In the pocket of her jeans, Lizzie’s phone bleeped the arrival of a text. She pulled it out to find a message from Jude. He’d kept in touch, sending regular messages over the days since they’d had the news. She’d asked him not to phone and not to come round because she couldn’t trust herself to act in any rational way and, somewhere in the back of her mind, the notion that they’d been getting somewhere in their reconciliation had taken hold. She couldn’t risk jeopardising that by doing or saying something screwy that they wouldn’t be able to move past, and she didn’t think that losing her brother was a legitimate excuse for doing or saying something that would be unfair to Jude. Besides, she had her hands full just holding her own family together and Jude would be an added stress on top of that.
Thinking about you. Just wanted to let you know that the offer of support still stands. Here whenever you need me. No strings. X
Lizzie tapped out a reply.
Thank you. Maybe not yet but I appreciate you thinking of me. X
Her phone bleeped again but she stuffed it back into her pocket. It would be Jude, acknowledging her reply, and she didn’t really have time to get into a lengthy discussion with him now. Instead, she turned her attention back to the task she’d set herself a moment before.
Lizzie searched the rooms of her home and found them all empty. With a vague panic, she went outside. Florentina was in the little side garden, bringing in some washing from the line, and Gracie was huddled in an oversized cardigan on a garden chair, talking to her. Though the weather was crisp now, after being crammed into the caravan for so long, everyone had grown so used to making the most of the outdoor space that it had become a part of their daily routine that would probably never leave them.
‘There you are!’ Lizzie said.
Her voice must have sounded more irritated than she had meant, because both Florentina and Gracie looked around with confused and vaguely guilty expressions.
‘Mum’s awake,’ Lizzie said, smoothing her tone. ‘I’m doing some soup for her – she wants to know if you’re going to join us.’
Both Florentina and Gracie knew that by ‘you’, Lizzie meant Gracie, not both of them. So Florentina went back to the washing while Gracie hauled herself up from the chair.
‘I suppose I ought to come in and see if she’s OK. I don’t really want any soup, though.’
‘I don’t think she’ll be happy unless you eat some and I don’t think she’ll have any if you don’t,’ Lizzie replied briskly.
Gracie let out a sigh. ‘Oh alright then; I’ll try.’
‘I’ll be in shortly,’ Florentina added as Lizzie threw her a questioning look. ‘You don’t really need me just now, do you?’
‘You’re OK, though?’ Lizzie asked.
‘I’m supposed to be asking that of you,’ Florentina replied with a wry smile.
‘I know, but this is all a lot for you to deal with, and, you know, it shouldn’t really be down to you to deal with it at all.’
‘We’ve been over this – I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else right now. You didn’t abandon me…’
‘I know.’ Lizzie nodded. She looked to Gracie. ‘Come on,’ she said, a note of dread in her voice. ‘We’d better get in.’
Gracie followed her round the house. When they got to the kitchen, the tin Lizzie had left out was open on the worktop. Gwendolyn stood next to it, staring into space. There was tomato soup everywhere. And then Gracie let out a squeak as she saw what Lizzie also now noticed. There wasn’t just soup on the worktop – there was blood too. Gwendolyn’s hand was extended and it dripped from a deep cut.
‘Mum!’ Lizzie rushed forward and grabbed her mother’s hand. ‘What did you do?’
‘Huh?’ Gwendolyn turned to her, and then looked at her own hand as if noticing for the first time that it was injured. ‘I thought I’d open the tin for you.’
‘You should have left it!’ Lizzie cried.
‘I can open a tin – I’ve done it often enough.’
‘But look at your hand!’
‘It’s just a little cut…’
‘It’s more than a little cut!’ Lizzie turned to Gracie. ‘Pass me that tea towel!’ Gracie ran to fetch it while Lizzie led her mum to the table and sat her down. Taking the towel from Gracie, she wrapped it around the cut. ‘We’ll have to take you to the hospital.’
‘What about our soup?’
‘We can have that later. Right now I’m more concerned about all the blood you’re losing.’
‘But I’ve opened it…’
Lizzie looked hopelessly at Gracie. It was clear their mum was losing the plot. How much worse could things get around here?
Just then Florentina came into the kitchen. In a moment she’d taken in the scene and had evaluated it. ‘You’ve got blood seeping through that towel,’ she said, putting the wash basket down and marching over to the table. ‘You need to wrap it tighter. I’ll get another one. Is it deep?’
‘It looks it,’ Lizzie said.
‘Want me to drive her to the hospital?’
‘I should go,’ Lizzie said.
‘I can drive you both if you want to go.’ Florentina took off the towel and inspected the wound for a second before wrapping it again. Gwendolyn barely flinched and barely seemed to have noticed Florentina’s arrival at all.
‘What shall I do?’ Gracie asked. ‘Should I come?’
‘Perhaps you should stay here,’ Lizzie said, aware that Gracie had been subjected to enough stress over the past few days and adding to it wasn’t going to help her or the baby. ‘I shouldn’t think we’ll be all that long.’
Gracie seemed relieved and she nodded agreement. Lizzie went to fetch another towel to shore up the dressing on her mum’s hand and she led her in Florentina’s wake, heading for the car.
* * *
When they got back from the hospital, almost paralysed by exhaustion – physical and mental – and Gwendolyn sporting a small, neat row of stitches in her hand, Gracie met them at the front door.
‘You had a visitor,’ she said.
‘I did?’ Lizzie asked, shrugging her jacket off. ‘Who?’
‘Harriet.’
‘Oh.’
Lizzie wasn’t interested in Harriet or what she had to say. But as she walked into the kitchen, she saw a huge bouquet of flowers in the middle of the table and, guessing that Harriet must have brought them over, immediately felt horribly ungrateful.
‘She did say that Jude had sent you a text to ask if it was OK for her to come over – she just wanted to offer her condolences. But when you didn’t reply she just decided to come over anyway and leave the flowers.’
Lizzie took her phone out and now opened the unread text message from Jude. Sure enough he’d sent a tentative enquiry, explaining that Harriet wanted to express her sympathy and didn’t want anything but to be able to come over with a gift. She wasn’t sure how he would have taken her non-reply but she didn’t suppose it mattered now as Harriet had come anyway. Tomorrow, when her thoughts were a little clearer, she’d send him a text explaining what had happened to her mum and why she’d been too busy to respond to his message. She looked up at the flowers. They were simple and elegant and she wished she could feel some gratitude for what was a brave and lovely gesture but she couldn’t. That same old numbness washed over her again, exacerbated by the sheer exhaustion brought on by the last few hours, and all she wanted to do was dissolve into the darkness of her own bed. There would be no sleep, of course, but at least there would be solitude.
‘I thanked her on your behalf.’ Gracie’s voice cut into her thoughts. ‘She was really very sweet and seemed genuinely sorry to hear about James.’
‘That’s good,’ Lizzie replied absently. ‘I suppose I ought to thank her myself.’
‘I don’t think she was really expecting anything like that,’ Gracie said. ‘She said not to worry; she just wanted us to know that she was sorry for our loss.’
‘Isn’t that lovely?’ Florentina said, glanc
ing between Lizzie and Gwendolyn, who had collapsed silently into a chair, staring at the flowers while nursing her newly dressed hand.
Lizzie nodded but Gwendolyn offered nothing but more silence.
‘Cup of tea?’ Florentina continued. She must have known she was swimming against the tide but she kept on trying, and for that Lizzie was grateful.
‘Tea.’ Lizzie nodded, though it was the last thing she wanted. But what else were they supposed to do? James was dead, Gracie was about to be a single mother with no job and no prospects, Gwendolyn was lost to them, walled up in a reality of her own making, Florentina had nowhere to live and it looked as if Lizzie would never make things up with Jude now. Things were about as bad as they were going to get, so what else did you do when all hope was lost? You drank tea.
TWENTY-FIVE
Everyone talked about closure. When the funeral was over the family would be able to move on from James’s death, that’s what they said. The mourning would never really end, of course, but it would mark a point where the shock ended and the readjustment began.
The closure began on a crisp November morning. Almost a year to the day since they’d buried Lizzie’s dad, they found themselves in another procession of black cars, travelling to that same churchyard, those same evergreen-topped walls of grey stone, the same wiry trees reaching into a watercolour sky. Lizzie and Gracie sat on seats opposite Gwendolyn, who was thinner and paler than ever. If closure was coming, Lizzie could only hope it would happen soon, because the real fear now was that her mother wouldn’t survive this ordeal. Lizzie wasn’t about to lose another member of her family, not if she had anything to do with it. Florentina followed in another car, and somewhere in the line, in his own car, Jude had come to pay his respects. Not because he’d ever met James, but for Lizzie.
The congregation was bigger than Lizzie would have expected. She counted perhaps two hundred as she walked hand in hand with her mum and Gracie to the entrance of the little stone church. Old school friends, ex-teachers, neighbours – Lizzie spotted them all gathered in the churchyard, a sea of black suits. They nodded recognition as the Lovell women joined them, but not a word was spoken; instead, every eye was turned to the coffin now being pulled from the hearse. They watched as it was carried into the church on sombre shoulders. Lizzie dragged a breath from the depths of her lungs – it contained every ounce of strength and courage that she had – and she threw her shoulders back. A couple of hours would see this ordeal over, but that couple of hours looked like a lifetime right now.
She threw a last glance back at the gates of the churchyard and saw Jude walk in. She’d never seen him wear black before and he looked strange – like Jude but not like Jude, like a Jude from an alternate universe. Their eyes met and Lizzie could sense the strength and support that he was doing his best to transmit across the old stones that formed the pathway into the chapel. He gave a hesitant half-smile, and Lizzie returned it. Then, she gripped Gracie and Gwendolyn’s hands a little tighter and together they went inside to say goodbye.
* * *
The pub – ivy snaking around its chimneystack, ancient roof sagging in the middle and yet somehow still defying collapse, the remains of summer roses clinging to the trellis at the front door – had been the venue of James’s christening celebration twenty-six years before. Now, they were back once more in his honour, though the clothes were darker and the conversation more subdued. Gwendolyn was holding up remarkably well, listening politely to each old friend who came to express their sorrow at her loss, smiling sadly in all the right places and even managing a little food from the buffet that Lizzie had organised. Gracie was sitting in a corner with Florentina, who seemed to have become something of a spare mum these days. It was a role Lizzie would have played gladly, but perhaps Gracie unconsciously recognised that Lizzie was struggling more than she’d have anyone know. Whatever the reason for Gracie’s sudden closeness to her former enemy, Lizzie was content that perhaps they’d seen the end of hostilities. Nothing good could ever come from James’s death, but perhaps this was as close to it as they would get.
As she stared into space, Lizzie became aware of a familiar, comforting scent. She turned to see Jude behind her.
‘Jude…’
‘Hi.’
‘Hey. I’m glad you could come. I wanted to say I’m sorry I haven’t asked before now – how’s Artie’s arm?’
‘Healing nicely. It wasn’t a bad break. He’s a tough little nut and it won’t be long before he’s back to normal.’ He gave a warm smile. ‘Thanks for asking.’
Lizzie shrugged. ‘I should have asked before.’
‘I think you can be forgiven for being a little distracted.’
Lizzie smiled tightly.
‘So… How are you holding up?’ he asked softly.
‘I’m fine.’ She took a sip of the brandy she’d been clutching and not drinking for the half hour since one of James’s old classmates had bought it for her. It was warm and syrupy and strangely consoling.
Jude raised his eyebrows slightly. ‘This is me you’re talking to. Tell me the truth.’
‘Honestly, I’m OK.’
‘Am I allowed to say that I know you better than that?’ He looked towards the door of the pub. ‘Want to get some air and find somewhere quiet to talk? You can tell me again how OK you really are.’
‘I’m alright in here.’
‘In here you have to put on a brave face – at least you think you do. Brave faces are all very well but they don’t help anyone in the long run.’ He gave her a crooked half-smile and, even in the darkness, a little light flared in her heart for him. ‘I thought it was us men who were supposed to bottle everything up.’
‘It is. If James had been a bit more open…’ Lizzie let out a sigh. ‘Who am I kidding? James had been on a path of self-destruction for a long time. If it hadn’t been this accident it would have been something else. Disaster was always going to be waiting for him in some form or another.’
‘You don’t really believe that. My Lizzie would never feel that way.’
‘Your Lizzie?’
‘The woman who used to be my Lizzie.’
‘You’re saying I’m not the same as I used to be?’
‘I don’t know. With all you’ve been through I wouldn’t blame you for changing.’
‘Well, I haven’t changed. Life has changed and shifted the landscape around me, and it’s made me look different, but I’m the same.’ His gaze went to the floor. Lizzie placed her brandy on the bar. Whatever else had happened between them, he was here for her now and that meant everything. ‘Maybe it would be good to go outside after all.’
* * *
Clouds were tumbling in from the east, bringing a keen wind with them, and dusk was already creeping across the fields beyond the pub gardens. Lizzie pulled her coat tighter, wishing she’d worn something thicker beneath.
‘It’s a bit chillier than it looked,’ Jude said. ‘Want to go back inside?’
Lizzie shook her head and perched on a wooden bench. The windows of the old pub were warm with yellow light, but they were deceptively cheerful. The atmosphere inside was anything but inviting. Jude sat next to her, close enough to be a comfort but far enough to maintain a respectful distance. But as his scent assaulted her senses again, she wasn’t sure she wanted that respectful distance anymore. He smelt of familiarity and good humour, of lazy days spent under the old pear trees and picnics in the sun, of sultry evenings entwined in her bed. He smelt of hope and optimism – his scent was a reminder of happier times. She took in a deep breath and tried to draw comfort from it.
‘The hardest thing to accept is still the stupid way he died,’ she said. ‘Hit by a car, shoving someone out of the way like he was some cheesy superhero.’
‘It wasn’t stupid. He was being a good person. He saved that old man’s life.’
‘I’m supposed to be proud of him, aren’t I? I know he was doing a good thing. A bloody marvellous thing… I just wish this marvell
ous deed hadn’t killed him. Is it very wrong that I wish the old man had died instead?’
‘You don’t mean that…’
‘No, I don’t. But why did anyone have to die? Why did the choice have to be made? If it was God or whoever, why did he even create the situation in the first place?’
‘I wish I knew the answer to that.’ Jude gave a slight shrug. ‘Lizzie… I don’t know what to say.’
She sighed. ‘Neither do I. One day I suppose I might be able to see it as a noble deed. It’s quite ironic when you think about it – our James a hero. The times we’ve complained about his waster friends and his lazy lifestyle, and then the first time he decides to do something good it gets him killed. He should have carried on to the pub instead like he would have done before.’
A shiver ran up from the bottom of her spine to the back of her neck as a fresh gust blew in from the east. ‘I just feel like we somehow failed him.’
‘He was a grown man – you couldn’t be there every second of every day. Believe me, I feel the same way about Charlie sometimes, but we’re all just doing our best, aren’t we?’
Lizzie nodded. ‘Did Charlie ask where you were going today?’
‘I told him the truth. I try to be as honest as I can about things. Sometimes he struggles to understand, but that’s no reason to keep him in the dark. He wanted to come today, but I explained that it was going to be pretty sad and he seemed to get that he would be better off staying at home. Harriet’s with him.’
‘Brothers, eh?’ Lizzie gave a wry smile. ‘I never really saw before that it was one big thing we had common – brothers to worry about.’
‘I think we had a lot more than that in common.’
‘I suppose we did.’
Lizzie wanted to ask if he thought it was too late for them now, but maybe the question had answered itself, simply by existing in her head. Her thoughts quickly turned back to James. The reason they were here now, even talking about what they’d once had, was because of him, and she didn’t know how she ought to feel about that. She only knew that the rage she felt about her brother’s death was a constant undercurrent, pulling her back in whenever she tried to escape it.
The Mill on Magnolia Lane: A gorgeous feel-good romantic comedy Page 28