. My birthday’s the 25th of September, at the sign of the scorpion.

  I’d love to meet someone dependable who won’t mind a scatterbrain!

  She underestimates herself but she wouldn’t be Jess if she wasn’t a little bit scatty.

  A true friend and a true love – could that be you?

  That is me.

  The thought hits me. I almost choke on my drink. That is me. How did I not see it these past eight years? And I’ve let her go, let Jess go to eat bean burgers with someone who could turn out to be the ‘magic mate’ she’s been hoping for. Or could be an axe murderer or …

  My phone pings again at 7.45 just as my second pint is put in front of me.

  Disaster! Heading home. Speak tomorrow.

  R u OK? I text back quickly.

  Nothing.

  I thrust my phone into my coat pocket. ‘Hey, folks, sorry, gotta go. Here, you have this.’ I push my untouched drink a little too forcefully towards the friend sitting beside me. It tips over both our knees. By the time we go and dry ourselves off as best we can it’s well after eight.
Outside the pub door I check my phone. One missed call.

  My fingers fumble over my contact numbers. ‘Jess? Sorry, I … are you on your way home?’

  ‘No, I’m … ’ Her voice is muffled by the sound of an engine and a man’s voice in the background.

  I press my finger against my other ear. ‘I can’t hear you.’ Had she got into a car with Nasty Nat? Where was he taking her? Lurid newspaper headlines form themselves in front of my eyes. I start to run, as if that would help her. ‘Jess! Tell me where you are.’

  ‘On my way to hospital,’ Jess says, and I think my heart is going to burst with fright and rage.

  ‘Did he hurt you? What happened? Is he driving you?’

  ‘Nat? No, ’course not. I’m in a taxi.’ My heart slows down fractionally although I’m out of breath anyway from running. ‘He’s married, Al. I saw his ring when I put my glasses on to read the menu. He didn’t even try to deny it!’

  ‘But … ?’

  I’m interrupted by the man’s voice again. It’s the driver saying to Jess that he’ll help her inside. Evidently they’ve arrived at A & E.

  ‘I’m on my way,’ I shout, not sure if she hears or not, and start waving to attract a taxi for myself.

  Jess is in the waiting room looking white and miserable but a smile lights up her face when she sees me.

  ‘Alistair Miller. The best pal in the whole world. What would I do without you?’ She tries to stand up but falls back in her seat, grimacing.

  ‘I ran for a bus to get away from him, not that he was going to follow me,’ she says, ‘and I tripped on the pavement. My glasses got smashed and my ankle was all twisted.’

  I want to sit down beside her but the chairs on either side are already occupied.

  ‘The tea leaves said I was looking in the wrong direction for romance,’ Jess goes on. ‘I should have taken that as a sign to cancel Nat.’

  She takes a magazine out of her bag, the one purloined from the dentist’s waiting room. She’s been carrying it around like a talisman this past week. ‘I was so sure this time, Al – the name of the dating site, my horoscope. All the signs were there, showing me the way.’ She lobs it towards the waste-bin. It misses by a mile.

  I pick the magazine up. ‘You don’t need signs. You can take charge of your own life without … ’ I stop. ‘“Put some magic in your love life this week” your horoscope said. Jess, did you check the front of this magazine? It’s six months old.’

  ‘What?’ Jess looks cross and relieved at the same time. ‘Oh, that’s why things didn’t work out with Nat.’

  I throw the magazine in the bin. ‘That is not the reason,’ I say, coming back to stand in front her. ‘It didn’t work out because Nat is a two-timing cheapskate and definitely not the right man for you.’ I take a deep breath. A busy hospital waiting room is hardly a romantic setting but I don’t care. ‘You know I don’t believe in all that stuff, Jess. But, about your tea leaves – looking in the wrong direction? Any idea what that might mean?’

  Jess hesitates. ‘Not really,’ she says slowly. ‘And they didn’t tell me what the right direction is.’

  I look at the floor as I think out what to say – how to tell Jess I don’t want to be just her best friend.

  ‘Al? What is it?’

  ‘I love you,’ I blurt out. ‘I always have. Although I only realised it an hour ago.’ A thought occurs to me as I look down at her. ‘Did you never think that stopping me from walking under that ladder might have been a sign that we were supposed to be together?’

  Jess claps her hands to her face. ‘Oh! But you never said anything … you’ve always had loads of girlfriends.’ Her green eyes are uncertain.

  ‘I’ve been searching for the right one and never found her. Because she was there all along. I’ve been looking in the wrong direction too.’

  ‘Jess Atkins,’ calls a voice from the reception desk.

  Jess reaches for my hand and pulls herself to her feet. ‘Oh, Al! When I was having the leaves read it was you I thought of. I couldn’t….’ I catch her as she sways on one leg.

  ‘Come on, Hopalong,’ I say, dropping a kiss on her hair. ‘Let’s get you sorted out.’

  We’re led into a cubicle with a view over the hospital grounds.

  ‘Look at that tree!’ Jess says, before collapsing into a chair. ‘Four magpies! Three for a girl, that’s me. And four for a boy, that’s you, Al.’ She squeezes my hand. ‘But I don’t need signs anymore. I know who my true love is.’

  I cherish the magic moment. This is not the time to correct her bird-spotting abilities.

  Then over her head, through the window, I see that there really are four magpies on a branch. They’re leaning into each other as if they’re having a good old gossip and I could swear that they’re laughing.

  Two for Joy was published in The People’s Friend.

  Bonnie Prince Charlie

  So this is the Isle of Skye, thinks Matthew, from where my ancestors sailed to Nova Scotia. And this is Isabel. She’s just as pretty as Charlie told me she was.

  Perhaps that’s why I feel as if I’m coming home.

  Isabel’s mind ran through the tasks ahead of her as she watched the sun, an apricot in the darkening blue, slide below the horizon.

  Look in on Euan and make sure he hadn’t kicked off his duvet. Set the table for breakfast tomorrow. Make a cup of tea for her guests. Sit at the kitchen table for half the night having yet another heart-to-heart with Flora. She sighed. She would rather just stand here in the garden, by herself, admiring the night sky for a bit longer. Angus always seemed nearer when she could hear the waves from the Sound crashing onto the beach below the cottage and lick their taste from her lips. The sea had taken Angus away but she couldn’t hate it, it was in her blood too.

  She turned as she heard a fast car approaching and saw its lights sweep over the garden, pinning her in their glow.

  Without turning the lights off or cutting the engine, the driver got out and ran round the car. He stopped and read aloud the notice on the gate:

  Shore Cottage

  Bed & Breakfast

  prop. Mrs I MacLeod

  ‘Hello there! Are you the “prop”’?

  Isabel shaded her eyes.

  ‘Yes, I am. Can I help you?’

  ‘I’m real anxious to find a bed for the night?’

  ‘I have one available.’

  ‘That’s great! Hey, I’ll just park. That sure is good of you, Mrs MacLeod.’

  ‘Bring your car through the side gate there.’

  Would she have time to make a final check on the back bedroom? Probably not. And she would be quicker doing it herself later rather than asking Flora to help. She’d boil the kettle and the newcomer could join the two Yorkshire couples in the sitting room for a cup of tea before bedtime.

  Her sister was sitting at the kitchen table winding a strand of sandy hair around her finger. She jumped up at Isabel’s arrival.

  ‘I’ve put out the food for you,’ she said, pointing to an old, plain white plate where scones, with jam oozing out of them, tumbled with crumbly fingers of fruitcake.

  ‘Thank you, darling.’ Flora’s eager expression was sometimes too much to bear. ‘I’m just going to make the tea – why don’t you go through and sit with them for a while? I’m sure they’d love to hear about your work in India.’

  ‘Do you think so?’ Flora’s face, usually pink with splodgy freckles, went red with pleasure. ‘I’ll take the cups.’

  As her gawky figure disappeared the back door was pushed open.

  ‘Mrs MacLeod? I’m here. The name’s Charlie.’ He had to stoop, just like Angus, to come in.

  He put down his bag and held out his hand.

  ‘Hi again.’ He was holding on to her and smiling. Had they met before today? His tousled hair and boyish face seemed familiar. Close up there were traces of lines visible around his eyes. She extricated herself.

  ‘If you would like to go into the sitting room I was just
making a cup of tea for my other guests.’

  His eyes were as brown as the burn behind the house. The lines around them creased as he said ‘I’d much rather be in here with you? If that’s OK?’

  He pulled out a chair and sat down at the table.

  ‘I was getting desperate,’ he said. ‘I hoped to leave the island tonight but they were following me and to throw them off I drove in the opposite direction from the Bridge.’

  ‘Are you in some kind of trouble?’ Isabel took a step back, towards the hall where the phone was. She thought of the male halves of the two couples in the sitting room. They were elderly, unlikely to be of help if this man became violent.

  ‘No more than usual. You know the press. It’s pretty hard to get away from them.’

  ‘Ah.’ She looked at him again. He was familiar but ... the memory slipped away. At least he didn’t look violent.

  Something seemed to be dawning on him.

  ‘You don’t know who I am, do you? Well, how about that? That’s great. That’s great!’ He pushed back his chair, laughing.

  ‘I’m sorry. What on earth did you think? The name’s Charlie, Charlie Latimer? You’ve saved me from the so-called gentlemen of the press.’

  Isabel’s eyes turned from her guest to where today’s newspaper lay in a heap.

  A picture took up half the front page under the heading ‘Bonnie Prince Charlie’.

  Platinum-selling singer Charlie Latimer is taking a break from his sell-out tour and the legions of female fans who have besieged him since his arrival in Scotland. ‘My mother’s family came from Skye and I’ve always wanted to see it,’ says Charlie (26), but walking in the footsteps of his romantic namesake won’t be all that’s on his mind. Friends say he has fallen for stunning Allison Beaumont-Beckwith (21) whose father owns land on the historic isle.

  She handed him the paper, her eyebrows raised.

  Taking a gold-edged pink plate she rearranged the food on it, hoping that Flora wouldn’t notice, and put it with the matching milk jug and sugar bowl on a tray.