Everything is Beautiful by Eleanor Ray (best classic romance novels txt) 📕

Amy entered the house. It was generously sized, one of many identical detached homes in what would be described by an estate agent as a luxury development. The walls were a pinky shade of cream, with light carpets that felt thick and soft under Amy’s feet. ‘Shoes off, if you don’t mind,’ said Alan, apologetically. ‘Roberta’s at Pilates, but she’d have a fit if she knew we were walking around in our shoes on the new carpet.’

‘OK,’ said Amy, slipping off her trainers and noticing the teddy bears on Alan’s socks for the first time. Being without shoes felt overly intimate, and Amy felt strangely vulnerable in her black socks as she followed Alan to the living room.

The room was large, but there were one too many plump velour sofas in the room, so it felt crowded. Amy almost laughed out loud. Who was she to criticise? She padded up to the mantelpiece. There was a family photo: Alan, Roberta, and twin boys in school uniforms a size too big gazed back at her. To the side was another photo, Tim in his own school uniform, scowling at the camera.

Suddenly Amy wished she hadn’t come.

‘Have a seat,’ said Alan. ‘Tea?’

‘No,’ said Amy. She perched on the edge of one of the huge sofas, which did its best to suck her further back into its depths. ‘I can’t stay long,’ she added.

‘Of course,’ replied Alan. They sat in silence for a moment.

‘Each time the doorbell rings, I hope it’s him,’ he said, all of a sudden. He looked at Amy. She gave him an involuntary flicker of recognition. Then he looked back down at the bears on his socks. ‘I know. Ten years and we hardly spoke. I never even met you. His girlfriend. But I always thought we’d make up one day. I knew he’d come around. I was rather hoping the arrival of the twins would do it, but then that’s when he disappeared.’ Alan paused. ‘I didn’t have time to deal with it then,’ he said. ‘And I wasn’t very helpful.’ Alan looked at Amy. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I thought he’d be back.’

‘I hoped you might have heard something,’ said Amy finally. ‘From Tim. That’s why I’ve come.’

‘He’s been in touch?’ Alan leaned forwards on the sofa.

‘No,’ she said, quickly. ‘Sorry. That’s not why I’m asking. I just thought that maybe it was me that he . . . ’ Amy couldn’t bring herself to say that perhaps it was her he didn’t want to see. That maybe she was the reason he’d left.

‘It would be you he called,’ said Alan, ‘if he’s . . . ’ His voice drifted off too. He looked to his socks again. ‘But I don’t think he’s coming back. Not after all this time.’ Alan got up and went over to the photo. ‘He was handsome,’ he said. ‘I know the twins are fair, but they’ve got something of Tim about them, don’t you think?’

Amy looked at the photograph of two smiling blond boys. ‘Maybe,’ she said, doubtfully.

‘Glad you think so,’ said Alan, with a smile. ‘Although people always said Tim looked like his mother . . . ’ His voice trailed off. ‘Are you sure you won’t have that tea?’

‘If you haven’t heard anything . . . ’ started Amy, standing up.

‘Have tea with me,’ said Alan. ‘Please. I didn’t see my son for almost ten years before he went missing. Maybe you can fill me in?’

Amy stood still. It had been a long time since she’d spoken about Tim.

‘Could you tell me about his music?’ continued Alan. ‘I wish now I’d been more supportive. I’d kill to have been to one of his gigs. Not much use now.’ He picked at a bit of fluff on his jumper. ‘I wanted him to have a good job, not struggle as a musician. He was bright, he could have been a lawyer.’ Alan gestured round the house. ‘All this. Security. Everything I wanted for him came from a good place.’

‘He wrote the most beautiful songs,’ said Amy, sitting down again. ‘There was one, about a missed sunset . . . ’ She found she couldn’t speak for a moment.

‘I’ll get the tea,’ said Alan. He stopped on his way to the kitchen and came back and squeezed Amy’s hand. ‘Thank you for coming,’ he said. ‘Thank you so much.’

It had been a long time since Amy had spent a night away from her house, but by the time she glanced at her watch that evening it was too late to make the long journey back. Alan had ignored her pleas to call a taxi to the nearest hotel and had insisted that she stay in their spare room. Roberta had put a shepherd’s pie in the oven and she and the twins, now eleven, chatted amicably about school and people Amy didn’t know over dinner. Alan and Amy had eaten in silence, surrounded by an exhausted haze of memories. Eventually she’d accepted the fluffy towels Roberta pressed on her and slipped into a fitful sleep in a soft and overly hot bed.

Now she found herself with a belly full of bacon and eggs and smelling of Roberta’s unfamiliar lily-of-the-valley soap as her journey home was finally coming to a close. She’d fought back tears all the way. She could feel them now, brewing behind her eyelids and ready to escape as soon as she reached home. She turned the corner into her street. Alan hadn’t been what she was expecting and she found herself wishing again and again that she’d encouraged Tim to make peace with his father.

Alan Carver was what Tim had needed in his life. And he could have had his father back. If only his father had tried harder. Or if Tim had been able to forgive.

Amy felt a wave of forgiveness wash over her like Roberta’s soap. If she had a second chance with the people she’d lost, she