Ida is in the queue behind Andy, and even as he opens his mouth to speak, she’s on the attack. ‘And what makes you say that, Vera, if you don’t mind me asking?’ Her eyes are flashing, and Andy looks on admiringly, waiting for his turn.
Vera has the grace to blush. ‘Well, it stands to reason. That American … he wasn’t just a friend, now, was he? And a famous author? I saw him on that morning programme on the telly last year. He won’t be short of a bob or two, will he?’
‘What exactly are you suggesting?’
‘Oh, I’m not suggesting anything.’
Andy moves forward slightly and folds his arms across his chest. ‘I don’t agree.’
‘What?’
‘I think you’re trying to insinuate that Emily’s a gold-digger.’
‘It’s not for me to incinerate anything.’ Vera’s red-faced now, but from anger rather than shame at her accusation.
Hideous woman, thinks Andy. She’s stuck her nose into my business ever since Allie was first ill, and she’s not going to do the same with Emily. Incineration would be the best thing for her.
He puts his full basket down on the shop counter next to the till and looks across at Ida. She winks at him and does the same. ‘It’ll be a nuisance having to drive into Mengillan for my groceries, but it’s a small price to pay for never having to see or speak to you again,’ Andy says.
‘Ditto, with knobs on,’ shouts Ida.
They exit the shop together, trying not to giggle at the aghast faces of the other three people waiting to be served. ‘Well, we showed ’em,’ says Ida, giving Andy a hug before they set off up the street together. ‘Shame I’ll need to find someone else to adopt Marigold and her snappy little Pekinese, but it was worth it. So, is it true about Emily having lost a baby?’
‘She’s got chickenpox, you know that, Ida. And I’d be grateful if you’d pass the word around that there’s nothing else going on.’
‘Leave it with me, dear. I squash any nasty little stories that Vera’s been spreading. But, while we’re on the subject, May dropped a couple of hints the last time I saw her. She didn’t mean to; I guess she was just thinking aloud. Very old people tend to do that sometimes.’
‘I suppose they do, but I’ve never thought of May as very old, somehow.’
‘Haven’t you? My mother used to say all sorts of inappropriate things. She once asked the milkman how many times a week he thought married folks should have sex.’
Andy snorts. ‘What was the answer? I’m asking for a friend, obviously.’
‘He told her a little of what you fancy does you good, and then he went away quite quickly.’
Ida links arms with Andy. ‘May’s a wise old bird, you know. I realise now what she was getting at.’
‘Yes, and I guess when you get to be a hundred and ten, you feel as if you can say what you like.’
‘It’d be a shame to have all that life experience and not share it. She’s seen and done so much. It’s a pity she’s so alone in the world.’
‘May isn’t alone. She’s got Tamsin and me, and Julia, Tristram and Emily.’
Ida sighs. ‘It’s not the same as having a happy marriage and a family, though, I always say.’
‘Not everyone would agree with you on that one, Ida.’
‘Hmm. Andy, tell me not to be an interfering old busybody if you like, but is there any chance of you and Emily …? I mean … could you …? It’s been such a long time for you to be on your own.’
Andy tries not to mind the fact that this question is probably on a lot of the villagers’ lips. It’s good to live in a caring community in lots of ways, but this is just intrusive. He wonders how to answer. The truthful response would be that he can’t get Emily out of his mind. Her wonderful hair, her provocative blue eyes, the way she fits into his arms as if she belongs there, the sheer fun of her. She haunts his dreams and his waking hours.
‘I’m afraid Emily might still have other fish to fry,’ he says eventually.
‘You mean that smarmy American? Not likely. So do you want a lift to Sainsbury’s? I’m going anyway.’
‘Not sure if I’ve got time. Friday’s my busiest day.’
‘Come on, we’ll be quick. My husband says I could have been a racing driver if I’d had the right wheels. And you can tell me more about Emily on the way.’
Andy laughs nervously and lets Ida lead him to her sporty little Mini. He’s very much afraid this is going to be one of those lifts you never forget.
They bowl along the winding road to Mengillan, with Ida singing along to hits from the sixties on the radio.
‘So have you had your invitation to Tristram’s surprise party yet?’ she yells, above the music.
Andy tries not to wince as Ida overtakes a tractor, nipping back in again just as another one trundles towards them. ‘Yes, Gina rang me this morning.’
‘Me, too. She’s doing a few people at a time and swearing them to secrecy. The only problem is that they can’t fix a definite date until the last minute because of the weather. They want to be sure of being able to use the beach because there’ll be too many guests to fit in The Shack. She gave me three possibilities.’
‘Yeah. A beach party would probably sound dead glamorous if you didn’t live here, but given the amount of rain we get sometimes, Gina needs to be able to rely on a good day to barbecue.’
‘This is going to be a celebration to remember! It’s a good job most of Tristram’s buddies are as spontaneous as he is. A lot of people would moan if you couldn’t give them a specific time and place for a party.’
‘True. I suppose a few won’t make if it clashes with other things but I bet they nearly all do.’
Ida nods enthusiastically and the car veers towards the hedge slightly. ‘They’ve asked me to make the birthday cake. Gina’s much better at decorating cakes than I am, but she won’t be able to keep it secret with Tris around all the time. I’m going to make a huge chocolate sponge and freeze it when I get home. That’s his favourite.’
‘The only thing I’m not sure about is whether he’ll be pleased.’
‘Why wouldn’t he be? He’s one of the most sociable men I know.’
‘Yes, which is why he might rather organise his own birthday bash. He’s very particular about getting everything right when he’s entertaining.’
‘Oh. I see what you mean. But I don’t think he’ll be sniffy about details on his eightieth birthday when Gina and Vince have gone to so much trouble to get his friends together.’
‘Let’s hope you’re right. Well, I’d better get a present sorted. Any ideas?’
‘A new wife?’ Ida cackles alarmingly, and swerves to avoid a sheep that’s wandered into the lane.
‘Really? Would he marry again, at his age?’
‘You bet he would. He’s not old yet – never let him hear you suggest he is. Tris always says there’s no chance of him risking it a fifth time, but he’s still full of beans. You just watch him.’
‘But who’d be the right woman? You can’t be putting yourself forward for the position, Ida?’
She takes her left hand off the wheel and swipes Andy round the ear. He closes his eyes as Ida’s Mini lurches to the right and then straightens up again. Are groceries worth this? He’s almost regretting his impulsive protest in the shop.
‘Not me. I’m perfectly happy with my Harry, you know that. There’ll never be anybody else for me. He’s a one-off.’
‘Julia always says that about Don.’
‘Yes, she does, doesn’t she?’
Ida turns the music up as an old Beatles song comes on, ‘The Long and Winding Road’. You can say that again, thinks Andy.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Julia is still filled with restless energy even after May, Colin and Tristram have left and Emily has gone upstairs for a nap. Her granddaughter seems wiped out by her boss’s surprise visit, but her expression when she gives in and heads upstairs to lie down is more peaceful than it’s been since she arrived.
Th
e jars of jam are lined up along the worktop. Sunlight bounces off their shiny surfaces, and the pale green of the fresh gooseberries has mellowed to a golden glow. Everywhere is tidy and clean – Colin and Tristram have made sure of that, vying with each other for the most sparkling side of the kitchen as they wiped and polished. Now firm friends, Colin has gone with Tristram for a tour of the village. He’s accepted an impromptu invitation to stay for a couple of nights at The Shellfish Shack after he’s visited the hospital because his parents now live in a tiny bungalow and he says their sofa bed is excruciatingly uncomfortable. He wastes no time in fetching a small suitcase out of his car so he can change into ancient jeans, loafers and a fisherman’s sweater, his idea of what a Cornishman wears for relaxation purposes.
Julia sits down at the kitchen table, wondering how to fill her time until they come back. The men have decided to cook dinner tonight and have challenged themselves to find as many different kinds of seafood as they can. Tristram has invited Andy, Tamsin and Vi, too, with Julia’s permission, and she must start getting out the best crockery and cutlery soon and dig out her biggest embroidered tablecloth, but for now, she needs a distraction.
She picks out from the basket a pile of letters waiting to be sorted. Maybe reading a few of these will settle her jangling nerves, although when she tries to recall some of the ones she’s already ploughed through, there’s a terrifying blank. Waves of panic wash over Julia as she battles to remember something … anything. The ring … and Will. Those two are linked somehow. There’s a mystery but it’s as if she’s wandering in fog. Where have those memories gone? Taking deep breaths, she spreads the heaps of letters out. As she begins to sift through them, she hears the doorbell.
May is standing on the doorstep, walking stick in hand and shoulders well back. She looks defiant but very pleased with herself.
‘Good heavens,’ Julia says, putting a hand on her heart. ‘What are you doing back so soon, and out on your own? I thought Colin left you getting ready for a rest. And aren’t you supposed to be using a wheelchair?’
May sways slightly. ‘Are you going to ask me in or am I going to faint dead away on your step?’
Mortified, Julia ushers her in and goes to put the kettle on.
‘Where’s Emily?’ May calls after a few moments.
‘Ssshhh. She’s having a nap,’ Julia says, coming back with a tray of tea, ‘and I don’t want to wake her. You saw how she looked earlier. The chickenpox has taken a lot out of her.’
‘And the baby, of course,’ says May, staring Julia straight in the eye.
‘How did you …? I mean …’
‘Oh, I always know. I’m nearly a hundred and eleven, after all, dear. There’s no mistaking that look, is there? Or hadn’t you rumbled her?’
Julia is seething now, all amusement gone. Really, May is beyond a joke. She’s crossed the line this time. How dare she interfere? It’s as if she’s trying to say she knows Emily better than her own grandmother does. The cheek of it.
May grins. ‘Don’t be cross, it doesn’t suit you. Adds wrinkles,’ she says.
Taking a deep breath, Julia tries to relax her tense shoulders. It’s all been going so well with May. She mustn’t spoil it now – the poor woman’s been ill, after all.
‘That’s better,’ says May. ‘I’ve only come back over to tell you not to worry about Emily.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
May drinks her tea in silence. She must have a gullet made of asbestos, thinks Julia. Presently, she puts her cup down carefully in her saucer. Julia is still biting her tongue and waiting for an explanation as to why she apparently mustn’t worry about her own granddaughter.
May yawns. ‘I’m getting old, dear,’ she says finally.
Julia still says nothing.
‘Everything is working out for the best, and anyway, I’ll make sure all is well. That’s what I wanted to say.’
May gets up to go, and Julia sees her out, mystified, but watching her carefully until the older lady is safely inside her own home again. Hopefully, this time she’ll stay put. Julia comes back inside and tidies away the rest of the letters – it’s no use trying to concentrate on any sorting now – but as she goes about her preparations for the evening, she thinks hard about what May has said.
When Emily gets up she finds the dining table already laid. A beautiful linen cloth patterned with embroidered wild flowers is the main feature, and Julia has kept everything else low-key so as not to cover it up too much. She’s used straw mats and has fetched out the best cut-glass goblets, newly washed and gleaming. An arrangement of fresh flowers from the garden is the centrepiece.
‘Why didn’t you wait for me to help you, Gran? I could have done all this,’ Emily says, folding her arms and frowning. She looks alarmingly like her father when she does that, Julia thinks.
‘I enjoyed it. I needed something to do.’
‘You should have had a rest like I did if we’re entertaining in style later.’
‘I couldn’t settle. Anyway, you’re the one who’s been so off-colour. I’m fine.’
Emily doesn’t seem totally convinced. ‘Really? And if you’re suddenly fine, what’s changed? Because you weren’t feeling so good when I arrived, were you? Far from it. And you’re very pale tonight.’
Julia thinks quickly. ‘I … I think I feel stronger because you’ve been around so much lately. It’s helped me to feel as if life’s still worth living,’ she says, quashing her feelings of guilt about hindering Emily’s working life. ‘After your grandpa died, I was lost. Completely at sea. I still miss him all the time and think about him every day but gradually I’m starting to cope, and to live with that feeling instead of letting it take over. The time we had was precious but it isn’t lost. Wherever I go and whatever I do, I take him with me.’
‘Oh, Gran. It must be so hard to move on when you’ve had such a good life together.’
‘Yes, love, it is. But we had our ups and downs, just like any couple. We didn’t just sit around gazing into each other’s eyes all day, you know – we had rows sometimes, too, quite fierce ones. And also, I keep thinking that there are some unfortunate people who’ve never had that sort of partnership.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Well, like poor May, for instance. Her marriage wasn’t much fun, and she hardly missed Charles at all when he’d gone, from what she said.’
‘I don’t think there’s any way you should use the term “poor May”. She was more than contented with her lot, as far as I could see.’
‘So what are you saying?’
Emily thinks for a moment. Julia notices that she’s looking a lot better for her sleep, even though she’s still very spotty. Her eyes are less tired and she’s left her newly washed hair loose so that it flows in bright waves over her shoulders. She’s found another old favourite in her wardrobe by the look of it, a floor-length stretchy cotton dress in muted shades of blue. She was always one for leaving clothes behind ‘ready for next time’ as if she was making certain she’d be back soon. It has long flared sleeves that cover most of her gradually healing blisters.
‘I guess all I meant was that everyone’s different. Not all women need a man to make them happy.’
‘And do you? Might Andy be the one you’ve been waiting for?’
The words hang between them. As Julia waits for this significant question to be answered, the kitchen door flies open and the two men come back in. Damn! What bad timing, Julia thinks, glaring at Tristram, who looks mortified at the lack of welcome.
‘Are we interrupting something?’ he asks.
‘Not at all,’ says Emily. ‘We were just … erm …’
‘… discussing what kind of jam to make next,’ adds Julia, hastily. ‘Have you seen your uncle already, Colin?’
‘No, my mum rang to say they’d been to the hospital this afternoon and he was so sleepy he barely knew they were there. She’s got the ward sister to agree to me having a visit in the morning just for ha
lf an hour, because that’s when he usually feels like chatting. So, what shall I do first towards this spectacular feast?’
When Andy, Vi and Tamsin arrive, the kitchen is full of bustle.
‘Will there be chicken nuggets and red sauce?’ Tamsin asks hopefully.
‘Only for special guests. We didn’t have enough for everybody,’ says Emily.
‘Oh.’
‘But you’re the most special kind of person we know, so you’ll be fine.’
Tamsin hugs Emily and rushes off to play outside, giving Julia and Emily the chance to escape to the comfort of the living room. Julia feels jittery and over-excited, as if something’s going to happen but she’s not sure if it’s good or bad.
Vi comes in with Andy and settles herself next to Emily on the sofa. She’s the sort of person who could be any age from fifty to sixty-five, strongly made, with broad shoulders and the sort of skin that ages well, with a healthy outdoor glow. Her grey hair is cropped short and her clothes look as if they’ve been the same style for ever – workman-like jeans, a checked shirt and trainers. Her only concessions to this night out are small diamond stud earrings and a slick of Vaseline on her lips.
‘So who’s the new man?’ she asks Julia. ‘Is he your toy boy or Emily’s older bloke? And if he isn’t either, please can I have him? He’s cooking up a storm in there.’
‘I didn’t know you were on the lookout for a bloke, Vi,’ says Andy, ruffling Vi’s hair. ‘You told me that men were an expensive luxury.’
‘I know, but if I was to find one who could whip up fantastic dinners at the drop of a hat, and didn’t mind my house being full of kids, there’s just a chance I might reconsider. How about you, Emily? Has your hunky American given up and gone home?’
‘Yes.’
The short answer doesn’t put Vi off. ‘Good. I didn’t meet him but I saw him from the window and you can do better than that, girl. He looked a bit arrogant to me.’
Julia watches Andy and Emily studiously avoiding looking at each other and smiles to herself but Vi hasn’t finished yet. ‘And what about you, Julia?’
‘What about me?’
59 Memory Lane Page 23