Cold Feet: The Lost Years

by Carmel Harrington

Genres: Marriage & Divorce; Humor & Satire; Media Tie-In

Synopsis

HILARIOUS AND HEARTBREAKING OFFICIAL COLD FEET NOVEL FROM THE HIT TV SERIES. What happened to your favourite characters between series five and six of Mike Bullen's award-winning TV series? ********** Reeling from the sudden death of Rachel, his beloved wife, Adam has no time to grieve. He has to keep going, for the sake of their baby son. Jenny moves back in with ex-husband Pete, eight and a half months pregnant with another man's child. Can their relationship overcome past jealousies? Karen and David agree to an amicable divorce - but that's before he sleeps with the divorce lawyer . . . ******* THE LOST YEARS is an irresistible chance to catch up on all the laughter, the tears, the life lessons we missed while they were gone. ' I loved it. The characters have been captured so well and it just feels so like Mike Bullen's creation . . . Harrington should be very proud - it really is fabulous! Margaret Conway, Line Producer Cold Feet

Release date: September 7, 2017

Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton

Print pages: 352

Sample

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 heart 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 be 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’.

He remembered that morning, when Adam and Matthew had walked down the stairs for their breakfast. It was their first time in Belfast and they were all awkward with each other. Neither Bill nor Adam knew what to say nor how to behave. This was new territory, son visiting father as an adult. In fact, he had never been in this house before. Adam was raw from all the changes in his life.

Added to that, the last time they had been together was at Rachel’s funeral in Manchester. So on that first morning they both felt unsure of themselves. As they stood awkwardly in the kitchen, Bill said, ‘I used to sing this silly ditty for you, when you were a baby, same age as him.’ He nodded towards Matthew. He coughed, clearing his throat, then he started to sing. Bill’s strong, beautifully timbred voice filled the kitchen, making both Matthew and Adam turn to stare at him.

‘Oh Matty boy, the porridge, the porridge is ready.

The tea, is wet and waiting for your daddy and me.

And when we’ve eaten and stuffed all our faces,

we’ll change your nappy and wipe your little bum

till it’s shite free!’

By the time he got to the final line, Adam yelped with laughter. He’d not expected that!

And so, a new tradition for the three generations of the Williams boys was created. Adam now sang harmonies and this week, to both their amusement, Matthew had started to sing along too. There was no doubt about it, he was definitely trying to join in, humming and making noises, in an attempt to form words and notes.

‘That bloody tune. Can never get it out of my head now,’ Adam said, as the last note rang round the room. Adam watched Bill secure Matthew into his high chair in two quick precise moves.

‘Look at granddad, a pro now,’ Adam remarked, and Bill laughed, remembering his dire first few attempts.

‘We never had anything so complicated when you were a baby,’ Bill said. ‘You sat on my lap most of the time. And you had the boniest of arses too, I might add!’

 

Adam always found it bittersweet when Bill mentioned his childhood. It was a subject that he found difficult to think about, even though he’d forgiven his father for walking out of his life when he was a teenager. ‘Have you, though?’ a voice in his head asked.

At the very least Adam understood a little bit more why Bill had left. He had no choice. He now knew that Adam’s mother had made it impossible for him to see his son, once news of his gay love affair became common knowledge. But despite Adam knowing this now, he still didn’t quite understand it all. And the nagging feeling that Bill had given up on him too quickly heckled him. Now that he was a father himself, he knew that there wasn’t a reason in this world that he’d be parted from him.

And the flashback to his mother earlier this morning had unnerved him. He’d trained himself to not think about either of his parents for years. Self-preservation, it hurt too much. Rachel had been estranged from her parents too, so they’d joke together that they were well met. They had each other. They were all the family that they needed. But Bill was back in Adam’s life now and it appeared that his mother wasn’t as banished from his head or heart as he’d liked to think.

They sat down and started to eat their breakfast in companionable silence. Adam spoon-fed Matthew, who greedily ate each mouthful like it was his last. Well, the bits that went into his mouth. He still managed to get a lot over his face and hands.

Adam felt his father’s eyes resting on him and he snuck a glance from under his curly dark hair. Bill looked worried again. Damn it. Adam hated that his actions were resulting in his dad stressing himself out. He kept telling him that he was fine. And he thought he was doing a pretty good job of going through the motions, showing him that he was coping okay.

When he was in Didsbury, at their home, he used to talk to Rachel all the time. But nobody was there to question him. Here he had to remember he had an audience. He would have to make his conversations silent. They would become telepathic communicators. Ha! That could be a name for a great sci-fi movie. He must remember to tell Rachel that one, next time she came to visit.

‘You were away with the fairies there,’ Bill said.

‘I was always a day-dreamer. That’s what Mum always told me anyhow.’

‘I’ve not heard you mention your mother in a long time,’ Bill said. When Adam ignored him, Bill continued, ‘Anything on your mind that you want to talk about?’

Adam wondered what his father would think, if he asked him what the correct etiquette was on having a relationship with a ghost. He figured some things were better left unsaid.

‘More tea?’ Bill held up the brown teapot.

Adam nodded, passing him his cup. Something told him that his father, in fact nobody, would understand about Rachel. They’d try to tell him it wasn’t ‘normal’. That he should ‘let her go’. It was best to keep Rachel and their chats to himself.

Even so, he was grateful to Bill. He’d have been lost without him this past few weeks. Not just for his songs and tea-making, which in all fairness were excellent. It was more than that. He wouldn’t have survived those days after Rachel died and then the funeral, without his daddy by his side.

And the more time he spent with him, in particular here in Belfast, just doing normal everyday things, the more he liked him. They were becoming more than father and son. They were becoming friends.

When he was feeling fanciful, usually after a second can of lager, he began to suspect that something else governed Bill’s decision to come back into his life, exactly when he needed him most. Some might call it fate, others might just say it was dumb luck.

Whatever it was, Adam was thankful for it.

CHAPTER TWO

The ducks and the Dolly Parton fan

Botanic Gardens, Belfast

‘It’s a nice day out there,’ Adam remarked when they’d finished breakfast. He looked out through the kitchen window into the long, narrow garden at the back of Bill’s terraced house. He’d lived on this street, close to Queen’s University where he lectured, for nearly ten years now. The garden didn’t have much in it. As Bill himself said, he wasn’t very green-fingered. Plus, they were only a short stroll away from the Botanic Gardens, which already had become a firm favourite of the trio.

Bill had plans to get more lawn laid out the back. He wanted Matthew to have a place to play football in as he got older. This made Adam nervous. He had no idea how long he was going to stay with Bill. Right now, it was as if he had no anchor and he was drifting along, at the mercy of the tides of his grief.

He wasn’t sure he’d ever find a safe harbour again.

When Adam tried to say this to Bill, he just shrugged and said that they’d still want somewhere for a kick-about, even if Matthew only came once or twice a year to visit.

Adam liked that Bill wanted a future with them both in it. That he saw beyond the next few weeks, which right now was all Adam could get as far as.

‘Will we go to the Botanic Gardens for a walk?’ Bill said. ‘We should take advantage of the nice day that has presented itself to the world. I’ve no lectures until this afternoon.’

‘Let me check my day planner,’ Adam joked, pretending to open a fictional diary. ‘Would you credit it, Matthew and I are wide open. Who’d have thought it. We’re in!’

‘Good man,’ Bill smiled.

Matthew was now ten months old. He already had a strong personality and knew what he liked – or didn’t like, as the case often was. And as far as the local park went, he was totally enamoured with it. They could navigate their way around the circular walk in under an hour. Bill always saluted the statue of Lord Kelvin when they passed it. He almost had Matthew trained to do the same. It was the Rose Garden that Adam loved though. Something about walking down the steps and then through the stone pergolas always reminded Adam of his favourite childhood book, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. It was Narnia-like. It was as if he stepped into another world each time he walked down those steps.

Adam could see why Bill loved living here. His house was a few minutes’ walk to the university where he lectured. And a brisk walk had him into the centre of Belfast.

It was very different from Coleraine, where Bill and Mary had grown up. As a boy, Adam had spent the greater part of his own summer holidays there, visiting his four grandparents. Most of those memories were filled with laughter and craic, courtesy of his many Irish cousins.

Now all of them were grown up with their own lives and families, scattered all over the world. He’d lost touch with that part of his life, his heritage.

He needed to talk to his dad about Coleraine at some point. He needed to understand why Bill never went there any more. But not today.

‘Hey, you big slacker,’ Bill’s voice teased him. ‘That child won’t get ready himself.’

Adam mock-saluted him. ‘Your granddad is a right auld bossy boots,’ he whispered to Matthew as he picked him up. He changed his nappy, then once dressed, he put his jacket on. ‘Hat or no hat, son?’ He waved the woolly red Fireman Sam hat in front of Matthew, who snatched it and stuffed it in his mouth. ‘Hat it is,’ Adam said, laughing.

Adam grabbed some bread from the kitchen. While a park with a large playground was in the not-too-distant future, for now it was all about the ducks for Matthew. He particularly liked pegging bread in their general direction and the more they squabbled and squalled as they fought over a crust, the more Matthew enjoyed himself.

Adam added cooled-down water from the kettle into three bottles. He poured three measured scoops of formula into one and shook it vigorously over his head, while he made faces at his son.

Matthew appreciated a good show.

He remembered shaking a cocktail for Rachel and Jenny, years ago, at the Giffords’ house, after they’d watched the Tom Cruise movie – Cocktail. Rachel and Jenny had howled with laughter. He smiled at Matthew, committing the memory to his mind. He’d tell him about his mother’s laugh one day. Her wicked sense of humour.

Bill walked back into the kitchen and said, ‘Nappy bag is now replenished and good to go.’ He peered inside the contents, checking off each item as he did. ‘Muslin cloths, baby wipes, Sudocrem, nappies, nappy bags, all present and accounted for, in their correct position.’

‘He’ll surely work up a thirst halfway around, so bottle made too. Have you a spare set of clothes in there?’ Adam asked. They both shuddered as they remembered the previous week’s poonami incident when they were out. They had no choice but to wrap Matthew in Adam’s sweatshirt and hightail it home.

‘Affirmative!’ Bill replied, placing the folded vest and babygro into the bag. ‘That bottle ready?’

‘Check.’ Adam squirted a drop on to the inside of his wrist, nodding in satisfaction. ‘Will be a perfect temperature by the time we need it.’

As Adam picked up Matthew from the floor, Bill unfolded his stroller from under the stairs and they high-fived each other.

‘All set to go for the royal walk, with his lordship,’ Bill said, looking down at his pride and joy. Matthew rewarded him with a toothless smile and both men felt their hearts constrict in love.

All things considered, the three generations were doing very well. In many ways it was hard to fathom that it had only been two weeks since they arrived. At first, it was difficult, as they all adjusted to their new normal. Bill’s house, with over a decade of life with only a bachelor to consider, wasn’t child friendly. Certainly not for a curious ten-month-old who was on the move all the time. But Bill never once complained, he just got on with the business of child-proofing the house. In fact, he was never off the Internet, reading advice from mother and baby forums. He joked that he was going to set up a grandfathers’ forum, because he’d noticed there was a gap in the market for that.

Adam and Matthew had slept in the same bed, that first night they arrived, for ten hours straight. Adam had given Bill no time to prepare the house for their arrival. But when they awoke, they found a note from Bill, who said he had gone shopping. A couple of hours later, a taxi pulled up outside the house, and Bill came in with half of Mothercare in its boot. He had bought a cot, high chair and enough nappies to last Matthew until he was in long pants.

So while they had a few false starts as they got used to living side by side with each other, the three generations quickly settled into their new normal. And somewhere along the way, they had become a perfectly coordinated tag team.

‘We’re doing all right, aren’t we, son?’ Bill asked, his voice trembling with emotion.

‘I think we’re doing just fine, Dad.’ Adam nudged his father’s shoulder with his own. Then, before things got too emotional, he said to Matthew, ‘Right, let’s go find those duckies.’

‘He loves pegging bread at them, doesn’t he?’ Bill said.

‘The bread!’ they both shouted together.

Bill went back into the kitchen to get the bag of crusts Adam had left on the counter.

As they walked towards the Stranmillis entrance to the park, Adam realised he was smiling. To. . .