A Mother's Love: An Exclusive Short Story

by Santa Montefiore

  “He’s a good lad,” Robert replied.

  “Shame, I think Jack and he would have got on like a house on fire.”

  Robert was surprised to hear her refer to their son in this way. The name usually caused her so much pain he had learned not to mention it.

  “I think you’re right.” He poured her a glass of merlot and one for himself.

  She took a sip. “I feel foolish,” she said with a sigh.

  “Why?”

  “I’ve been unreasonable. I’m sorry.”

  “You’ve got nothing to be sorry about.”

  “I’ve been rude to your mother.”

  “She’s tough. She can take it.”

  “He’s just a boy,” she said with a frown.

  “And you’ve made him feel very welcome.”

  She took another sip and her eyes glistened. “I don’t know why I ever thought I couldn’t.”

  Suddenly they were interrupted by a peal of laughter from Bruno’s bedroom upstairs. They stared at each other in bewilderment. It sounded as if Bruno was having a one-sided conversation. “Who’s he talking to?” Robert whispered.

  “He talks to his bear.”

  They listened some more. “That bear must be very chatty.” Robert laughed.

  Celeste smiled. “They’re both very chatty.”

  “Shall we leave him? He’s obviously having a good time up there.”

  “Yes, let him enjoy himself.” She took another sip of wine. “I’ll take out some smoked salmon.”

  “Great.” He watched her as she moved about the kitchen. Her face looked less tense. He didn’t dare reflect on her smile in case it disappeared again.

  The following morning when Celeste and Robert awoke, they heard Bruno in Jack’s bedroom next door. Celeste sat up in alarm, her heart thumping jealously in her chest. Jack’s room was sacred. Why hadn’t she told him? Her initial instinct was to hurry in there and drag the child out. But Robert caught her arm before she made the dash out of bed. “Celeste, what are you going to do?”

  “He can’t play in there!” she hissed.

  “Why? He’s a little boy and it’s full of little boy’s toys.”

  “Because it’s Jack’s room!” Her tone was full of accusation again.

  “Do you think Jack would mind?”

  “It doesn’t matter. I mind.” She tore her arm away and climbed out of bed.

  Just as she reached the door to Jack’s room, she hesitated. The child was chatting away. She pushed open the door and peered inside. He was sitting cross-legged on Jack’s bed with Jack’s Harry Potter Studio book open in front of him. His bear was lying with Jack’s rabbit. He was talking softly, turning the pages, commenting on the pictures.

  “Good morning, Bruno,” she said. He looked up with a start, his face turning crimson as if he had been caught doing something wicked. “Who are you talking to?” she asked.

  “No one,” he replied quickly.

  “Your bear?”

  His big eyes stared back at her, the expression in them wild and fearful. “Yes, my bear,” he replied, but he wasn’t a good liar.

  “Darling, you’re not in trouble. You can talk to whoever you like.” He seemed to relax a little then. It obviously hadn’t occurred to him not to play in Jack’s room. “Are you hungry?” He nodded. “What would you like for breakfast? Pancakes?”

  “I love pancakes,” he replied, closing the book and pulling it off the bed.

  “Would you like to borrow Jack’s book?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “All right, but you must look after it. Jack’s things are very precious to me.”

  “I will.”

  “Good. Go and put on your dressing gown and I’ll make you some pancakes in the kitchen.”

  Celeste returned to her bedroom. Robert was getting dressed. “So?” he inquired. “You didn’t turf him out, did you?”

  “Of course not. He was talking to his bear again.”

  “Good.”

  “I suppose it won’t do any harm to let him play in Jack’s bedroom,” Celeste conceded.

  “I don’t think Jack would have minded,” said Robert, straightening his tie.

  “Jack would have loved a friend like Bruno to play with,” said Celeste. She looked towards the door and frowned again.

  7

  Bruno disappeared into the garden straight after breakfast. Robert noticed Celeste’s face as she watched him leave. She looked disappointed. She turned and caught him watching her. “He likes your parents,” she said.

  “He likes you, too,” he told her. Her expression softened. She looked vulnerable. He put his arm around her waist and kissed her cheek.

  “What was that for?” she asked, a weak blush seeping through the pallor.

  “Do I need a reason to kiss my wife?”

  “Of course not, it’s just that . . .”

  “I haven’t kissed you for a long time.” She lowered her eyes. “You’re doing a great job. He probably wants my father to take him to the farm.”

  “Yes, it’s a lovely day. Perhaps they’ll be cutting. He said he wanted to go on a combine.”

  “I imagine they’ll start at midday when the dew dries off. Why don’t you go, too?”

  She shrugged. “Maybe,” she replied.

  Bruno didn’t come back for hours. Celeste began to bite her nails with worry. The house was very quiet. She could hear the cooing of a pigeon on the roof and the twittering of birds in the trees at the bottom of the garden. She sat on the terrace, just listening. The sun shone warmly on her face and the breeze was sugar-scented. She wondered what the child was up to all on his own, wandering the estate. There were lots of places where a boy like Bruno might find entertainment. The old stables, the duck pond, the tree house and monkey swing where Robert used to play as a boy. Jack had found endless pleasure here, too. He had found all his father’s old haunts by instinct rather than design, as if the grounds had contrived to show him his father’s special places. He had loved nature and had never been afraid of bees or bugs. She smiled sadly to herself as she recalled the time she had found him sitting on the lawn training bumblebees to walk up his bare arms. He had never been stung, not once. They must have sensed he was fearless. Or perhaps they sensed he was a friend.

  After sitting with her memories awhile, she decided to bake a cake for tea. She was sure Bruno would like one. After all, cakes had been Jack’s favorite things. She put on her apron and set about assembling all the ingredients on the table: butter, flour, chocolate, eggs. Jack had loved chocolate. She pulled out a large mixing bowl and a wooden spoon. It felt good to be doing something creative. As she cracked the eggs into the bowl, she contemplated how she was going to decorate it. Besides Legos, Tarquin, and his bear, she wasn’t really sure what Bruno liked. She had known all Jack’s favorite things. Her heart gave a little tremor as she recalled the quilt she had been making him, each square embroidered with the things he loved best. She wondered what she would have done on the final square, had she finished it. She labored beneath the sudden weight of her grief. Oh God, how she wished she had finished it.

  Pulling herself together, she put the two round tins in the oven. Bruno would be back soon and it wouldn’t be right for him to see her crying. She decided to decorate the cake with a picture of Tarquin with a bone. That was easy enough for a creative person like Celeste. She mixed the yellow icing for the dog and white for the bone and waited for the cake to bake. Then she wandered onto the terrace and listened out for Bruno’s voice. She heard nothing but the birds and the rattling sound of a tractor in the distance.

  When the cake had cooled, she began to ice it. Her concentration took her out of herself and she forgot all about her pain. Her world was reduced to that small surface of cake where she carefully drew the dog with his bone, taking great care with the details, as an artist does with her paints. Her breathing grew slow, her shoulders dropped, her creativity, stifled for so long by sorrow, began to flow freely again. She felt the te
ntative stirring of pleasure, so subtle it was barely perceptible, like the first thawing of a lake after a long, hard winter.

  When Bruno finally appeared in the kitchen with his grandfather, Celeste had just put the finishing touches to her cake. She sat back and admired it.

  “My dear girl, what an artist you are!” exclaimed Huxley, impressed.

  “It’s Tarquin!” exclaimed Bruno.

  “It’s for you,” said Celeste. “I hope you like chocolate cake.”

  “I love it!” Bruno exclaimed.

  “I’m partial to a bit of chocolate cake myself. Why don’t we come up for tea and help you eat it?” Huxley suggested.

  “Oh, all right,” Celeste replied, surprised. “I mean, yes, what a good idea. Of course Bruno should spend time with his grandparents.”

  “Grandpa has been helping me find things,” said Bruno.

  “Really? What things?” Celeste asked.

  “He needs a box to put them all in,” Huxley told her. “I said you’d have one. It’s just the sort of thing Aunt Celeste would have, I said.”

  “How big?” Bruno put out his hands. “Gosh, that’s quite big. What are you going to put in it?”

  “Things,” said Bruno mysteriously.

  “All right. Let me see.” She disappeared into the larder, returning a moment later with an old dog-biscuit box. “Will this do?”

  Bruno’s eyes lit up. “Yes,” he said. She then noticed the horseshoe in his hands. Carefully he laid it inside.

  “Where did you get that?” she asked.

  “At the stables,” Bruno replied. “There aren’t any horses, though.”

  “We sold Jack’s pony,” Celeste told him. “He didn’t need it anymore.”

  “Right, Bruno,” said Huxley. “Here are some more things for your box.” He dug into his pockets and pulled out a long, grey feather, a leaf half eaten by caterpillars, and a handful of nuts taken from the sacks of bird food in Huxley’s workshop.

  “Gosh, you have been busy,” said Celeste. Bruno didn’t reply; he was carefully placing them all at the bottom of the box so that they didn’t collide with each other. “Is this a box of special things?” she asked.

  “Very special things,” Bruno replied solemnly. “Favorite things.” He picked up the box and wandered off in the direction of the playroom.

  “He’s a very unusual child,” said Huxley. “We’ve spent all morning looking for those things and nothing else would do. He seemed to know exactly what he wanted. He’s exhausted me. I think I’ll go home and put my feet up. You can go with him tomorrow.”

  She smiled, puzzled. “I shall.”

  After lunch, during which Bruno told her all about his school in Sydney, he disappeared into the playroom to build some more Legos. Celeste washed up and listened as he chatted away to himself. He seemed perfectly happy on his own. She gazed out of the window at the finches diving in and out of the bushes, and was momentarily drawn out of her thoughts. There was something about their cheerful frolicking that uplifted her own spirits.

  “Aunt Celeste.” It was Bruno, standing in the doorway, a solemn look on his face.

  “Oh, hi, Bruno.”

  “Can we go to Grandma’s house?” he asked her.

  “Really, what for?”

  He shrugged. “I’d like to.”

  “I suppose we could take the cake and eat it down there. Would you like that?”

  “Yes,” he replied.

  A few moments later they were walking through the garden with the cake carefully stored in a pretty tin. Bruno had found a little box from the playroom and was carrying it in his hand. “What’s that for?” she asked him.

  He shrugged again. “In case I find something.”

  “It’ll have to be a small something.”

  “Yes, it will,” he agreed, skipping off ahead.

  When they reached the house Marigold was on the telephone in the sitting room, her feet up on a stool, a cup of tea on the table beside her. As soon as she saw Bruno she wound up the conversation. “Must go, Valerie. My grandson has just appeared.” She smiled broadly. “Well, hello, darling. How are you getting on? You’ve exhausted Grandpa, he’s gone upstairs for a little sleep.”

  “We’ve brought you a cake,” said Bruno.

  Celeste appeared behind him with the tin. “I made it this morning.”

  “I love cake,” Marigold exclaimed. “Is it chocolate?”

  The child nodded. “And Aunt Celeste has put a picture of Tarquin on it.”

  “Well, isn’t she clever! Celeste, do come in and sit down.” Before she could offer Bruno a chair, he had disappeared into the hall. His footsteps could be heard running up the stairs. “Where’s he off to in such a hurry?” Marigold asked.

  Celeste perched on the edge of the sofa and put the tin on her lap. She didn’t look as if she was intending to stay very long. “I don’t know. He really wanted to come down here. It seems to be some kind of treasure hunt.”

  “How nice!” Marigold gushed. “Such a sweet little thing, isn’t he?”

  “Very,” Celeste replied.

  “Huxley said that he was very clear about what he had to find this morning. He dragged poor Grandpa all over the estate.”

  “I’ve told him I’ll go with him tomorrow.”

  “That’s very sweet of you, Celeste.” Marigold paused and her features softened into a kind smile. “Tell me, dear, how are you?”

  Celeste took a deep breath and dropped her gaze to the cake tin. “I’m sorry I was rude, Marigold. It was unforgivable.”

  Marigold waved a hand in the air to dispel any hard feelings. “Don’t be silly. You’ve been through a really rotten time, you’re entitled to be as rude as you like.”

  “No, I’m not. I didn’t think I’d cope with having a child in the house again. But he’s just a boy, isn’t he? A little boy.”

  “Yes, he is.”

  “I think Jack and he would have been good friends. Jack liked Harry Potter and exploring, too.”

  Marigold was surprised that Celeste was speaking openly about Jack. “It’s a great shame,” she said, because she didn’t know what else to say. Everything sounded like a gross understatement when it came to Jack.

  “He reminds me very much of him,” Celeste continued.

  “Does he?”

  “Yes.” Celeste’s eyes began to well with tears. “He reminds me how little Jack was.”

  At that moment, as Celeste’s tears threatened to overflow, Bruno wandered into the room out of breath. “Where have you been, darling?” Marigold asked him.

  “Into the attic.”

  “What on earth were you doing up there?”

  “I found a dead butterfly.” He walked over and showed his grandmother the box. She took it carefully and opened it. Sure enough, there, carefully nestled in cotton wool, was a perfect painted lady.

  “Just the thing for that box,” said Celeste.

  “I know,” he replied, beaming proudly.

  “You’re so clever, Bruno,” Marigold exclaimed. “So, what’s next?”

  “Cake,” he replied.

  Marigold laughed. “What a good idea, darling. I’ll give Grandpa a shout.”

  A while later, Huxley emerged and they all went into the kitchen to eat the chocolate cake. Bruno squealed with delight when Celeste opened the tin to reveal Tarquin pictured on top of the cake. “Oh, how brilliant!” Marigold exclaimed. “You really are very talented, Celeste.”

  “I loved doing it.”

  “Here’s a knife. Give a slice to Grandpa. No one loves chocolate cake more than him.”

  Bruno giggled. “I do,” he said, and laughed some more.

  “Oh, this is awfully good,” said Huxley, biting off the end of his slice. “How do you find it, young man?”

  “Good,” Bruno agreed.

  “It’s better than good. I’d say it’s exceedingly good!” The old man’s eyes sparkled as he looked upon his grandson.

  “Aunt Celeste, can I have
the picture of Tarquin?”

  “Of course you can,” she replied, and carefully cut around it and lifted it off the cake.

  “Grandma, do you have something I can put it in?”

  “Don’t you want to eat it?” she asked.

  “I want to keep it.”

  “Very well.” She pointed to one of the doors off the kitchen. “Go into the larder and you’ll find some plastic containers on the floor on the right. Help yourself.” The child hurried off.

  “He’s like a magpie,” said Huxley. “If he continues like this, that box will be full at the end of five days.”

  “I wonder what he’s going to do with all that stuff,” said Celeste.

  “Georgia did say he’s in his own world,” Marigold mused.

  Huxley sighed and took another bite of cake. “It’s a very exciting world. I rather wish I could join him there.”

  8

  “She apologized to me, you know,” said Marigold when Celeste had left and Bruno was lying on the floor with one of the dogs.

  “I have to hand it to you, old girl. You were quite right,” Huxley conceded. “I wasn’t so sure it would work, but you’ve proved me wrong.”

  Marigold grinned. “I think I might drive off to Alresford for a while. She thinks I’m frightfully busy this week.”

  “And what? Drive around for a few hours?”

  “I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I’m meant to be taking bridge lessons, aren’t I? I can’t remember what I said now.”

  He chuckled. “I don’t think she’ll notice. She’s not into spying.” He raised his eyebrows pointedly.

  “Why don’t you take Bruno harvesting. I’ve heard the combines chomping away up there.”

  “Would you like that, young man?” he asked Bruno, putting his panama on his head.

  The child sat up and smiled. “Yes please, Grandpa. That would be awesome!”

  Marigold watched them leave. It gave her a warm sense of satisfaction to see grandfather and grandson going on an expedition together. It reminded her of Robert when he was the same age, following his father around like an eager puppy. It reminded her of Jack, too. She popped a chocolate truffle into her mouth to abate her sorrow.