by Ellen Berry
Anna nodded, seemingly taking this in. ‘But this wedding … it’s a bit of a step-up from decorating a shop window, isn’t it?’
Lucy looked at her. ‘Yes, it is – and isn’t that a good thing?’
She sensed her mother trying to figure out how best to put it. ‘It just seems … a lot to take on, love. And using only local, natural plants, not even buying anything in – for a wedding …’ She pulled a concerned face, as if Lucy had declared that she would be using only roadkill and decaying fish. Anna was a fan of bright, zingy, artificially dyed chrysanthemums and Lucy’s more natural approach seemed to baffle her. ‘It doesn’t sound as if you’ll be able to pull it all together from your garden,’ she added.
‘No, I realise that, Mum.’ Lucy glanced at the kitchen wall clock and quickly calculated how long it would be until the children were back from a gymnastics session in the village hall. Carys had offered to walk them home, but now Lucy wished she and her mother had gone to meet them instead. Things were easier with Anna when the children were around to dilute things; plus, her mother would never badger her in this way in front of the kids.
‘And I’m sure you’re not allowed to wander all over other people’s land willy-nilly,’ Anna continued. ‘That’s the thing with the countryside, isn’t it? You look at it, and you think, “Oh, isn’t it stunning? I’m looking forward to exploring all of this!” Then you find out that pretty much all of it belongs to someone and you’re not allowed on it.’
Lucy exhaled slowly as she trimmed some green beans on the worktop. Anna had already rifled through a drawer and located a duster, and was now flicking it across the crockery on the dresser. It was going to be trying, this visit – but Lucy must remain calm. ‘You’re right – but there are footpaths, you know,’ she remarked.
Anna fell silent for a few minutes. ‘I wish you’d think about selling up,’ she murmured eventually. ‘You know it’s the sensible option to move closer to home.’
‘But this is our home, Mum,’ Lucy said, as patiently as she could manage. ‘We’ve been through this, haven’t we? And we’re doing okay – honestly. Can’t you see that?’ She watched her mother stretching up to dust the row of hand-painted coffee cups on the top shelf. Couldn’t she ever relax and just be?
‘Yes, but what about winter?’ Anna asked.
‘What d’you mean? It’s only July, Mum. I’m not even thinking that far ahead.’
‘You know,’ Anna said, sounding impatient now. ‘Spring and summer are fine here, I can see that. Even autumn’s quite pleasant. But, God, the winter, darling – it’s so long here. So bitter and dark.’ As if it were northern Finland, and not rural West Yorkshire.
‘You don’t need to do that, Mum,’ Lucy said, immediately regretting the sharpness in her voice.
‘You mean worry about you? Of course I do.’
‘No, I mean dust. I did it yesterday.’
‘Well, it looked like it needed doing. I only want to help.’
Those five little words. Each time she’d visited since the accident, Anna must have uttered them dozens of times. On each occasion Lucy would feel her blood pressure rising.
I only want to help … Having left Lucy’s father at home with Tilly for company, Anna seemed to have made it her mission to up the domestic standards at Rosemary Cottage.
Lucy detected lingering tension as she made a pot of tea, having virtually had to force her mother to sit down and drink it. ‘So, would you like me to help with any jobs while I’m here?’ Anna asked.
‘No thanks,’ Lucy replied. ‘Just spend time with the kids when they get home. They’ll love that. They should be home by five.’
‘Yes, but I’d like to be useful,’ Anna added.
‘Spending time with Marnie and Sam is useful, Mum. Remember, I’m on my own here and I do virtually everything with them. I’m sure they’d love to play a game with you when they get home. There are loads in the cupboard …’
‘Okay,’ Anna said, clearly less than enamoured with the thought. Lucy could virtually hear her brain whirring as she tried to think of a more appealing alternative. ‘Or,’ she added, ‘I could make a start on that shed.’
‘What?’
‘Well, I had a quick peep in earlier,’ Anna remarked. ‘It’s a terrible tip.’
When had she managed to do that? Fast work, Mum, she thought dryly, reminding herself to remain as pleasant as possible and not lose her rag. It was difficult, though. Somehow, Anna’s presence seemed to propel her back into being an irritable teenager. She was seized by an urge to stomp out of the room and hurtle upstairs to her bedroom.
‘The shed’s fine,’ Lucy said firmly. ‘It was a special place for Ivan and the kids and I don’t really want to do anything with it right now.’
‘Oh … okay, love.’ Anna nodded, and a pause settled over them. ‘What about the attic then?’ she asked eventually. ‘You said you’d just dumped stuff up there when you moved in. I was thinking, while I’m here, I could have a real go at it.’
‘Please, Mum,’ she exclaimed, ‘I really don’t want you taking on any of these jobs.’
Her mother looked at her. ‘Darling … maybe it’s time to tackle them. It’s been, what …’
Lucy stared at her, aghast at what she knew her mother was going to say.
‘It’s been a year and a half,’ Anna murmured, flushing a little.
Lucy cleared her throat and pushed away a strand of dark hair from her eyes. ‘I know how long it’s been, and I’ll do those jobs when I’m ready.’ The effort of sounding calm and reasonable was causing her heart to thump.
‘Yes, love,’ her mum said softly.
‘Anyway, a friend’s offered to help me with all that.’
‘Which friend?’
‘Um – d’you remember me mentioning a boy called Hally, when I used to come here when I was little?’
‘I think so,’ Anna said vaguely.
‘Well, we’ve been in contact again. He lives in Liverpool but his dad’s place is nearby so he’s here most weeks. He usually drops by and we have a coffee.’
‘Oh!’ Anna looked a little shocked, and Lucy realised with a stab of alarm how that might have sounded. For the first time it occurred to her that others might think that too: that there was something other than friendship developing between her and James, when the idea was ridiculous. ‘Are you spending much time with him, then?’ her mother asked.
Lucy looked at her, trying to read her face. ‘Like I said, he just pops by every so often when he’s visiting his dad.’
A small silence hung over them and, for some ridiculous reason, Lucy was aware of her cheeks burning. Not because she had anything to hide or to feel guilty about – but because the actual possibility was out there now, floating around like a peculiar fragrance they couldn’t ignore. Her mother actually thought she might be interested in another man, romantically. Lucy gathered up the green beans and dropped them into a pan. ‘He just said he’d help,’ she said briskly.
‘I could help, if you’d let me get up in that attic,’ Anna remarked.
‘I’ll deal with it when the time’s right, when I have a moment to think—’ Lucy broke off, sensing her heartbeat quickening to an alarming rate. Anna had been here less than three hours and already Lucy could sense a vein thudding urgently at her temples. How were they going to get through three days together?
A fresh wave of guilt whooshed over Lucy for even having such thoughts. ‘I don’t want to upset you,’ Anna murmured, making Lucy’s heart twist even more.
‘You’re not.’ She squeezed her mum’s hand. ‘I’m glad you’re here. You’re a big support, you know.’
Anna smiled wanly, and Lucy could sense her edging towards martyr mode. ‘Shall I just tidy up the children’s rooms,’ she suggested meekly, ‘before they come home? I mean, just make their beds, pick up their toys, make the place nice for them?’ As if it were a rancid hovel.
‘Yes, okay, Mum,’ Lucy said, slumping into submission now. Bu
t at least it would keep her occupied, she reasoned. At the risk of treating her like a child, perhaps this was the best way of handling her mum; by coming up with a list of jobs she could do, to keep her happy and make her feel useful, in the way that Lucy had let the children help by ‘sweeping’ (i.e. riding the floor brush broomstick-style) and ‘weeding’ (playing in the soil).
While Anna was upstairs, Lucy caught up with her messages on her phone. There was a rush of alerts from Andrew, her old friend from work:
Big news!
MC has quit. Or maybe been pushed? Went for a meeting and came back ashen, cleared desk and left.
MORE NEWS apparently big backer appalled by decisions he’s made. And that concludes your newsflash today! Call me. Axx
Intrigued, she yearned to find out more, but she couldn’t call him now, not when she was aware of her mother clonking about upstairs, no doubt moving things around even though Marnie didn’t especially like her things being rearranged.
There was also a text from James: Hope all goes well with Marnie’s birthday. Good luck! Loved the pic you sent of Sam’s pinboard in all its glory. Looked great. Glad he could put it to good use. Jx. She blinked at it, wondering why on earth her mother’s reaction had rattled her so much.
Because of what other people might think of their friendship? That was crazy. No one thought anything, she was sure of that. Trying to shake off her unease, she sat at the table, grateful for a few moments’ peace. She vaguely registered her mother coming downstairs, striding along the hallway and out to the garden, then coming back in and clomping back upstairs again.
Eventually, guilt niggled at her and she headed upstairs to see how her mother was doing. The whiff of furniture polish engulfed her as she reached the landing. ‘Mum?’ she called out.
‘In Sam’s room, love!’ Anna sing-songed.
Lucy stepped in and gazed around at the immaculate surroundings. ‘Wow,’ she marvelled. ‘This is fantastic, Mum. I’d forgotten what colour the carpet is.’ Admittedly, these days the kids’ rooms tended to escalate out of control quickly. She’d had to learn to prioritise, directing most of her energies into the public parts of the house whenever she had guests. They were unaware of the scattering of pants, socks and Lego garnished with pencil shavings and broken biscuit in the kids’ rooms.
However, Sam’s lair was now neatly ordered. His books were perfectly aligned on the shelf, grouped according to spine colour. His bed had been changed and made up immaculately, shoes paired up neatly, and … Lucy stopped and stared at the wall where the pinboard had been, covered in leaves and feathers, all the flatter exhibits that Sam had been able to display that way.
It wasn’t there anymore. There was just a space, and a grubby smear on the pale blue wall.
‘Mum … where’s Sam’s pinboard gone?’ Lucy asked, frowning.
‘It’s over there, love.’ Anna indicated to where it was propped up against his wardrobe.
Lucy exhaled with relief. ‘Oh, thank goodness. I thought you might’ve thrown it away …’
‘No, of course not. But I’ve—’ she started.
‘Why did you take it down?’ Lucy asked, wandering over and checking that it was just as Sam had left it. Everything appeared to still be in place.
‘I was going to clear it up,’ Anna said quickly.
‘You were going to clear up the pinboard? What d’you mean?’
She smiled tightly. ‘All that old, grubby stuff on it. I thought it’d look so much nicer with pictures on, postcards and stickers like he used to have on his wall …’
‘Sam reckons he’s too old for stickers,’ Lucy murmured.
‘Oh, does he? Anyway, I’ve already done the shelf, look—’ Lucy turned and looked at the shelf that, since early spring, Sam had designated as his museum. Last time she’d looked, it had been covered by the small objects he’d collected on their walks. And now it was bare.
‘Where are Sam’s things?’ Lucy asked.
Anna beamed at her. ‘His Lego’s all in that box over there. Gosh, that took some gathering up!’ She chuckled. ‘His other toys are in the basket – I’ve put that under the bed. And his cuddly toys—’
‘No, Mum,’ Lucy cut in, ‘I mean the things from the shelf.’ She pointed at it.
‘Oh, that?’ She shrugged. ‘I thought they were just odd bits.’
Lucy could sense her heart rate quickening as she looked at her mother. ‘They’re not just bits. They’re important to him.’
‘Sorry, I didn’t realise.’
‘Well, can we put them back, please?’ Lucy asked, trying to remain calm. ‘The kids’ll be home from Carys’s soon – she’s dropping them off. Sam’ll be upset if everything isn’t how he left it.’
Anna winced. ‘They were awfully dirty, love. Bits of bone and a nasty little skull, and I don’t think feathers are hygienic. God knows what was living on that lot.’ She paused, seemingly oblivious to the appalled expression that was forming on her daughter’s face. ‘I thought the room would look fresher without them,’ she added.
‘Fresher?’ Lucy exclaimed. ‘When did an eight-year-old boy ever care about things being fresh?’ They stared at each other for a moment. ‘Can we put them back?’ Lucy implored her.
‘I got rid of them,’ Anna said quickly, ‘so I could give the shelf a thorough wipe-down.’
Lucy gawped at her, then scanned the room and snatched at a knotted bin bag that was lying by the door.
‘They’re not in there,’ Anna muttered. ‘I took them outside.’
‘Outside? D’you mean to the garden?’
‘Yes, but …’ She stopped as her daughter turned and hurtled towards the bedroom door. ‘Lucy! Where are you going?’
‘That was Sam’s museum,’ she yelled back. ‘What were you thinking, Mum? I have to get it before he finds out.’
Chapter Twenty-Three
She raced downstairs and through the house, aware of her mother calling out after her. ‘Which one did you put them in?’ she snapped. They were both down at the bottom of the garden now, having stopped at the row of wheelie bins. Anna stared, open-mouthed as Lucy flipped up one of the lids.
‘They’re not in there,’ she said, trying to grab at her daughter’s arm. Lucy shook her off and flung the next lid open.
‘They’re not in that one either.’
Lucy swung round to face her, close to tears now. She hated the way this still happened to her occasionally: the sudden loss of control, as if someone had stamped on her accelerator pedal when she’d always thought of herself as a calm and level-headed person. In her old job, when the pressure had been on, Lucy had been the one to soothe her colleagues, to help them prioritise and hang on to the belief that everything would work out okay. ‘Panicking won’t help,’ she’d often say during meetings. ‘There’s nothing that can’t be fixed here. No one’s died.’
But now the smallest thing could set her off. She had cried in frustration the other day when she’d tried to buy bread in the village and discovered that she’d left her purse at home. A few days earlier, she had kicked the garage door violently when she couldn’t get it to shut properly – which was perhaps unwise of her, considering it had smashed down on her head last year.
But this wasn’t a small thing, like a forgotten purse or temperamental garage door. To Sam, it would be enormous.
‘Mum,’ Lucy said steadily, ‘please try and remember which one you put them in.’ Someone on the road caught her eye. It was Lucy’s neighbour, Irene, strolling by. She waved over the gate and, distractedly, Lucy waved back.
‘They’re not in a bin,’ Anna murmured. ‘Come with me.’ They walked around to the side of the shed where Anna pointed towards the pile of shrub clippings. ‘I brought them out in a bag and then tipped them over there,’ Anna explained.
‘What? You just scattered them?’
‘I know what you’re like with recycling,’ her mother mumbled. ‘You don’t like things going to landfill, do you? You’re always saying
that.’
Lucy scanned the pile of foliage. None of Sam’s exhibits were immediately visible; perhaps they’d slipped down through the gaps, or her mother had scattered them more widely than she’d realised. For crying out loud, she wanted to yell, what kind of idiot would throw out a child’s precious things from his bedroom?
She started to delve through the pile, scattering twigs, barely noticing that her hands were becoming scratched as she raked through the greenery.
‘I’m sorry, love.’ Her mother looked quite distraught now.
‘Are you sure this is where you threw them?’
‘I think so. Now I’m not sure. Is it really important?’
‘Of course it’s important!’
Anna touched her arm. ‘Please don’t shout. Let’s not make a huge thing of it. It was just a mistake.’
‘I’m sorry, Mum. I’m just upset.’
‘I was only trying to help.’
‘Yes, I realise that.’ Could anyone crank up the guilt more effectively than a mother, she wondered? She would rather die than make Marnie and Sam feel that way.
‘I’ll make it up to him,’ Anna added. ‘I’ll buy him a …’ She paused. ‘What’s he into these days?’
Making museums! Lucy wanted to snap, but managed to stop herself. Anna had never been terribly in touch with the children’s latest whims and obsessions. For years, she had insisted on buying dolls for Marnie even though she had never shown the slightest interest in them. Diplomatically, Lucy had tried to suggest other possible gifts, like art materials, accessories for her bike or even a gift token if she was struggling for ideas. But the dolls had kept coming – bought out of love, of course, Lucy realised that – dressed in their gauzy outfits with their pouty mouths, and Lucy hadn’t had the heart to ask her to stop. For this coming birthday, Lucy had suggested she contributed to the keyboard Marnie had asked for.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ Lucy muttered now.
‘No, really. I can get him a present,’ Anna insisted.
‘It’s fine,’ Lucy said, wishing they could rewind to the moment when her mother had arrived earlier that afternoon, and start over again. Anna was a fusspot – but Lucy knew she loved her, and she did only want to help. Maybe cleaning and tidying were the only ways Anna could think of to lend a hand.