Lavender Girl

by Paula Hickford

  ‘Yes,’ said Liz.

  ‘Can I see it?’ she asked.

  ‘Not now,’ said Liz. ‘It’s raining outside and it doesn’t look its best at the moment.’

  ‘When?’ insisted Tammy.

  ‘When the weather improves,’ she replied forcing a smile, satisfied that she had fended off the inevitable for the time being. ‘You know that your aunt was really worried about you, don’t you?’ Tammy shrugged. ‘She cares about you very much.’

  ‘Does she?’ said Tammy angrily.

  ‘Yes, she does,’ replied Liz firmly. ‘It’s not easy looking after a budding artist.’

  Tammy almost smiled but then changed her mind before adding, ‘All she cares about is work.’

  ‘I’m sure that’s not true,’ said Liz. ‘I have an idea. How about the two of you coming here to dinner on Sunday? It’s been ages since I’ve cooked for someone. What do you think? We can watch a DVD or draw some more. Shall I ask your Aunt if you’re free?’ Tammy nodded. ‘Great,’ said Liz. ‘I’ll speak to Monica this evening.’

  Liz turned on the TV and left Tammy watching a cartoon while she went back into the kitchen. She pulled up the blind and looked out into the garden. It was a dull, grey day and the garden was almost devoid of colour apart from the evergreen ivy. The grey shed, at least the bits of it you could see, matched the grey sky.

  ‘I’m sorry, Jim,’ she said, looking at the neglected garden. ‘I just don’t know where to start.’

  She pulled down the blind and filled the kettle with water. She found winter a bit easier than summer. In the winter she didn’t have to see the garden. She could keep the blinds drawn and pretend it didn’t exist. She had thought about moving but it didn’t feel right. She just didn’t have the energy to even contemplate it after Jim died and then nothing seemed to matter anyway, plus Eve had been such a good friend.

  Eve had moved in a couple of years before Liz. At seventy she was ten years older than Liz but you’d never know it. She was very fit and active, at least she was until she fell and broke her hip. It didn’t mend very well and getting about was becoming increasingly difficult.

  Her daughters helped with the housework and shopping but she was finding it harder and harder to get up the stairs to bed. She could have made a bedroom from one of the rooms downstairs but would still have had to make room for a bathroom and that would have meant building work and money which Eve didn’t have. She had been a widow for over twenty years but it was different. She didn’t miss Alf the way Liz missed Jim.

  Alf was an alcoholic. How he got to fifty had been a miracle according to Eve who had assumed it was because most of his organs were pickled. He was a functioning alcoholic in that he seemed to hold down a job but they never had any money. In the early days Eve was always knocking on the door needing to borrow something like milk for the baby, nappies or fifty pence for the gas meter. Liz felt sorry for her.

  Eve would hide out in Liz’s house when Alf was on the rampage, which thankfully was not that often. She would sometimes hear him shouting at the front door when he’d been out and was too drunk to put the key in the lock. She marvelled at Eve’s patience and often wondered why she’d stayed but people did in those days. ‘I’ve made my bed,’ Eve would say, ‘and now I’m lying in it.’

  Liz looked at the calendar she kept pinned to a notice board in the kitchen, not that there had been any reason to keep a calendar for the last few years. Apart from the odd appointment and family birthdays she very rarely had anything to put on it. She pencilled in lunch with Monica and Tammy.

  * * *

  Monica sat in her car outside Liz’s house and thought of how different her life had been just eighteen months ago. After flat sharing for ages she had just about managed to save enough money for a deposit on a flat of her own. She had found the perfect place, a one bedroom flat in a brand new block with an ultra-modern kitchen and bathroom. The mortgage was manageable and it was convenient for work.

  Her younger sister, Joanna, could not have been more different. She had no ambition in life bar marriage and children. She was thrilled when she knew she was pregnant. It was all she had ever wanted. Max was only her second boyfriend and a lot keener on the children than the marriage, at least the conception part anyway. He had left when Joanna rejected his proposal that she terminate the pregnancy. He wasn’t ready for marriage or fatherhood.

  Joanna was grateful that they were not married. She didn’t really want Max having even a part time role in their daughter’s life. Joanna never asked him for anything and let him slip out of her life as easily as he had slipped in. She didn’t even let him know when Tammy was born. She was so in love with her perfect little girl that the everyday struggles of life were inconsequential. Tammy was a really good baby and Joanna loved every minute of being a mother.

  She didn’t keep her job after Tammy was born. There was no way her beautiful baby was going to be looked after by a child-minder, someone else hearing her first word or watching as she took her first step. She had worked as a hairdresser and still had a number of friends and clients who came to the house. This gave her an income and company and life was good. She was easy going and full of fun, tall and slim with smooth shiny skin and almond eyes. She was warm and friendly, she laughed often and the usual hairdresser banter was born out of genuine interest. She loved being surrounded by people.

  Despite having a hairdresser for a sister Monica had had the same hairstyle for the last fourteen years, a mass of wavy hair that sat on her head like an old fashioned mop. She hardly ever left her hair loose. If she let Joanna work on it at all it was to have an inch or so lopped off the bottom and even then under protest. Most of the time she would pull it back into a doughnut shaped bun on top of her head, or when really desperate and late for work, conceal it under a wig.

  ‘How can we be sisters?’ Joanna would tease. ‘We are nothing alike.’

  This was true. Monica was short, which she always felt was unfair. At five foot two she didn’t feel that short but she looked shorter because she was at least two, probably three, stone overweight. She wasn’t entirely sure of her weight anymore as she had thrown out the weighing scales when they persisted in telling her that she was over twelve stone. She had the same smooth skin and dark almond eyes as Joanna but they didn’t look nearly as elegant framed in her chubby face.

  She hadn’t always been chubby. The weight had just crept on over the last few years. She ate more when she was stressed and she was always stressed. That, coupled with working long hours and living alone, meant lots of nights in with takeaways and sad films for company while she saved hard to buy her flat.

  She had been completely focused on her career and was doing really well. She loved her job as one of the senior accountants for a magazine group, even though she didn’t really fit in with most of the skinny, image obsessed creatives that made up the editorial and advertising staff.

  Added to which the amount of time she had taken off dealing with Tammy was now putting her job in jeopardy. It would be enough to send the most dedicated dieter into a spiral of cream cakes and chocolate.

  When Tammy was due to be christened Joanna had asked her to be godmother. She reluctantly accepted, convinced that apart from looking pretty at the christening, with Joanna’s help, her only involvement would be buying presents on birthdays and Christmas. Monica asked her if she was sure. Joanna was adamant that she was the perfect role model and was confident that she would be great mother material whenever she decided to settle down.

  Monica was not convinced. She was entirely selfish and always had been. As if to confirm it on the very few occasions when she did hold Tammy as a baby she had screamed the place down. Hell, she could barely look after herself. How would she look after a little girl?

  She was completely gobsmacked when Joanna asked her to be Tammy’s guardian. To her shame she had said no at first. She didn’t know how she would cope. She was terrified. She had no experience with children. Despite being thirty fo
ur she didn’t feel grown up enough to be responsible for a child.

  ‘There must be someone else,’ she pleaded. ‘You have lots of friends with children. They know what to do. I don’t.’

  ‘There is no one I trust more than you,’ Joanna begged. ‘I need to know that you will look after my daughter.’ How could she say no?

  Joanna had liver cancer. She had been going to the GP for months with various symptoms and pain but had been fobbed off with antibiotics, her doctor insisting that the pain was caused by an infection. When she was finally referred for tests it was more than six months after her initial visit to the GP. Monica had sat with her in the consultant’s office as he delivered the devastating diagnosis. He was very sorry but the cancer was inoperable. She may have only three months to live. They both heard the words but neither of them could take them in. They asked him to repeat it two or three times. They were both numb.

  Joanna only had seven weeks in the end. She died on the twenty third of August two thousand and eleven, just over a week after Tammy’s ninth birthday. It was almost as if she was hanging on to make sure she didn’t miss it. She had used up the last of her strength trying to organise everything. She left very clear instructions. She wrote page after page of what to do when. She gave Monica a list of all the foods that Tammy liked and, more importantly, the ones she disliked. She wrote down her favourite toys and games, clothes, colours, songs and the TV programmes she liked to watch.

  She listed her friends and their contact details. She gathered all her school reports and other important information in a box file which included notes on vaccinations and illnesses. She gave Monica all of her photographs in a shoebox, a pictorial history of their lives to date. She reminded her to leave a nightlight on in Tammy’s bedroom when she slept and to let her climb into bed with her if she was frightened or sad.

  She made notes of the books that they had read together and the ones that they wanted to read. She listed the things they were planning to do in the school holidays. Visit the Zoo, go to the seaside, swimming, rowing, museums and a holiday abroad on an aeroplane. Joanna was most specific about this. They had to go by plane. Tammy had been on a boat and a train but not a plane.

  The final item on the list was a birthday party. Monica was to organise a birthday party for Tammy’s eleventh birthday. It would be her last year in primary school and Joanna had promised she would throw her a party and invite all their relatives, aunts, uncles and cousins, plus her whole class. Monica vowed to keep that promise.

  When she came to collect Tammy at six thirty she was relieved to find that Liz had already fed her. She was equally grateful for the offer of Sunday lunch. Cooking was not her forte and just another thing she was failing at. She was not organised enough to sort dinner out every evening. She would have a run of a few nights when she thought she had cracked it but would forget to take something out of the freezer or run out of breakfast cereal or milk and feel like a complete failure.

  Recently she had been really pleased with herself because she had remembered to buy Tammy’s favourite pizza. Once in the oven Tammy had asked for sweetcorn to go with it. Monica felt quite smug as she was sure that she had bought some but after rummaging in the cupboard for five minutes or more she had to admit defeat.

  ‘What have we got?’ asked Tammy, daring her to come up with something. Monica sighed before rolling off the list. Tinned pears, condensed milk, plum tomatoes, spring vegetable soup or custard. She laughed. Tammy did not.

  She was equally disorganised with washing and ironing and was grateful for the fact that Tammy had a school uniform, which meant she could stretch a school skirt or tunic for another day or so before washing it. The white shirts were not as forgiving and after washing were ironed on Sunday night in front of the TV.

  This was followed by the ritual of hunting for the school tie to ensure Tammy wasn’t late for school, which in turn made her late for work.

  It wasn’t made any easier by the fact that Tammy was so angry a lot of the time. If Monica tried to talk about Joanna, or even school, she would storm out of the room and slam the door behind her. If Monica asked her a question, or worse, asked her to do something she would remind her that she wasn’t her mother and therefore couldn’t make her do anything.

  She had thought that the fact that they had both lost Joanna and had their grief in common would bind them somehow but instead it seemed to tear them further apart. She had initially resisted giving Tammy a key to their new flat because she didn’t feel she could trust her in the house on her own. Tamika had broken quite a few things in the last flat. She would get very angry and throw the nearest thing to hand. The last TV had been the victim of the remote control through the screen.

  Monica could not afford to keep replacing things. She had made arrangements with her employers to go in half an hour early and take a shorter lunch break so she could leave an hour or so earlier in the evenings, but still she didn’t always get home in time. ‘Must try harder,’ she told herself as she drove back to work.

  Chapter 3

  Liz knew that half term was coming up and wondered if Monica would be able to take the time off work. She had thought about offering her services. After all she had nothing better to do, but finding something for a ten year old girl to do for a couple of hours in the evening was a lot easier than whole days.

  Adam was busy at work when his secretary announced that his wife was on the phone. Georgina often called him at work and he was happy in the knowledge that it was likely to be for something trivial. During their sixteen years together Georgina had run their home like a well-oiled machine.

  They had met at work. Georgina had been the personal assistant to the Head of Corporate Law while Adam was a rising star from the international division. There was an immediate attraction, although Georgina’s was more calculated. Yes, she was attracted to his lean and handsome face, grey blue eyes and cheeky smile, but even more attractive was his six figure salary, not including bonus. He was a very good prospect indeed.

  For Adam it had been altogether more romantic. Georgina could play helpless damsel in distress with a performance that Dame Judi Dench would be proud of. She could also cry at the drop of a hat and Adam had been completely out of his depth the moment he asked her what was wrong sixteen years ago when he found her crying by the photocopier.

  Georgina was pretty, with delicate features, tall and slim with hazel eyes, shoulder length blonde hair and a slightly wonky smile, a smile that Adam had found so endearing when she accepted the offer of his handkerchief. She had engineered the meeting and instigated their first date. Adam thought it was his idea but he stood no chance whatsoever. Georgina planned her life with military precision.

  Within a year of meeting they were engaged and shortly after Liz and Jim were digging into their savings to contribute to their hugely expensive wedding. Adam didn’t need the money but his parents were old fashioned and had wanted to contribute something. Georgina had helpfully suggested that they pay for the honeymoon.

  After all, he was their only son and heir and they were so proud of him. They did their best to like Georgina but she was not easy to like. She would never put herself out to make conversation and although they were easy around Adam whenever Georgina was present there was a tension in the air.

  Adam excused her rudeness as being caused by the fact that she was shy and sensitive. Georgina was neither. It was not that she disliked Adam’s parents; it was merely that they were Adam’s parents and she wanted to be his entire world. So under the guise of love and affection she had set about disaffecting her in-laws along with most of his friends.

  Despite the fact that they lived locally they very rarely saw them. Adam and Georgina were always off somewhere sunning, skiing or sailing. Liz and Jim would keep an eye on their house and it seemed to Liz that they were most welcome at the house when they were away.

  Things got a little bit easier for a short while after Sasha was born and then again when baby Leo came into th
e world. Jim could not have been prouder at the christening of Leo James Bailey and tried very hard to overlook Georgina’s shortcomings. As for Georgina, she found it harder to find babysitters for two small children as her parents lived too far away, so Liz and Jim were finally called into service most weekends.

  But it didn’t go unnoticed that Georgina was only warm and friendly when she wanted something.

  Adam was happily oblivious to the domestic discord in his life, he was so busy building his client base and getting to the top of the ladder. In addition to which he spent a great deal of time abroad during their early years together and was grateful for the fact that Georgina was so organised, which meant that he was never bothered by domestic trifles.

  Georgina and Adam were equally ambitious. Adam wanted his CEO’s job and Georgina didn’t want to want for anything. In many ways they were perfectly suited. She was able to stay at home, employing a cleaner and a gardener. The house was perfect and the children well behaved. He thought of himself as a very lucky man.

  Georgina briefly considered getting a job after the children were born, or perhaps doing some sort of charity work. After all, she didn’t really want to ‘work’ for anyone else. She had thought about starting a business of her own but hadn’t been able to decide what to do, perhaps something in fashion or make up. She was fantastic at both, always beautifully turned out. Liz had never seen her without her face on, as she called it, both her faces, according to Jim.

  Adam had not been keen on moving to Bury St Edmunds from Arkley when it was first suggested. It was a much more difficult commute but Georgina had persuaded him that their lives would be so much easier as her parents were local and could help with the children, who were by then one and three, when she resumed her career. Liz was still working full time and was therefore unable to commit to child-minding. It didn’t take much to convince Adam and within three months they had moved away.