‘I thought I hadn’t heard him. Granny got up twice to use the bathroom. I was listening out for her… It’s a habit I’ve developed. But she went straight back to bed both times.’
‘Is she still asleep?’
‘I think so. Didn’t want to wake her in case she’d had a rough night.’
Holly nodded. ‘It’s a tough time.’ The contentment she’d felt just moments ago slipped away, and unease at the hard times ahead filled her. She still had to speak to Rich; still needed to grieve for her grandpa, whose death hadn’t properly sunk in yet.
‘It’ll help her having you around, Hols.’ Her dad cleared his throat but kept his eyes on Luke. ‘Any idea how long you might be staying?’
Holly watched the steam rising from her mug. She wished she knew. Everyone would want to know: her dad, Fran, Rich probably.
‘I just need to see how things go.’
He met her eyes then. ‘No pressure, angel. It’s your life and you’ll always be welcome here, but I understand that you might not want to stay.’
She exhaled slowly. Was her dad right? Did she really have a life in Exeter to go back to? She’d fled there last summer in a whirlwind of emotion; stayed there because circumstances had taken an unexpected turn and she couldn’t face returning to Penhallow Sands. But did she have a reason to go back there now? To her one-bedroom flat and lonely nights in front of the TV while Luke slept? To ready meals eaten alone as she wondered how she could possibly afford childcare when she returned to work, in whatever capacity that might be? Before she had Luke, she’d done an admin job with a temping firm and had intended to work right up until the end of her pregnancy. Luke had come early, so her working days had come to an abrupt end.
But she had things to do before she made any decisions about her future. Most important was finding a way forward with Rich so he could be a father to Luke, if that was what he wanted. She had no idea how he was feeling about what she’d told him yesterday. Besides which, there were things to worry about here at the vineyard too. She had a feeling there was something her dad wasn’t telling her.
‘Dad, you would let me know if everything wasn’t all right, wouldn’t you? Last night, when you told me about the meeting with Mr Seymour, you looked worried.’
Her dad shook his head. ‘Everything’s fine, Holly, absolutely fine. Don’t you worry about a thing.’
She watched him carefully, but his expression was one of adoration as he lifted his grandson to a sitting position then gently rubbed his back.
‘This little lad has a good appetite.’
‘He does.’
‘When I get back later this morning, I can watch him for you if there’s anything you need to do.’
‘Thanks. I do need to meet up with Rich at some point, but I’ll try to spend some time with Granny first. I don’t know when Rich will be free, as he’s got work.’
Her dad nodded, a smile on his lips, but she could see the concern in his eyes.
* * *
Rich poured himself a coffee from the pot, then opened the back door of his parents’ cottage and went out into the garden. He had to leave for work soon, but he hoped some fresh air would clear his head, as he’d barely slept all night.
The morning was mild, the air sweet with the fragrance from the bedding flowers his father planted religiously every year. Then there were the pretty roses that climbed around the back door and over the pergola that he had built from one end of the house to the other. For as long as Rich could remember, his father had always been occupied with one DIY project or another, especially after his brother had passed away. It had been his way of clinging to life and trying to give it meaning again. He worked at the bakery alongside his wife throughout the day, then came home and started again. Rich could barely remember a time when his father hadn’t been flat-out busy, a time when he’d been able to sit and relax and enjoy his home and garden.
His mum was the same, but her hobbies involved book clubs, knitting and charity appeals. She was always rushing off to a meeting with her fellow readers, raising funds for an animal shelter or the local church roof, or perched on the sofa late at night, mug of tea to one side, TV tuned to a soap rerun and knitting needles clacking away in her hands as a garment or blanket expanded rapidly on her lap.
Rich had grown up believing that staying busy was the best way to keep the demons at bay. Even before their lives had changed so dramatically, his parents had been active, but afterwards… after the initial raw agony of grief had passed, the numbness set in, and his parents seemed to vow to charge through the rest of their lives barely stopping to draw breath.
Rich had done the same. Secretly blaming himself for Dean’s death, he’d carried a burden throughout his teens and twenties. As a teenager, he’d lived hard and fast. He went out on pub crawls with his mates from college and university, drinking heavily. Alcohol helped to block out the guilt and the memories. The problem was that they always came back the next day, and with a hangover, everything felt even worse.
He learnt to drive, first a car, then a motorbike – much to his mother’s horror – and every time he rode it, he did so as if it could be his last ride. Going away last year had opened his eyes to how he’d been living, and to the areas in his life that he’d neglected, the big mistakes he’d made. In many ways, he’d been lucky; a good brain and some last-minute cramming meant that he had achieved an upper second-class honours degree at Southampton University. Ironically, in spite of studying accounting and finance, he’d got himself into some financial difficulties, but his parents had bailed him out unquestioningly. They had never reprimanded him, never shown any doubt in him and he had taken full advantage of that.
And now… he felt so guilty about it. Guilt on top of guilt – it was no wonder he’d ended up snapping under the pressure. He had gone, for want of a better description, off the rails, and it had taken him eight months away from his normal life to see it clearly. It wasn’t even as though he was in his teens or early twenties when it had all come to a head. He’d raced through his twenties, freelancing in accountancy, earning sporadically, never putting down roots. He’d got together with Holly by chance at a friend’s wedding, and he really cared about her, but he had struggled to give her all of himself. Not only did he feel unworthy of her, but he couldn’t shake off the thought that Dean had never had a future ahead of him to enjoy. It held him back and led him to a point where he’d been unable to go on. And so he’d let Holly down.
He had left Penhallow Sands with his head in a mess; jetted off to Ibiza intending to drown his sorrows. One evening, he’d met up by chance with Sam, a friend from university, and they’d gone for a drink to catch up. It was then that his old friend had told him about the quieter side of Ibiza. Initially Rich had been sceptical, believing it wasn’t what he was looking for, but with Sam’s encouragement, he’d headed over to Cala d’Hort and it had taken his breath away. He’d stayed on at the peaceful retreat for several months, using Sam’s family home as a base. Here in this older part of the island, he had found something completely different. He’d been clinging on to his youth, the belief that he needed freedom, as if it would stop time from passing, but of course, no one could do that. Time waits for no man, and Rich felt sad that he’d wasted years of his life trying to stop the clock.
The months away had given him what he’d needed for so long: time to think, to take stock, to grieve and to begin to heal. It had made him feel that he was on his way to becoming a new man, and when he’d returned to Penhallow Sands just over a month ago, he’d been ready to seize the reins of his life and move on. He couldn’t fully heal until he had confronted his past back in Cornwall, until he had apologized to those he had hurt, and until he had accepted that life was as it was.
Sam had suggested that he should apply for a position at the prestigious accountancy firm in Newquay where Sam was a junior partner. Much to his own surprise, he had agreed. For so long he hadn’t wanted to commit to a stable job, preferring the flexibi
lity of freelancing, but what if he could make a go of this? Get a foot on the career ladder; develop his skill set and client list? At least numbers could be controlled, and they never surprised him; in fact they grounded him and helped him to feel that at least some things in life could be explained. He had applied for the job, and with his qualifications and Sam’s recommendation, he’d been successful. He was still new at the firm but his colleagues were warm and supportive and he felt that he belonged there.
Of course, some things had changed in his absence, the main one being Holly’s disappearance. Rich had deactivated all his social media accounts before he’d left, because he’d believed it would set him free. When he’d returned to Penhallow Sands, he’d rejoined Facebook and Twitter, but Holly hadn’t been on either. Her mobile number was dead, and when he’d gone to the vineyard to speak to her father about her whereabouts, Bruce had remained tight-lipped, telling him only that Holly had left eight months ago and didn’t want to be contacted by anyone from Penhallow Sands until she was ready.
Rich had felt the pain of losing her then, and it had torn through him as he realized exactly what he’d done. While he was away he’d thought of her often, but he’d accepted that he was in a bad place and that he had to heal himself from within. He’d returned home with the intention of apologizing to her, in the hope that she would forgive him. He wasn’t expecting a romantic reconciliation, but he had thought he might make peace with her. Unable to do that, he was trapped in a form of limbo. He had thrown himself into his new job, dressing the part, working long hours and hoping that one day Holly would return to Cornwall and he’d get the chance to apologize for how he’d treated her in the past.
It was the least he could do when – if – he saw her again.
The wake had been the wrong place for that, and, of course, she’d had the baby. His baby. He was a father, had been a father for over three months and he’d had no idea at all. He knew that feeling angry at Holly for that wouldn’t do any of them any good, and it was pointless anyway, as she’d had her reasons for staying away. Rich had learnt a lot about forgiveness and patience while he was abroad, and he was trying to apply what he’d learnt to this current situation. It was a challenge, as he desperately wanted to meet up with Holly and spend time with Luke, but this couldn’t be rushed. He had to respect Holly’s wishes regarding the matter.
He also knew that his parents were keen to get to know their grandchild. His mother hadn’t put any pressure on him last night, but he’d seen the hope in her eyes. She’d told him that she’d gone to Greenacres and been quite cruel to Holly the day after Rich had left, but that she’d apologized to her yesterday at the wake for how she’d treated her. Rich had been shocked to hear what she’d done, and he’d felt even worse for running off as he had, but he’d had a long talk to both his parents and they all clearly wanted to do what was best for Luke.
He pulled his mobile from his pocket and sent a text to Holly, asking her if she’d be able to meet up the next day. He’d have suggested today, but he had meetings that he couldn’t avoid and he suspected that Holly would be busy with her family too. At least she was home now. At least he knew she was okay. Even though he’d seen the hurt in her eyes, hurt that he had caused, and hated himself for it.
* * *
Luke had gone down for a late morning nap, giving Holly the chance to shower and dress. When she emerged from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around her hair, she found a text on her phone from Rich. She’d sent him her number before going to sleep the previous night, and told him to let her know when he was free to meet. He had work today but asked if she’d be available to meet the following afternoon. He apologized for the fact that he couldn’t see her in the morning, but he had three client meetings lined up that day that he couldn’t miss. In spite of everything, it made her smile to think of Rich having a permanent job. He’d got himself a good degree, then used it to freelance, working with several clients and businesses but not making a commitment. It had worried her, that failure to commit in his work life, as she had felt it reflected on his life outside of work too, but she had thought that sooner or later he would find a position to suit him – even set up his own accountancy firm – so she’d kept quiet. Rich hadn’t pushed her about her decision not to go away to university, and she hadn’t pushed him about his career. They’d had money coming in and it had been enough to fund their lifestyle.
After she’d dressed, she went down to the kitchen to make some more coffee. Just as she was pouring some into a mug, her granny appeared in the doorway.
‘I’d love one of those, please.’
‘Of course.’ Holly poured a second mug, then took both to the table. ‘Can I make you some breakfast?’
‘Breakfast?’ Glenda laughed. ‘More like lunch now, isn’t it? I had a restless night, then drifted off about dawn and only woke ten minutes ago.’
‘How about toast, or a sandwich?’
‘I’ll take a piece of toast, please.’
‘Granny, I wish there was something I could say to help.’
‘You being here is a help, Holly. Really, there’s nothing to be said now. Terrible as it is, Grandpa is gone and I have to keep going or give up. And as you know, Grandpa insisted that we Mortons are not quitters. He’d be furious with me if he thought I was throwing in the towel.’
‘He would.’ Holly shivered as the image of her grandpa’s frown popped into her head.
‘So today I’m going to start sorting things out.’
Holly dropped two pieces of bread into the toaster. ‘Things?’
‘Grandpa’s things.’
‘Is it not a bit soon?’ She gazed at her granny’s face; at the deep grooves around her mouth, the high cheekbones – which Holly had inherited – and the crows’ feet either side of her eyes. Even though Granny was in her eighties, she was still beautiful. It was life etched on her face; the journey she’d been through, who and what she’d loved and lost – the story of time.
‘I need to make a start. Who knows how long I have left before I pass on or dementia gets me too.’
‘Don’t say that.’ Holly’s throat constricted.
‘Holly, I’m already quite forgetful, and although that’s to be expected at my age, I’m also well aware that since Grandpa’s condition deteriorated, my own memory has become worse. Not my long-term memory, but my short-term one. I can recall my youth now with startling clarity. Funny, that! Yet I can barely remember what colour tights I wore yesterday.’ She pressed a finger to her temple. ‘Oh, I can, yes… black. For the funeral.’
‘That’s right.’ Holly steeled herself, preparing for an emotional day. Or rather an emotional few weeks, if she stayed that long. ‘Where did you want to start?’
‘With what?’ Granny appeared confused. She ran a hand over the long white hair that hung over one shoulder in a plait. ‘Ah… with this!’
‘You mean you want to do your hair?’
‘Yes, it’s time to cut it, I think.’
‘What? Why?’
Granny had always had long hair. When Holly was a little girl, she had loved to brush it and style it, and Granny had been happy to sit there and let her do as she liked.
‘You cut yours, Holly dear.’
Holly touched her short bob.
‘Yes, but that was after Luke came along. It was too much hassle to take care of, and quite a bit of it fell out, so I thought it would be better to have it chopped.’
‘My hair was never the same after I had your mother. It’s linked to hormonal changes, they say. During my pregnancy, it was long, thick and shiny, but after I gave birth, it became brittle and dull. I didn’t cut it because Grandpa liked it long, but now… I think I’d like a change.’
‘I could take you into the village later, if you’re sure you want it cut.’ Holly’s voice sounded uncertain even to her ears, but if it was what Glenda wanted, she could hardly deny her.
‘Can’t you do it?’
‘Me?’
‘
Well, yes. You used to style my hair all the time.’
‘I didn’t cut it.’
‘You did. A few times.’
‘That was only trimming the ends.’
‘So you’ll be trimming long ends. What’s the difference?’
The toaster pinged, so Holly jumped up and grabbed the toast, then set it on a plate next to the antique farmyard print butter dish that was already on the table.
‘All right, I’ll have a go, but I’m not making any promises about how it’ll turn out. You might need to go to the hairdresser to have it tidied up.’
Granny clapped her hands. ‘Wonderful! And thank you for my toast.’
‘My pleasure.’ Holly drank her coffee as her granny ate, then went to the sink and washed up. They did have a dishwasher, but it was old and clunky, and washing up gave her something to do, something to delay having to go through Grandpa’s things or cutting Granny’s hair.
And yet in spite of knowing that things had to be dealt with, she was happy to be home, surrounded by the people she cared about.
Chapter 5
‘What do you think?’ Holly asked as she held up the mirror.
Granny patted her chin-length white hair, freshly washed, cut and blow-dried, and her face broke into a smile.
‘Oh, I love it. You know, I even think your grandpa might have liked it, traditionalist though he was.’
‘It really suits you.’
‘We’re like hair twins now, aren’t we?’ Granny chuckled as she preened in front of the mirror.
‘We are indeed.’
They hugged, and Holly breathed in the coconut fragrance of the shampoo and conditioner she’d used on her granny’s hair. Her heart was so full of love for this little old woman that she wondered how she’d stayed away for so long. All she could do was try to make up for it now that she was back.
They’d decided to do Granny’s hair first, so they could spend the afternoon sorting through Grandpa’s things without having to stop. Holly hoped it would give Glenda the boost she needed before she started the heartbreaking task of bagging up her husband’s belongings. It had also given Holly time to gather her own strength ready to tackle the job.
The House at Greenacres Page 5