by Ellen Berry
Lucy took a glass of wine gratefully from her mother and sipped it, then inhaled deeply. So, this was Easter with her parents. The aunts were coming, and many others besides; there would be a huge fuss, with everyone giving her the big-eyed look – the poor Lucy face. But it would be okay; she would get through it somehow.
Lucy’s aunts arrived before lunch next morning. Elspeth, the eldest of the three sisters, never married and child-free, was brandishing a terribly complicated-seeming board game for them all to play (‘Please pretend to like it,’ Lucy willed her children). Flora, the youngest, a widow and apparently terribly spoiled, so Lucy’s mother always claimed, immediately bagged the best seat in the living room. While Elspeth set out the board game, Flora sat regally in the corner like an Egyptian queen.
‘I might sit this one out,’ Paddy said apologetically, frowning down at the game’s indecipherable rules that had been thrust at him. ‘My cold’s coming on really strong now.’
‘What cold? You look absolutely fine to me, Paddy,’ scoffed Anna, ever the expert on ailments despite possessing no medical training (before her retirement she had reigned over the homewares floor of a now defunct department store).
‘Well, he says he wants to sit this one out,’ Elspeth added, as if Paddy were no longer capable of speech.
‘Sit what out?’ asked Flora, who was slightly deaf.
‘The game,’ Elspeth announced. ‘In fact, Easter. Paddy wants to sit Easter out,’ at which the sisters laughed.
It was usual for sympathy to be lacking whenever Paddy was under the weather. A couple of Christmases ago, Anna had complained of him ‘malingering’ and ‘wanting attention’ – and shortly afterwards he had been diagnosed with acute shingles. ‘Anything to have me running around after him,’ she’d complained.
However, despite all the jibing and mild bullying, Lucy couldn’t help admiring her mother’s levels of commitment on the entertainment front. There was a vast, sprawling lunch, involving a saddle of lamb that the children picked at reluctantly, then coffees and a gigantic Easter cake, swathed in yellow buttercream and covered in tiny eggs. There were presents for the children – more chocolate, naturally – all wrapped outlandishly with cellophane and enormous sheeny bows. However it was the presence of Tilly that won Marnie and Sam’s attention throughout the day.
‘They adore her, don’t they?’ Anna remarked, spotting them curled up by her basket in the living room later on in the day, petting and talking to her.
‘They do, Mum,’ Lucy agreed. ‘It’s lovely to see.’
‘Dogs are very comforting,’ Flora offered, giving her a meaningful glance. ‘Nick and I loved our Honey.’
‘I know you did.’ Lucy smiled tightly at the sight of her aunt’s watering eyes.
‘Oh, Lucy. You know what you should do, love?’ Now Elspeth had joined in.
Drink more? Lucy wondered, draining her glass. ‘Um, not really, Aunt Elspeth.’ Please don’t say it. Don’t suggest I should try to fill the void left by Ivan by getting a dog.
Elspeth frowned. Although her hair was a fine silvery shade now, her brows had remained dark and dense, with the texture of Brillo pads. ‘It might be a comfort for them,’ she offered.
‘Oh, I don’t think—’ Lucy started.
‘Pets are very good for children,’ continued Elspeth, clearly being an expert in such matters despite never having produced a child of her own. ‘They teach empathy, and that it’s not all about them.’
Bloody charming! Lucy thought, bringing her glass to her mouth then remembering it was empty.
Marnie looked up hopefully. ‘Can we, Mum? Can we get a dog please?’
‘I’m not even thinking about that right now,’ Lucy said quickly.
‘Why not?’ Sam asked, his face drooping. Well done, Aunt Elspeth, for bringing this up …
‘Because it’s not the right time to make a big decision like that,’ Lucy said.
‘You always say it’s not the right time,’ Marnie announced.
‘Yeah,’ Sam muttered. ‘Everyone else has a dog. Why can’t we?’
‘Honey helped us so much when the children moved to Australia,’ Flora added.
But Ivan isn’t in Australia, Lucy wanted to remind her. He is ash, in a little pot on the shelf in my bedroom. She spent the rest of the evening busying herself with handing out cups of tea and steering Sam away from his grandpa’s Airfix model collection, which still sat, defiantly and within easy reach of small hands, on the sideboard in the dining room.
Later that night, when the day was finally over, Lucy lay in the narrow single bed in the room she was sharing with Marnie and Sam. While they slept soundly on blow-up mattresses, Lucy was starkly awake with one thought burning in her mind:
If there was a single thing one should never say to the recently bereaved, it would be: ‘So, have you thought about getting a dog?’
The next day another cluster of relatives arrived late in the afternoon, for drinks and nibbles: Paddy’s brother and sister-in-law, their son and his wife, plus their three children. Lucy suspected her mother had pulled out all the stops in order to blast away the slightest hint that something terrible had happened just four months before.
Paddy, who was still sneezing intermittently (‘Really milking that cold now,’ Anna observed) was given the role of cocktail maker, and Marnie and Sam were festooned with yet more Easter eggs. Lucy was relieved, at least, to see that they were still capable of having fun. However, as the afternoon went on, she started to wonder if Rosemary Cottage was okay, as if it were a person she had left all alone. There was no need to fret, as Della had promised to keep an eye on the place. But even so, Lucy had started to count the days when she and the children could return home, to normality – or, at least, as normal as it was possible to be these days.
Her parents’ house always felt too hot, with the central heating on even though the days were warm, the sky incessantly blue. By day three, as they cleared up after yet another huge meal, Anna had managed to corner Lucy alone in the kitchen.
‘You can’t go back to that village,’ she announced, giving her daughter a concerned look.
‘Of course we’re going back, Mum.’ Lucy stared at her, astounded by the implication that she might not.
‘Well, yes, I know you’ll have to go back,’ Anna conceded, ‘but just to pick up your things.’
‘Pick up our things?’ Lucy spluttered. ‘It’s not a holiday house, Mum. It’s our home!’
‘Yes, I know that,’ she said impatiently. ‘But promise me you’ll put that house on the market as soon as you can, love. If you need to do anything to it, I can come over and help.’
‘I’m not promising that,’ Lucy said firmly, grateful that the children were out of earshot, playing with Tilly in the garden.
Anna frowned. ‘It might seem daunting now, darling – the upheaval of a move and everything. But it’s the best thing to do, isn’t it? There are good schools here. I’ve talked to some people …’
‘Who?’ Lucy asked, aghast.
‘Um, the school secretary. The lady in the office. She said you just have to contact the council, and as long as you’re in the catchment area—’
‘Marnie and Sam aren’t moving schools! They love their school. It’s fantastic, Mum. They’ve been so supportive.’
‘But children are adaptable, aren’t they?’ Anna clutched at her arm. Lucy managed to resist the urge to shake her off. ‘They’d soon settle in,’ she added, ‘and your dad and I would take care of everything – the house sale, the move …’ Lucy stared at her, mutely. Children were adaptable; they should have pets. Was everyone a ruddy child-rearing guru now?
‘We’re not moving,’ Lucy snapped, aware of a twinge of guilt now. In some ways, her mother was right, in that she and the children would have the support they needed, plus a home; at seventy-one, Paddy still kept a finger in his property-letting business. She knew he’d find her the perfect place.
‘We just care about you, Lucy,’
her mother murmured. ‘Why stay in that village?’
‘Mum, our life’s there now,’ Lucy reminded her, struggling to assume a patient tone. ‘The children have their friends, and we love our house.’
‘Don’t tell me you’re still going to try to run a B&B?’
‘I … I still don’t know about that, Mum.’ Lucy faltered and her voice cracked.
‘Oh, darling.’ Her mother took her in her arms. ‘Please, just accept you gave it your best shot – but you can’t carry on alone. You’re thin as a rake. Your dad and I are so worried, aren’t we, Paddy?’ She raised her voice to a shrill pitch.
‘What’s that, love?’ he called from the living room.
‘We’re worried about Lucy! Aren’t we, Paddy? Could you show an interest, please?’
‘Of course I’m interested,’ he blustered, scuttling through the door as if shamed into participating in the worrying. Anna glared at him.
‘Mum, I’m okay, honestly,’ Lucy said quickly. ‘Well, I’m not exactly okay. But I will be at some point. I have to be, don’t I?’
Anna pursed her lips. ‘But how can you possibly look after the children, and yourself, and run a business?’
‘Mum,’ Lucy said firmly, plonking a dish towel on the worktop, ‘please don’t do this. We’re very happy to be here, but we’re going home on Friday, as we planned to, and I’m absolutely not deciding to do anything – anything at all, I mean – right now.’
Although she didn’t quite know what she meant by that, it seemed to put a lid on the matter, and for the next few days, Anna managed not to bring up the subject again. However, it hung over them like a cloud, and as the week went on, Lucy was overcome by an urge to escape back to Burley Bridge.
It was their home, just as she’d said. It was where they belonged. In the end, she cracked a day early, making an excuse that a floristry job had come in and she needed to go home to prepare for it.
She felt bad about lying (more guilt!). However, as they said their goodbyes, Lucy sensed that Marnie and Sam were as relieved as she was to be escaping from the steady stream of well-meaning relatives who insisted on hugging and kissing them constantly.
The children had had their hair ruffled so many times it was a wonder they had any left. They had been festooned with sweets and chocolate, and their complexions had taken on peaky hues. Anna had launched into one final, impassioned plea for Lucy to sell up and move closer. ‘I’m not making any decisions right now,’ she said firmly as she stashed their belongings into the boot of her car.
Her mother was wet-eyed as they said goodbye on the drive. ‘Mum, you’re coming over to see us in a couple of weeks, remember?’ Lucy said, her patience waning now.
‘Yes, I know, love.’ She nodded stoically.
‘I’ll miss Tilly.’ Sam gazed after her morosely as she pottered back indoors, presumably sick of all the hugging.
‘Will you miss me too, Sam?’ Anna asked, needily.
‘Yes, Grandma.’
‘Of course they will,’ Lucy said, catching her dad’s eye with a smile as she ushered her children into the car.
‘We’ll miss Tilly the most, though,’ Marnie whispered conspiratorially to her brother as soon as the doors were shut.
And now, as they sped homewards under a clear April sky, Lucy knew she would somehow make their own place feel like home once again – for Marnie and Sam, and for Ivan. Lucy had stood her ground, and she felt oddly proud of the fact – and now she realised she would go on to make a life for the three of them on her own. What other choice was there? Falling apart simply wasn’t an option.
She glanced back at her children as they waited at a junction. They were talking about Tilly, and how sweet she was, how cuddly and soft with those cute little ears, and now they were debating what they would call their dog, if they were ever allowed to have one, which they probably wouldn’t as Mum didn’t like them (that was patently untrue). And why wouldn’t she let them when they’d promised to do all the walking and putting out her dinner and everything, all the work?
‘Mum,’ Marnie started, ‘can we please have a—’
‘We’ve talked about this, love, and you know the answer.’
‘But Grandma and Grandpa have Tilly.’
‘Yes, and that’s different. They have time for her; they’re retired.’
‘Grandpa’s not, is he?’ Marnie remarked. ‘He’s always on the phone. He’s always talking about houses.’
Hmm, well, that was true. She doubted if her father would ever give up his business entirely. ‘Yes, but he doesn’t go to work every day. He’s mostly at home.’
‘So are you!’ Marnie announced. ‘You’re always at home.’
Well, thanks very much! Lucy thought wryly, although of course it was true. I didn’t used to be, she wanted to remind them. I was at the epicentre of bra engineering and my life was swishy and dynamic. Then she remembered how she’d have to rush like a mad thing to the childminder’s, and then to nursery and school, cursing every red traffic light and panicking that she’d be late. I don’t miss that, she decided. I don’t miss it one bit …
‘When will you retire?’ Sam asked.
‘Oh, not for a very long time, love. I’m still young.’ Although I feel about ninety-seven.
‘But you don’t have a job,’ Sam pointed out.
‘My life’s pretty full, though,’ she replied.
‘Full of what?’ he asked.
Hmm. Lucy decided not to answer that honestly. ‘Full of looking after you two!’
He sighed loudly, and whispered to his sister, loud enough for Lucy to hear: ‘Maybe when she’s really old, she’ll let us have one.’
Lucy turned up the car radio, reflecting that when Ivan was here, even when he worked away during the week, it had felt as if the kids’ constant barrage of demands and questions was at least partly divided between them. Is God real? Does Father Christmas exist? How are babies made? And the perennial: Why can’t we have a dog? And now it was just her, and maybe she would have to figure out a different way of being with them; a new way of living really, terrifying though that was. Being on her own with two children was something she had never considered, not for one moment – but this was how her life was now.
Thankfully, the dog issue seemed to have been forgotten as they started chatting about chocolate-sausage-Josh. And soon they were giggling as if everything was completely normal in their world.
They didn’t notice that, as they neared home, Lucy had turned onto a minor road that would wend through open countryside, passing through a couple of hamlets until it led to Burley Bridge. It would probably add a good fifteen minutes to the journey. If the kids had looked out, they would have seen little more than a nondescript road with nothing to distinguish it from the more direct route. But it wasn’t just any other road to Lucy.
It was where the accident had happened. Pretty soon, they would pass the bend where Ivan had skidded and smashed headlong into an oncoming car. She had driven this route several times before, on high alert for clues – about what, she didn’t quite know. In a horrible, self-torturing way Lucy had been almost drawn to it.
If Ivan had been seeing another woman in Manchester – perhaps someone he’d met through work – that still wouldn’t have explained why he’d come home this way. But the fact is, he had, which would have lengthened his journey on the night when, surely, he’d have been desperate to get home.
It had been five days before Christmas. Like a kid, he’d always loved the whole festive season. Back in their Manchester house he’d always insisted on a tree that was slightly too big for their living room, its top branch poking at the ceiling, then he’d rally the kids around to festoon it with baubles and tinsel. The latter was contentious; Lucy wasn’t a tinsel lover but she was happy to let them run amok with it if it made them happy.
‘If it was left to Mum we’d have coordinated baubles – all in silver,’ he’d joked. As it was, Ivan and the kids’ approach to tree decorating was crazil
y beautiful, and she hadn’t actually minded the tinsel after all.
Lucy inhaled now as she passed the spot where the accident happened, and cursed herself silently for coming this way – especially with the children. What if one of them had asked her why they were here? What would she have said? As the church spire of Burley Bridge came into view, Lucy made a silent promise to herself that she would never come this way again. It was time to move on; to stop raking over the details and keep her memories intact.
She had loved Rosemary Cottage since she was a little girl. A terrible thing had happened, and now she no longer knew how she felt about the house, the village – or indeed about anything in her life. But she was still a capable person; she had survived almost a week at her parents’; she had listened to Elspeth and Flora implying that she might consider ‘replacing’ her husband with a pet. She had even coped with her mother’s insistence that she should give up on Rosemary Cottage altogether.
Lucy decided now that she would never do that. It seemed childish and ridiculous but she wanted to prove her mum wrong – and, crucially, she knew she had to carve out a new life for herself and her children. A wave of determination filled her heart as she fixed her gaze firmly on the road ahead. While she wasn’t sure whether she believed Ivan was watching over them – or was merely a billion dust particles now – she knew with absolute certainty that she would survive alone, and do her utmost to make her husband proud.
Part Two
A Year Later
Chapter Fifteen
Bacon, tomatoes, sausages, mushrooms. Eggs any way. If poached, they were perfectly done in silicone pouches, and if scrambled, they were buttery and soft. With a simplified breakfast menu, Lucy had been up and running again for several months, and business was looking good.