She was a fool. A selfish little fool. She shuddered with the realisation and gave a moan.
‘Try her again with some hot sweet tea.’
More wretched tea. What was that going to do? Jilly turned her head away and closed her eyes. She wanted to empty her mind of everything. Of here. And now. And her parents. And him.
‘It’s going to take more than hot sweet tea to get the city back on its feet,’ said someone.
Jilly half listened as the events of the night were discussed. No one had predicted it or seen the raid coming, but it had been devastating. Dozens of houses and churches and shops blown apart by several hundred incendiary devices scattered at random, like icing sugar over strawberries. The targets seemed to be haphazard; a blow to Bath’s pride rather than its infrastructure, as no strategic buildings had been hit. Nevertheless it was a timely warning to remind them that, no matter how beautiful and ancient the city was, it was vulnerable to attack.
‘Lübeck,’ said Mr Archer, with gloom and doom in his voice. ‘We weren’t ever going to get away with that.’
Bomber Command had carried out a brutal attack on the German city that left many dead and razed its historic buildings to the ground. It wasn’t hard to see the logic of the reprisal. An eye for an eye, everyone was saying. Bath for Lübeck.
As dawn crept over the devastated city, Jilly began to shiver uncontrollably. She felt so cold. Her eyes were burning, as if they were filled with dust. Someone was bathing her feet, dabbing at them gently with warm water, towelling them dry.
‘Your feet are bleeding. Where were you, love?’
She wasn’t going to tell anyone. Where she was didn’t make any difference. She wasn’t going to think about it ever again. The thing she had thought so wonderful had been a trick. A trick to cover up the most terrible thing in the world. She just wanted to sleep. She shut her eyes, but as soon as she did all she could see was the plane coming towards her; the terrible noise of the engine and the strafing bullets. She whimpered.
‘It’s all right, love. You cry. Come here.’
Mrs Archer. She recognised the meaty pong of her underarms mixed with talc. She recoiled. She had never relished an embrace from Mrs Archer, even when she was tiny, even though the woman was kind.
Then she heard a tap tap tap on the stone floor, the familiar sound of high heels that lifted her heart just a fraction.
‘Where is she?’ the husky voice demanded. ‘Oh, Jilly. Jilly, love.’ And then Ivy’s skinny arms were round her neck as her friend pulled her to her, crooning and rocking her. ‘It’s all right, my darling. I’m here. I’m here to look after you. It’ll be all right.’
‘It was my fault,’ whispered Jilly. ‘It was all my fault.’
‘Don’t you dare say that.’ Ivy’s tone was sharp. ‘It was the dirty stinking Germans’ fault. Don’t you ever say that again.’
Then she turned to the others in the room. ‘I’m here now. I’ll look after her. She’ll be all right with me.’
Mr and Mrs Archer looked doubtful. Ivy’s bright blonde hair was all over the place, and she looked as if she had pulled on the first clothes she could find. Jilly gathered herself together and stood up.
‘It’s all right.’ She was surprised to find her voice quite strong. ‘I’ll be fine with Ivy. She’ll look after me. Thank you so much.’
She didn’t want these people in her home. She knew they meant well, but she wanted privacy, to take in what had happened. She didn’t understand why she couldn’t cry. She felt cold and empty and full of dread, but there were no tears.
Ivy wasn’t as polite as Jilly. She chivvied everyone out as quickly as she could, herding them towards the front door.
‘They’re just nosy,’ she said as she came back into the kitchen. ‘I’ve never liked that Archer bloke. He looks at me funny. Like he wants something but he’s not sure what.’
She pursed her lips and pushed at her hair. Jilly almost smiled. She knew what Mr Archer probably wanted from Ivy. That’s what she did to men.
Ivy was looking at her. Now they were on their own, Jilly was surprised to see tears in her friend’s eyes. Ivy was tough. She didn’t cry easily.
‘It’s not fair,’ said Ivy, wiping her cheeks, furious. ‘Your dad and mum were two of the best people I ever met. They were kind, and they never thought they were better than anyone. Even though they were better than most people.’
Jilly nodded. They were her parents so of course she thought the world of them, but she also knew how much impact they’d had on people: patients and pupils particularly, but also anyone they came into contact with on a daily basis. Ivy putting that into words made what had happened a reality: her beloved parents, both of them, were dead and were never coming back. She would never smell the scent of her father’s spicy shaving balm through the steam seeping under the bathroom door or the noise of the wireless as he made himself a pot of fresh coffee and a poached egg in the morning – he had always been up before her mother. Her mother had loved her bed; had always stayed under the covers for as long as she could get away with then made a mad dash to get ready for setting off for school. She was happy to sacrifice food for a few more minutes’ snooze. Jilly used to bring her a cup of tea as soon as she got up. Her mum never touched it and it always went cold, but she brought her one every morning nevertheless without fail. It was their tradition. It would never have occurred to Jilly not to bring the tea.
‘What am I going to do?’ she asked Ivy, her voice very small. ‘What am I going to do without them?’ And the grief engulfed her, an unstoppable wave, and her knees went from underneath her as she fell to the cold tiled floor. Ivy rushed to her side, kneeling beside her, desperately trying to console her, but she was sobbing herself.
Eventually Jilly cried herself out. There just weren’t any tears left inside her. She got up and sat at the kitchen table, laying her head in her arms, limp with exhaustion; lack of sleep, adrenaline and grief had taken their toll.
‘Cocoa. That’s what we need,’ said Ivy, decisive as ever, and pulling a small saucepan from one of the kitchen cupboards, she found the milk and a tin of cocoa powder and a spoonful of precious sugar. And although she watered it down so they could eke it out, the sweetness gave Jilly a little bit of colour back, and made her feel stronger.
Then her friend led her up the stairs to her bed, put her into a fresh nightie, plumped up her pillows and slid a piping-hot water bottle in between the sheets.
‘We need to tell people,’ said Jilly. ‘My aunt. And my dad’s brother …’
‘Don’t you think about any of it, my darling,’ Ivy soothed. ‘It can all wait. Get in there and sleep. I’ll be here. By your side. Now take these.’
She handed Jilly a pair of tablets and a glass of water.
‘What are they?’
‘I got them from your dad’s bag.’
Jilly looked down at the tablets in Ivy’s palm. She thought of the bag her father took with him everywhere he went. A magic bag full of everything and anything his patients could want. She knew, quite often, he would give them a placebo of sugar pills. He understood people better than anyone. Understood when they wanted to feel listened to and looked after, and if all it took was a pretend panacea he was happy to give it to them.
Oh, her wonderful father, with his patience and kindness and wisdom. And her mum, with her energy and optimism and no-nonsense brio.
‘What will I do without them, Ivy?’ asked Jilly, yet again.
‘I don’t know.’ Ivy’s voice was gruff, tight with anger that she couldn’t show just yet. She put her arms round Jilly and squeezed her tight. ‘Swallow them down and get into bed. I’ll be right here beside you.’
5
The day after Willow’s leaving party dawned bright, a golden autumn morning with a sharp chill that foreshadowed the frosts to come. There was a gentleness to the light that was comforting after the dazzling harshness of summer; the sun still coaxing ripeness into the fruits of autumn.
&nb
sp; Laura looked out of the floor-to-ceiling Crittal windows at the back of the kitchen and into the back garden, breathing in the mellow September scent of dead leaves nestling in the warmth of the earth. The last of the blue agapanthus were fading; the lavender was turning grey. Deep-purple plums gleamed through the twisted branches and the very last of the raspberries hung heavy from the canes.
Dom was outside the front of the house, loading stuff into the car. It was so early that Willow wasn’t even on her phone as there was no one else up to communicate with. Jaz would come out in her pyjamas and Uggs to wave them off – she was leaving for Loughborough much later and would no doubt go back to bed as soon as they had driven round the corner.
Laura stood in the hallway, wanting to hold on to the last precious moments of them all being together. There is nothing to panic about, she told herself. This is a natural part of Willow’s growing-up process. Don’t spoil it for her.
Dom came in. He seemed subdued this morning. She wasn’t sure if it was because he was as unsettled by Willow’s departure as she was or because he had stayed up until one o’clock with Sadie, finishing off a bottle of wine. Sadie was always the last girl standing at any party. Laura had offered her a bed, but she had teetered off back to her flat in her high heels. And she would be up at seven and in the gym or doing a park run. Laura didn’t know where she got the stamina.
‘Do you want me to drive?’ Laura asked Dom, hoping he’d say no.
‘Nah.’ He pulled out his phone and checked it out of habit, then shoved it back in his pocket. ‘Have we got everything?’
Laura waved the lists she’d printed out and ticked off.
Willow stood in the doorway. ‘As long as I’ve got my inhalers, my bank card and my phone, that’s all that matters.’
Laura gritted her teeth and smiled. She’d spent the last four weeks organising everything Willow needed. ‘Pop and say goodbye to Kanga.’
‘We said goodbye last night. I don’t want to wake her up this early.’
Laura hated the thought of Willow leaving without kissing her great-grandmother once more. What if …?
What if what? She was getting on her own nerves with her sense of impending doom. They had a road trip ahead of them, a night in York, and a bright new future for Willow. She should be up, not down.
In the end, the journey was painless, and they swept into their hotel car park just after lunch. It was a comfortable three-star by one of the city walls; nothing swanky, as they couldn’t afford to throw away money at the moment, but it was perfectly adequate.
‘Can’t we just leave her and drive back tonight?’ asked Dom. ‘It would save a couple of hundred quid and you can see she’s desperate to get rid of us.’
Laura frowned. They’d agreed they were going to make a night of it weeks ago, when she’d booked the hotel. York was bound to be full of other parents staying over.
‘The halls aren’t open till tomorrow and it’s too late to cancel the rooms. And I want a wander around York. I didn’t get a chance to look properly when she came up for her interview.’
Dom just gave a shrug. ‘Fair enough.’
‘It’ll be fun.’
‘Yeah. Sorry. I’ve just got a lot on my plate.’
Laura bent down to pick up her bag. She wasn’t going to get drawn into an argument. Nothing could be more important than settling Willow in, surely?
‘If we eat early tonight we can get cracking in the morning. We can be on the road by midday.’
‘Midday …?’ Dom’s face said that was far later than he was hoping. Again, Laura didn’t rise. They’d leave when the time was right and not before.
‘Any ideas about where to eat tonight?’ she said instead. ‘I saw a review of a great place on the river.’
‘Just cheap and cheerful, eh?’ said Dom. ‘We don’t have to go mad.’
‘Course not,’ said Laura, thinking she had never heard Dom utter the words cheap and cheerful before. He was much more of a to hell with the expense sort of person. Not in a reckless way. He just knew how to enjoy himself and wanted to extend that to his friends and family.
She knew the pattern. This was the darkest hour before dawn, the couple of months when the project came together before it went on the market. It was always a race to finish and there was a lot of whip-cracking and breath-holding. Dom always got twitchy and panicky. In property, you had to hold your nerve, because there were so many variables: interest rates, economic climate, politics, world events – anything could affect the saleability of a property, and its value.
In a few months’ time, she told herself, once Christmas was over, the flats would be on the market, maybe even sold with the money in the bank, she would be used to Willow being away, and they could relax and enjoy themselves. Perhaps slip off for some winter sun or a ski trip. She’d look at some possibilities next week.
Laura found York profoundly reassuring: solid and ancient, bustling with tourists and staffed by kindly locals who seemed proud of their city and couldn’t do enough for the endless stream of visitors. Thick stone walls and cobbled streets, the magnificent cathedral, welcoming pubs, tea rooms serving scones and fat rascals and Eccles cakes: it didn’t seem a place where anything bad could happen. The streets were filled with couples like Laura and Dom with their offspring, all nervous and excited about the next phase of life. Laura wanted to hold on to the day for ever. She could feel the dread of tomorrow lurking just above her stomach. She knew when she woke the next morning it would have nudged its way upwards into her heart. She was determined not to spoil their day together. Instead she watched fondly as Willow wheedled a hoody from Jack Wills out of her father, just like the one she hadn’t stolen from her sister.
‘Expertly done,’ Laura teased.
They had dinner in a Caribbean restaurant decked out in bleached wood and scaffolding and splattered with luminous graffiti. It was pumping out reggae which did nothing for the headache Laura was trying to hide. She sipped at the too-sweet rum cocktail and toyed with her jerk chicken. She could sense that Willow was longing for the evening to end so the next day would come and she could get on with her new life. She didn’t hold it against her. She envied her standing on the brink of an exciting future, with new friends to be made and challenges to be met.
She could sense Dom was on edge too. He was tired after the drive, and drank three beers in quick succession, then finished Laura’s drink as well. He had the clenched-jaw look of someone who was trying not to check his mobile phone. He was on it all day during the week, keeping in touch with contractors and suppliers and workmen. Once or twice he smiled at Laura, trying to look relaxed, but she wasn’t fooled.
The three of them wandered back through the streets, past the city walls and the towering cathedral and back to their hotel. Not for the first time, Laura wondered if Willow had chosen York deliberately because she knew her mum couldn’t just pop up to see her on a whim. Don’t, she told herself. You’re being paranoid. Willow had chosen York because it was a good university, with a great course. And she’d got in against the odds. She hadn’t quite got her grades, but they’d offered her a place anyway. A tiny, tiny, tiny bit of Laura had secretly hoped she wouldn’t get in and would have to reapply, so she could have Willow for another year. After over ten years of being on high alert, of constant disruption and fear, Willow hadn’t had a full-scale asthma attack for nearly eighteen months, and Laura selfishly wanted more time with her daughter free from anxiety. But she knew that was ridiculous and, to be honest, a little unhealthy in itself. It was time to cut the apron strings.
As they got ready for bed, Laura found a small box on her pillow. She presumed it was chocolates, and went to put it on the bedside table.
‘Open it,’ said Dom. He was smiling.
It was a silver charm bracelet with a ‘J’ and a ‘W’ dangling from it.
‘So you’ve got your girls with you all the time,’ he said.
Laura slipped the chain over her wrist and held out her arm
for him to do up the link.
‘I’m never going to take it off,’ she said, and put her arms round his neck, kissing him, incredibly touched by his thoughtfulness. She realised the bracelet was his way of telling her he knew how difficult she was finding this, and that he would always be there for her, and he was sorry for being grumpy.
She pulled him down onto the bed, kissing him harder, laughing, because there was something about a hotel bed that always made her feel a bit naughty. She slid her hand into the waistband of his boxers.
He nuzzled her neck for a moment, then rolled onto his back with a sigh, putting his hands behind his head.
‘God, I’m knackered,’ he said. ‘That was quite the drive.’
Laura was rather taken aback. It wasn’t like Dom to turn down sex. She felt a little crestfallen, but she wasn’t going to make a big deal out of it. He must be shattered and she knew what it was like having physical demands made of you when you were tired. So she just snuggled down next to him and put her arm over his chest, closing her eyes and breathing him in.
Five minutes later Dom was fast asleep and Laura was wide awake. She found it difficult to get to sleep, after years of keeping one ear open for Willow. She’d been woken so many times, either by her coughing or calling out. She’d had a constant sense of dread in her stomach, dread of hearing that awful struggle for breath, the gasping and wheezing which, when it didn’t respond to an inhaler, meant a hospital visit for a nebuliser. Sometimes they’d be home the same night; sometimes Laura would have to sleep in a slippery chair for three nights running.
And all those years she’d had to manage her own anxiety. The terror she couldn’t control that took her breath away. She had been petrified the first time it happened, one night in the hospital when Willow was worse than usual. She had felt the very air squeezed out of her own lungs. She stood in the corridor, her hand on her chest, desperately trying to pull oxygen in.
A Family Recipe Page 5