I stopped talking for a moment. He was listening so intently, as if his life depended upon it, as if everything I had felt was going to be true for him too. I was going to stop there, because that can’t be the case, can it? Everyone’s different. Everyone must feel different things and handle death in different ways. That’s why I don’t usually tell people how I feel. To be honest, mostly they don’t ask and I get the feeling that the ones who do take an interest in long-term grief would prefer the airbrushed version. But Sam’s silence and the willow tree, which rustled encouragement, compelled me to carry on.
“It does get better but there’s always the feeling that there’s something missing, like a bit of your heart has been chipped away. And there are some days, the days when something special is happening or everything is going wrong, when you feel completely alone and…”
I bit my lip, felt the tears well up, concentrated hard on stroking the top of Cleo’s head.
“… on those days, no, it doesn’t feel any better. I’m sorry. That’s not what you wanted to hear.”
He reached out and brushed my hand, just for a second. “No, you’re wrong. That’s just what I wanted to hear because I could tell it was the truth.”
I swallowed, sniffed, prayed my eyes wouldn’t well over. “It was my truth. It doesn’t mean that it will be like that for you.”
“I know that,” he said, “but it still helps. Even though it happened ages ago, you must still miss your dad a lot.”
What could I say to that? Actually, no, because he’s around and, irritatingly, I’ve just spotted the wishy-washy top of his head as he paces up and down behind the hawthorn hedge. I forced my thoughts backwards a couple of weeks to the time before Dad came back to me.
“Most people think that because I was so young when it happened I don’t remember what it was like to have Dad around. It’s that silly phrase ‘you don’t miss what you’ve never had’. But I do remember Dad being around and even though my memories might be fuzzy, I still miss him. I still get that sharp, slicing pain like a massive paper cut when I want to tell him something or need his advice. Just because he went away a long time ago doesn’t mean I don’t still need him. People don’t seem to get that.”
Sam nodded as if he understood. “I don’t know whether Dad was right to move us away,” he said. “Part of me wanted to stay in that house where Mum lived. Did you feel that? Has it made you feel further away from your dad, moving to Derbyshire?” Another impossible question.
“My mum says that Dad will follow us wherever we go.”
“And you believe that?”
This was one question I could answer with certainty.
“Yes,” I said firmly. “I really do.”
JEALOUSY
“What were you talking about?” Dad fell into step beside me as I walked home.
“Things.”
“What sort of things?”
“You probably know exactly what we were saying because you were skulking around listening to us.”
He put his hand to his heart area.
“Laura, how could you think I could do such a thing? I respect your privacy.”
“Yeah right! I saw you in the churchyard.”
“That’s only because I was worried about you. I wanted to make sure you were safe.”
He certainly knew how to make me feel guilty.
“I’m sorry. I know. But hey look,” I threw back my head and stretched out my arms, “I’m okay. I survived drinking a glass of lemonade with a boy!”
I smiled at him. I couldn’t be cross for long. The conversation with Sam had taken me back to how I used to feel and now that Dad was here I could pack all of those insecurities up and dump them in the dustbin. I could move on, grow in confidence with Dad by my side. Always.
Aunt Jane was just leaving when I got back to the farm. I waved as she backed the car out of the driveway but she didn’t respond, just revved the engine hard and sped off down the road.
Mum was in the kitchen, her face crumpling as she fought against tears.
“What’s the matter?”
I looked around. Gran wasn’t sitting in her favourite chair, waiting for lunch.
“Is it Gran? Has something happened?”
I was surprised at how worried I felt. Mum sniffed and grabbed a tissue from the box on the dresser.
“No, your gran’s fine. She’s in the sitting room watching Bargain Hunt.”
Relief.
“What then? Is it Aunt Jane?”
Dad was standing very close to Mum. I could tell he wanted to put his arms around her.
“I don’t understand her,” Mum said. “I thought she’d be glad we’d moved up here, that I was taking the pressure off her. I thought that’s what she wanted.”
“It was. So what’s her problem?”
“I don’t know,” Mum groaned. “She just seems to criticise everything I do. She’s worse than your grandmother.” Mum managed a weak smile. “And that’s saying something.”
“Liberty’s been a bit weird too. I thought I’d see more of her.”
Mum came and wrapped her arms around me while Dad whisked a circle around the three of us with his finger. It looked like the faintest of jet trails whispering through the air. Mum didn’t seem to see or notice anything different but, for a few moments, I felt so safe, safer than I’d ever felt before – just the three of us standing there together. It was good. I wanted to be able to remember that feeling for ever, to be able to reach out and reel it in whenever I was feeling stressed or sad.
“I suppose it’s a big change for everyone,” Mum said, her voice muffled against my hair. “Perhaps it’s just taking time for things to settle down.”
I squeezed her a little tighter.
“Yeah, I’m sure you’re right,” I said. “She’s just gone a bit overboard with the older sister thing. She’ll get over it.”
Mum lifted her head, pushed me away slightly.
“You think?” she asked with a wry smile.
“Well,” I replied, “maybe not totally.”
Maybe it was better I hadn’t got any brothers and sisters. Sometimes they could cause a lot of grief.
“What shall we do this afternoon?” Dad asked after lunch.
“I’m going to help Gran plant some geraniums,” I replied. “Mum’s bought a load from the garden centre. We’re going to put them on the old well. I thought it might make her feel better.”
Dad tried not to wrinkle up his nose in disapproval but didn’t totally succeed.
“That’s nice,” he said. “But what am I going to do?”
He sounded like a small child.
“Well, you could watch us, but that might be a bit boring. Mum’s off into town again to pick up Gran’s prescription. You could go with her. She may not be able to see you but I bet it’s still nice to spend time together, isn’t it?”
He seemed to like that idea and to be honest I felt quite relieved. I was beginning to feel like an insect under a microscope with Dad hovering over me all of the time. Once I’d done my good deed of the day with Gran I hoped to snatch a bit of time to myself.
Gran sat in a tall upright wicker chair and in front of her Mum and I positioned an old garden table spread with newspaper. We rang Uncle Pete on his mobile and asked him to come and lift the bag of compost out of the shed but he was at the far end of the fields so in the end Mum and I managed it ourselves. There were nine red geraniums, some pots of little white daisies, three trailing fuchsias, some silvery plants, which Gran couldn’t remember the name of, and trays of alyssum and lobelia. I set all the plants out on the grass in front of Gran and put three large terracotta pots on the table.
“Let’s put some of those broken bits of pot in the bottom, Laura,” Gran instructed. “That helps with the drainage. So the plants don’t get all waterlogged.”
I did as I was told and then filled the pots two thirds full with compost. Next I passed the first geranium over to Gran. She lifted the plant to her
nose and smelled the leaves.
“Oh, Laura,” she said, almost shivering with delight. “This is wonderful. I feel as if I’m coming back to life again.”
She plunged her hands into the prepared pots and positioned the geranium in place. We worked together for about an hour, occasionally chatting, but mostly asking each other where to put a particular plant. She didn’t criticise me once. In fact, just the opposite.
“That looks lovely, Laura,” she said when I placed the last bit of lobelia in the final pot. “You’ve made a really good job of that.”
I blushed. I wasn’t used to being praised by her but it was actually quite a nice feeling.
Later I made us a cup of tea and took it out into the garden. “Gran,” I asked, as I sank onto a rug next to her chair, “do you know what’s wrong with Aunt Jane? She’s upsetting Mum. Also, Liberty’s not been around as much as I’d hoped. I thought we’d spend loads of time together.”
Gran placed her teacup carefully into the saucer and sighed. “They’re like peas in a pod, those two,” she said, stroking her chin. “Actually, I think I probably do know what the problem is. They’re jealous.”
“Of who?” I asked.
“Well, Liberty’s jealous of you, and Jane has always been jealous of your mother, ever since they were little girls.”
She paused, stirred her tea for the second time.
“But that’s ridiculous,” I said, trying to take in this unbelievable information.
“Maybe, but it’s true. I expect Pete and Jane are worried they won’t do so well out of my will now that you’re here to look after me. They’ve got their eye on this house too. Jane’s been itching to get me out of here for years so that she can move in.”
“Oh, Gran, I’m sure that’s not true. I know she says they could do with more space but—”
“But I won’t be here for ever,” Gran interrupted.
“That’s not what I was going to say.” I bit my lip. “I was going to say that we won’t be here for too long.”
It sounded horrible as I said it. As if I couldn’t wait to get away.
“What I mean is that when you’re better Mum and I will probably get a house of our own.”
Gran’s eyes flashed behind her sparse grey lashes. “And then your aunt will be on at me to move to somewhere smaller. But she’ll have to wait. I started my married life in this house, Laura. This is where I raised my family. This is where your grandfather and I spent nearly fifty years together. Every room here is full of memories. I’m not ready to move out yet and no one is going to push me. At least she can’t say your mother is shirking her responsibilities any more.”
I looked up at her, wide-eyed.
“Oh yes, Laura. I knew what Jane was implying or probably even saying. I may be old and decrepit but I don’t miss much.”
“They had this big row,” I said. “It was not long after your fall. Aunt Jane and Uncle Pete were really horrible to Mum and I suppose Liberty’s been a bit different since then. I tried to understand that she was just siding with Aunt Jane but I thought that once we moved up here we’d all pull together like a proper family does.”
“Ah,” Gran said, with a curt laugh, “a proper family. One where everyone is content and no one resents anyone else.”
I nodded.
Gran dropped her hand onto the top of my head. It was warm and heavy. Comforting.
“I’m afraid, Laura, that ‘proper families’ only really exist in books. Real life is a lot messier than that.”
We both fell silent but she left her hand where it was and I didn’t move, didn’t want to disturb it. I thought about Liberty and what Gran had said about her. I thought back to Christmas, the last time she’d come to London. “You don’t know how lucky you are,” she’d said. “Your mum’s got plenty of time for you. My mum spends all of her time working or cooking or acting as a referee between the boys.”
“My mum works too,” I said, “and even if you’ve got loads of friends, being an only child can be a bit lonely sometimes.”
“Nah!” she’d disagreed, as if she knew exactly what it was like to be me. “It’s got to be better than having annoying brothers.”
“You don’t mean that,” I said.
She pulled a face. “You’ve seen how they start something and I get the blame. It’s not fair.”
I twisted my lips in a show of sympathy.
“And if we go out for the day we have this silly voting system and the boys always end up winning – unless you’re there.”
“You don’t do too badly, Liberty,” I said.
“But you do better,” she flashed back, leaping up and flinging open my wardrobe doors.
She yanked a new top from one of the hangers. The label was still attached. I’d been waiting for just the right opportunity to wear it. “Can I borrow this?”
I didn’t even hesitate. “Of course. It’ll probably suit you better than me anyway.”
She tried it on. I was right. The sapphire blue was the perfect backdrop for her long blond hair and the silky fabric clung to her curves in all the right places. I was still waiting for my curves to appear but I had the horrible feeling that I was going to remain ‘willowy’, as Mum put it. To me that was a nice way of saying that I’d probably end up with a body like a boy.
“You’re too nice, Laura,” Liberty had said, twirling in front of the mirror and then coming over to give me a hug.
Yeah, I thought to myself as she crushed the blue top between us. You’re right, Lib. Sometimes I am.
REVELATIONS
It didn’t take much to tire Gran so, after we’d finished our tea, I helped her back to bed.
“I never used to have a rest in the afternoon,” she complained. “I was always busy doing things.”
“I know,” I said, helping her to lift her legs up and onto the bed.
“Probably too busy,” she murmured. “I should have stopped all that cooking and cleaning and gardening and spent a bit more time with you when you came to stay.”
I stopped, still holding onto her ankles.
“It’s okay.”
She shook her head. “No, it’s not. I was stupid, holding on to grievances for so long. Taking them out on you. None of what happened is your fault.”
She closed her eyes. I covered her with the rose-pink throw from the bottom of the bed.
“It’s no fun getting old, Laura.”
I hated it when people said that. Some people would leap at the chance to get old. Dad for one.
“It’s better than the alternative though, isn’t it?” I replied, not meaning to sound sharp.
Her eyelids fluttered open. She looked straight at me, as if she could see all of those tumultuous thoughts churning around inside my head.
“Yes, I suppose it is. That was thoughtless of me.”
I shrugged. “It’s okay. I was being a bit touchy.”
“I think you’re entitled to be. After all, thanks to me, your life’s been turned upside down, hasn’t it? I’m sorry, Laura. For everything.”
“You didn’t fall off that ladder on purpose,” I murmured.
On impulse I took a couple of steps, bent down and kissed her on the forehead.
Her eyes suddenly looked glassy. The last thing I wanted was for her to cry. Didn’t know what I’d do. So I turned away quickly to draw the curtains, to hide my confusion. I’d never seen this side of Gran before and just didn’t know how to respond.
The library van had been to the village a couple of days earlier and I’d chosen a pile of books to read. I lay on the sofa, cushions squashed behind my head, pool of sunlight warming my arms, but I couldn’t concentrate. All I could think about was what Gran had said about Liberty’s jealousy. I didn’t want to believe it. People who loved each other weren’t jealous, were they? Besides, Liberty was the one with the looks, the figure, the brains. There was absolutely no reason for her to be jealous of me, but if it wasn’t that, what was it? There was definitely something that wa
s causing her to be a bit distant and I wanted to sort it out. I wanted to prove that Gran was wrong and that I knew Lib better than she did. So as soon as Mum got back I headed off to the end of the village.
“Laura,” Dad said, running and flapping his arms as if they were wings, in order to keep up with me, “where are you going in such a tearing hurry?”
“To see Lib,” I huffed. “To clear the air.”
“Oh! Does it need clearing?”
“Yes, of course it does. She’s my best friend in the whole world and something’s wrong between us. I don’t know what it is but I want to find out.”
Dad looked anxious. “Maybe you ought to think about this first,” he said, floating in front of me. “You might say something that you regret. You might find out something that you don’t want to know.”
I stopped. “Like what?”
He wouldn’t meet my eyes.
“Do you know something?”
“No, of course not. I just don’t want you to be hurt.”
“Well I’m hurt already because she’s not coming round or making time for me and she’s taking ages to reply to my texts. All of those things are making me hurt.” I swerved around him. “It’ll be fine. Liberty and I are as close as sisters. We can say anything to each other. We’ll be able to thrash it out, whatever it is.”
“Oh dear,” Dad groaned, “that sounds violent.”
“It’s a figure of speech,” I said. “I didn’t mean it literally.”
“Oh thank goodness for that,” he said. “I do so hate it when fights break out.”
But things did get physical and by trying to make everything better I just ended up making it worse.
I know a lot about jealousy now. It’s like vinegar. It eats away at you, sharpens you around the edges until you are brittle and hard. But it can hide itself underneath a veneer of familiarity. In the end though, the cracks appear, however much you think that you love each other. Jealousy shrivels your heart until it is like one of those dried up mushrooms that Mum puts in risotto. Porcini they’re called.
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