Snowdrops on Rosemary Lane

by Ellen Berry

  It was probably also why she had pulled the garage door down on top of her head today.

  Lucy had tried to gather her faculties together – and, on the surface, she seemed to be coping reasonably well. You’re so strong and brave and a wonderful mum. Ivan would be so proud of you … All of those things had been said to her many times. But Lucy knew she wasn’t brave really. She lived in a state of near-perpetual anxiety, and the last thing she wanted right now was to pretend she was delighted to run into an old friend.

  She glanced at James, a little furtively, knowing exactly who he was now. That wide smile, those dark brown eyes, the lilting voice: it was Hally from all those years ago.

  Hally with whom she’d spent so many blissful days when she was just a child. Hally whom she’d loved, in her own giddy, immature way, before she’d really known what love was. And now he was a fully grown adult, chatting away to Rikke about a rotting window and the thing with his dad and the fishbone, as if everything was normal.

  Lucy gazed over at Rikke’s red car in the distance, trying to dredge up an excuse as to why she must run to it right now. She felt ill and needed to sit down immediately! She’d left something incredibly valuable in it and really should check if it was still there! Everyone knew there were tons of thieves in the hospital car parks of small market towns …

  ‘Erm, Rikke—’ she started.

  ‘Lucy …’ James had turned to her with an incredulous look on his face. Oh, God, he’d realised. There’d be no rushing to Rikke’s car now.

  She blinked at him, her cheeks flushing hot, feeling idiotic now for pretending she hadn’t known.

  ‘You’re … you’re Lucy, aren’t you?’ he exclaimed. ‘I mean – Lucy who used to come to the village, for your summer holidays when you were a kid—’

  ‘Uh … yes.’ She mustered a smile. ‘Yes, that’s me.’

  ‘I’m James! I, I mean … I’m Hally. D’you remember me?’

  Kenny prodded his son’s arm. ‘We should get back home now, shouldn’t we?’

  ‘Yes, Dad, in a minute,’ James said distractedly. He beamed at Lucy. ‘Remember, we used to hang out together, get up to all sorts?’

  She nodded. ‘Yes, of course I remember.’

  Now Rikke was looking first at James, then at Lucy. ‘You two were friends as children?’

  ‘Yeah,’ James said. ‘This is amazing!’

  ‘What’s amazing?’ Kenny asked, looking puzzled.

  James looked at his father. ‘Lucy used to come to Burley Bridge every summer. Well, for a few years at least. We had such great times …’ He grinned at her. ‘We stole berries—’

  ‘—From Kitty Cartwright’s garden,’ Lucy finished for him. ‘That’s where I live now.’

  ‘Really? You’re the one living at Rosemary Cottage?’

  ‘Yes!’ She smiled stiffly and glanced at Rikke, trying to transmit that they really should go now. However, James was chattering on, seemingly oblivious to her reticence and the fact that his dad clearly wasn’t too happy about hanging around on this chilly March afternoon.

  ‘I had no idea you two knew each other,’ Rikke marvelled.

  James chuckled, his eyes crinkling, and he pushed back his short dark hair. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Oh, I’m good,’ Lucy said in a strained voice.

  ‘You look great. You’ve hardly changed!’

  ‘Ha. I doubt that really but, um, thank you …’ She shuffled and cleared her throat. ‘I really should get back, though …’

  ‘Oh, of course,’ Rikke said, and James nodded.

  ‘Well, it’s lovely to see you again,’ he said. ‘We should catch up properly sometime. Would you like to take my number?’ Before she could answer he had pulled his phone from his pocket.

  ‘Er, yes, hang on.’ She sensed a tic on her left eyelid as she pulled her own phone from her bag. Numbers were exchanged, because what else could she do when they were all standing there, looking at her expectantly? There was a rather stilted hug goodbye, as if James had finally picked up on her awkwardness, before they parted company.

  ‘Well, that was amazing,’ Rikke said as they climbed into her car, and Lucy agreed that it was. As she drove them home, Rikke shared what she knew about James’s life these days; that he lived in Liverpool, worked pretty flat out as a joiner and boat fitter, and was a single dad to a young son called Spike. Lucy gathered that, until he’d employed Rikke, James had been darting back and forth to keep an eye on his dad. Apparently, there was an older brother – whom Lucy remembered vaguely – who’d been staying with their dad, but had up and left in pursuit of a woman and was now seemingly living in Switzerland. ‘James seemed pretty keen to find someone to help out,’ Rikke added. ‘He’s brilliant with his dad, though – incredibly patient. Kenny can be a little, uh …’ she grinned ‘… challenging.’

  Encouraged by Rikke, Lucy told her more about the adventures she’d had on her visits to the village. ‘That sounds such fun,’ Rikke said with a smile, adding, ‘D’you think you’ll get in touch with James?’

  ‘Erm, maybe,’ she said vaguely. She sensed Rikke glancing at her.

  ‘You should,’ she added. ‘He’s a lovely person.’

  ‘Yes, he was always fun.’ Lucy smiled tightly, aware of an awkward silence settling over them. To fill it, she pulled out her phone again and called Della at the bookshop to check if Marnie and Sam were okay, and to say they’d be back soon. There was no need to phone because of course, the children were having a lovely time hanging out in the bookshop. But Lucy didn’t want to talk about James, or speculate on whether they might pick up on their friendship.

  She didn’t want to rekindle it. The thought of telling him what had happened to Ivan appalled her, and she hoped she wouldn’t run into him again and have to explain her situation. James seemed like a good, decent man, but he belonged to her past, when she’d been young and carefree.

  He’d been wrong, too, when he’d said she’d hardly changed. She had – more than he could ever imagine.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Rather than battling with the mower again, Lucy took note of an advert stuck up in Irene’s shop window for regular garden maintenance. A couple of days later a cheerful gardener with a shock of red hair came round and had the lawn cut in less than half an hour. Like the doctor at the hospital, he looked incredibly young – but then, a lot of people did to Lucy these days. He had brought his own (twenty-first-century) machine and seemed taken aback when Lucy rounded up his fee with a generous tip. ‘Could you come round every couple of weeks throughout the summer?’ she asked.

  ‘Sure, of course,’ he replied. It was as simple as that; sod the expense, she decided. Len from the garage – whom she knew enjoyed tinkering with ancient machinery – was more than happy to take the antique machine off her hands. Getting rid of the darn thing, despite Ivan’s fondness for it, seemed like a major step forward, and it propelled Lucy to bag up all the detritus that was lying about in the garage, and give it a thorough sweep-out.

  This might have seemed hardly life-changing to some, but Lucy allowed herself a glint of pride on having completed the job. While she wasn’t ready to tackle the attic – packed as it was with Ivan’s things – she did feel able to attack the utility room, which had amassed a colossal amount of clutter during the past few months. It felt good to tick jobs off the list, even though she was aware that she was probably going to great lengths to ‘keep busy’ – also known as ‘flailing madly with no coherent plan’, like when she gave up smoking a few months after meeting Ivan. As he was a non-smoker, she had become suddenly self-conscious about her habit and vowed to quit. He’d laughed at the way she had thrown herself into baking multiple loaves – more than they could possibly eat – and painted her kitchen bright yellow and installed window boxes on the previously bare ledges of her flat. She was a whirl of activity, trying to stem nicotine cravings by ensuring that there was no opportunity for them to invade her brain.

  ‘Just popping out t
o the shop,’ Ivan had told her. ‘By the time I come back I’ll expect you to have built a helipad.’ For years afterwards, the term ‘helipad madness’ continued to be used to describe any kind of fervent activity undertaken to fill some sort of void.

  Only, with cigarettes, the cravings gradually subsided and normal service was resumed, and Lucy wasn’t sure that that would ever happen to her now.

  Still, being busy was good, she decided. And when the local hairdresser, Nicola, stopped her to compliment her floral display in the bookshop, and asked if she could decorate her windows too, Lucy said yes without thinking. She really needed to spend more time in the garden, to immerse herself in something practical. Just as it had helped to heal her after the miscarriage last year, tidying the borders and filling terracotta pots were easy, soothing tasks. She threw herself into filling the salon’s window with irises and narcissi, shrugging off Nicola’s offer of a complimentary haircut on top of payment for the flowers.

  ‘It’d be no trouble,’ the hairdresser said. ‘We could even try a restyle …’

  ‘Maybe sometime,’ Lucy replied vaguely, wondering if Nicola was hinting that she really should sort herself out.

  Word of Lucy’s floristry talents seemed to be spreading. The manager of a local hotel a little way out of the village had called to ask if she would decorate their foyer. It was early April now, and she agreed to do the job as soon as she was back from her trip to her parents’; already, she knew she would cut freesias, peonies and anemones in cheering yellows, lilacs and pinks. It seemed that this side of Lucy’s life was beginning to take flight without her having to do very much in the way of trying to attract jobs. Compared to doing B&B on her own, which felt utterly daunting now, here was something she could do, with minimal stress.

  Lucy was aware that, if she wasn’t planning to ever take in guests again, perhaps she should consider downscaling. After all, that had been the whole reasoning behind buying Rosemary Cottage – to run it as a small business. She and the children could easily manage in a much smaller place; plus, it would be easier and cheaper to run.

  Overwhelmed by the thought of making such a momentous decision, she preferred to push such thoughts from her mind. And when a text came from James a week after their car park encounter – Lovely to see you, fancy a coffee this weekend? – she took what felt like the easiest option. She simply didn’t reply. If she felt slightly guilty, she soon shrugged it off as there was a more pressing matter on her mind.

  The Easter holidays were upon her. After much cajoling on her mother’s part, Lucy had agreed to spend a week at her parents’. In panic, she had examined the thatch that was supposed to pass as a hairstyle and decided it wouldn’t do; if she turned up looking like that, her mother would surmise that she wasn’t coping at all, and would muscle in and start trying to take over her life. An avid believer in the importance of keeping up appearances, Anna had even had a manicure for Ivan’s cremation service, opting for polish in a discreet shell pink.

  On the day they were due to set off, Lucy examined her reflection in her bedroom mirror some more, wondering how her hair had managed to grow so long and out of control. Once, she’d regarded it as her best feature. It was a rich dark brown, with the occasional grey hair now which Lucy yanked out, and it used to attract all kinds of compliments. Ivan had told her that her mane of waves – ‘So long and full, like a French film star’s’ – plus her deep green eyes had been what had first attracted him to her. ‘As well as all the other bits,’ he’d added, teasing her.

  These days it was self-cut with any old scissors that were kicking about, and her eyebrows were fuzzy and lacking in definition. For goodness’ sake, even Tilly, her parents’ schnauzer, went for a thorough grooming every eight weeks.

  As she hadn’t planned to set off for her parents’ until after lunch, Lucy called Nicola at the salon on the off-chance that she might be able to fit her in.

  ‘No problem,’ she said cheerfully. ‘I’ve just had a cancellation this morning – and remember, it’s my treat. Could you come over right away?’

  ‘Sure,’ Lucy said. Marnie and Sam were still flopping about in pyjamas, but the unashamed bribe of sweets from the newsagent’s propelled them speedily into T-shirts and jeans, and they were off.

  ‘So, what are we looking at doing today?’ Nicola asked, meeting Lucy’s gaze in the mirror while the children lounged on the leather sofa. She had popped in recently to refresh the flowers in the salon window. That’s what she needed, she decided; a perk-up in order to face her mother.

  ‘I just need … reviving,’ Lucy said with a smile.

  ‘Right,’ Nicola said brightly. ‘I think we can lose quite a bit of length, don’t you? And we’ll bring in some layers, create some lightness. Let me get you shampooed.’ Apart from a part-time assistant who wasn’t here today, Nicola’s salon was really a one-woman operation. A decade or so older than Lucy, she had run this place for twenty years and knew pretty much everything that happened in the village.

  ‘I’ve had so many comments about your flowers,’ she said as she rinsed Lucy’s hair. ‘I’ve been passing on your number.’

  ‘That’s great,’ Lucy said, distracted now by the children. Generally, they could be trusted to behave reasonably well, but today she could sense that Sam was intent on high jinks. Sweets had been guzzled, and now he’d got up to investigate the various tubs all set out on a wheeled trolley. ‘Sam, please sit down,’ Lucy said.

  Ignoring her, he picked up a spongy hair doughnut and mimed biting into it, at which Marnie laughed. Nicola gave him a quick glance. A tub of long-handled combs was knocked over and Nicola sprang across the room to gather them up.

  ‘Sam!’ Lucy exclaimed. ‘Just sit down. We’ll only be a few more minutes …’ Without apologising he perched beside his sister and whispered conspiratorially in her ear. This isn’t fair, Lucy wanted to snap. It’s my first proper haircut since, well, God knows how long – but of course, a six-year-old didn’t care what she looked like, he didn’t care about things being ‘fair’.

  ‘I’ve got something for you two,’ Nicola said, breaking off from attending to Lucy to fetch a small stack of rather ancient-looking comics from a cupboard. She also handed them glasses of orange juice.

  While they accepted these with thanks, Lucy knew their patience was limited and she willed Nicola to do a speedy job. Sam was now loudly telling Marnie a story about Daniel from school pooing in his greenhouse and having to wipe his bottom on leaves.

  ‘What kind of leaves?’ Marnie asked.

  ‘Dunno. Big, soft, papery ones.’

  ‘Why didn’t he use the toilet in the house?’

  ‘His dad was on it. And then he had all these pooey leaves to get rid of, so he put ’em in the watering can, and then his mum found—’

  ‘Thank you, Sam,’ Lucy cut in sharply, wondering when he might grow out of this fascination-with-poo phase and hoped it would be soon (surely he should have already? Was this normal?). Then the bickering started, the comics having been tossed aside in favour of half-hearted poking and prodding. An orange juice was spilled. Lucy apologised profusely as Nicola mopped it up.

  ‘Honestly, it’s no problem,’ she insisted, but Lucy still sensed a wave of relief from her as, having barely even acknowledged her finished hairstyle, she grabbed the kids’ hands firmly and they all tumbled out of the salon door.

  So that’s what happened when she had the audacity to try to look like a normal, sane person instead of a crazy woman with a thatch.

  And so to Leeds, where Lucy could at least cast off the shackles of responsibility and be looked after for a week.

  ‘You look lovely, darling!’ exclaimed her mother. She had shot out of the house the instant Lucy had pulled up outside.

  ‘Thanks, Mum. Just had a quick cut and blow-dry this morning.’ Hardly the most relaxing one of my life, but never mind.

  ‘It really suits you. Oh, it’s so good to see you all!’ Anna swept back her highlighted hair and
bobbed down to embrace her grandchildren. Lucy’s dad, Paddy, had stepped out from their smart white 1950s semi to greet them too. As Tilly scampered out, panting and yapping at nothing in particular, the children fell upon her, all thoughts of grandparents momentarily forgotten.

  ‘Hello, Dad,’ Lucy said, kissing her father. ‘Good to see you.’ He grinned and ruffled Lucy’s hair as if she were nine years old.

  As soon as they entered the house it was clear that Anna had thrown herself into preparations for their visit. Whilst Christmas was always a big deal at the Riddocks’, this year Anna had clearly treated Easter with similar gusto. In the hallway a gigantic silver birch branch lurched precariously from a ceramic planter, laden with dangling foil-wrapped chocolate rabbits.

  ‘Can we have some, Grandma?’ Marnie asked, wide-eyed.

  ‘Of course, take as many as you like.’

  ‘But not too many,’ started Lucy, knowing there was no point. She had certainly relaxed on the confectionery front lately. Ivan had been pretty laissez-faire about such matters, but she suspected even he would be calling a halt now as they grabbed at the treats. There were further delights in the living room – bowls of sweet speckled eggs set out on the coffee table – and every windowsill bore arrangements of miniature straw nests containing fluffy yellow chicks.

  There were Easter-themed balloons at the fireplace, and paper chains in yellow and pink had been draped across the gilt-edged mirror. ‘Wow, this is amazing!’ Lucy enthused.

  ‘I thought we’d make it fun,’ Anna said. ‘We’re having a big lunch tomorrow, and then drinks on Monday. Everyone’s coming – including your aunts.’ Anna meant her two sisters.

  ‘Great,’ Lucy said, sensing her back teeth clamping together.

  ‘Okay,’ Anna went on, addressing the children, ‘as soon as you’ve taken your bags upstairs, Grandpa has another surprise for you.’ The children hared up to the room the four of them – three of them now – always shared when they stayed here, and reappeared demanding to know what the surprise was. It turned out to be an egg hunt and yet more chocolate. Her father had apparently been briefed to throw himself into the proceedings – despite clearly suffering from a cold – as eggs were hidden all over the garden.