‘You look delighted to see me,’ he says, nudging me so hard I almost trip over his backpack. ‘Not.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I say, shoving him back – I learned long ago not to let any of these swines push me around – ‘I’m just tired. It’s been a bad day. A bad year … look, I don’t know how she’ll react, okay? She might welcome you home like the prodigal son. She might tell you off for leaving your PE kit at school. She might not have a clue who you are. She might accuse you of stealing her chamomile tea bags. She’s not at her best right now, and if she’s asleep, it’s probably best we leave her that way, all right?’
He shrugs, and accepts what I say without arguing. That’s a good thing, given the state of my mood.
‘Whatever you say, Will. You’re the expert. Can we go in now? This might feel like spring to you, but I’m bloody freezing.’
Chapter 32
The next few days pass in a blur of discomfort, weird dreams, and hospital coffee. Mum takes a slight turn for the worse due to a bladder infection, but is finally allowed home after three days – wearing her very stylish boot.
She’s accepted Van’s presence without too much disruption, and in some ways, her Alzheimer’s makes the change easier to accept – she simply behaves as though he never left. I don’t know whether she’s doing that deliberately, or if in her mind, this is all a continuation of some far-off weekend in 2001.
I have to admit it’s handy having a big bloke around, getting her in and out of the car and helping her into the cottage. And I’m sure if we need a well building, he’ll be brilliant.
Auburn is thrilled to see him, and the two of them lapse straight back into their usual banter. A tiny part of me shrivels at that – the not-very-mature Willow that lives inside me immediately feels left out again.
I’d just about started getting used to having Auburn here, and to enjoying her company, but now I’m slightly surplus to requirements as they laugh at each other’s jokes and reminisce about their travels and swap stories about airport toilets in faraway lands.
Still, I have my hands full anyway – Mum is on the mend, but she’s a long way from better. As I’d have expected, she discards the crutches as soon as she’s home, and insists she can get around absolutely fine without them. She even does a mock moonwalk around the kitchen, announcing in a booming astronaut voice that she’s taking one small step for womankind, clomping across the stone floor in her mighty boot.
I stayed in the hospital with her while she was recuperating, and have spent three nights almost-sleeping on a chair. The staff did at least manage to find me one with a cushion, but it wasn’t the world’s most restful.
I’m relieved to be home, and even more relieved to be in my own bedroom, surrounded by my own things, snuggled up with my own dog. Bella Swan has obviously missed me – I can tell by the fact that she lies on my chest instead of next to me. I stroke her furry little head, and let her lick my nose, and feel so much better now we’re together again. Auburn and Van can bugger off to Timbuktu to save endangered peregrine falcons for all I care – I have my little Bella again.
I’ve left my siblings and my mother to it for an hour, while I chill out. No use trying to do more than I’m capable of, and as I’m still in the cottage, they’ll hopefully be able to avoid disaster for a little while.
Having Van back is good, but it’s going to be tough for him. He’ll have to go through the same learning process that Auburn did, figuring out how to cope with our brand new mum – and all the sadness and frustration that brings with it. But as the pair of them are getting on so famously, maybe they’ll be able to help each other.
Laura has been round while we were bringing Mum home, and the whole place is filled with fresh wildflowers in vases, as well as enough food to last us a week: home-baked bread, vats of soup in the fridge, a springy raspberry sponge on the kitchen table, almond and chocolate chip cookies in a tin, steak and ale pies with crusty pastry to go in the oven, creamy mashed potato that just needs warming up, a big jug of gravy. She’s showing her love the best way she knows how.
Everyone else has been in touch, with offers of lifts to the hospital and pints in the pub and promises to do our shopping and weed our garden and walk the dog and basically do absolutely anything a human being could possibly need. Katie’s popped in with Saul, who now wants a big boot just like Mum’s, and Carole from the day centre sent us a lovely card signed by all the staff and clients.
There’s been such an outpouring of affection and support that I feel a bit overwhelmed by it all – lucky, but overwhelmed. Like between all of that, and Van and Auburn, I might just disappear entirely.
I burrow down beneath the duvet, listening to the sounds of music flow in from the kitchen, accompanied by the wonderful tinkling of my mum’s laughter, and close my eyes. Bella is snoring gently, letting out little puffs of air with each snort.
Disappearing, I think, might be a very pleasant thing – at least for a little while. Or sleeping, anyway, without getting jolted awake by somebody’s heart monitor going off, or nurses brushing past me to check blood pressure, or the sad, solitary sound of someone crying alone in the night.
I’m just about starting to drift off into a blissed-out state of trance when Bella suddenly sits up, and dashes to the edge of the bed, dragging part of the duvet with her. Her tail points up in the air and wags frantically, and her nose sniffs and twitches.
Approximately thirty seconds later, my less sophisticated senses kick in as well – and I hear the car pull up on the gravel of the driveway. That’s followed by a car door thudding shut, and an almighty great woof that booms all the way through my open window.
Bella, once she’s confirmed who our visitor is, immediately curls back up in a ball and pretends like nothing has happened. No fuss, no excitement, no wagging tail or twitching nose – she’s acting all cool as though she doesn’t care about Rick Grimes coming for a play date.
I blow a huge raspberry just for my own amusement, and wonder if the same might work for me. Or if I could maybe get away with hiding in the wardrobe, or putting on a felt hat and standing in the garden, like a scarecrow.
I’ve not been alone with Tom since the night Mum went missing. He’s been attentive and supportive and wonderful in every possible way – but we’ve always been chaperoned. By Mum, by my siblings, by nurses and doctors and other patients, by passing ladies selling hospital pens to raise funds for a new scanner.
Of course, we could have found ways around that. We could have built in time to sneak off to the canteen, or had a cuddle in the hallways, or even ridden up and down in the lifts together doing that thing where you jump before you reach the bottom to give your tummy a jolt. We could have escaped to the local pub for half an hour, or walked around the building, or even just sat in the car and watched the seagulls fight over discarded crisp bags.
We could have done many things – but we didn’t. To be more specific, I didn’t. I clung to all of my various chaperones with an air of desperation that now fills me with embarrassment and regret.
I avoided being alone with him deliberately, because I simply don’t know how I feel about everything any more.
The joy of my night with Tom was so quickly overshadowed by the guilt at what happened with Mum that the two now seem to have become inseparable in my mind. I know that this makes no sense and has no logic – but emotions are notoriously bad at following rules. At least mine are, it seems.
I hide my head under the duvet for a moment, as I hear Auburn opening the front door, and welcoming him in. I hear Mum say something about a flange bracket, and Bella finally gives in and jumps off the bed.
There’s the gentle hum of small talk, and I hear the door to my room creak slightly open. I know that if I stay under the duvet, and possibly snore or drool, he’ll assume I’m asleep and leave me alone. He knows how tired I’ve been, and he won’t disturb me.
I’m half-tempted, but I couldn’t live with myself. Days ago, I was sitting on top of
this man telling him I love him. Tom has had enough bad treatment to last him a lifetime, and he doesn’t deserve me hiding from him and hoping he goes away.
‘It’s okay!’ I shout, shuffling myself upright. ‘I’m awake! Come in!’
I run my hand over my hair, and remember that I haven’t brushed my teeth that morning. I might be confused by how I feel about him at the moment, but I still seem to be a girl.
He walks into the room, smiling hesitantly. He’s sporting a black T-shirt with the Jurassic Park logo on the front, and his trademark Levis and Converse combo. I feel the usual urge to stroke his head, and realise that now I’ve seen him naked, I actually find him even more attractive. Thrown into the mix of the way my brain is eating itself, it’s quite a maelstrom.
He perches on the side of the bed, and gazes around. He’s never been in here before, and I see him taking it all in: the knick knacks and paperbacks and dream catchers and photos and the papier-mâché Stonehenge I made in art class and the scattered assortment of Doc Martens. It’s the complete opposite of his living space, but I can tell he likes it.
‘The inner sanctum …’ he says, grinning.
‘Yep. It’s a mess, isn’t it?’
‘It is a mess, but I bet you know where everything is.’
He’s right – I do. It’s chaos, but it’s my chaos.
‘How are you?’ he asks, reaching out to stroke the side of my cheek. I let my face rest on his palm for a second, enjoying the touch of his skin on mine.
‘Not too bad. Just very tired.’
He nods, and replies: ‘I can imagine. I can go if you like – I just wanted to see you, check how you and Lynnie were getting on. In fact, I’ve just given her a present. I made it myself.’
‘Is it a flange bracket?’
‘No,’ he says.‘It’s a necklace.’
I raise my eyebrows at this, as it is an unexpected gift.
‘Oh – that’s nice. She does love a bit of bling, as long as it’s from the hippy dimension …’
‘It is,’ he says, letting out a quiet laugh. ‘I made it from rose quartz crystal, which is—’
‘Associated with love, peace and healing, amongst other things. Obviously I couldn’t grow up in this house without knowing my crystals, Tom.’
‘Fair point. I see some amethyst chips on your dream catcher over there. Anyway – it is pretty, and she will like it, but that’s not the point. It’s actually also a gift for you. I put a tracker in it.’
I stare at him for a moment, wondering if I heard him wrong. Something about that whole sentence didn’t make much sense.
‘I put a tiny chip in it,’ he explains, when I obviously don’t understand. ‘A bit like the technology they use in phones these days. And I can send you some details for an account it’s connected to, where you can log on and see where she is. Or, at least, see where the pendant is. I just thought … it might help. Give you a bit of peace of mind.’
‘Wow,’ I say, shaking my head. ‘You’ve put a tracker on my mother, using a crystal? That’s like a human rights abuse – but … it’s also brilliant. Thank you. So much. It’s so kind, and clever, and awesome.’
He shrugs, and replies: ‘Well. That’s my job, ma’am – being kind and clever and awesome. Anyway, it might not work. She might just hang it on Wurzel the minute I leave, but who knows? If it can avoid anything like the other night happening again, it’ll be worth it.’
I nod, and stare at the string of amethyst chips on the dream catcher in the window. Protection, cleansing of the spirit, and maintaining a sober mind. Maybe I should swallow it.
‘I can’t let anything like that happen again,’ I say, eventually. I’m struggling to meet his eyes, because that will feel too big. Too serious.
He reaches out and holds my hand, stroking the skin of my palm with his fingers.
‘I know,’ he says, quietly. ‘I understand that. But it wasn’t your fault, you know that, don’t you? You being with me … that wasn’t a mistake.’
I hold onto his hand, and force myself to look at him. Smiling, though – that’s beyond me.
‘Being with you was wonderful,’ I say quickly. Whatever happens next between us, I don’t want him to doubt that; to doubt that it was as real for me as it was for him.
‘It was heavenly, in fact. It was the best night of my life, Tom – right up to the point where it turned into the worst. And now, whenever I think about lying there in the camper van, wrapped up in you, warm in that bed, I can’t help seeing her. Seeing her lying in the mud with a broken ankle while I … well, while I was distracted. I know it doesn’t make sense. I know it’s stupid – but it’s the way I feel, at least for now.’
He nods, and now he’s the one avoiding my eyes. I feel terrible, because I know that being so honest is hurting him – but being dishonest would be even worse.
‘I know. I might be socially inept, but I picked up on that in the hospital, when you were avoiding being alone with me. I think it was the time you offered to help the nurses collect the bed pans when I’d asked you to come for a walk that drove it home.’
I bury my face in my hands, and cringe. I’m such a knob sometimes.
‘Oh God, Tom, I’m so sorry!’ I say, my voice muffled through my fingers and hair. ‘I really am. The last thing in the entire world I want to do is upset you, but I can’t pretend like none of this happened. I’ve always been so focused, I’ve always looked after her, and we’ve always managed. Then Auburn came along, and I fell for you, and just for a moment there, I let my focus slip – I let myself think my life could be different.’
‘Your life could be different,’ he says, pulling my hands away and forcing me to look at him. ‘Auburn is still here. Van is here. I’m here. I don’t expect you to leave your mum any time soon. I’m not planning to kidnap you and keep you in the camper as my sex slave. I love you, and I’m here to help you, not pressurise you. I want to make your life better, not worse. The way you feel now … you’re exhausted, and traumatised, and full of misplaced guilt. It’s not the time to make decisions. It’s just the time to rest, and recover, and sleep.’
I nod, my lips quivering with the effort of keeping my wrecked emotions under control, and let him gently lay me down on the bed, head on the pillow. He pulls the duvet up to my neck, and leans down to kiss me. I want to reach up, to wrap my arms around his shoulders and pull him in there with me. I want to pretend, at least for a few blissful hours, that everything can be okay, just like he says it can.
I want to do that – but I don’t. Because it wouldn’t be right, and I’d be doing it for such selfish reasons.
He tucks me in, and closes the curtains. The sunlight is still seeping around the edges, making the room hazy, misty with half-light and dancing dust motes.
‘I’ll speak to you later, Willow,’ he says, from the doorway as he leaves. ‘I love you, and I refuse to regret that, whatever happens. Now get some rest.’
Chapter 33
My name is Willow Longville. I am twenty-six years old. I live in a village called Budbury, with my mum Lynnie. I work as a waitress at the Comfort Food Café, and I run my own cleaning business called Will-o’-the-Wash. I have a dog called Bella Swan, and I love my life. In the last twenty-four hours, the following things have happened …
1. I have argued with my brother about the TV remote control approximately 3,457 times.
2. I have cleared out my wardrobe, and thrown away precisely nothing – it was just to keep me busy.
3. I have read a book about mindfulness, and learned precisely nothing – it was also just to keep me busy.
4. I have realised that doing things to keep me busy is silly, as I actually am busy.
5. I have cried. A lot.
6. I have stopped myself from driving over to Briarwood to see Tom about as many times as I’ve argued with Van about the TV remote.
7. I have cried even more.
8. I have felt sad and lonely, even in a house full of noisy people.
<
br /> 9. I have come to the conclusion that the ‘I love my life’ part of my diary entry might not be completely true any more.
Chapter 34
It’s the very last dancing session before Edie’s party. The party itself has now been relocated to Briarwood, after much discussion with the planners and the birthday girl herself.
By ‘much discussion’, I mean the twenty seconds it took for Edie to clasp her hands together in delight, pronounce she was fit to swoon at the very thought, and demand smelling salts to revive her. Once she’d made her feelings clear, the rest of us would move mountains to make it happen – there aren’t many Edie Mays in the world, and if you’re lucky enough to have one, you need to keep them happy.
Cherie and Laura have gone into organisational over-drive, and although I’d normally be involved, they’ve obviously had some top-level carrot cake meeting and decided that they’ll do it all without me, as I have enough on my plate.
I’m grateful, because they’re really not wrong. Mum’s mental state has been erratic since she got home, and we’re all hoping it’s still because of the accident and the infection. She’s had entire days where even my pink hair doesn’t work, and where she suffers from spells of paranoia so vivid that she becomes terrified even in her own home.
On the days she has been more like herself, she’s struggled to find words for the simplest of things, and has been confounded by such activities as making tea, brushing her teeth, and putting her shoes on. It’s horrible to watch as she suffers, so obviously embarrassed and confused, lost in a private torture that we can only imagine.
She reads and re-reads her old notebooks incessantly, as though trying to find her way out of a maze, looking for clues as to who she is and who we are and how we should all be relating to each other.
The only bright spot has been her becoming obsessed with a TV show about American football called Friday Night Lights. She’s sucked us all into her evil web with this, and I even caught Van shedding a tear after poor Tim Riggins got his heart broken. Mum declared after that episode that she was in love with Tim Riggins, and if ever he was in the neighbourhood, she’d kidnap him and lock him in the shed. Luckily, he’s fictional, and lives in Texas.
Sunshine at the Comfort Food Café Page 25