The Missing Pieces of Us

by Eva Glyn

  Jennifer looked at me for a long moment then touched my arm. “I have always believed that human beings are better off when they are in tune with the turning of the earth.”

  I was getting used to smiling now. “And I’m in tune because it’s a bright day and I can feel the greyness lifting?”

  “Something like that. Now let’s ask the tree, then you can collect our log.”

  “Ask out loud?”

  She shook her head and we stood in silence for a few moments. A pheasant’s call split the air, answered by another across the river. Jennifer said nothing more but I knew the moment to edge into what would have been the canopy of the oak. I grasped the log in both hands and brought my weight onto it. It snapped from the trunk with a loud crack and, gathering the trailing mistletoe, I carried it back to Jennifer.

  “In the autumn I made some cider,” she told me. “I thought I would be drinking it alone to celebrate my Yule log but I’m glad I will be sharing it with you.”

  I bowed my head.

  “Thank you, Jennifer.”

  Her words meant the world to me.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  I slept long into the morning. Izzie was alone in the kitchen when I finally made my way downstairs.

  She looked up from her newspaper and smiled.

  “Hello, Robin. How are you today?”

  “OK, thanks. I thought I might take a walk up the road, get some fresh air. Start my rehabilitation.”

  “I’ve got a better idea. How about we have some lunch then go to Netley for a stroll along Southampton Water?”

  I hesitated. “It sounds nice, but I’m not sure I’m up to a proper walk and I don’t want to spoil it for you and Claire.”

  She laughed. “I’m not proposing a three-mile hike.”

  “I reckon I’d be pleased with a three-hundred-yard one.”

  “OK, then we’ll take a flask and the paper and you can do your bit then sit in the car while Claire and I step it out.” She stood up and walked towards the kettle.

  “No, really, Izzie. I’ll just go around the block. You’re already doing too much for me.”

  “It’s nice to have you here.”

  How nice? I sat down with my head in my hands.

  “Robin, what is it?” she asked.

  I tried to gather my thoughts. “It’s all too one-sided. My life’s a bit of a mess at the moment – not really the best time to see you again.”

  There was a short silence before she replied. “I was thinking about it last night. I’d kind of assumed you’d been homeless for ages, but if Jennifer died so recently that’s not the case, is it? What happened? Did her family finally show up and chuck you out?”

  “No. Not at all. Stephen—remember, the older boy?—he came back years ago.” I paused. The memory warmed me a little and I managed to look up. “It was when he was eighteen. He’d quite deliberately chosen to come to Southampton to go to university and practically the first thing he did was come to find his gran.

  “It was a beautiful October morning and I was up a ladder at the front of the house pruning one of Jennifer’s climbing roses. I didn’t hear him come up the drive, but when he spoke and I looked down I knew who it was instantly. In most ways he hadn’t changed since he was a small boy – still had that very earnest look and a nose covered in freckles.

  “‘Stephen’, I said, and he looked amazed. I climbed down and introduced myself as his grandmother’s lodger, saying I recognised him from her pictures. Then I took him to the corner of the house. Jennifer was cleaning out the chicken sheds and I sent him off across the lawn before going inside to leave them to it.”

  “So was Stephen jealous of you? Is that what went wrong in the end?”

  I shook my head. “Not at all. Over the years we became great friends. No, my current situation’s completely of my own making. Just like it was last time.”

  “It wasn’t entirely your fault last time.”

  It was a comforting thing for her to say, but of course she didn’t really have a clue. I was saved from further embarrassment by Claire’s footsteps running down the stairs.

  In the end we compromised on my exercise. I pottered down the road and back again with Izzie strolling next to me. Then she and Claire would go off for a proper walk.

  Afterwards I didn’t feel too bad. “When you take the car I’ll sweep the drive,” I told her. “It’s about time I started to earn my keep.”

  “Oh, no, Robin, it’s cold. You have a rest.”

  “I will after it’s done. Now, where d’you keep the brush?”

  We went back into the hall and she led me into the garage which was built into the side of the house. It smelled musty and metallic, and to my surprise was almost completely filled by an elderly VW Beetle.

  “It was Connor’s car,” Izzie explained. “Claire wants it for when she learns to drive but no one’s touched it since the summer. I need to ask the garage to tow it away to get it going again but I just haven’t got around to it.”

  “Why, is there anything wrong with it?”

  “I don’t think so – just lack of use. I doubt the engine even turns over now.”

  “I’ll have a go with it, if you like.”

  Izzie looked doubtful and I backpedalled. “Listen, I know this car is precious to you, but I wouldn’t do anything to damage it, honestly.”

  “It’s not that. I’m just surprised you know how.”

  “I can turn my hand to a lot of things, Izzie.”

  She tilted her face towards me. “Robin, what have you been doing with your life?”

  I bit back a quick-fire Waiting for you and told her. “Gardening mostly, but also decorating and general maintenance. Anything anyone would pay me to do, really. And that included keeping a vehicle on the road. Jennifer hated getting ripped off by the garage so we invested in a manual and I learnt to do it myself. For years she had a lovely old Ford Escort estate and when that finally died we bought a nice little VW van between us.”

  “What happened to it?”

  “Eventually it became too difficult to take Jennifer out, certainly on my own. So I sold it. It was a big house; we needed to pay the bills.”

  “Too difficult? What happened to her?”

  I shook my head. “Alzheimer’s. It’s the cruellest thing, Izzie, to lose your mind.”

  She touched my arm. “You told Stephen you were her lodger, but you were more than that, weren’t you?”

  I nodded. “I was so lucky. Most people… another mother… especially— Come on, Izzie, show me where this broom is and get off on your walk. Then I can make a start on the front garden.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  I was still abusing Izzie’s hospitality when the first day of term yawned empty ahead of me. I could only lie in bed for so long, listening to the silence that descended after the front door closed behind Izzie and Claire. Water trickled into the tank above me in the loft, and after a while I heard the soft thud of the boiler bursting into life. The coughing fit that assailed me as I put on my dressing gown reminded me why I couldn’t make more of it.

  Izzie had left a cheery note on the kitchen table but the house didn’t welcome me. I took my mug of tea to the living room and perched on the edge of one of the sofas. The coffee table was strewn with junk mail and magazines but I resisted the urge to tidy it. As I looked around, the family pictures on the mantelshelf caught my attention.

  Connor, of course, was in every one. The first was of when Claire was a tiny baby, held in the arms of an Izzie who looked less like the girl I remembered than she should have. Same fine blonde hair, just reaching her shoulders, same little upturned nose, but her face was thin and her eyes seemed haunted. But she had a new baby – it must have been lack of sleep. And there was Connor, crouched next to them, a mop of dark hair, a firm jaw and a delighted smile.

  I tried to get the measure of the man from the photographs. He wasn’t particularly tall; he stayed fairly slim over the years, and he seemed very aff
ectionate given he had his arms around Izzie or Claire in just about every picture. Affectionate or possessive? If it was the latter then maybe it was his presence making me feel unwelcome. It was his house, his wife, his child. I shook my head – that was nonsense. He was gone.

  I felt much better once I started work on the Beetle and Connor’s malevolent ghost, real or imagined, drifted away. Early in the afternoon I took a walk and managed about three times further than I had the day before. It was progress, but not enough. Certain very important tasks were long overdue.

  Claire came home at about four o’clock. The garage door was open and she walked straight in from the dusk, making me jump.

  “Hello, Robin,” she beamed. “How are you getting on with my car?”

  “OK, Claire. She needs a couple of brake pads and I’ll have to jump start her off your mum’s, but other than that she should be fine.”

  “Won’t she need servicing?”

  I wiped my hands on an old duster I’d found under the sink. “I’ve done that. There was some oil in the boot, and all the filters and that looked OK.”

  “Wow. I never had you down as a grease monkey. Dad wouldn’t have known which end to hold the spanner.”

  I laughed. “I gathered that when I finally unearthed the tool kit with the spare tyre – it didn’t look as though it had been touched. But if he was a violinist perhaps he didn’t want to risk damaging his hands.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “I never thought of it like that. He was pretty useless around the house and—” She ground to a halt.

  I rested back on my haunches. “Is it good or bad to talk about him?”

  “Good… I think. It’s just that no one seems to want to. It’s like he’s been forgotten, and so quickly.”

  “People are embarrassed I expect. They don’t know how you’ll react if they mention him. But if you start the conversation, I reckon they’ll be happy to join in.”

  “What, even Mum?” Her chin jutted out at an angle of challenge.

  “Have you tried?”

  “Only once or twice and she always changes the subject. And I don’t want to stress her out and make her ill again.” She started to unwind the multi-coloured scarf from around her neck.

  “What happened last time?”

  Claire stopped unwinding and bit her lip. “They said it was depression but it was weird. I suppose I thought depressed people moped around being miserable and crying a lot but she wasn’t like that; she just got very forgetful and couldn’t cope with anything. Not even everyday things like knowing when to eat, and certainly not work. And she was drinking too much – that couldn’t have helped.”

  “Depression takes many forms, Claire. And I suppose everyone reacts differently to grief.” I stood up and stretched. “Come on, if we want to keep Izzie as stress free as possible let’s have her tea on the table when she gets home.”

  Claire beamed up at me. “You’re very good for Mum, you know,” she said. “The best thing that could have happened to her.”

  Before I could reply she raced off upstairs to get changed.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Each day I walked a little further; sometimes I went out three or four times. Wearing two jumpers, a scarf, and my coat, even so the frost still bit into my lungs and made me cough. But my muscles were lurching into life again and on Thursday the air smelt different; for the moment, at least, the iron grip of winter was coming to an end.

  Friday dawned damp and blustery and I knew I had to take my chance before the weekend. As soon as Izzie and Claire left the house I hurried to get ready and after a quick breakfast of tea and toast I walked down into the town to where I had spied a bus stop.

  It was not a long journey to Botley but there I had to wait for another bus to take me towards Curbridge. To pass the time, I mooched around the shops and bought the notepad and pen I needed. I had a little cash but it was running out, though if today went according to plan then I should be able to get by for a while longer. The problem was I had no idea what I would find and the very thought brought a tightness to my chest. I started to cough again.

  I got off the bus at the Horse & Jockey and made my way into the wood. The drizzle had stopped but a bank of grey cloud hung over the tree tops, muffling every sound. A lone heron fished on the far bank of the river.

  This was not my normal approach to the fairy tree and I was surprised to find how far away the cohorts of little plastic guardians began their watch. It fascinated me, the way children and sometimes adults brought these offerings – things they had treasured but were prepared to leave as a gift for the fairies. It was a nod to paganism that I’d wager few of them would recognise or understand.

  The first time I made the link was on a clear February night when I’d followed Jennifer across the garden and down the slope to the woods. When I saw her kneel before the fairy tree I had stopped, hidden by the shadow of the hedge, my mind in turmoil. But then I’d told myself that faith was very personal and so I had crept away.

  I’d jumped out of my skin when I heard a knock on the summerhouse door. Jennifer stood there, her anorak hood pulled close over her head and a lighted candle in her hand.

  “It was you at the top of the woods?”

  I hung my head. “I’m sorry. I went away as soon as I realised it was private.”

  “It isn’t, not really. In the old calendar today is special and I like to mark such things.”

  I frowned. “Special?”

  “It is said that from now on, winter’s grip will be less tight on the land, and the days will begin to get longer.”

  I looked past her into the freezing darkness. “I don’t know about that but it’s certainly too cold to be standing outside. Come in.”

  She shook her head and put the candle into my hand, closing my fingers around it. “No, I just came to give you this. Put it in the window and let it burn. My wish, more than anything, is for it to send light into the darker corners of your mind.”

  I didn’t understand but I watched it flicker as I lay on my bed and I think perhaps it soothed me. The next day I returned to the fairy tree and discovered that Jennifer had not only been communing with nature at its foot.

  And now I was here on the same mission: not to worship, but to kneel by the little box to collect the children’s letters. Although I found out what Jennifer was doing that night, she didn’t tell me herself until years later when she slipped on some ice in early December and broke her wrist. She had no option then but to share her secret because at that time of year it was more important than ever the letters were answered.

  This Christmas I had let the children down. The box was full to bursting point. I eased the bundle out and stowed the letters in the inside pocket of my anorak. That was the simple part; the next stage of my plan was very much riskier.

  Even from the back, the house had a neglected air and I guessed it was probably empty. It wasn’t in a bad state of repair – I’d been able to keep that side of things pretty much together – but when you’ve known a house for years you can tell when things aren’t right. I don’t remember actually noticing the lack of smoke from the chimney, or the back bedroom curtains still closed at noon, but there was a general sadness about the place that felt infectious.

  I stole into the garden, keeping to the line of the hedge. Only the occasional car on the wet road at the front broke the silence. This space had always been alive with clucking and I wondered what had happened to the little flock. Jennifer and I had never fallen into the sentimentality of giving them names, but all the same they had been a big part of our lives and the unexpected emotion I felt at their loss almost drove me back into the woods.

  Nevertheless, I crept up to the summerhouse and turned the handle. It was locked. I peered through the window; the dusty furniture and piles of boxes were untouched and that confirmed my impression that the house had not been sold.

  The key to the back door was in my pocket and I slipped into the kitchen. The chill air rushed to mee
t me. All the years I had lived here, the Aga had filled this room with warmth. There had always been flowers too – something seasonal from the garden to cheer and bless our home. I told myself to get a grip. There was no point in crying for Jennifer; in the end, hers had been a blessed release.

  I didn’t dare put on the light to relieve the gloom. I ran the water for a while, filled the kettle, and made myself a mug of black coffee – mainly to warm my hands. I left it steaming on the table while I went through to the hall.

  The pyramid of post spreading across the doormat told me the house had not been visited for some time but I ignored it and made my way upstairs. At the end of the landing Jennifer’s bedroom door stood open, the light from her windows spreading across the faded roses on the carpet. With a heavy heart I turned away.

  My own room was as I had left it: the plain blue duvet square on the bed, the photo of Mum and me on the chest of drawers next to my deodorant and radio. On the corner nearest the door was an envelope addressed to me in Stephen’s handwriting. I fingered it for a while, before pushing it into my pocket.

  I was almost afraid to open the drawer. The wood caught on the runners but I gave it a tug and it fell out completely. It didn’t matter because there, among the socks scattered across the carpet, was my wallet. The brown leather fell open as I picked it up revealing my bank card, my credit card, two ten pound notes and a book of stamps. Dizziness overtook me and I slumped onto the bed, coughing.

  I had what I wanted so I could get out of here. But first I had to do my duty by the fairies. I returned to the kitchen and pulled out the children’s letters and my notepad. Each reply had to be different, but they all began with the same apology: the fairies and elves of the forest had been called to help Father Christmas in Lapland and had only just come back home. In the chill of the kitchen I felt the warmth of Jennifer’s hand.

  It took me a long while to write all the letters, and by the time I left the house it was drizzling again and what little daylight there had been was fading. Sheltering next to the garage wall were some snowdrops, so I picked a handful and set them in a little vase by the silent Aga. Then I locked the back door and slipped along the line of outhouses, across the hedge, and into the wood.