by Penny Parkes
Grace was unable to stop the tears that were flowing down her face now, dampening her cheeks. In the corner of her eye, she caught sight of the bundle of legal papers that Keira had seemingly been reaching for. Either way, there was nothing to be done now, other than to make a promise she had every intention of keeping.
‘I will love her as though she were my own,’ Grace said, leaning forward to kiss Keira’s cheek. ‘I will love her always and for ever – no matter what. You have my word.’
‘Love her,’ murmured Keira, already slipping back into unconsciousness and leaving Grace uncertain how much of their conversation Keira had really been aware of.
Even several hours later, as the hills over Bath were daubed a soothing white and the monitor beside them flickered ever more erratically, Grace still held her hand. Her promises to Lulu and Keira meant the world, but right now, her promise to herself, not to let this brave young woman slip away without a loving presence at her side, seemed even more important.
*
There was an almost visceral confusion in Grace’s heart that left her reeling. To witness the intimacy of Keira’s death, ultimately gentle in its simplicity, her last thoughts, fittingly, being of her daughter – and to do so on the very day when all of her hopes and dreams were being realised? Bittersweet didn’t even begin to cover it.
She slipped her hand into Dan’s, seeking warmth and comfort, despite the winter wonderland that now surrounded them and the festive, almost frolicsome atmosphere that seemed to pervade their home town at the imminent prospect of not only Connor’s Solstice festival, but also the hope of a white Christmas with their nearest and dearest.
How could it be that on such a day, they were about to deliver news that would undoubtedly break the heart of the person they had grown to love most in the world?
The property particulars for Heron Cottage, their cottage, their family-home-in-waiting were crumpled in the bottom of Grace’s handbag, now pinned down by the weight of legal documents from Keira’s bedside.
Signed, witnessed, official.
Lulu was theirs.
Their daughter in every legal sense except biology.
But then, what was a little DNA between friends? A half-strangled laugh escaped Grace’s lips and she felt instantly ashamed. Her new and wonderful husband by her side, building a home and raising a daughter together – it was everything she had ever wished for . . . And yet, somehow, it felt as though their future happiness had been built on a foundation of someone else’s suffering.
Be careful what you wish for, she reminded herself, her own words coming back to haunt her – ‘I could never adopt someone’s child if there was the possibility of them changing their mind’. Well, against all odds, that was the situation they now faced. And a part of her craved the opportunity to go back, insist that Lulu spent more time with Keira, even knowing how much the little girl had hated the hospital, hating the enforced intimacy with this woman, this girl herself, that Lulu hardly knew.
Nothing about this situation was ideal.
Except perhaps for one thing, she realised. Keira had passed away knowing that her daughter would be loved and cherished and raised by two adoring parents in her home town. That in itself had to be something.
‘I’m going to need some maternity leave,’ Grace said to Dan out of nowhere, as they slipped across the snowy Market Place towards Number 42, hands clammy, pulses racing.
‘Me too,’ he said. ‘Let’s take it in turns, week by week, until we’re settled? Holly and Taffy style?’
‘But without the months of sniping and soul-searching and total lack of communication?’ Grace suggested with a soft smile.
‘Obviously. We’ll be far too busy making our own mistakes,’ he replied, squeezing her hand. ‘Are you ready for this?’
Grace nodded. The whole day had been choreographed long in advance, plans made, best options considered – but now, in the making, Grace’s mind still skittered around, hoping that they hadn’t missed something, misjudged something else, made the wrong call . . .
‘Do you think we should have been the ones to tell her?’ Grace said quietly, her voice cracking.
‘I honestly don’t know. But we asked the counsellor for her advice – this is what she does – all day every day. It seems the height of arrogance to then ignore it. And let’s not forget, Lulu has been living with Holly and Taffy for months now. She trusts them absolutely. If she has to hear about her mum dying from anyone, it makes sense that it comes from them. And then gradually to introduce the idea of you and me, of us as a family, once she can process the idea of a future without her mum in it.’
Grace nodded. There was no doubt that this was good advice. On paper. Theoretically. It just didn’t cover how it would make her, Grace, actually feel. It seemed plain wrong that this little soul would be hearing all this life-changing news without Dan there to hold her in his arms, or Grace on hand to smooth away her worries and whisper sweet endearments.
‘This isn’t about us, anyway,’ Dan continued gruffly, the emotion making his voice husky and deep. ‘This is about Lulu. How we feel about this doesn’t matter. Parenting 101, right? Do what’s right for them, and then we’re the grownups, so we just have to adapt.’
Grace nodded, relieved a little that she wasn’t alone in feeling this way as they walked ever closer to Holly’s house, with no idea of what they were walking into. Tears, drama, a mute and unresponsive child?
They held hands on the doorstep of Number 42, each of them seemingly waiting for the other to knock on the door.
They needn’t have worried. Holly yanked the door open before them, almost as though she’d been hovering in the hallway, awaiting their arrival. ‘Did you get my message?’ she whispered.
Dan and Grace looked at each other. ‘No,’ they said in tandem. ‘Is everything okay?’
Holly shrugged. ‘I have no idea. This is all new to me as well.’ She glanced over her shoulder, her voice barely audible, so keen was she not to be overheard. ‘I did everything we said. She knows. She just didn’t seem terribly surprised. She sat on my lap for a cuddle for a bit and then wanted to play in the snow with the boys.’
They all looked at each other in confusion, whatever they’d been expecting, it certainly wasn’t this calm acceptance of her mother’s passing.
‘Maybe she didn’t really understand?’ Grace said after a moment.
Holly held out a slightly wonky drawing that took a little concentration to discern. But once the sky and the stars and the little angel that looked like Yoda became clear, there was no denying the message. ‘She said “Mamma angelo” when she gave it to me.’
‘Plum,’ said Dan, nodding, immediately spotting the influence of the Catholic Italian in their midst. ‘I think she’s been laying the groundwork for weeks.’
‘We all have,’ agreed Holly. ‘But we never thought any of it had actually gone in. I mean, it’s not as though she says much.’
‘Is she upset at all?’ Grace asked, still finding her way through this moral maze of a day.
Holly shook her head. ‘Not really. But I’m sure it will come, with time.’ She paused. ‘In fact, the only thing that’s caused a problem so far today, is that you weren’t here to do her plaits, Grace. Apparently I don’t do it right.’
A tiny comment, a moment, really. And surely Holly had no idea how much it resonated deep within Grace’s heart? But nevertheless, Grace had to swallow hard – it had been difficult at first, watching the love affair between Lulu and Dan evolve. At times, she had begun to wonder if she herself would always be surplus to requirements, the mutual adoration between the two of them seemingly so all-encompassing. That simple thought, that Lulu needed her too, lifted her heart and appeased any last traces of doubt.
The kitchen door flew open, making them all jump, and a sticky-fingered Lulu appeared in the hallway, a slightly mangled mince pie in one hand. It fell from her fingers, no longer of importance. ‘My Grace,’ she said simply, almost sounding r
elieved, trotting towards her and pressing sticky hands around her as Grace instinctively dropped to her knees to hug her.
After a moment, Lulu glanced up, safe from within the circle of Grace’s arms, her eyes wide and wise for one so young. A tentative smile crossed her face, as she looked up. ‘My Dan?’ she asked, a wealth of hope and expectation in her small voice.
As Dan kneeled down beside them, he wrapped his arms around them both, his voice choked with feeling. ‘Always,’ he replied without hesitation.
Chapter 49
‘I still can’t quite believe this,’ Connor said, that weekend, looking around at the snow-frosted meadows behind his home, a trail of Tiki torches lighting a path up to the remains of the ancient stone circle that had been his inspiration. The car park was full and families had turned out in droves to celebrate the Winter Solstice together. The large sound stage set up at the end of the valley, backed by huge screens, looked a little incongruous right now, but Connor knew that it would literally light up the moment The Hive stepped out. Even the mammoth yurt for the ‘local acts’ was decorated in swathes of seasonal greenery and bunting and the smells emanating from the ‘food court’ – aka the stable yard – were enough to make anyone’s mouth water.
He brushed a sneaky tear from his eye, unable to articulate to Lizzie and Will standing beside him just how much this moment meant to him, how much Rachel would have adored the spectacle. And perhaps even more so, how proud she would have been that they had taken the decision to go non-profit. In a way, he couldn’t believe he hadn’t gone that route from the outset – after all, it was much more in keeping with Rachel’s entire ethos.
Having the Young Carers’ Yurt dedicated to local musicians had been another stroke of genius on Lizzie’s part. Sure, the majority of them were seriously not great, but who knew whether there was a young talent out there today who would look back on this festival as their Big Break. Just another way of paying it forward – The Larkford Way.
‘You know you have to give some press interviews after you officially open the show, don’t you?’ Lizzie reminded him, checking her detailed checklist on her clipboard and then eyeing his bandaged hand in dismay. ‘I can’t believe I don’t get to hear you play live, after all these years – The Hive are opening in my own backyard and they subbed in Gary!’
Connor scowled at her. ‘Rub it in, why don’t you?’
It was an act.
In truth, he felt so overwhelmed by the festival and the sudden wave of local support, he wasn’t sure he could even have rustled up a decent attempt at ‘Smoke on the Water’ – injury or no injury. It was quite a relief to let Gary, their ever-eager tour manager and wannabe rock star, step in as he took his first tentative steps towards recovery, both physical and mental.
‘Ah yes, but without Agatha taking a chunk out of his hand, would we even be here today? Would you ever have got the locals onside?’ Will said astutely.
‘It was Maud, actually,’ said Connor, defensive of his ladies’ individual characters already, although nobody seemed to listen.
‘Lady Peal been biting the hand that feeds?’ guffawed the Major, ambling over towards them. ‘Sounds about right, but I thought she’d hightailed it to Zurich the moment your cheque cleared? I even heard she had a new Swiss chappie on the hook. A doctor, I heard.’
Connor smiled and shook his hand. ‘Peregrine. So pleased you could make it. No Marion today?’
The Major bent down and scooped up Grover. ‘Chaps’ day out, isn’t it, Grover?’
‘Good plan,’ said Connor, barely having to reach downwards to scruff Jamieson’s tufty ears. ‘We had much the same idea ourselves.’ There was something incredibly grounding about the soulful look on Jamieson’s face; his sheer adoration of Connor and his absolute, unblinking focus certainly made it hard to look away. In fact, if there hadn’t been so many people calling his name and demanding his attention, it wasn’t so hard to imagine simply wandering among the punters with his giant dog by his side and drinking in the feeling of having achieved a worthy goal. Anonymity was not something that Connor could arrange, though – not here, when his name, his band, his efforts, had been the main allure for many of their guests.
Connor glanced up at Jamieson’s baritone ‘woof’ as Kitty wove through the crowds towards him; there was something to be said for a fresh start too. Kitty gave him a cheerful smile and bestowed kisses upon Jamieson’s head, his heavy tail beating a tattoo against Connor’s leg. He swallowed a ridiculous surge of envy. ‘You made it!’ he said, kissing her chastely on each cheek and breathing in the intoxicating scent of vanilla that wafted from her hair as she turned.
‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ she said happily, crouching down to look Jamieson in the eye. ‘And how’s my favourite gentleman? You look so much brighter.’ She kissed his nose. ‘I am very pleased with you.’
She stood up again, stretching her back. ‘And with you, Conn. Thank you for taking such good care of him, even with all this malarkey going on.’
Lizzie’s head shot round. Only very close friends called him ‘Conn’ as a rule.
‘And how long is Jamieson staying with you, Conn?’ she asked, the proprietorial emphasis on his name making Kitty’s eyebrows dance upwards in amusement.
‘Oh, I think we’re in it for the long-haul, aren’t we, mate?’ replied Connor easily. ‘Once you’ve shared your bed with an Irish wolfhound, a setter, a spaniel and a beagle there really is no going back. I ought to be grateful the little yappy ones can’t jump up that high.’ He saw no reason to let on that he gently picked them up, one by one, and popped them on the bed with the other, bigger dogs, so they wouldn’t feel left out.
Kitty chuckled. ‘Not quite the rock-and-roll orgies of old, eh?’
Connor looked shocked. ‘I am far too square to go in for stuff like that.’ It suddenly felt very important that Kitty knew that. ‘Serial monogamy is more my style,’ he said, dropping his voice slightly. He knew that on some level, inviting The Hive and his old life into his new one might create tension; he just hadn’t stopped to think that it might also change the way people around here viewed him.
Kitty, in particular.
He had come to rather like the bumbling, trainee farmer that he had become, in her eyes at least.
‘Right then, you ol’ fucker!’ Gary barrelled towards them in his skin-tight leather trousers, his Cockney twang jarring slightly. ‘Shall we get this show on the road?’ He grimaced, as he lost his footing for a moment on a patch of icy mud and flamboyantly made a show of wiping it off in the long grass. ‘Don’t know how you live around ’ere, mate. Too much bloody nature for my taste.’ He gave Kitty and Lizzie a somewhat salacious smile. ‘Although I can see already that it has its compensations. All right, ladies?’
Connor felt a quiver of embarrassment. It wasn’t that he was ashamed of his old bandmates, it was more that he had forgotten that they came with pointy corners and loud opinions – it was almost as though he himself had been softened by his months in the countryside.
Everything today felt too loud, too jarring – basically just too much. Maybe he should have taken up his therapist’s offer of some additional, softening pharmaceutical support, just until he was feeling less fragile? Somehow though, in his mind, there was no road to recovery that included drugs that blurred and clouded his feelings; he’d been running away from them for long enough already.
He wanted this festival to feel authentic – to feel in touch with himself as much as with the Universe – a beautiful lyric already forming in his head, as the North Pole tilted away from the sun only to return to the light. The symbolism was perfect and he wanted to embrace every moment.
He breathed out slowly, calming his nerves, and handed Jamieson’s lead to Kitty. ‘I’ve left the other dogs in the house with Mary – I mean Janet. I wasn’t sure if they’d cope with the noise, but this old fella wouldn’t leave my side. I hope he’ll be okay with the speakers and things?’
Gary tugged
at his sleeve. ‘Mate, it’s just a dog. Let’s get on, shall we?’ He strode away across the valley, cursing yet again as his McQueen Chelsea boots took another hit.
‘Oh, thank God,’ breathed Holly, bumping towards them with the double pram. Taffy had Ben and Tom tightly in his grasp and they both looked extremely frazzled. ‘I thought we’d missed the big opening. Elsie’s abandoned us in favour of your celebrity entourage.’
‘And Plum and Tilly needed a little quality time together. What can you do, eh, young love? And what better place to go on your first “official date” apparently than here?’ Taffy said affectionately, looking around. ‘Even if it has been a little chaotic at our house today.’
‘Is that why Holly’s wearing her dungarees?’ Lizzie pointed out wryly, trying not to laugh at the dismay on Holly’s face.
‘Bugger. I did mean to get changed. Obviously.’ Holly glanced around the milling hordes and a smile flitted across her face. ‘But it looks like I’m not the only one. Not like you to miss a trend there, Lizzie.’
She made a valid point and Lizzie’s face dropped as she clocked several beautiful young girls in stylish, chunky roll-necks complementing their own dungaree ensembles. Her own skinny jeans suddenly looked dated and a trifle middle-aged. She turned to Will, barely missing a beat. ‘If I don’t go back to work soon, I’m going to lose what’s left of my mind,’ she informed him. ‘We’ll get ourselves a nice lesbian nanny, like Holly did, and then I can actually have a life that extends beyond mashed potato, Valium and finger painting.’ Her tone was confrontational and a little aggressive and poor Will looked utterly thrown.
‘You won’t get any complaints from me,’ he ventured in the end. ‘You’re much easier to live with when you’ve got a project on the go.’
Lizzie opened her mouth to protest, before realising he had a valid point and closing it again.