Just before Luke put his hand into hers, April spoke again.
‘He’s called Luke Beaumont, Martha. He came to live here with his family.’
Martha’s hand paused in mid-air, the oxygen in her lungs pushing out of her in one big, deep expelling movement. ‘Beaumont?’ she checked, looking at Luke as though he had changed identity before her very eyes. Luke bridged the gap, standing forward and wrapping his hands around hers.
‘Mrs Rodgers, I’m honoured to meet you. I’ve been looking at your work for years.’
‘Have you?’ she said, in shock and disbelief. ‘I … I … It’s a bit of a surprise, all this.’
Luke and April looked at each other, and the cogs began to turn. The letters, the desperation to get her work down here to the gallery. It was April, trying to help. She looked again at Luke, not seeing any resemblance at all to the man she’d once known. Other than the name.
‘Tell me, Luke, does your mother share your love of art?’
Luke blushed a little, before shaking his head. ‘I didn’t know my mother, I’m afraid. My dad has a good eye though.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Martha apologised profusely for her clumsy question. ‘I didn’t mean to pry. We should go.’ She could feel the pricking tears of disappointment and shame as she turned to leave. It was a bad idea, coming here. ‘I’ll leave my work for a day or two. I can collect it later once you’ve had a chance to look. Cillian, can we—’
She wanted to run to the van, to home, but her feet were rooted to the floor when a door opened at the back of the gallery, and she heard the voice from the other night once more.
‘Martha?’
In that minute, she knew. It was him. This was it. All the last few months had led her here, and she didn’t dare breathe or move. She didn’t want it to not be true. It would be just too cruel after this. The girl in the housecoat all those years ago was still inside her, still a part of her. Age didn’t change emotion, or love. It just made it all the more vital to cherish.
‘Martha,’ he breathed, and the room stopped dead. ‘Is that really you?’
Martha took a shaky step forward, staring at the man wide-eyed, the blood draining from her face.
‘George?’ The word came out as a whisper, and Martha swallowed hard, trying again. ‘George Beaumont?’
George was stunningly handsome. He was standing there in a pair of navy-blue trousers, his shirt and tie a crisp white and pastel blue. He had a stick in his right hand, but when he stepped forward, he discarded it onto the floor.
‘Yes!’ he half shouted, striding across the room now as Martha gravitated towards him. ‘It’s me, Martha! It’s me.’
They reached each other, and after a second or two of staring at each other, one reached for the other and they met in each other’s arms. Martha started to cry softly, a muted sound that made George, the boy from the chalet park, weep at the sound right along with her.
‘Let’s give them a bit of time.’ Luke was already ushering the others out of the shop, and Martha couldn’t bear to loosen her grip enough to tell them that she was okay. She would be fine here; she didn’t need a lift. Hell, she would probably float home.
‘Luke?’ she heard George say in question. Luke was practically shoving April and Cillian out of the gallery doors, and Martha caught a glimpse of them looking at each other before walking away down the street. For a couple of meddling folk, they sure were rubbish at sorting out their own lives. She couldn’t think about them now, but she wasn’t giving up on them. ‘Luke, come here.’
Luke came and stood at the side of his father, making George look a little smaller at the side of his child. George’s grey hair made his eyes look all the brighter, and Martha couldn’t help but stare at him. Record every change in every contour of his skin. She’d dreamed of his face many times over the years, and now here he was. Changed, altered, aged, but still her darling George.
‘Luke, this is Martha. The girl from the box.’
Luke was beaming, looking at his dad with such pride and affection. ‘I can’t believe it,’ he said to Martha. ‘I’ve been hearing about you for years. Dad has a lot to tell you, don’t you, Dad?’ Luke nudged his father, making him laugh and blush at the same time.
‘Okay, okay, give me a minute,’ he begged and his son left them alone, promising to bring back sandwiches and drinks while they caught up on the last few decades of their lives apart. As they sat down in the gallery, Martha’s work hanging on the walls, she gave up a silent word of thanks to her Charlie. She hoped that this meeting would have sat well with him. She felt complete now, for the first time in forever. She couldn’t help but think that Charlie would have been happy at the thought.
Chapter 17
‘Do you think Luke knew?’ April was standing behind Cillian’s van, pacing and pacing as she walked from one end to the other, peeping her head out from each end to see if she could see anything happening in the gallery. ‘I know I’ve been sniffing around the place, but he didn’t seem at all surprised that his dad was crying in the arms of a stranger.’ Cillian was sitting on the pavement behind his vehicle, watching her pace back and forth in front
