Snowdrops on Rosemary Lane

by Ellen Berry

  Rod rarely called him. It was usually James who was left to attempt to keep some line of communication going. ‘Rod?’ he said. ‘You just rang.’

  ‘Look, yeah – I wanted to apologise actually.’

  ‘Apologise? What for?’ What for exactly? was what he really meant.

  ‘Um, the thing with Dad. Leaving you in the lurch like that.’

  For a moment, James was lost for words. More than two years had passed; his annoyance had faded away long ago. He had accepted that taking care of their father had become his sole responsibility. ‘Let’s talk about this some other time, Rod. I’m at a service station right now. I’m taking Dad home.’

  ‘Yeah, well, I’m coming back,’ Rod muttered. ‘I can’t stand it here,’ he added, in case James might have assumed he was only coming back to help.

  ‘Why? What’s happened?’

  ‘Oh, man – the rules out here,’ he drawled. He seemed to have affected some kind of accent. Perhaps he’d had a skiing accident and bumped his head?

  ‘What kind of rules?’ James asked.

  ‘Rules about everything,’ Rod declared. ‘This building we’re in – it’s no washing machine on after seven p.m., no running a bath after nine. God help you if you use a coffee grinder before ten in the morning or flush the loo in the night, and as for smoking – you’re not even allowed to do it on the bloody balcony, as if there’s a shortage of fresh air here. The place is like one gigantic blue-skied, breezy Alpen box! It’s like there’s too much oxygen. You need to smoke to dampen it down.’

  James laughed, and not for the first time it struck him how similar to their father Rod was, and that perhaps he was more like his mother, a fact that, actually, he preferred not to dwell on too much. ‘But you’ve never stuck to a rule in your life,’ he remarked.

  ‘That’s not true,’ his brother said, aghast.

  ‘It is,’ James insisted. ‘And, look – they’re not the actual building’s rules, are they? It’s not Switzerland that won’t let you smoke on the balcony. It’s your girlfriend, isn’t it?’

  ‘Well, um, yeah. She’s a bit picky about certain things.’

  ‘So, it’s not the building you’re splitting up with, is it?’ James added. ‘It’s – what’s her name again?’

  ‘Livia.’

  ‘Right. So, when you are you thinking of coming home, then?’

  Some kind of announcement blotted out Rod’s voice. ‘… I’m at the airport now.’

  James frowned, and it dawned on him that he couldn’t have Rod turning up at their father’s place, simply because he had nowhere else to go. He glanced at his dad, who was still dozing.

  ‘Well, look – we can get together sometime soon, okay? But not right now. Don’t come straight to Dad’s.’

  ‘But I thought—’

  ‘No, Rod,’ James said firmly. ‘If you’re stuck, call Phoebe. I’m sure she’ll be delighted to have you back.’

  After they’d finished the call he sat for a moment, wondering if he’d been a little harsh there – but sod it. He really couldn’t face his brother today. He sat for a few moments, twisting his phone about in his hands and finally he called Lucy’s number.

  ‘James, hi!’ There were street noises around her; perhaps she was in a hurry to be somewhere. He sensed that it wasn’t the best time.

  ‘Hey, Lucy. Just calling to catch up really. I wondered how your Christmas went.’

  ‘It was eventful,’ she chuckled. ‘I’ll tell you all about it when we meet up.’ She sounded happy to hear from him, at least. ‘Are you coming back anytime soon?’

  ‘Right now, actually. We’re on our way. I don’t suppose you’d like to grab a coffee or something later on?’ He realised now how very much he wanted to see her, and to tell her the secret he’d been carrying. He had to share it with her. He just hoped she’d understand why he’d kept it from her all this time.

  ‘I’d love to but I’m in Manchester right now. I’m just about to go into an interview.’ She paused. ‘Well, she says it’s not an interview – more of a chat. But they’re sort of the same thing really.’

  It surprised him, how crushing this news was. ‘So … are you definitely moving back to Manchester?’

  She hesitated again. ‘I … I’m not sure. I really don’t know what I’m doing right now, but I’m due in ten minutes. I’d better go.’

  ‘Well, good luck,’ he said.

  ‘Thanks, James. Bye!’ And she was gone.

  He glanced at his father, figuring that they should be back in under an hour as long as no more snow came. James loved snow, he always had – but he wanted a clear run now as there was something he needed to do. But before he pulled out of the services, he played the voicemail message that had been left while he was driving.

  Hello, James? It’s Phyllida here. Phyllida Somerville. As if his world was littered with Phyllidas. I wondered if you could give me a call please? As soon as you can. There’s something I think you might be very interested in. So do call me. Thank you. Bye.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Both James and Connell had told Lucy she hadn’t changed, which she knew wasn’t entirely true. She was an older, softer version of the girl they’d known – still recognisable, though. The basic components were pretty much the same. But Nina Kerridge looked so startlingly different that Lucy wouldn’t have recognised her at all.

  ‘So good to see you,’ she said, hugging Lucy in her expansive corner office – the one MC had commandeered – and standing back and beaming at her.

  ‘You too,’ Lucy said, fascinated by the smoothness of her forehead, the plumpness of her lips; once brunette, now ash blonde, she appeared to be a different creature entirely. Even her teeth had been done, Lucy noticed. They beamed brightly, Tipp-ex white. ‘It looked as if I might not make it,’ she added. ‘With the snow, I mean. But the roads are just about cleared …’

  ‘That’s good,’ Nina said, obviously disinterested in the weather conditions. ‘Would you like a coffee? Tea? Please, have a seat.’

  Lucy sat down. ‘Coffee please.’

  Nina’s manner had changed too. While she had always exuded confidence, now her assuredness had ramped up several levels. Nina was clearly a woman who liked to get things done. With a nod and wave, she communicated with someone through the glass wall in the main office. As they were still in that no man’s land between Christmas and New Year, few staff were around. Lucy was slightly relieved that none of her friends appeared to be here today. The last thing she wanted was to catch Andrew or Nadeen’s eye while she was here in Nina’s office. She hadn’t even told them she was coming today; she had wanted to keep it low-key, and would fill them in later.

  ‘So, I’ll get straight to the point,’ Nina said, leaning back in her chair as a young woman brought in a tray of coffees, ‘about the new direction we’re taking.’

  Lucy nodded. She was interested in the yoga and sleepwear collections that Andrew had mentioned, and was keen to hear it from the boss.

  ‘Bottoms are the new boobs,’ Nina announced, pausing as if to gauge her reaction.

  ‘I’m sorry?’ Lucy frowned.

  Nina grinned, baring those big white teeth at her. ‘You know how in beauty, eyes are the new lips? You must have read that.’

  ‘Oh yes. To be honest, I always find that idea of something-being-the-new-something really confusing.’

  ‘Well, it’s all about emphasis and priorities.’

  Lucy nodded. ‘So our customers – I mean, Claudine’s customers – are prioritising their bottoms now?’

  ‘Not exactly,’ Nina said, ‘but, you know, the last few years have been about the new bra – the bralette – and the trend’s been about softness, hasn’t it? Less structure, a friendlier wear.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Lucy knew all about that.

  ‘Well, now we’re looking at the same kind of idea, but for knickers.’

  ‘The knickerlette?’

  Nina laughed. ‘More of a soft, hugging pant.
’

  ‘But isn’t that what all pants are like? Good pants, I mean. The pants most women prefer to wear.’ She heard herself saying ‘pants’ repeatedly and felt faintly ridiculous.

  ‘Exactly. Forget thongs, boy shorts – even briefs. We’re going all out to focus on the comfy pant, the pant that loves your bottom.’

  ‘D’you mean big pants?’ Lucy asked hesitantly.

  Nina beamed. ‘Yes! We want to give women permission to wear big pants.’

  ‘I’ve never needed permission,’ Lucy said with a smile. ‘I’ve worn them for years.’

  ‘Oh, me too – but always with slight embarrassment, you know? The what-if-I’m-knocked-down-by-a-bus kind of thing and I’m found wearing giant monstrosities.’ Lucy nodded, although she had never had such concerns herself. ‘So what we’re doing,’ Nina continued, ‘is making the big pant a gorgeous, sexy item. It’ll be a new brand – still under the Claudine umbrella of course, but with its own unique identity.’ She fixed her with a blue-eyed stare. ‘And we’d love you to head that up.’

  Lucy hesitated. ‘Head up the big pant?’

  She laughed. ‘You could put it that way.’

  ‘What would the role be exactly? You know I was head buyer, and you mentioned it would be more of a second-in-charge to you …’

  ‘You’d take full control of the brand, really,’ Nina said, as if it was obvious. ‘It would be your baby for the duration of the contract, then we could see how the pants are performing.’

  Without warning, Lucy was seized by a desire to laugh. As Nina went on, enthusing wildly about the scope and potential of the big pant, Lucy tried to focus hard on non-funny things – like Aunt Elspeth’s dry panettone, and the time the children had nits. In an attempt to rein in her mirth, she choked.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Nina lurched forward.

  ‘Yes, sorry. Just, um – something in my throat.’ She inhaled deeply, trying to steady herself.

  Nina’s gaze flicked to her phone on the desk. ‘Right – well, I have a two o’clock meeting so I’m sorry – we’d better wind this up for now. Could you think it over and get back to me, and we can talk again in more depth?’

  ‘Of course,’ Lucy said, slightly shocked that it was all over so quickly. She’d arranged for Marnie and Sam to play at Jodie’s and schlepped all the way to Manchester – and Nina had given her all of eleven minutes. Lucy had forgotten that this was how things were in the business world. She hadn’t even finished her coffee.

  ‘Thanks for coming in,’ Nina said, jumping up and hugging her again. ‘I have to say, you look amazing, Lucy. Country life is obviously suiting you very well.’

  By the time she arrived back in Burley Bridge, it was already starting to get dark, and Marnie and Sam were happily worn out from an afternoon’s trampolining in Jodie’s garden. Yet they still wanted to play out, so she wandered into her garden with them, scanning the borders now that the snow had somewhat melted away, and figuring that she would need to do some cutting back and tidying.

  She noticed then that something was different. Her eyes lighted upon the place where the shed had been crushed by the falling branch.

  Lucy stared. The pile of wooden pieces was no longer lying there. She strode towards the spot, seeing that the base of the shed was still where it had always been, but all of the pieces – the broken walls and the roof, had been stacked neatly against one wall. Beside them, something lumpy was shrouded in black polythene.

  She lifted it gingerly. There were several plant pots underneath, filled with what looked like the shed’s contents: small tools, screws, spools of wire – the things Ivan and the children had used when they had been tinkering about in there.

  Someone had sorted it all in an organised fashion. One pot was filled with tiny tins of enamel paint, another with brushes, another with offcuts of wood. The children hadn’t noticed yet. They were too busy playing – Marnie was charging about with Sam on her back – and they never noticed when things had been tidied anyway. Only when their possessions had been thrown away.

  Then Lucy’s gaze lighted upon a smaller pot at the end of the row. Its contents weren’t tools or art materials, but a mixture of odd things. She dipped in a hand and touched a round white pebble, a speckled feather, a gnarly pine cone and a tiny animal skull. There was a pale blue bird’s egg, miraculously undamaged, and a thin white bone, smooth as porcelain.

  She picked carefully through the objects, only faintly aware of her children’s voices as she found a small note. She picked it up and examined it. It looked as if it had been ripped from a lined notebook. Found these lying all together, the loopy but neat handwriting read, as if they’d been tipped out onto the ground. Wondered if it was some sort of collection? James.

  She stood up now, unable to stop smiling as she called out, ‘Sam? Come here a minute, love. I think this might be your museum.’

  Chapter Forty-Three

  James had felt fine when he’d pulled up at Lucy’s on the morning of New Year’s Eve. He was going to tell her, he decided. He’d just splurge it all out and that would be that. But now, as she welcomed him in and poured him a coffee, his mouth was dry and his heart was hammering against his ribs. He took a seat and Lucy sat opposite him.

  ‘So, are you looking forward to tonight?’ she asked. There was a New Year’s Eve gathering in the village hall and she knew he planned to drop by with his father.

  ‘Yeah, I guess so, are you?’

  Lucy nodded. ‘I’ve promised the kids they can stay until the bells. It’s their first time. They’re pretty thrilled about that.’ A pause settled over them. James could sense Lucy studying his face, as if she knew something was coming, and that he hadn’t just dropped by for a casual chat. ‘So, your Christmas went pretty well?’

  ‘Yeah.’ He nodded. ‘Better than I could have hoped for, really.’ He looked at her and smiled. ‘I’ve missed you lately.’

  Well, he hadn’t planned to say that. Lucy smiled, cupping her coffee mug with both hands.

  ‘I’ve missed you too. Thanks so much for what you did – with the shed and Sam’s museum exhibits … it was so kind of you.’

  ‘That’s okay,’ he murmured. He inhaled and sipped his coffee, trying to muster the courage to say what he’d come to say. He looked at her. ‘Lucy,’ he started, ‘I want to say … I’m sorry.’

  She frowned. ‘What on earth for?’

  ‘Um … look, I lied about something pretty major a long time ago. Not just to you,’ he added quickly. ‘I lied to everyone. Even the Linton kids – all my friends. It wasn’t just you.’

  She met his gaze, as if waiting for him to go on. ‘What did you lie about?’

  He cleared his throat, aware of Marnie and Sam chatting upstairs. He willed them to stay up there just a few minutes longer. ‘D’you remember,’ he started, ‘how I said my mum had died when I was six?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘Well, she didn’t. She left us because she’d fallen in love with someone else. But Dad was so distraught and humiliated, he said that was what we had to tell everyone, and we did. Rod and I stuck to the lie. It seemed so important to him.’

  For a moment, Lucy just looked at him. There had been another flurry of snow overnight and everything was still and white and perfect. ‘So …’ Lucy hesitated. ‘She never tried to contact you or your brother?’

  ‘Not that I know of,’ he replied. ‘Even if she did, she obviously didn’t try very hard.’

  ‘And you’ve never thought of trying to contact her?’

  James shrugged. ‘I’m starting to think I might do that. You know when we were talking about you sorting through Ivan’s things – and you said maybe you would, when the time was right?’

  Lucy nodded. James could feel the thud of his heart. ‘Well, maybe it’s that time now for me.’

  ‘Maybe it is,’ she murmured. Then they were no longer sitting opposite each other across her kitchen table. She was up on her feet, and so was he, and she was hugging him
. ‘Oh, James. I wish you’d told me. Why didn’t you say?’

  He stood back and looked at her, stuck for words for a moment. Why hadn’t he said? ‘I didn’t know how,’ he replied, knowing how ridiculous that sounded.

  ‘You just had to say it,’ she said, squeezing his hand.

  James nodded. And I needed to find the right person to tell, he reflected, turning to the doorway as Sam wandered in, saying a bleary hello to James and asking if pancakes might be possible.

  It was the following Saturday when James arrived to pick up Lucy, Marnie and Sam. Lucy had been puzzled when he’d called the previous day, suggesting ‘a drive’, if they were free. ‘But where to?’ she’d asked.

  ‘It’s a kind of surprise,’ James had replied.

  ‘Can’t you give me a hint?’ She’d laughed.

  ‘Nope. No hints! You’ll just have to wait and see …’

  Now he was drinking coffee in her kitchen while the children got ready upstairs.

  Of course, Marnie and Sam wouldn’t settle for that, and now, in the back seat of James’s rather battered old car, they asked repeatedly where they were heading to – until Lucy had to ask them, firmly, to be patient.

  ‘We’re just going for a drive,’ James said, which made her smile. It sounded like something her mother would do or, more likely, demand to be taken on. But gradually, as they left the village behind, her curiosity started to niggle.

  ‘You can give me a clue, if you like,’ she said, throwing James a quick glance.

  ‘Sorry. No clues.’ James looked back at Lucy, and something stirred in her. She remembered clearly the first day she’d seen him, when they were nine years old. Suddenly, Burley Bridge had seemed full of promise.

  They all fell silent now as he drove out into open countryside. ‘I was thinking,’ she murmured a few minutes later, ‘I would like you to help me to clear out the attic sometime, if it’s not too much trouble?’

  ‘Of course it’s not,’ he said. ‘I’d love to help. Just say when it suits you and we can get started.’ He indicated and made a turn off the main road.

  Lucy frowned. ‘James … why are we going this way?’