May closed her eyes and thought back. The vague feelings and suspicions had become stronger over the years, but the crucial moments had been on her eighth birthday when her parents had taken her to London and they’d gone to the British Museum.
‘Do you remember the London trip?’ she asked her father. ‘I was totally overwhelmed by the memories there.’
‘Of course. That was why I persuaded your mother that you needed a bit of culture in your life. I thought it would be conclusive proof that you shared my talent, if you can call it that. I didn’t expect it to have such a severe effect. You fainted clean away in the oriental ceramics section.’
‘I was terrified. It was like being submerged in the past. I was drowning in it.’
‘Do you remember how I tried to talk to you about all this at the time? You closed up and wouldn’t discuss anything even slightly relating to your ability.’
She nodded. It had all seemed too daunting to mention. Her memory collecting was private, and much too precious to be put into words in case it disappeared. The vague feeling of being unusual had grown stronger as she got older, but there was always the fear that she’d suddenly lose her special talents if she spoke of them.
May’s father talked to her more often about their shared skills after that, and as they discussed it, they gradually worked out what was happening every time they stole an echo from someone else’s mind.
‘Might we live for ever then, Pa?’ May said, after one gruelling session.
‘No, but I think it’s entirely possible that we might last a very long time, love,’ he replied. ‘The saddest part about it is that I can’t get your mother to accept it. She refuses to even speak about it.’
‘But she’s bound to feel like that if she can’t do what we do. We’ll both carry on living and living and living, and Mum will just die.’ May’s tears flowed then, and Pa held her tightly.
‘The thing is, I’m not sure how this affects other people, May,’ he said.
‘How do you mean?’
‘Well, I try very hard to ration myself. If the memories are flowing into my body, they must be leaving someone else’s at the same time, surely? That’s why museums must be a good source, if you’re running low. Nobody owns the exhibits so I’m hoping nobody suffers.’
‘What about the old things I buy? If a person’s got rid of something already, they can’t need those memories, can they?’
He sighed. ‘I don’t know. I hope not. Just be wary, May. Don’t get greedy, that’s all.’
May gazes out to sea. She is getting greedy with Julia’s letters now. The poor woman’s being drained of valuable thoughts that should only belong to her. Can May stop before more damage is done? She’s not sure if she’s able to do that now. If only her father were here to consult.
As it happened, he was wrong about living a long time, thinks May, as she looks back down the years from her seat on the decking. Hitler had other plans for her father. She’s feeling a little chilly now, so she pushes herself to her feet and hobbles indoors, sinking into her sofa with a grunt of relief. The old sadness still washes over her, though. Pa went to London in the spring of 1941 in the hope of hearing his old university tutor speak to a group of fellow enthusiasts about the importance of ground-breaking new research in the field of genetics. The event was long awaited and he was brimming over with excitement, but May’s mother begged him not to go.
‘Are you crazy, Bernard?’ she said. ‘The Blitz isn’t over yet. The newspapers say there’s more to come. It’s much too risky.’
‘I’ve got to. It could be my last chance. Hardcastle hardly ever lectures nowadays. They say his health is failing. And anyway, I won’t be in one of the dangerous areas. It’s in the suburbs. I’ll be fine.’
He wasn’t. May’s mother never got over the loss of her life partner, succumbing to pneumonia just after the war ended. May still misses them both today, as she always will. Dear people.
She hears a soft knock on the back door and a voice calls, ‘May? Are you there? Can I come in?’
‘Is that you, Emily?’
‘Yes, I’ve come to see if I can talk to you about Gran. I told her I wanted to see your cottage. And it’s true, I do.’
Emily breezes into the room like a breath of fresh air, dispelling May’s sad thoughts. She even smells bright and clean. Her hair is flowing down her back, tangled and golden in the morning sunshine, and she’s dressed for action in faded jeans and a checked shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
May considers Emily, her head on one side. Although she hasn’t seen her often they have always had a connection; the sort that transcends the generations. There’s something different about the girl this time.
‘Well, you’re a sight for sore eyes, dear,’ says May, beaming. ‘I was feeling a bit blue for some silly reason, but we can have a cup of tea … or coffee, if you’d rather? And then you can bring me up to date with all your news. You must lead a very hectic life these days, what with your exciting job … career, I should say.’
Emily’s only half listening. She’s gazing around May’s living room, eyes sparkling.
‘I love your new home, May. You’ve got so many interesting things to look at. You haven’t brought everything from the big house, so it’s easier to look at the things that are really precious.’
May glances around too, as if seeing her cosy living room with new eyes. It must seem very odd to a younger person. She’s kept her favourite belongings, so the cottage is rather crowded, but as Emily says, a lot of the less important bits and bobs have gone. The dining table is covered with a maroon chenille cloth with deep fringes and there’s a brass pot in the centre of it holding a fine aspidistra. The dining chairs are a mismatched collection, chosen for comfort rather than style, some with worn brocade seats and others of carved wood with ladder backs, and seat pads in bright colours.
There are bookshelves lining one wall and they’re stuffed with all the books she couldn’t bear to part with. Her parents were avid readers and May has read most of the novels over the years since their deaths. It’s a way of keeping them close.
‘I loved your other house,’ says Emily, ‘and you must have had to get rid of a whole heap of stuff when you came here, but you’ve still got your treasures. Have you always collected beautiful things?’
‘Yes, I suppose I have. Even more so when I started to see the world.’
Emily makes encouraging noises. May knows she’s loved to hear her tales of the past since she was old enough to ask the right questions. May begins to talk about her travels. Emily has heard most of this before over the years, but she settles back in her chair and listens happily.
It was the honeymoon trip to Venice with Charles that finally kick-started May’s late-developing wanderlust. Charles was wholly unimpressed by the holiday – he didn’t approve of ‘abroad’ – but May was enchanted with everything about the experience.
When they returned home and Charles moved into the family house – still much too big without her parents, somehow – May immediately began to plan her next expedition. Inexperienced in the social aspects of married life and reluctant to change his routine, Charles often gravitated to the pub to play backgammon with a few cronies, giving May ample time to pore over her collection of maps and atlases and make plans.
She was completely footloose, having moved to a new job in a bank two years previously and now been forced to leave, as were all married women in such positions. Charles, although not a warm-hearted man, was generous with his money, of which he had a fair amount. He’d never been a big spender although he owned a lucrative art gallery in Penzance. May suspected that her husband was encouraging her growing passion for travel so that he could have time away from her, but she was undaunted.
Her first solo expedition was to Scotland by train. By the time May was on her fourth trip – now venturing overseas and tackling Brittany on a bicycle – Charles was well used to her long absences, and so were their neighbours in the village.
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��Did you bring lots of treasures back from your expeditions?’ asks Emily. ‘I’m addicted to buying painted pottery dishes when I go anywhere. I’ve got so many I could open my own gift shop.’
May begins to tell Emily about some of the treasures she’s accumulated, being careful not to go into details about how she came by them. ‘But I like old mementoes best,’ she says, ‘Things with a history of their own.’
‘Can I see some of them?’
‘Of course. Stay there, I’ll fetch a few.’
Emily’s eyes open wide when she sees the array of objects that May spreads on the table five minutes later. She’s gathered them in a wicker basket but now they’re displayed on the tablecloth in all their glory.
‘Here’s something you’ll like,’ says May, picking up a shallow blue dish painted with pale yellow lemons. It’s much more delicate that the chunky pottery she expects Emily favours.
‘That looks very old. Did you buy it from a pottery or a shop? I like to get mine directly from the maker if I can.’
May doesn’t meet Emily’s eyes. ‘Oh … I can’t remember. It was a long time ago in Sorrento. Look, here’s another thing I picked up on the same trip to Italy.’
She holds out a small wooden figure and Emily recognises the familiar features of Pinocchio. He’s slightly battered, and part of his long nose is missing.
‘I think you were robbed if you bought this,’ says Emily. ‘It’s a bit tatty.’
May has a sudden uncomfortable flashback to the moment when she realised that the little Italian girl she’d been idly chatting to on the next table had forgotten her toy. Pinocchio lay abandoned on the café table as the girl skipped away holding her father’s hand. May guessed that there would be trouble later when the loss was noticed. She still had time to call them back. Instead, May picked up the little doll and held it tightly in her hand. The sweet rush of childish memories flowed over her like a spring tide, followed by older ones, right back in the workshop where the figure had been made. Breathless and shaken, she pushed Pinocchio to the bottom of her bag and hurried back to her guesthouse.
‘And here’s a beautiful bracelet,’ says May quickly.
Emily holds the heavy silver bangle in one hand, running her fingers over its engravings. It’s studded with gem stones, and they sparkle as Emily slips the bracelet onto her wrist, unable to resist trying it on. ‘Wow. This must have cost a fortune,’ she says. ‘How much did you have to pay for it?’
‘Oh, well, money’s there to be spent. Let me tell you about the other bits and bobs.’
‘And now you’re settled in this snug little cottage,’ Emily says, as May eventually runs out of breath. ‘It’s perfect, isn’t it? Anyway, I’ve let myself get distracted, as usual. I really came to ask you how you’re finding Gran these days. You’ve been seeing quite a lot of each other, haven’t you?’
‘Yes, we’re getting on quite well, thank you,’ answers May, wondering where this is heading. She has a sinking feeling and the room feels chilly all of a sudden.
‘I’m really worried, May. It looks as if Gran’s forgetting all sorts of things,’ says Emily. ‘It was Andy who let me know what was happening, and I’m glad he did. She seems fragile, although she insists she’s loving sorting through the letters.’
‘Oh dear.’
‘I thought at first she seemed fairly lively and cheerful, but today she’s so tired she’s having a lie-down on the sofa, and it’s not even lunchtime.’
‘I see.’
Emily waits for May to expand on this remark, but there’s nothing to say. May reaches for her tartan blanket and tucks it around her knees. The pleasant warmth of the day isn’t penetrating her body any more. What is she going to do? She desperately needs the effervescent energy of the letters, but Julia is clearly suffering, and it will only get worse if she carries on.
Her father was right. May should never have let herself become so avaricious. Taking memories from the odd small belonging hasn’t had much effect on her neighbours, or so she believes, but this is serious. And now she’s stupidly allowed herself to grow fond of the woman who holds the key to her dream of reaching that magical birthday.
Emily gasps as a groan escapes May’s pale lips.
‘Are you feeling ill, May?’ Emily asks, coming to kneel in front of her.
May shakes her head. Being ill would be simple compared to this.
Chapter Fifteen
Andy gets ready for his night out with mixed feelings. He’s checked with Julia that Emily is still coming with him – she was in the shower getting ready when he phoned so that’s a good sign. It’s a bit daunting to be going on what feels alarmingly like a date, especially when it’s with someone who so obviously thinks he’s a clucking father. If this evening’s to be a success, he’s going to have to put his feelings about what she said behind him and start from scratch. The important thing is to talk about Julia and decide if they need to do anything else at the moment other than keep a close eye on her.
Hearing Vi let herself in and halloo up the stairs, Andy takes one last look in the mirror and decides it’s the best he can do. Grabbing his wallet, he heads for the front door, hugging Tamsin on the way out and threatening her with dire things if she doesn’t go to bed and stay there when Vi tells her to. There’s not much chance of that. Vi is totally unflappable, easily a match for Tamsin. Not for the first time, he thinks how lucky they are to have her next door.
‘Hello, love,’ Vi says as Andy comes into the kitchen. ‘Wow, you look fabulous! You should pull the stops out more often.’
She comes over and brushes his lapels. Vi’s a tiny dynamo of a woman, and she has to stand on tiptoe to reach when she ruffles his hair. ‘I like the rugged but slightly dishevelled look,’ she says. ‘Very Aidan Turner.’
‘Give over, more like Worzel Gummidge,’ he answers, but is secretly pleased.
May’s pottering in her garden as Andy leaves his house. She’s very careful these days, he notices, always using her walking stick and taking her time on the rougher parts of the paths.
‘Have a lovely time, dear,’ she calls, waving her stick in the air.
Andy pulls a face. ‘I hope we will,’ he says, feeling a fresh shiver of apprehension.
May winks at him and watches as he heads round the side of Julia’s house. Her expression is thoughtful.
Emily is standing in the kitchen talking to Julia. She smiles when she sees Andy, which he supposes is a good start.
‘You look very spruce tonight, love,’ says Julia, coming over to brush a piece of fluff from his lapel. What is it with these women and their addiction to grooming? ‘You should dress up like this regularly.’
‘That’s what Vi said.’
‘I bet she did.’ Julia sniffs appreciatively. ‘Ooh, you smell nice too. I do love a decent aftershave – something not too flowery or heavy. Don was fond of his cologne, too. I can’t remember what his favourite brand was called. Something beginning with A, I think.’ She frowns.
‘I don’t have much cause to be smart, as a rule. This is a red-letter day, and we’ve both made the effort, it seems,’ Andy says, looking in admiration at Emily.
There’s something almost medieval about her tonight. She’s wearing an ankle-length dress in soft sage-green cotton patterned with tiny dragonflies. The neckline is scooped low enough to display a subtle hint of cleavage and her necklace is a startling combination of blue and green beads, twinkling in the evening sunshine that’s pouring through Julia’s spotless windows. Emily’s golden hair is loose and flowing except for a thin plait each side of her face, looped back and fastened with a silver clip. In her flat sandals, she’s smaller than Andy and somehow seems more defenceless than usual. She’s even painted her toenails.
‘You look amazing,’ he says, unable to take his eyes off her, ‘just like Galadriel.’
Julia grins. ‘Well, it was obviously worth digging a frock out, Em, and Andy’s going to enjoy having a pretty woman on his arm. Off you go, and hav
e a wonderful evening. You’ve got your key, haven’t you?’
‘Yes, so there’s no need to wait up. You need your sleep,’ Emily says. She’s pink in the face from the compliments. ‘Thanks for the loan of the necklace, Gran.’
‘Well, it’ll be yours one day so you might as well get some wear out of it.’
‘Don’t say that – you’ll need it yourself for ages yet. I wish we still had the ring, though, so you could wear it.’
‘What ring?’
‘You know – you told me about the opal ring that’s missing.’
‘Did I?’ Julia closes her eyes to think better.
Emily exchanges glances with Andy and grimaces. ‘It doesn’t matter, Gran. It’ll come back to you. There’s a lot on your mind at the moment, isn’t there? See you later, don’t wait up.’
Suddenly, as he helps Emily into the waiting taxi, Andy’s nerves leave him and he’s filled with a wild sense of freedom. His eyes stray to Emily’s curves in the soft dress and he makes himself look away. She’ll think he’s a right pervert, peering down her front, like a randy schoolboy. But she’s just so gorgeous.
‘I’m really glad we’re doing this,’ he croaks. Oh bugger. Even his voice is giving him away.
Emily smiles. ‘D’you know what? So am I,’ she says. ‘It’s good to be out with a bloke with no strings attached. Just friends, yeah?’
‘Oh, yeah. Absolutely,’ says Andy, taking a deep breath and turning to look out of the window. Just friends. Remember that, mate, he tells himself.
They’re at the restaurant already, and he pays the driver and escorts Emily inside, holding her elbow gently to guide her up the flight of stone steps into the dimly lit, fragrant warmth of Cockleshell Bay. It has small windows and a low ceiling, but the view from the terrace where French doors are wide open is breath-taking.
George welcomes them with open arms. He’s a giant of a man, who likes to test everything on the menu thoroughly before it goes out to the punters. ‘Andy, my friend. Good to see you. And you’ve brought a delightful lady to grace our little establishment. Have we met before, O ravishing creature? No, we can’t have – I’d never forget that hair or those stunning sapphire-coloured eyes. An elven queen in our midst.’
59 Memory Lane Page 10