‘What was that?’
‘It made me realise that life can end just like that, whether you’re old or young, or even very young. And so I decided not to waste a single day, not one. And so far I haven’t.’ He grinned at her, clearly proud of his achievement.
They were both silent for a while. Eventually Grace smiled. ‘So what do you do differently?’
He thought for a second. ‘What do I do differently? Nothing really. I just feel different. I feel lucky and I appreciate every small thing. I don’t take anything for granted and I’m being much nicer to my mum and dad. And if someone offers me the chance to do something, anything, then I always say yes. Because you don’t know what’s going to happen to you tomorrow, whether you’ll get another chance. So that’s it really – I say yes and I do more stuff.’
Grace smiled at him and fought her tears. ‘You are so right, Darren. You never know what’s going to happen to you tomorrow.’
Once he’d exorcised what he’d wanted to say, he relaxed and opened up. They drank a cup of much-needed tea and he regaled Grace with his plans to go to college and become a surveyor; he told her how he wanted to buy his own house eventually, and filled her in on all his other short- and long-term goals. She felt strangely privileged to be the recipient of this information, sensing that he didn’t disclose it to many people. Business was dealt with just as he was about to leave, almost as an afterthought.
‘Your house is lovely, Mrs Penderford, really lovely. We’ll have no trouble selling it at all. In fact, my colleague tipped the wink to a few couples who are in a good position, told them that we might be taking it onto the market, and we already have quite a bit of interest.’
It was Grace’s turn to be barely listening; she was thinking instead about his words from earlier. You really never did know what was going to happen tomorrow.
‘That’s great. Thank you.’ She smiled.
‘Are you and your husband moving locally, Mrs Penderford?’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘I said, are you and your husband moving somewhere local?’
She stared at him as though the thought of moving locally, or indeed anywhere, had not occurred to her. And in truth it hadn’t. For the first time she tried to consider the options, but kept drawing a mental blank. One thing was for sure, with this house gone, they would need to live somewhere.
Tom came into the kitchen. ‘Hi there!’ He shook Darren’s hand. ‘Good to meet you. How are we doing here?’ he asked.
Grace looked up at her husband. ‘We’re doing great. Darren was just asking where we’re moving to.’ She bit her bottom lip.
Tom stared at her. ‘That’s a good point.’ He placed his hands on his hips and looked skyward. The silence was acute. For some reason this made Grace chuckle.
‘Tom?’ she shouted through her giggles. ‘Where are we moving to?’
Once she’d started, she couldn’t stop; she was laughing so hard, she wheezed with tears. Tom placed his hand over his mouth and tried to stem his giggles. It seemed incredible that they’d forgotten to find a place to move to.
‘I haven’t got the foggiest idea!’
And for the first time in as long as either of them could remember, the two laughed without awkwardness, guilt or embarrassment. Grace banged her palm on the table and Tom leant against the kitchen cupboard.
Darren, crimson faced, looked from one to the other. He gathered up his folder and slipped from the room. The poor Penderfords had clearly lost the plot. He let himself out of the house and looked back through the kitchen window before jumping into his car. He watched them laughing, with tears running down their faces, before Mr Penderford grabbed his wife, pulled her from the table and kissed her hard on the mouth.
And now it was the day of the move, a clear, bright, beautiful English day. The house sat against a backdrop of blue sky, with a warm breeze ruffling the delicate blossom on the trees. It was a fine day to be leaving.
Grace stood in the driveway. She knew that soon she would be shutting the front door for the last time on what had been her family home for the last seven years. She had mixed feelings – sad to be leaving behind the rooms that held so many dear memories but excited to be making a new start. She sincerely hoped that the family who were about to move in would find peace and happiness within its walls.
Whenever she pictured Chloe, it would be within the confines of this house and so, for that reason alone, her association with it would always be wonderful. She closed her eyes for the briefest of seconds and could see her little girl’s face pushed against the window in the conservatory, her little voice loud and clear, happy to see her mum arriving home. ‘Mummy! Mummy! Chloe has made you a present!’
Grace bit down on her bottom lip until it hurt, giving her something else to concentrate on until the vision of Chloe disappeared.
‘How you doing, babe?’ Tom walked over from the garage, where he’d been sweeping the floor and sorting out last-minute bits and pieces.
She sighed. ‘I don’t know. A mixture really. Excited, happy, sad, nervous.’
‘Yep, me too.’ Tom slipped his arms around his wife’s waist. ‘I thought Alice might like Chloe’s wooden chair for Ted. I mean, he’s a bit small for it now, but it won’t be long.’
‘Yes, that’s a good idea.’ She pictured her adorable new nephew and smiled. ‘Chloe would like that.’ She looked up at her husband.
‘No she wouldn’t!’ they chorused together.
‘One last look round?’ Tom held her hand. She nodded.
The two of them wandered from room to room, letting their fingers trail over blinds and their eyes hover over surfaces and spaces where furniture had stood only the day before. They fell silent, walking gingerly into Chloe’s room, which they had carefully packed up together, exchanging jovial memories and crying when the mood took them. Her precious bits and bobs, favourite clothes, comforter and books had all been safely wrapped and placed in boxes, waiting to be delivered to their new home, so that they could take them out and look at them from time to time.
Tom leant against the doorframe while Grace stood by the window.
‘She was magic, wasn’t she?’ Grace smiled.
‘Yes, she was.’ Tom shook his head and smiled back. ‘You’re right, Grace, you know.’ He paused. ‘She’s not here, in these bricks and this air; she’s in us, isn’t she?’
‘And she always will be.’
‘Yes, always.’
‘And I think that I will see her again – I don’t know where or how, but I have to believe that.’
‘One day at a time…’ He sighed.
‘Yep. One day at a time.’
Tom gathered his wife into his chest. ‘I love you, Gracie.’
‘I love you too.’ She closed her eyes, happy in his arms.
Epilogue
Somewhere in the world, someone dies of sepsis every three-and-a-half seconds; that’s approximately one death every three-and-a-half heartbeats
The telephone was ringing in the hallway.
‘Hello?’ Grace wiped her free hand on her apron, trying not to get flour all over her dungarees as she grappled with the receiver, made slippery by her dough-streaked hands.
‘Hey, you. Is this a good time to chat?’
She knew Alice would carry on chatting whether it was convenient for her or not, but she loved the bluff of her asking. ‘It’s always a good time to chat to you, darling. How are you?’
‘I’m good, Gracie. Knackered but good! And you?’
‘Sames.’ Grace laughed. That was exactly how she felt and how her sister sounded: knackered but good. ‘How are your lovely boys?’ She had taken to referring to Patrick and Teddy as a unit.
‘Oh, they’re both driving me nuts in their own way, but they’re both adorable. Did you get the new photos?’
‘Yes, thank you. Mum brought them. He’s really grown – can’t believe it. And loving the Spiderman PJs!’
‘Yep, he won’t take them off, wanted to wear them to nurse
ry the other day!’ Alice chuckled at the memory.
‘What did you do?’ Grace asked.
‘I let him wear them, of course!’
‘Of course.’ She smiled. Her nephew had his mum wrapped around his little finger. ‘The photos were lovely. I think he looks a lot like Dad.’ Grace swallowed the lump in her throat; it was still hard to mention her beloved father without that crushing ache of loss and longing, even one year after he’d passed away.
Alice was similarly affected. ‘You’re right, Gracie, he does look like Dad. How’s Mum doing? Is she all right? I got her text, so I know she arrived okay.’
The sadness for Grace was not only that Mac was not around to witness this stage in her life, to share in her new-found peace and relish the beauty of their new place; he was also missing the opportunity to meet new members of the family, who she knew he would have loved. Her sorrow was also rooted in the fact that Mac had chosen to keep the severity of his illness a secret, denying her and Alice the chance to help him at the end or even to discuss the inevitable with him. There was so much she would have liked to have said to him, places she’d wanted to show him, had she known just how limited his time was, but primarily she wanted to thank him for all he’d done. His had been a steady hand on the tiller in the most turbulent of waters and she had loved him to the moon and back, as had Chloe.
Grace had interpreted his pallor and weariness as a combination of his cancer, but also his grief for Chloe, and she was right, up to a point. What she’d missed, however, was Mac’s desire, in the face of his inevitable decline, to join his beloved granddaughter and not to put his darling girls through the rigours of his illness. He wanted to spare them in any way he could. Mac, quiet, dependable, unfathomable Mac… He had quietly faded in health and stature until that fateful morning when he’d been claimed. Further investigation by the girls revealed a letter dated six months previously that confirmed what Mac had already known, that the cancer had spread: incurable, inoperable, terminal. He had only confided in his Olive; his lover and his friend, unable to bear the heightened emotion and regrets that would inevitably follow had his daughters known. His last mutterings through failing breath that floated into his wife’s ears, were uttered at dawn. ‘Goodbye, my darling girl, I will be waiting for you.’ This he spoke sincerely to the love of his life as she gripped his hand. He then closed his eyes as a smile broke across his face. The lines of pain relaxed and disappeared, as he slipped into another world and another time; only those that knew what to listen for heard the briefest of whispers into the dark as the words ‘Hello, my little one!’ escaped from his mouth.
Grace looked through the wide-open doorway at her mother, who sat in a wicker chair at the top of the garden with a large raffia hat protecting her from the sun. Her book was open on the garden table by her side, but with her reading glasses resting on top of it, it was obvious Olive wasn’t reading. She was instead taking in the breathtaking beauty of the view, staring at the majestic Black Mountains in the distance, watching the water shift in the rushing river below, admiring the laughing canoeists as they paddled by. She looked upwards at the birds that dipped and soared overhead and were again drawn to the river, where fat brown trout hovered below the sun-dappled surface. Brown trout that tasted good when charred over an open flame in the darkness.
Grace continued to observe her mother’s relaxed pose as she soaked up the sunshine. She considered Alice’s question once again: how was their mum?
‘She seems fine, Alice, or as fine as she is going to be. I’m looking after her, of course, and she loves being here. The sun is good for her and Huw makes a big fuss of her. But I don’t know… It’s difficult to phrase, but she’s much… quieter. It’s almost like she’s lost her sparkle.’
‘Oh, Gracie, she has. She only sparkled for him!’
‘Yes, yes, of course she did.’ They were both quiet for a second, acknowledging this to be the truth. Picturing the way Olive used to look at her husband with nothing but love.
‘Do you want a word with her?’
‘Yes, that would be great. Speak soon, Gracie. We love you!’ Alice always ended on a high note.
‘Love you all too.’ Grace walked across the Welsh-slate floor, enjoying the cool feel beneath her bare feet on this hot, hot, summer’s day. ‘Mum? It’s Alice on the phone! She wants to tell you all about Teddy – or Spiderman, as he’s now known at nursery!’
Olive stood and rearranged her sea-blue sarong to preserve her dignity. ‘Oh, how lovely! Thank you, darling.’
Grace admired her mother, who, in her late seventies, still wore her chunky bangles, and her customary beads around her neck, for a day alone in the garden; she was one classy lady.
‘Hello, Alice! How’s my boy?’ Olive’s voice was still commanding and mellifluous, despite her advancing years.
Grace sauntered out of The Old Cowshed and onto the vast front terrace, leaving her mum to chat to Alice and glean every possible detail about her grandson. She took in a huge lungful of air as she stood admiring the view from the top of the ridge and surveying the majestic garden, whose colours seemed even more vivid as the midday sun approached its maximum height.
She felt a pair of arms encircle her waist as a pair of lips kissed the nape of her neck. She placed her hands over his, feeling their wedding bands touching.
‘I thought you were off quoting for a job?’ She turned towards her husband and put her arms around his neck in response. ‘Because if you’re at a loose end, I have a job for you.’
‘Oh God, there’s always a job for me! What is it this time?’ He kissed her again.
‘I was thinking we should maybe put a creak in the bedroom door.’ She laughed.
‘Now that’s a genius idea. And for your information, we have just got back. Huw’s gone to grab Gilly and I thought we might all have a spot of grub up here.’ Tom kissed her on the mouth. ‘What are we having for lunch?’
Grace laughed. ‘You mean, what am I making for lunch?’
‘No, no,’ he protested. ‘I can get us something, but I don’t like to interfere. Plus I still can’t work the Aga.’
‘That old excuse is wearing a bit thin, Tom – the Aga is a doddle. I think you just like me waiting on you.’ She smiled.
‘I do a bit,’ he admitted.
‘I think I’ll run up a salad and no pudding!’ She stared at his tum. How she loved teasing her man, with his flat stomach and muscular frame.
He swung her around and put his hand on her distended tummy. ‘You are in no position to tease me, Grace. Not when you are looking so fat today!’
She feigned shock. ‘Did you hear that, Isabella? Your dad called me fat!’ She addressed her bump and felt a kick. It’s okay, little one. Don’t be scared, you’re nearly here and I’m waiting for you.
‘Don’t listen to her, Isabella. I only said she was fat today, not fat every day,’ he corrected.
‘Same difference!’ She batted at him with her dough-covered hand. ‘I’m making cinnamon sugar buns for later.’
‘Ooh, lovely.’ Tom rubbed his hands together. ‘My little domestic goddess.’
‘Careful, or I’ll be popping Lego bricks into yours.’ She winked.
‘Hey there!’ Huw called from across the field as he and Gilly made their way hand in hand up to the terrace.
‘Hey, guys.’ Grace waved at their dear, dear friends and next-door neighbours. ‘How did the job go?’ she asked.
Huw pulled out a chair and sat back against the cushions, running his hand over his newly clean-shaven chin. ‘Well, they liked Tom’s designs and were impressed with my timescales for the build, so I reckon it’s a goer.’ He smiled.
‘Sounds very posh, Grace. Huw was telling me on the way up,’ Gilly piped up. ‘I shall definitely want a peek when it’s finished.’
‘If we get the job,’ Huw said.
‘You will. You are brilliant. You can do anything.’ Gilly bent over and kissed her man on the cheek; they were clearly deeply in love
.
Grace smiled at the feint lipstick mark it left, ‘ever fancied a man with a beard Gilly?’ she asked.
Gilly shook her head, ‘No, not really. I always think big beards are hiding something!’ she laughed.
‘Maybe they are.’ Huw smiled, having removed his grief-laden mask just before they met.
Grace disappeared inside, returning some minutes later with a tray loaded with sourdough loaves, olives, a soft wheel of Welsh goats cheese and a waxed parcel of local ham.
‘Ooh, this looks great. Shall I open a bottle of plonk?’ Tom offered, rising from the table.
‘Not for me, I’m teaching after lunch. I have a class of fourteen-year-olds waiting to be wowed by Thomas Hardy.’ Gilly sighed. ‘If I turn up sloshed, I don’t think it will help matters.’
‘Thomas Hardy, eh?’ Tom said. ‘That’s a bit highbrow for me, but if you need any help with The Gruffalo, then I’m your man. It was Chloe’s favourite. God, we had to read it over and over. She knew it by heart and if you dared miss a line or try and skip a bit, she’d tear a strip off you. I’ve put her original book in Isabella’s room; I hope she’ll love it too.’
‘I’m sure she will.’ Grace smiled.
Tom nipped inside to raid his wine fridge.
It had taken Grace by surprise to find herself pregnant. She wasn’t consumed by joy and elation as she had been when she was expecting Chloe, but neither was she fearful. Her happiness lay somewhere in between. Chloe could never be replaced, but Grace was excited about the prospect of a new baby and raising a child in their beautiful new home in the magical Wye Valley. At the same time, she was circumspect, aware that there were no guarantees, ever. She knew far better than most parents how fate could deliver you a staggering blow, but she would not allow that knowledge to dictate how she parented her new little one. It would be all too easy to be overprotective, but it would be unfair to limit Isabella’s experiences and horizons just because Grace knew what could or might happen.
She and Tom had decided the best they could do would be to provide an environment that would give Isabella the skills to deal with whatever life might throw at her. They would tell her all about her big sister, show her pictures and videos and make her laugh with tales of her antics. Chloe would be a big part of her sister’s life, always, just as she was a part of theirs. Always.
Three-And-A-Half Heartbeats Page 21