by Emma Davies
Flora squinted. ‘About sixty pence, I think…’
‘So, much cheaper than you can buy…’
‘And you’re going to tell me much nicer as well…’
Hannah smiled. ‘See, you young ones don’t know everything…’ She licked her lips, enjoying the moment, but there was no malice in her words. ‘And even the really posh marmalade, which I think might cost about five pounds a jar, isn’t as nice as this. Believe me, you can really taste the difference.’
Flora pulled a face. ‘You might be able to. I’m not honestly sure I could, not being a marmalade connoisseur and all that.’
Hannah cleared the last of the scum from the top of the liquid. ‘Well then, tomorrow you shall have marmalade on toast for breakfast, and we’ll see… You might even surprise yourself. Now, let’s have a plate out of the freezer and we’ll test this to see if it’s ready.’
Flora smiled inwardly at the reference to any normality over the coming days and did as she was asked, watching as Hannah spooned a little of the liquid onto the cold surface.
She waited a couple of seconds and then gently pushed her index finger into the mixture, giving a satisfied nod as she did so. ‘There now, see that? How there’s a skin formed already which wrinkles when you push it? That’s how to test when it’s done; it works the same with jam too. Of course it doesn’t always happen first time, it which case you just leave it to boil for a wee bit longer and then test again.’
‘It’s still very runny though?’
‘It will thicken as it cools,’ replied Hannah. She pulled the pan from the heat. ‘Would you like to spoon it into the jars for me? There’s a ladle in that drawer there.’
Flora nodded as Hannah removed a tray of jam jars from the top of the Aga and carried them across to the table. They had been washed in incredibly hot water and left there to dry.
It didn’t take long, and once they were done, Flora stared at the line of jars filled with the amber preserve. They glowed golden in the sunlight which slanted across the kitchen, but it was nothing compared to the unexpected glow of satisfaction that filled Flora up from the inside. She stood back, appraising the table.
‘I’m rather proud of those,’ she said.
‘And so you should be.’ Hannah wiped her hands on her apron. ‘A new skill learnt and, now you know how, there’ll be no stopping you. Look at your breadmaking – that’s come on in leaps and bounds. All it took was a little help from Caroline in the first instance, and you have mastered it already.’
Flora smiled in agreement, but then her face fell as she re-ran Hannah’s words through her head. ‘You knew I didn’t know how to make bread?’ she asked, a spark of anger igniting within her.
Hannah patted her hand. ‘Yes of course, dear, but it’s nothing to be ashamed of. It’s probably considered quite an old-fashioned skill these days, and…’ She leant in closer to Flora. ‘Don’t tell anyone, but yours is almost as good as mine!’
It was a massive compliment but Flora was suddenly furious.
‘Did Caroline tell you she’d helped me?’ she asked, trying to keep her voice even.
Hannah stopped for a moment, frowning as she tried to recall the memory. ‘Well, yes I suppose she must have done, or how else would I know?’
Hmm, thought Flora, how else indeed? She looked back at Hannah, who was surveying the table, not in the slightest bit perturbed. It was hardly the point, but at least Caroline revealing herself as Flora’s aide hadn’t made Hannah think any less of her. Nevertheless, Flora still couldn’t help thinking that Caroline might have done it on purpose.
‘There’s enough marmalade there for a couple of months with any luck,’ said Hannah. ‘Fraser can get through a whole jar in a week no problem at all, and well…’ Her eyes sought out Flora’s. ‘I guess we’ll have to see, won’t we? But anyway, they’re done now. There for when he wants them.’
Hannah looked so pleased that Flora couldn’t stay cross. ‘Which I’m sure will be soon,’ she said, pulling Hannah into a quick hug. ‘He will be all right, Hannah,’ she added. ‘And you know he really is in the best possible place. They can do amazing things these days…’ She looked back at the table and smiled. ‘Why don’t I sort the washing up and then we can have a cup of tea before we go to the hospital? There’s still plenty of time.’
‘And I’d like to make some sandwiches and pack up some cake and a few other bits and pieces,’ Hannah replied. ‘Whatever else he’s doing, he won’t be eating properly, that I do know. I would imagine that the hospital food is quite dreadful.’
Flora turned away so that Hannah couldn’t see her smile. Some things never changed.
Chapter Eleven
The day they cut Fraser open and stopped his heart dawned like a bright beautiful spring morning. It was a Friday, in the very middle of February, and came after a day and a half of torrential rain. But then suddenly the skies had cleared and a fresh wind had blown in, chasing away the clouds. The temperature had risen and they had crawled wearily from their beds to feel the first tentative stirrings of the new season. It was also Valentine’s Day.
Flora had been first up, and now she stood, eyes locked on the garden beyond the window, seeking a sign that everything would be okay. The day itself must be auspicious; surely the universe wouldn’t take a husband and a father on Saint Valentine’s Day, would it?
The echo of the consultant’s words, delivered only two days ago, still rang in her head.
‘Mrs Jamieson, I’m sorry to have to tell you, but our tests showed that two of your husband’s major blood vessels which supply the heart with oxygen have become narrowed to such an extent that surgery will be required to bypass them.’
A heart bypass. Open heart surgery. That’s what Fraser was facing. And almost as soon as the information had been imparted to them, they were handed over to a bubbly and alarmingly efficient nurse coordinator, named Mandy. She swiftly provided forms and leaflets and spoke about all the things that would be happening to Fraser in terms of percentages; the percentage of people who went on to lead relatively normal lives, the percentage of people who died or had a stroke during the operation itself.
The numbers were all designed to be reassuring, but Flora found them trite and offensive; that someone could even consider that Fraser’s life be reduced to a set of statistics. These percentages were all people, for heaven’s sake; somebody’s husband, wife, son, or daughter… What Flora wanted to know was whether the surgeon would take good care of Fraser’s heart. Would he cradle it gently in the palm of his hands? Love it and care for it like Hannah did? But no one could tell her that.
They had said goodbye to Fraser at 8.32 yesterday evening, although none of them had actually used the word goodbye. It was too painful, too final, so Hannah had told him that she loved him, Ned jokingly told him not to give the surgeon a hard time, and Flora told him she would see him tomorrow. And now that day was here and she prayed that her wish would come true.
Outside the kitchen window the daffodils’ heads were waving gently in the breeze and, more than anything, Flora longed to throw open the door and run. Run as far and as fast as she could and feel the air rushing past her, feel her own blood pulsing in her veins, anything to make her feel alive instead of the stifling slow demise of responsibility and care that was settling upon her. She had sent off an email to Rowena late last night, longing to hear that she was finally beginning to put her life back together again. Anything to give Flora hope that, despite what had happened, loving Ned and moving to the farm had been the best decision she’d ever made. A cheerful response came pinging back, but even that wasn’t enough to lift her spirits. Flora felt trapped and she hated herself for it.
Heavy footfalls sounded on the floor behind her and she turned around to see Ned standing there. He was wearing his usual overalls, his feet already encased in his work boots. He came to stand beside her.
‘I’m sorry, Flora,’ he said as he bent to kiss the top of her hair. It could have been an apolog
y for many things. Sorry that it was Valentine’s Day and he hadn’t bought her a card, let alone a dozen red roses…? Sorry that this wasn’t the life that he had promised her? But, more likely, it was an apology for not being able to wait out the agonising hours of Fraser’s operation with her, and for leaving her alone with his mother instead. There was no point in blaming him, he hardly had any choice in the matter, but that didn’t make it easier either and she still felt disappointed.
‘I’ll phone,’ she said. ‘As soon as we know anything. They said to ring at half twelve…’
‘I know.’
‘He’ll be okay…’
Ned stared at her and swallowed. And then he left the room.
Hannah entered shortly after, her face pale and blotchy. She was wearing fresh clothes and had brushed her hair, but she had applied more make-up than Flora had ever seen her wearing and it looked all wrong, too harsh on her soft, natural face.
‘I thought we could have omelettes this morning,’ she said as she entered the room. ‘We haven’t been making cakes recently so we have far too many eggs, and I cannot abide waste.’
Flora turned from the window. She was about to gently refuse when she saw the look on Hannah’s face and stopped. In fact, her expression was so defiant that Flora almost took a step backward.
Hannah continued. ‘Now I don’t know about you, but I always favour three eggs per omelette, so could you fetch me nine eggs? It seems scandalous to be using so many simply on breakfast, but I can’t see the point in making cake today, can you?’
Flora didn’t want to argue, but even she could do the basic maths required. ‘Hannah, I don’t think we’ll need quite so many, Ned has already gone out.’
‘Nonsense. Where on earth has he gone?’
She shrugged. ‘He didn’t actually say, but I assume it was to start work…’
‘So then he’ll still be needing a breakfast inside of him.’
Hannah all but glared at Flora, who cleared her throat. ‘I got the impression that he wouldn’t be back until lunchtime… I’m not sure he was terribly hungry.’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake.’ Hannah gave a loud tut. ‘We could do without that silly behaviour.’
‘Perhaps we should just eat ourselves, and then if Ned does come back we can whip him up something then, can’t we?’
It seemed the most sensible suggestion, although the thought of working her way through a mountain of rapidly cooling egg made Flora feel sick. But on no account would she contradict Hannah, not today.
‘Hmmm.’ The dissatisfaction in Hannah’s voice was clear. ‘It doesn’t seem as if I have a choice, does it?’ She crossed to the pantry door. ‘Right, just the two omelettes then.’ She half turned. ‘I’ll put four eggs in yours,’ she added. ‘You could do with feeding up.’
Flora’s groan was almost audible, but she clamped a hand over her mouth just in time.
‘You know, if you’re worried about there being too many spare eggs, I could always take some to the village for you?’ offered Flora, willing Hannah to agree. It would be a great excuse to go and see Grace again. ‘Didn’t you say the shop is always happy to have them?’
‘What, today?’ Hannah’s brow creased into a row of furrows. ‘Well, I don’t see how you could possibly go today…’
Flora weighed up her desire not to upset Hannah against her desire to do anything to get out of the house.
‘I just thought it might be helpful,’ she said. ‘We can’t go to the hospital today, can we? So even once we know that Fraser is okay, there would still be time.’
Hannah’s look was long and cool. ‘No, I don’t think so. Not today.’ And that was the end of that. Flora clenched her teeth together.
‘Shall I give you a hand with breakfast then?’ she asked.
Another look. ‘I am perfectly capable of making omelettes, Flora. Goodness, I’ve probably been making them since before you were even born.’
Flora inhaled and let the breath slide out of her, long and slow. ‘Okay,’ she muttered under her breath. ‘Looks like I’m on tea-making duty then. Again.’
From his space beside the Aga, Brodie raised his head, giving Flora a baleful look. You and me both, Brodie, you and me both. ‘I’ll take you out in a minute, boy,’ she whispered. ‘I promise.’
She watched as Hannah removed the special omelette-making pan from the cupboard, and then the special small bowl into which she would first break the eggs to check they were fresh, even though they could only be a day or two old at most, before finally slipping these into the special bowl she reserved for beating the eggs.
Collecting the teapot from the table, Flora saw, almost in slow motion, the moment when Hannah brought the first of the eggs down sharply on the side of the bowl to crack the shell. Perhaps she had slightly misjudged the angle or used a little too much force, but either way the side of the bowl dipped alarmingly, causing it to roll away at speed. Flora watched in horror as the bowl reached the edge of the work surface, teetered for a lengthy second and then fell straight down, hitting the quarry-tiled floor with a sharp crack that cleaved it straight in two. The egg Hannah had been holding at the time followed suit.
In her scramble to catch the bowl, Hannah’s hand also knocked several of the remaining eggs that were lined up beside her and, before Flora could even react, they too were on the floor.
‘No! Oh… no, no, no…’
Hannah sank to her knees, grabbing the broken pieces of the bowl before frantically trying to salvage the mess. Miraculously, one egg was still intact and she scooped it from the floor, gently cupping the yolk in her palm so that it nestled there as she sought desperately to keep the stringy egg-white from slipping through her fingers. Her gaze met Flora’s and in that instant, through Hannah’s eyes, it was Fraser’s heart she saw, cradled in Hannah’s hand, his life blood seeping away as she clutched frantically to save it.
The next second Flora was beside her, sunk to her knees in the devastation around them, clutching at Hannah, who was sobbing Fraser’s name over and over again. The two of them rocked back and forth as Hannah finally released the pain and fear she had been holding tight to her for days.
‘Don’t leave me, Fraser,’ she whispered. ‘Oh, God, don’t leave me.’
Flora’s own face ran with tears and she offered up a silent prayer. She glanced at the clock on the wall. Fraser would be two hours in to his operation by now.
It took at least fifteen minutes before Flora even thought about moving from the floor. Her eyes had been shut tight as she clung onto Ned’s mother, letting the storm of Hannah’s tears slowly subside until she was spent. There was egg stuck to her tights, her hands, even in her hair. It was sticky and slippery both at the same time, and the sensation made Flora want to heave. She looked down to find she too was covered in it and suddenly, more than anything, she wanted to get it off her. Panic rose in her throat as she gagged, sucking in air as fast as she could to try to calm her breathing. She picked a spot on the wall and tried to focus on it. Everything is going to be okay. Everything is going to be okay.
She felt a tentative lick on her hand, and looked up to see Brodie’s questioning look, his eyes warm and soft on hers. The old boy was worried too. She pulled him closer and his tail gave a soft thump as he wriggled against her, seeking his own reassurance. They must have looked quite a sight, huddled on the floor together. She kissed the dog’s head, realising that he too had been out of sorts over the last few days.
‘Come on, boy,’ said Flora, as Brodie continue to lick at her hand, realising then that there were spoils to be had on the floor. It broke the spell and at last she and Hannah were able to get to their feet, where they looked at one another one more time before a final warm embrace marked the end of whatever had just happened.
Flora looked down at the floor. ‘Perhaps we should have had cereal, after all?’ she suggested, a flicker of a smile pulling on her lips as the absurdity of the situation suddenly hit her.
Hannah looked u
p, her hand flying to her mouth. ‘I’ve just remembered… You don’t even like eggs!’ And then she burst out laughing.
The two women looked at one another for a moment, Hannah’s laughter subsiding to a warm smile. ‘Oh, Flora… How on earth are we going to get through the day?’
Flora squinted at the window. ‘Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m sorry, I don’t think I can stay inside. I need to be where there are trees, plants, that kind of thing…’ She broke off, wondering whether what she wanted to say next would sound stupid.
‘Go on,’ said Hannah, spotting her hesitation.
‘It sounds a bit… kooky… but I always feel more hopeful when I’m out in the garden. More alive…’
Hannah nodded. ‘So what do you suggest?’ she asked. ‘If it’s okay with you, I think I’d like to be outside too. You’re right, it does feel like what we should do.’
‘Well, Brodie would like a walk… and there are still eggs to take to the village, but apart from that, well, I wondered – if it was all right with you – whether I could use the greenhouse, to plant some seeds?’
‘Seeds?’ She cocked her head at Flora. ‘I don’t mind in the slightest – as a matter of fact, it would be good to see the greenhouse being used again – but what kind of seeds?’
Flora hesitated. ‘I brought them with me actually,’ she admitted. ‘Which sounds a bit presumptuous, I know, but they’re flower seeds… Ned told me you had a big garden, you see, and back in Birmingham I only had a flat, so no garden of my own. I’ve always wanted to plant masses of flowers…’
‘A florist wanting to plant flowers, I’ve never heard anything like it,’ said Hannah with eyebrows raised in amusement. ‘I think that’s a lovely idea. We mainly have lots of shrubs, as I’m sure you’ve spotted, flowering ones granted, and the roses here are beautiful, but apart from the spring bulbs, very few flowers… I’m not entirely sure why.’