Lavender Girl

by Paula Hickford

  ‘Mum was from a huge family. She was the youngest of five sisters and three brothers. There was always a gang of us on the bus, with two or three of mum’s sisters and loads of cousins. We would board the bus near to Chapel Market in Islington and stay on until it terminated just outside the entrance to Parly.

  I was a terrible traveller as a child and my brother was no better, we were often sick on the bus. It would sometimes take half an hour or so sitting in the first field getting over being travel sick before venturing out to look for blackberries.

  ‘Blackberry bushes are covered in thorns. The art of collecting the berries is to find a branch with a crook at the end and use it to hook the brambles and pull them towards you to pick the berries.

  That’s the theory anyway. In practice we would get covered in scratches and blotches of blackberry juice, risking life and limb and terrible splinters to retrieve a small box or bagful each. Not to mention the clusters of bumps on your legs from the stinging nettles which always seem to accompany blackberries.

  ‘We didn’t have much money either so mum always made egg sandwiches to take with us. We would sit in the top field in the sunshine eating sandwiches and drinking orange squash. I can’t eat an egg sandwich now without being transported back to those fields. Then it was ice cream from the café at the entrance and back on the bus.

  ‘Once we were home we all helped to make the pies which would seep inky black juice onto the plate and stain your tongue purple.’

  ‘Can we do that?’ piped up Tammy. ‘Can we pick blackberries?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Monica, not really keen but happy to risk personal injury for anything which might breach the gaping hole between them.

  ‘You’ll have to wait until autumn for blackberries,’ Liz informed them, ‘but strawberries are ready for picking in June. We could go there if you like, the farm is just up the road. I haven’t been in ages. It would be fun.’

  Monica was grateful for the prospect of doing something nice with Tammy. More wine was poured and Tammy retired to the living room where she settled in front of the TV.

  Liz and Monica remained in the office at the table, chatting very quietly. Liz asked about Tammy’s dad and Monica told her the story of Max. Tammy knew all about Max. Joanna had always been completely honest with her. Monica was surprised that Tammy had not asked to meet him, not that it would have been easy if she had. Joanna had no idea where he was although she had always told Tammy that if she ever wanted to meet him she would help her to find him. Tammy had never expressed an interest, not even after Joanna had died.

  ‘How are you holding up?’ said Liz presently.

  ‘Oh, good days and bad days,’ replied Monica.

  ‘I know what that’s like,’ said Liz, ‘you feel like you’re under a cloud.’

  ‘Most days she hates me but some days she merely despises me, so I think I’m growing on her. It’s Mothering Sunday next week and I’m stealing myself for the tidal wave that’s coming.

  Tammy doesn’t want to go to the cemetery with me and I don’t know how to handle it. Some nights I wake up in a cold sweat with this feeling that a huge crushing weight is pressing on my chest.’

  ‘Sounds like a panic attack,’ Liz reassured.

  ‘It’s all I can do not to run out of the house,’ Monica confided, almost whispering.

  ‘I feel for you,’ said Liz. ‘I feel for both of you. It can’t be easy. If it means anything at all I think you’re doing really well, but it takes time. Tammy will come round and if I can do anything to help just let me know.’

  ‘I am really grateful to you,’ replied Monica. ‘I was getting to the end of my tether with work and worry. I didn’t have to think about things like holidays and homework before. I just went to work and came home and did whatever I wanted to do.

  ‘Who would have thought that not that long ago I was footloose and fancy free with no responsibilities other than work and now I have a ten year old to look after. It’s taken me months to get organised with the washing and ironing. Tammy used to have a packed lunch but I haven’t got that sorted yet. I’m sure she resents the fact that she now has to have school meals. She won’t let me help her with her homework and I am trying hard not to resent the fact that I had plans of my own which I have had to completely abandon. I didn’t want to be a parent. I didn’t choose...’

  Her voice trailed off as Tammy called out from the other room. Monica panicked, terrified that Tammy had overheard, but she hadn’t. Instead, when they went into the living room Tammy was standing at the patio door.

  ‘What’s happened to the garden?’ she said, as Liz entered the room. Liz was momentarily taken aback but she recovered quickly.

  ‘Oh, it’s been a bit neglected of late,’ surprising herself by the lack of emotion in her voice when she said it.

  ‘More than a bit,’ remarked Tammy, who had no discretion at all. ‘It’s like a bloody jungle out there.’

  ‘Tammy, don’t be rude,’ reproached Monica.

  ‘I’ve been meaning to do it, but I’m not much of a gardener. That was always Jim’s job. I wouldn’t know where to start.’

  ‘But Liz,’ said Tammy triumphantly, ‘you’ve got the book.’ She went straight to the spot under the chair where she had first found the book. She opened it at the grid.

  ‘Look,’ she said, pointing at the first page. ‘I will help you. This is the time of year when you should start cutting the lawn, unless it’s wet of course.’

  ‘And how would you know?’ said Monica.

  ‘It’s on page three,’ said Tammy.

  Liz couldn’t help but smile. She felt a little tipsy.

  Monica felt equally relaxed and thought about going home. Five school shirts had been left drying on the clothes horse and the ironing beckoned.

  ‘We had better go soon, young lady. You have school tomorrow.’

  Tammy watched the end of a film while Monica helped Liz rinse the plates and fill the dishwasher. As they were doing so Monica turned to Liz.

  ‘I hate to ask you this, and please don’t worry if you can’t, but I wondered if you would be able to look after Tammy over the Easter holidays. I wangled half term but I only get five weeks holiday and need to save some of them for the summer break. I can’t afford to have any more time off work. I’ve been away so much.’

  Liz didn’t hesitate. It was great having Tammy around and she really liked Monica.

  ‘I’d be happy to,’ she said, adding, ‘I was going to offer anyway but I didn’t want you to think that I was interfering. Are you sure it’s OK with Tammy?’ Tammy was still sitting on the sofa with the garden journal on her lap. Monica shouted through the open door.

  ‘Tammy, Liz has kindly offered to look after you during the daytime over the Easter break. If you would like that,’ she added hopefully.

  ‘Great,’ shouted Tammy. ‘We can start work on the garden.’

  * * *

  On Friday the eighth of March Liz was surprised by a knock on the door, earlier than the postman usually arrived. On the doorstep was a very small man carrying a huge bunch of flowers which completely obscured most of his head and torso. Adam always sent beautiful flowers for her birthday and Mothers’ Day. The bigger and more extravagant the flowers the less likely she was to be seeing him any time soon.

  There was a card, written in handwriting that Liz didn’t recognise. ‘Sorry, can’t get to see you this weekend. Will pop in soon. Happy Mothers’ Day, love Adam, Georgina, Sasha and Leo.’ He didn’t forget but the fact that he remembered was no comfort. It was automatic, as if it was a work commitment, a date in the diary but nothing personal. It was likely that his secretary had ordered the flowers and instructed the florist on what to write on the card. The flowers gave her no pleasure. She put them in a vase and hid them in a room upstairs. She didn’t want Tammy to see them when she came home from school.

  During the next week Tammy learnt that Liz taught history and had left her job a few years ago. She hadn’t wanted to
retire. She loved her job and loved being with the students, but Jim was a few years older than her and had been made redundant with a very good pay off. He was getting bored at home by himself so urged her to resign so she could be with him.

  She found it really hard to adjust in the beginning but they spent some time decorating the house. They had lots of friends from Jim’s lodge. He had been a Freemason for years so they were always out to dinner and often away for the weekends.

  Jim never wanted to go anywhere for long because he hated leaving the garden. Liz would have liked to move abroad, maybe France or Spain. She loved the sun but it was partly the fact that she missed Adam so much that drove her to think it would be a good idea. She felt that if they lived somewhere more interesting Adam and Georgina might visit more often with the children. She certainly wouldn’t see him any less.

  Jim was not so keen. He preferred somewhere closer to home and had considered Bournemouth. They even got as far as going to see a bungalow but Liz absolutely hated it.

  ‘I couldn’t face living there,’ she told Tammy. ‘It felt like God’s waiting room so we stayed here.’

  Liz didn’t mind most of Tammy’s questions and even found herself laughing when recanting Jim stories. He would always read her the jokes or readers’ letters from the paper, especially if they had made him laugh.

  Tammy had begun to talk about her mother, too. She told Liz how she would braid her hair and when they were really busy she would get Tammy to wash the hair of the clients who came to the house for a hairdo.

  Tammy could do a great imitation of her mother’s well practiced hairdresser small-talk. She would move her hands as if she was cutting imaginary hair. ‘Going on holiday this year?’ she would ask, and ‘How’s the family? Phil out of prison yet?’ Sometimes her mother would do the hair and the make-up too, if it was a special occasion. Tammy loved the before and after, seeing the people she knew transformed and dressed up to go out to parties.

  The Easter holidays were fast approaching and Liz was looking forward to spending more time with Tammy and Monica and even to tackling the garden. This was usually her worst time of year. It was nearing the anniversary of Jim’s death and she had to force herself to look at the garden.

  Happy and sad memories were fighting for space in her head. The wonderful barbecues and parties they had in the garden with their friends, the bonfire nights and birthday celebrations for Adam and his mates growing up, and her grandchildren, the rare occasions that Sasha and Leo had toddled around the garden or splashed in the paddling pool.

  But no matter how hard she tried to recall the happy memories the sight of Jim, his face ashen and his eyes rolling back in his head as he clutched his chest, haunted her. She caught her breath as, for a second; she was there again, re-living the moment when her world changed, paralyzed with fear for what seemed like forever before fumbling with the catch on the patio door in panic to get to Jim, who was already dead.

  She shook her head and closed her eyes. She took a deep breath before opening them again slowly and forcing herself to look back at the garden. The sun was shining and the image was gone.

  ‘I can do this,’ she said to herself.

  Friday the fifth of April was the anniversary of Jim’s death. She was pleased that Tammy would be coming home a bit earlier from school as they were breaking up at two o’clock.

  It was only Wednesday, so she had a few days to get some Easter presents to send. This year she would buy an Easter egg for Tammy and perhaps something for Monica, conscious of the fact that she was trying to lose weight. She was still thinking about Easter eggs when the phone rang.

  ‘Hi Adam, how lovely to hear from you.’ She tried to sound as bright and breezy as possible. She hated the thought that he might think she was desperate and needy so she smiled as she spoke into the receiver, hoping that it might somehow be reflected in her voice.

  ‘How are you, mum?’ he began.

  ‘Fine, fine,’ she replied. She really was fine, for the first time in a long time.

  ‘Mum, I’ve got some great news,’ he continued. ‘Georgina and I have booked a holiday for the Easter break, and we were hoping that you would...’

  ‘Come with you?’ Liz interrupted, knowing full well that it would be the last thing he’d say, but it threw him completely.

  ‘Well, that would have been nice,’ he continued, without a hint of embarrassment ‘but Georgina and I have booked to go away for a romantic break on our own and we wondered if you would like to come and stay with the children. It would be like a holiday for you.’ The man was deluded.

  ‘Thank you, Adam, but no thank you,’ was Liz’s emphatic reply. ‘I’m afraid I have plans for the Easter break and as much as I would love a holiday, I’ll have to pass. Anyway, got to go luv, I’m in the middle of something. I’ll have to call you later,’ and with that she put the receiver down. It felt good.

  Chapter 5

  Adam was left holding the phone while his brain caught up with the conversation he had just had with his mother. Perhaps she misunderstood, he reasoned. He’d have to call Georgina and tell her. She would be devastated.

  ‘What do you mean, she has plans,’ was her plaintive cry on the other end of the phone.

  ‘Well that’s all she said,’ Adam replied. ‘She has plans.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Georgina said. ‘There must be a misunderstanding. She never goes anywhere. You’ll have to go and see her.’

  * * *

  Liz caught a glimpse of herself in the hall mirror and suddenly saw herself through Tammy’s eyes. She had let herself go over the past few years. She was still fairly slim but her hair desperately needed cutting and was now almost completely white. She did look like a witch. She had taken very good care of herself in the past, always having her hair done and really looking after her skin. She looked young for her age but the grey hair now drained the colour from her face, adding five or ten years. It wasn’t only the garden that had been neglected.

  She rang the hairdressers.

  When she got to the salon Yvonne, the colourist, recognised her.

  ‘Hi, Mrs Bailey, haven’t seen you in a while.’ The last time she had been in the salon was the week before Jim died. They were going off to Prague for a long weekend and she had popped in to get her roots touched up.

  Yvonne asked her what she would like done. Liz wasn’t really sure except that her hair needed a complete overhaul. Yvonne suggested cutting in some soft layers and adding a colour. She then went off to mix the colour and a trainee stylist came over to help Liz on with her gown before going off to make her a cup of coffee.

  Liz liked the coffee at the hairdressers. Filter coffee in a small cafetierre, a cup and saucer, small jug of milk and one of those crunchy coffee biscuits on the side, individually wrapped and brought in on a silver tray, which always made it seem special.

  Yvonne came back presently with a trolley containing the bowl of colour and brushes and then proceeded to do exactly as Tammy had done when imitating her mother. She held up a strand of hair before painting on the colour and asking, ‘What have you been doing with yourself?’

  Liz was tempted to say that she’d just robbed a bank to fund her drug habit, she doubted that Yvonne was actually listening anyway. Anything was better that talking about Jim. She couldn’t trust herself not to cry.

  She managed to fend off most of the questions and thankfully Yvonne didn’t seem to remember anything concrete about her other than the fact that she was a teacher and used to come in regularly. Once her hair had been covered in the dye Yvonne placed a timer on the shelf in front of her.

  ‘I’ll leave you for thirty five minutes for the colour to develop. Want any magazines?’ she asked. Liz indicated that she did not and instead got out her diary and proceeded to catch up on the last few days. Yvonne brought over a pile of magazines anyway.

  ‘Must be something they pick up in hairdressing school,’ thought Liz, along with totally ignoring requests to cut off a little bit
, like cutting off four or five centimetres when you only asked for one. Liz’s hair was in such bad condition that any style, any length would be an improvement.

  She used to write everything in her diary but hadn’t bothered over the last few years. There wasn’t really much point in recording the same miserable day over and over again. She looked at this year’s book, a brown, leather bound, A5 sized diary with a page a day. It was a Christmas present from Adam. She had started writing a diary when she first began studying, just names and dates initially, but as time went on it had become her inner voice. She would record important conversations, incidents in the class and things that went well or not so well during a lesson.

  A page a day had been entirely unnecessary as she hadn’t written more than a sentence or two in the last five years. She didn’t exactly remember the dates of events but she decided to record her first encounter with Monica and Tammy. She wrote about Tammy’s drawing of her and Sunday lunch. It felt good to have something to write about. She also skipped ahead to Monday the eighth of April and wrote ‘Making a start on the garden with Tammy.’

  She then flicked back the pages to today’s date and wrote, ‘Hairdressers’ and then, ‘Feeling different today, much more positive.’

  When she closed the diary she thought about her conversation with Adam. She would have loved to see her grandchildren. She knew what they looked like. Georgina made sure of that with the annual family portrait but she didn’t know them. She doubted that Leo or Sasha would actually like her to be there looking after them. They were not used to her, nor she them. She hadn’t seen them since the Christmas before last and that was only a fleeting visit on their way to the airport. Besides, she had promised to look after Tammy and would not go back on her word.