The Secret Notebook Read online

  Before he left, Izzie told Justin she’d been in touch with her boss, Eddie, and lined up some work she could do whilst she was in the north. ‘I kind of missed that outlet, you know?’

  ‘I understand that. If I wasn’t lucky enough to do what I do, I’d probably take photos just to keep sane.’

  ‘I’ll check I’ve got some watercolours here before we go shopping tomorrow.’

  ‘I’ll pick you up tomorrow, then, unless I hear differently from you? Just let me know if there’s a change of plan.’

  She walked him to the front door. ‘Thanks for sorting my shoulders.’

  In contrast to the previous evening, he said, ‘You’re welcome, Izzie,’ and stepped into the night.

  As she closed the front door, it struck Izzie that they seemed to move between friends and something a little more so easily. There was no pressure. She also admitted to a touch of disappointment, because she would have liked him to kiss her again.

  Blackpool, Sunday October 1, 2017

  First thing the following day, as she’d been doing every week or so since being in Blackpool, Izzie contacted her neighbour in London to check that everything was okay in West Hampstead. Vinnie assured her all was fine and that he’d been in and picked up the post and free papers from behind her front door and tucked them out of sight on her hallway table.

  Working on her laptop on the desk upstairs in the loft, she opened the email from Eddie with full details of the illustrations required by their client and a reiteration that if she journeyed south, she should call in and see them all. Besides that, there were a couple of documents he’d sent on for her to check, print, sign and post back to DAS. There was also a new contract in her emails from the TV production company who had optioned the rights on Rufus’s other books; they were interested in the TV rights to his last three books.

  It felt good to step back into the design world, even taking the small step of taking on this one job from Eddie gave her the sense that she was picking up the reins of her life, that she was rediscovering herself, the person she had been before her emotional roller coaster ride of the past years.

  After checking the contracts and documents and ascertaining that they were standard, just like the ones that had been signed by Rufus in the past, she printed them out and signed them so they were ready to post back. It took her breath away to see her name at the end of the contract in place of Rufus’s. But the sadness drifted away again before too long.

  The growing feeling was a fizz of excitement at the thought of being productive again, the thought of adding more variety and forward movement to her days.

  As she finished up and turned off her laptop, Izzie reached into a desk drawer to unearth the sketch pad that had been in the rucksack in the loft cupboard, making a mental note to show it to Justin when he came around.

  ‘I’ve got to show you what I found when I was tidying up, Izzie.’ Justin said later as she opened the door to him. He handed her an envelope.

  ‘Oh! Photos?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  Deciding on a brew whilst they looked at the stack of photos, she sat at the kitchen table.

  ‘Oh, I remember this day,’ Izzie studied the photo of her; the bright, jazzy towel she used for the beach a lovely contrast to her lemon cotton sundress, her copper tousled curls glistened in the early evening golden sunlight, her skin very lightly tanned. ‘You told me to put my sunglasses on top of my head, so you could see my eyes.’ The way the light fell on her made her look amazing. ‘Crikey,’ Izzie said when he sat beside her to look at the pictures with her. ‘You made me look … I don’t know…’

  ‘Sexy?’

  ‘Well, kind of, but with all my clothes on!’ She felt the heat rise up her neck to her face and a twang in her chest. Silently, she cursed that her mouth came out with that stuff without warning. ‘I remember you saying the hour before sunset is the golden hour for the light.’

  ‘It really is. And that’s still a good photo.’

  ‘Oh!’ The next photo was one that Justin had let her use his camera to take – of him.

  Izzie had caught a lovely moment. Justin’s eyes were half-closed against the brightness, yet the light shone from within him; his tousled dark blond hair shifted in the breeze, and his slow smile oozed sensuality.

  ‘My God, wait there! You won’t believe what I unearthed from upstairs to show you.’ She nipped up to the loft and fetched the sketch pad to show him the sketch of the exact same photograph.

  He smiled one of his half-smiles and gave a nod when he saw her sketch. ‘I remember this.’ He studied it for a while. ‘You definitely inherited Jack’s talent.’

  ‘Thanks.’ She took the pad from him and set it aside in order to turn their attention back to Justin’s photos.

  There were some that he’d taken as possible entries to the local photography competition. One was the weather competition. There were stunning sunsets, rainbows over the sea, and one that had won him third place in the over-eighteens section: white lightning against the dark backdrop of the promenade, Blackpool Tower and the sea. He’d been so pleased – there had been thousands of entries. ‘This is so good.’

  ‘Do you remember this one?’ He handed her a series of photographs of her at the water’s edge. Shots of Izzie paddling, then kicking a foot in the air. She’d called to him, ‘Come on in, Justin, it’s fabulous and warm!’

  The sun had caught the myriad of droplets with a prism of light, turning the drops into miniature rainbows. Izzie was laughing, her head thrown back, arms wide, copper curls tossed in the breeze, most of her bikini top and shorts clad figure obscured by the dewdrop splash and jewel like drops of water that spangled the foreground.

  ‘Oh, Justin, that’s – well – that’s a beautiful shot.’ She said that without any vanity, all of her admiration for the rainbow prisms of light. ‘I don’t think I realised just how beautiful it was at the time. I mean – I knew it was lovely, but…’

  A fast flash of the powerful memory, the deserted beach, Justin setting down his camera way back on the flat, dry sand, on top of Izzie’s sundress, sunglasses and rucksack, and folding her colourful towel over the top of the pile before dashing into the water to join her.

  Following the initial chill, the seawater had felt warm – the sun was relentless and after swimming for a little while, Izzie had stopped and stood, looking around for Justin. Unable to see him, she’d rubbed the salty water from her eyes.

  Suddenly, he’d broken from the water behind her and she’d spun about. She had been struck again with just how good-looking he was: water droplets ran down his face, his neck, his chest and he smiled down at her, hands resting either side of her waist. Then he’d leaned down and kissed her, pulled her scantily clad form against his firm body, their arms wrapping around one another.

  ‘You feel so good…’ His whisper had sent sensual shockwaves through her, then they’d kissed for what felt like a long time…

  Eventually, Izzie had shivered and Justin responded by giving her a squeeze. ‘Let’s get out and get warmed up.’

  After only a few minutes, they had been warm again, Izzie wrapped in her towel whilst she slipped off her wet things then pulled on her sundress. She’d unearthed her sun lotion from her rucksack and reapplied it to her fair skin.

  She returned from the powerful memory to take a longer look at the photo where she kicked up the wave.

  ‘That’s a truly fabulous photograph, Justin.’

  ‘Sometimes the magic happens when you least expect it.’ He shrugged, gave a wry smile, and added, ‘And sometimes it takes hours of watching and waiting for the right moment, and sometimes it still never happens.’

  ‘It was such a good day.’

  At that moment, her phone buzzed, her mother’s name flashing up on the screen. Izzie grimaced. ‘S’cuse me?’

  ‘Sure.’ He reached into his pocket and palmed his phone. ‘I’ve a call to make, too. I’ll make it in the front room?’

  She held up her th
umb and greeted her mother, then proceeded to drink her tea whilst she listened to her mother’s monthly monologue of holidays, cruises, safaris, how good life was and how Izzie should have moved out there, but it was her loss. She made a hmmm sound every now and again, nothing more was expected of her – or wanted.

  Valerie went on to say that David was much better now than he had been, and that his breathing seemed to be back to normal. Before she signed off, she did ask Izzie if she was well and whether Rufus’s estate was worth much. That question annoyed her so she said she didn’t know yet. If she’d been brave enough, she’d have told her mother it was none of her business. Then, shortly afterwards, Val said, ‘Right, got to go. I’ll be away next week, so I’ll phone when we’re back.’

  The call finished, Izzie searched out Justin and found him looking out of the window, his call obviously done with too.

  ‘Hi.’ She stood beside him in the front bay window. ‘Mum phones once a month to let me know what a fabulous life they have, and where they’ve been on holiday lately.’

  ‘Some things don’t change, then.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘Shall we shoot to town?’

  Izzie nodded, realising that Justin was one of the only people who knew that she had opted to stay in the UK and live with her grandparents rather than move to South Africa with her mother and stepfather, David.

  From the moment he’d married her mother, David had attempted to discipline Izzie, his favourite mantra being that ‘children should be seen and not heard’. The resentment Izzie felt towards him for stepping way too quickly into her beloved dad’s shoes had never ebbed.

  But it wasn’t just that – as soon as David entered their lives, her mother had less and less time for Izzie.

  In response, she rebelled at every opportunity; she understood now, with hindsight, that as a child she had likely been influenced by her nan’s dislike of him. The man had, after all, taken the place of Tom, Molly’s son, in the lives of Izzie and Val within a very short space of time. Izzie remembered the words ‘indecent’ and ‘immoral’ escaping from her nan’s lips; she hadn’t known what the words meant, but it was easy to gather from the tone of voice that neither of the words were compliments.

  ‘I gather you don’t miss your mum and David, then?’ Justin asked whilst driving towards the shops in Blackpool, and she thought how she certainly never regretted moving in with her grandparents. The bungalow always felt more like home after David moved into the family home – and she certainly felt more welcome at Nan’s.

  ‘It sounds awful, but I don’t. They only bother about one another so there wasn’t room for an interloper in their lives.’ She blew out and shuddered. ‘I can’t stand David. I always had the feeling he was hovering, ready to step into Dad’s shoes, like they’d already been having an affair or something. It was just weeks after Dad died that David McMoneyGrabber moved into our house.’ She sighed. ‘I know I was young, but even at six, it just felt so wrong. I know Nan was shocked too. I think I picked up on that.’ She glanced at him as he drove, ‘Tell you the truth, I was happy when Mum and David went off on their travels and then settled in South Africa.’

  At fifteen she’d already spent as much time as she could at her grandparents’ home, and as much time as she could with Justin and his pals.

  ‘I think all my rebelling arose from David laying down the law constantly.’

  She had been a wild teenager and during those years she had struggled emotionally. In the cold face of her mother’s slavish agreement with David’s attempts at discipline, turning to her nan had felt like her only option. Nan allowed her the freedom to make her own mistakes… Her friendship with Justin added stability to the mix and the change had ultimately brought balance back to her life.

  It was freeing, Izzie realised, to know for certain that she had done the right thing by always making for Nan and Grandpop’s when she needed somewhere to escape to.

  And then she realised that she was beginning to feel more energised and attributed writing down her thoughts to helping her journey back into mental shape.

  How strange, she thought, that beginning to keep a notebook, as her nan had, should give her the sense that she was beginning to get herself back on track. She realised too that the optimism she felt bubbling anew may be because she had only herself to please – there was no longer the daily need to make sure that Rufus was happy. She could admit now, too, that what had begun as a pleasure during her marriage had sadly become a burden by the final months and the guilt that truth gave rise to was helped by recognising it; she made a mental note to write that down, too.

  They returned to the bungalow sometime later, Justin helping Izzie in with her bags of decorating supplies and tins of paint.

  ‘My folks have a pasting table, if you want, I could bring it and come help tomorrow? I’ve a day off. Or we could make a start now, if you’ve no other plans?’

  ‘Great!’ Izzie agreed on the condition that she made dinner for them both nights and that they read some more of Molly’s notebook when they knocked off.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Molly

  Blackpool, Monday November 27, 1944

  My Dear Diary, one thing I have discovered about being a new mum is that there isn’t much room for self-indulgence anymore. I can’t remember what I did with my time before Tom but I love being a mum.

  I popped over to see Enid and Agnes earlier and they seem to be managing the work between them just fine with Lillian’s help. Agnes says she likes living in the guest house as she likes the company. We shared a pot of tea and then Tom was getting grisly so we said our goodbyes and nipped back home.

  There was a letter behind the door addressed to Mrs Molly Blackshaw and I was relieved that this time it was a hand-addressed envelope, not an official one.

  Whilst I fed Tom, I read the letter, which turned out to be from Jack’s mother.

  Dear Molly,

  * * *

  What good news to hear that baby Tom has joined the family. Thank you for letting us know. I will have strong words with our Jack for not telling us straight away. That’s men for you, although I’m allowing that perhaps he is unable to write.

  * * *

  We’ve settled in Shaw, and it’ll do us here. At least we’re close enough to friends to get together now and again. As any parent, all we hope is that the twins and Beth return home safe. We’ve had word that Joe was injured recently and that he will be sent to convalesce, his arm was badly broken during a mission and he is unable to function normally just now. We are so proud of all three of them for doing their bit. Beth is still working on the farm in Yorkshire and adores it. She tells us she has fallen in love with the farmer’s son! So, if Beth gets her way, we will have another marriage in the family, and no doubt more babies to follow Tom.

  * * *

  I will sign off now and just before I go, I must say that we would love to receive a photo of Tom if at all possible, and once travel becomes easier, Frank and I would like to visit our new grandson. Thank you again for writing and hopefully like you say, we will meet soon.

  * * *

  Best wishes,

  * * *

  Mrs Elizabeth Blackshaw.

  Jack’s mum sounded friendly in her letter. I pushed it into the pocket of my pinny whilst I pondered her words.

  Her letter left me with a bit of a dilemma. It was obvious she didn’t know Jack was missing in action. Should I write and tell her? Or should I leave her with the bliss of ignorance? It seemed to me that Joe hadn’t told his parents about Jack being missing – and I already knew from experience that Joe wasn’t the best at keeping in touch by letter.

  I thought I would ask Dora what she thinks, but I do know that at the end of the day it will be up to me.

  I tried to think what Jack would like me to do but that didn’t really help either. I thought I would wait another week to see if I had news that he was a prisoner of war. If I didn’t hear, I thought it was only fair then to write to Jack’s parents and l
et them know. I thought it was probably better to do that than to leave Joe to tell them.

  Because it was on my mind, I wrote the letter and I’ll tuck it here, inside my notebook.

  My Dear Mr and Mrs Blackshaw,

  * * *

  I recently had word that Jack was missing in action after flying in a raid over France. He and his crew were not heard from after this. I apologise for not telling you straight away, but I desperately wanted to have some hopeful news and thought that by leaving it a little while, I might hear from the authorities that he had surfaced as a POW. I am still very hopeful that this is what has happened, and I will of course write immediately if I get some news.

  * * *

  I am sure that Jack is still alive.

  * * *

  As promised, I will send a photograph of Tom as soon as I have one.

  * * *

  With love and best wishes, your daughter-in-law,

  * * *

  Molly Blackshaw.

  When Dora came back from work, I showed her letter, and I said I thought I ought to send it now rather than wait. She agreed and I decided I’d post it the next morning.

  ‘When you get some good news, you can get in touch with them by letter, or send a telegram,’ she said.

  Blackpool, Tuesday November 28, 1944

  I posted it the following morning. I wrapped Tom up warm, put my winter coat on and then pushed the pram onto the promenade. The tide was on the way in; it was mesmerising and somehow watching the waves as they ebbed and flowed eased my constant anxiety over Jack.