Ten minutes later, they were in Granny and Grandpa’s room, perched on the side of the bed with its faded pink and purple patchwork quilt. Holly had fed Luke, and now he was lying on his play mat on the floor, gurgling up at the zoo animals that dangled over him.
‘Where do we start?’ she asked, looking around the room. It was all exactly as it had been when she was a child. There were two heavy mahogany wardrobes to the right of the door, a tall chest of drawers took up the wall to the left, and an antique chandelier hung from the middle of the ceiling. It had been a wedding gift from her granny’s parents. The bed was positioned between the two windows that overlooked the back garden
‘With his clothes.’ Granny went to one of the wardrobes and opened the door. She stood there for a moment as if undecided, then reached inside and brought out several shirts and suit jackets, which she carried to the bed.
As she set them down, their scent washed over Holly – Grandpa’s cologne, woody and earthy, a fragrance she had always associated with the vineyard because it had seemed to trail behind him wherever he went, a smell that was uniquely his. She ran a hand over the top shirt and found it stiff and starched, exactly how Grandpa liked them. As a child, when he’d picked her up and carried her on his shoulders, she’d wrapped her arms around his neck, feeling his shirt collar pressing against her inner arms. It had been a part of who he was, stiff and formal on the outside, but with a heart of gold. Holly had known that anyone who could reach that heart was very lucky indeed, because Grandpa would always care for those who did. Knowing how much he loved her had made her fear of disappointing him stronger, because there was so much to lose.
Emotion surged inside her, so she went out onto the landing and picked up one of the cardboard boxes they’d brought up from the kitchen. Granny had asked Bruce to get them from the barn before he left. Holly stood for a moment, taking slow breaths as she tried to conquer her pain. Being home meant that it was gradually sinking in that Grandpa was actually gone. It felt as though something inside her was coming loose, and if she wasn’t careful, she would completely unravel.
When she felt a bit calmer, she took the box into the bedroom and set it on the floor next to the bed.
‘Are you sure about this, Granny?’
‘It has to be done.’
Holly nodded. She removed the shirts from their hangers and folded them neatly before setting them in the box, then did the same with the jackets. It was terribly sad and also quite surreal packing away his things, a final confirmation that he was gone, that he’d never return. But Granny was right: it had to be done.
They worked quietly, Granny getting things out and Holly folding and packing, until they’d emptied the wardrobe of hanging garments. The room was filled with Grandpa’s scent and Holly could imagine that he was right there with them. She wondered how her grandmother was finding it, and if she too felt as though her husband was there.
‘How are you doing?’ she asked.
Granny turned to face her.
‘It’s difficult. I knew it would be, but… it also doesn’t feel real. It’s like I’m watching a movie and this isn’t me.’ She held up her hands and stared at them.
‘Do you need a break?’
‘No, dear. Best get it done or I might find that the determination to be organized deserts me.’
She turned back to the wardrobe and leant forward, pulling out two shoeboxes.
‘His best shoes. All his boots are downstairs, but these were for weddings and funerals.’
‘Did he have shoes on… in the coffin?’
‘Yes. But even though he was wearing one of his best suits, I decided to put his favourite work boots on him. They were so worn and soft and wouldn’t have been any good to anyone else, and he loved them so much that I thought he’d prefer them to a hard, shiny pair.’
Holly nodded.
‘I did polish them first, though.’ Her granny smiled, but her eyes suggested she was far away in her mind. Perhaps that was best; perhaps it would help her to get through the rest of this process. ‘He’d have wanted them polished.’
‘Of course. He was a smart man.’
Once the first box had been filled and sealed with packing tape, Granny went to the chest of drawers and started removing jumpers and pyjamas. She sorted them into those that could be given to charity and those that were too worn and faded. ‘Dusters and patchworking for these old ones,’ she explained to Holly.
As the afternoon wore on, Luke drifted off to sleep on his mat, so Holly picked him up and took him into her room, settling him in the cot. She watched him for a few minutes as his face moved in sleep, his tiny mouth pursing and his forehead furrowing, as if he were reliving the events of the past few days and trying to make sense of them. He was such a gift, such a precious part of her life now, and she knew that she would do anything for him. Her love for him had grown from the moment she’d known she was expecting him, and even though she had considered all the options available to her, she’d known that she couldn’t get rid of him. He’d already been firmly rooted inside her, a part of her, growing there silently in spite of her ignorance of his existence, and as soon as she’d been aware of him, she’d changed her life to accommodate him.
Giving birth to him, enduring hours of contractions and days of worrying after his early arrival, had confirmed to her that he was now the centre of her world, and that no one could ever be that important to her. Except, perhaps, another child – should she ever have one. But that wasn’t exactly on the agenda right now, or for the foreseeable future. Luke was her son, her reason, her life, and she’d do everything she could to give him the upbringing he deserved.
Back in Granny’s room, she found the older woman sitting on the bed with a small drawer next to her. She was picking things up then putting them back. She looked up when Holly approached the bed.
‘What’s in there?’
‘His watch, cufflinks, odds and ends… buttons he might need, unused toothpicks, some old coins.’
‘What will you do with them?’
Granny picked up the watch with its brown leather strap and gold-plated back. The face was white with plain black numbers; a smaller circle showed the date, and another one the phases of the moon.
‘Here.’ Granny held it out.
‘I know, I remember it well. Grandpa used it to teach me to tell the time.’
‘It’s yours.’
‘Oh… I couldn’t take it.’
‘Yes you can. What else am I going to do with it? Your father never wears a watch, and I’d hate to give it away to someone who wouldn’t value it. I mean… it’s hardly a Rolex, is it? The value is purely sentimental.’
Holly touched the winder on the side, then traced her finger over the glass that protected the watch face. To her, it did have value. To her, it represented her grandfather: his efficiency, his work ethic and his desire to see her well educated and well brought up.
‘Thank you.’
She fastened the watch around her left wrist, but it slid up her arm, even on the smallest setting.
‘Get your dad to make another hole in the strap.’
‘I will do.’ Holly smiled. For all that Granny was a strong woman, she was still old-fashioned in some ways. She knew she’d probably be able to make another hole herself. As she gazed at the watch, though, she made a decision: she would put it away and keep it safe for Luke to wear when he was old enough. It was a thought that gave her comfort.
Cufflinks were put into a box for Bruce and other bits and bobs binned or packed for charity, then they carried the boxes out on to the landing and set them in a row.
‘It’s not much for a lifetime.’ Granny stared at them.
‘That’s not his life, though, is it?’ Holly said.
‘No, you’re right. He made your mum, and then she made you, and you made Luke. These things are just… things. His love and his hard work at the vineyard are his legacy, and that will go on through you. We’ll always carry him in our hearts an
d minds.’ Granny’s voice wavered, and Holly slid an arm around her shoulders.
‘We definitely will.’
A row of boxes might hold Grandpa’s clothes, shoes and coats, but it didn’t hold who he had been or what his life had been about. They stood staring at the boxes for a while, then Granny turned into her embrace, and Holly held her tight, tears rolling down her cheeks. She cried for her granny, for her grandpa and for herself. Letting go was so hard, and all they could do was try to find comfort from one another and from their memories of a man who had once been the backbone of their family. Now that he was gone, Holly wondered what the future held for them all, as well as for Greenacres.
It was more uncertain than she cared to admit, even to herself.
* * *
Over dinner that evening, Bruce talked about people he’d seen during his trip into the village, and about how he hoped for a good summer for the vineyard. But as much as he smiled and gesticulated, his eyes told a different story. Holly could barely wait to get him on his own; she had a feeling he was hiding something from them.
After they’d cleared the dinner things away and she’d bathed and fed Luke and settled him in his cot, she went into the lounge to find her granny and her dad in front of the TV. Glenda was sitting on the battered old brown leather sofa with her slipper-clad feet up on a small stool. The log burner was lit because the spring evening had turned chilly, and Granny was crocheting what appeared to be a blanket. Bruce was in the chair by the window, scrolling on his tablet, the blue light of the screen reflected in his reading glasses.
Holly placed the baby monitor on the coffee table made from half a wine barrel, then sat on the sofa next to her granny. She gazed at the TV screen, where images of the day’s news flickered: tragedies and politics, public concerns and scandals. Although she was usually keen to keep up with what was happening in the world, she found it difficult viewing now that she had a child. The world she left behind would be his world, so she wanted it to be a good one.
Her eyes kept moving to the large leather chair in the corner. Grandpa’s chair. Its emptiness was like an elephant in the room, reminding them that he wasn’t there, that his chair was vacant and always would be. That chair held so many memories for Holly. Grandpa had bought it right after her mother, Sarah, was born, and refused to get a new one, even when the seams had become worn and the cushions had to be reupholstered. He had said that it could never be replaced. It was where he’d sat and held his baby daughter, then his granddaughter, where he’d made plans for the vineyard, where he’d watched as his family decorated the Christmas tree each year. It had been, in a way, his throne, with him the king of all that he surveyed.
A smile danced on Holly’s lips, because for all that Grandpa had been strict and set in his ways, he had been the glue that held their family together: unwavering, unrelenting and unchangeable. His mindset had been something they could all rely upon to remain the same, and even if they didn’t always agree with him, they had respected him. If it hadn’t been for Grandpa’s strict ways, her mum might have left Penhallow Sands and travelled, or done something else with her life instead of staying on to work at Greenacres. If it hadn’t been for the vineyard, Holly’s dad would never have settled in the area, and probably wouldn’t have met her mum. Everything that happened in life was reliant upon something else; it was like a long chain of events that stretched back over the years and would stretch forward into the future too. It was a chain that linked them all together; even Rich, now that she’d had his son.
She swallowed hard. This loss was so difficult; Grandpa had been there all her life and he would be missed. She reached out and squeezed her granny’s hand, and the elderly woman looked up and met her eyes. Granny was feeling it too; how could she not be?
‘Shall I make some tea?’ Dad asked, breaking the spell.
‘I’ll do it.’ Holly stood up. ‘Actually, how about hot chocolate?’
‘Fabulous idea.’ Bruce stood up too. ‘I’ll show you where the marshmallows are.’
As they walked through to the kitchen, Holly didn’t mention that she knew where the marshmallows were – that they were in the same place they’d been for the last thirty-odd years – because she suspected her dad had an ulterior motive.
While she warmed some milk in a saucepan, Bruce paced in front of the door.
‘What is it, Dad?’
He cleared his throat.
‘Dad? I know something’s wrong.’
‘I didn’t want to burden you with this, Holly. In fact, I still don’t. I’ll sort it out. It’s fine.’
‘Please tell me, Dad. You need someone to talk to.’
He cleared his throat again, then pulled out a chair at the table and sat down. Holly turned the heat under the milk down but kept stirring it, not wanting it to scorch.
‘Okay… You know I went to see the accountant today?’
She nodded.
‘Well, the thing is, it doesn’t look great. We’re still making enough to get by, and the forecast for the next three years is steady, if things continue as they have done this year, but after that… if we don’t do something, we’ll probably be in decline. We need to do more to develop the business and to compete in the current market.’
Holly turned the heat off under the saucepan.
‘How has this happened?’ She’d had a feeling that this was coming from the moment she’d returned. ‘Is it because I wasn’t here to run the shop?’
He shook his head, a sad smile playing across his lips. ‘No, Holly. As much as the shop was a help, it didn’t make that much of a difference overall. This is bigger than that. See… there are lots of vineyards out there now that are undercutting us. It’s really competitive as more vineyards start up, and our wider European sales aren’t guaranteed any more either. We just can’t afford to sell to supermarkets at the low prices some vineyards do, and people don’t always want to pay more for good wine… especially if they haven’t heard of it. Just running a vineyard isn’t enough these days. We need to do something else to stay afloat.’
‘Like what?’
‘I tried to encourage your grandpa to think about some extra ventures, but as you know, he was very set in his ways and he didn’t want to consider any changes. But we need to move with the times if we want to keep going. I hate that this is happening so soon after Henry passed away, but I feel responsible for trying to fix things, because if I don’t, who will?’ He spoke softly, but Holly heard the sadness and the weight of responsibility in his tone. Her poor dad was dealing with all this alone.
She got the cocoa powder out of the cupboard and mixed it with the milk and some sugar, then poured the hot chocolate into three mugs before sprinkling marshmallows over the top.
‘I’ll take Granny’s in to her, but I’ll be back. Stay there, Dad.’
She told Glenda that she was helping her dad with some numbers, then returned to the kitchen to find the back door open. Peering through the window, she could see her dad standing in the garden. She hooked the baby monitor to her belt, grabbed two blankets from the cupboard under the Welsh dresser in the corner, then carried them and the mugs outside.
They wrapped the blankets around their shoulders and walked over to the bench near the herb garden that had once been her mother’s pride and joy. In the fading light, Holly could see that it was overgrown and neglected. She had taken over its care after her mother had passed, but it seemed that no one had tended it during her absence. She hadn’t paid it much attention when she arrived home yesterday and had been busy today helping her granny, but now its evident deterioration saddened her. She used to grow lots of lavender in the garden, which she dried and stuffed inside the little pouches that her granny crocheted, and they sold well in the shop. But now the lavender that remained was spindly and sorry-looking. She hadn’t had time to venture inside the shop since she’d returned, but she was keen to take a look to see how it had fared during her time away.
‘Sorry about the herb bed.’
Her dad too was staring at the mass of weeds and herbs, wound together so they were indistinguishable from one another. ‘I just didn’t have time to sort it.’
‘Of course you didn’t.’ Holly rubbed his arm. ‘It’s fine, I’ll do it while I’m here.’
But when she left, would it end up like this again?
‘Your granny misses having fresh herbs for cooking.’ He shook his head. ‘Sorry, Hols, I didn’t mean that to sound like I was trying to make you feel guilty. You have to do your own thing, what’s best for you and Luke.’
‘I know you didn’t, and it’s fine, really. But tell me about the vineyard.’
‘I’ve been looking into it and I know there are other things we could do to increase revenue. Greenacres will be yours and Luke’s one day. Unless, of course, the worst happens…’ He shook his head.
‘What is the worst, Dad?’
‘It won’t come to that.’
‘To what?’ Panic filled her chest.
‘Well… if things don’t improve over the next three years, we could end up losing money, and that might mean we’d be forced to sell to cover our backs.’
‘To sell?’
He nodded but didn’t meet her eyes. This was as hard for him to admit as it was for her to hear. The idea of losing even an acre of the land, let alone the house, the garden, the barns… Holly had taken it for granted that Greenacres would always be in the family, but now it seemed there was a possibility that it could slip right through their fingers.
‘Of course, if you were happy with that, then I would go along with your decision. I don’t want to assume that you want to keep Greenacres in the family. I understand that you might be keen to return to Exeter, that you might prefer to sell sooner rather than later and to have your inheritance to do with as you want. None of it belongs to me and I’m sure Granny would be open to discussion, although doing that to her now seems a bit cruel in terms of timing. It’s why I haven’t told her about the financial concerns. It just doesn’t seem fair to burden her with them. But you should know that there have been several expressions of interest since you left… as people learnt of your grandpa’s decline. I dismissed them immediately, but if you did decide at some point that you wanted to sell, it would be an option.’
The House at Greenacres Page 6