‘Though, of course, it does all depend on one thing.’
‘What?’
‘You’d better show me the bridesmaid’s dress you’re expecting me to wear. Because I’m warning you, if there’s even a hint of pink … or ruffles … or God forbid, flouncy bows, then I won’t be held responsible for my actions.’
Lucy laughs. ‘No bridesmaids. I already told you, it’s not going to be that kind of a wedding.’
‘Well, thank fuck for that. I was beginning to think I didn’t know you at all.’
4
Eve is mentally running through guest numbers and menus for Saturday as she steps through the back door into the kitchen and stops in her tracks. Lucy and Margot sit at the long oak table, their heads bent together – long, blonde curls against razor-sharp dark bob.
Margot is back.
For the moment that Eve goes unnoticed, she watches them. Seeing her sisters together for the first time in ages, seated at the table where they once spent so many hours eating meals, plaiting hair, doing homework, squabbling over toys, clothes and household chores, it is almost as if the ghosts of the children they once were hover over them. Lucy, with her energy and her optimism, no one ever knowing what will come next, now a few days away from marrying Tom. And Margot, the youngest, once so flamboyant, so full of dramatic flair, now so hard to read, sitting there with her dark hair skimming her collarbone and a battered leather jacket hanging over her narrow shoulders. They are light and dark, chalk and cheese.
The sight of them together fills Eve with a strong emotion, the same feeling she gets when she tiptoes up to her daughters’ rooms and watches them sleeping at the end of the day, small fists curled under chins, their pale faces slack-jawed in sleep. It’s an ache – a deep love and affection – and nostalgia too, for all they have shared, and all the days that have already slipped by.
Lucy says something that Eve doesn’t catch and Margot’s laughter rings out across the room, the sound at once both familiar and alien, like a distant bell that hasn’t chimed for a long time. She feels a yearning to be included – to be part of their circle. ‘What’s so funny?’ she asks, announcing her arrival to the room, though the question, as it leaves her lips, sounds harsher than she’d intended, even a little accusatory.
‘Eve!’ Margot looks up. ‘We were just talking about you.’
Eve studies Margot carefully, looking for signs of a joke on her face, but she can’t read her brown eyes. She looks older, more angular and there’s a hardness too – an air of cool detachment – that she doesn’t remember. Standing at the open door in her striped T-shirt, shapeless jeans and wellington boots, Eve feels as she used to around them: dull, sensible, reliable, frumpy. Old before her time. So often she’s felt ‘other’ to them, somehow on the outer. She supposes it comes from being the eldest – three years older than Lucy, seven years older than Margot – always the more responsible one to their younger, more carefree ways.
‘Lucy was telling me how great you’ve been, helping her with everything.’
Eve smiles. ‘When did you get back?’
‘Half an hour ago. Are the girls with you?’ Margot asks, looking to the back door.
‘No. It’s a school day.’
‘School. God, I still think of them both as toddlers.’
‘Chloe’s in year four now. May has just started reception.’ Again, that accusatory tone. Eve checks herself. ‘You’ll see them at the family dinner,’ she adds, ‘if not before.’
‘The family dinner?’ Margot narrows her eyes.
‘Yes, this Friday night,’ says Lucy. ‘I wanted to have a pre-wedding get-together.’
‘All of us?’
If Lucy notices Margot’s frown she ignores it. ‘Yes, all of us,’ she says brightly. ‘So how’s it going out there?’ she asks, turning to Eve, the hint of an apology in her voice.
‘Fine. I left Mum finalising the details with the sales guy.’
‘Oh, the poor man,’ says Lucy.
‘Well, when I say finalising details, I mean Mum was drifting around all daydreamy, pulling branches of hawthorn from the hedgerow and he was doing a bad job of trying not to gawp too obviously at her half-dressed state.’
‘The see-through kaftan?’ asks Margot.
‘And a nightdress.’
‘It could be worse. Do you remember her naked sunlounger episodes?’
Lucy laughs. ‘That’s why I never invited friends back from school!’
‘Smart decision to hold your wedding in the cooler autumn months.’
They’re still laughing as the back door bangs open and Kit sweeps into the kitchen, holding a large, glossy green branch laden with red berries. She stops dead at the sight of the three girls in the kitchen, her gaze moving between them until it comes to rest on Margot. ‘You’re here.’
‘Hello, Mum.’
The hawthorn branch is dumped unceremoniously into the kitchen sink, red berries scattering like marbles across the kitchen floor. Kit dusts off her hands. ‘Why didn’t you tell us you were coming?’ she asks. ‘Someone could have fetched you from the station.’ The silver bangles on her arm jangle loudly as she seizes Margot, holding her at arm’s length to study her.
Eve can’t help but notice Margot’s discomfort, her sister’s shoulders up around her ears and her gaze not quite meeting their mother’s. ‘I didn’t want to be a bother,’ she says.
‘A bother! You wouldn’t have been a bother.’ Kit’s laugh is high and shrill. They embrace, stiff and perfunctory, two lines barely touching. Eve glances across at Lucy, but Lucy’s gaze is averted, her focus fixed on a loose thread hanging off the table runner, which she tugs free.
‘Tea?’ asks Eve brightly, as Margot extricates herself from their mother’s embrace. ‘I’ll make a pot.’
‘Yes,’ says Lucy quickly. ‘Let’s have some tea.’
‘Well, isn’t this nice,’ says Kit, looking around at them all, her voice filled with false cheer. ‘All of you here under the same roof like this.’
‘Yes,’ says Lucy, again.
‘You’ll be staying here for the wedding?’ her mother asks, turning to address Margot again.
‘If that’s all right?’
Kit nods. ‘Of course. Your room’s still there, exactly as you left it.’
Silence falls over the four women. Eve clears her throat, grasping for something to ease the sudden tension. ‘It will be good to have an extra pair of hands to help,’ she says, thinking that perhaps now is as good a time as any to work through the outstanding details. ‘There’s still an awful lot to get done before the reception here on Saturday afternoon. Perhaps we could share out some of the jobs.’ She looks around at them all. ‘What? What is it?’
‘Don’t you ever switch off?’ Lucy asks.
‘I counted the RSVPs this morning. You’re up to sixty-five.’
‘Actually,’ say Lucy, sheepish, ‘I think it’s more like seventy. Seems some friends got wind of the party on Facebook. I couldn’t say no.’
Eve frowns. ‘Right. So in four days you’ll have seventy plus guests descending on Windfalls to celebrate with you. They’ll need food and drinks and they will expect a certain level of entertainment.’
‘I don’t think they’ll expect very much of any—’
‘Lucy! Trust me, your guests will expect food. They will want drinks. They will need drinks – we all will,’ she adds under her breath. ‘They will need to use the bathroom – God, I forgot to put toilet paper on the shopping list – write that down somewhere will you, Mum,’ she adds, flapping at Kit over by the kitchen sink. ‘They will want to dance and celebrate. That’s what a wedding is. And that’s what we are laying on for you.’ Eve places mugs on the kitchen table and heads back to empty the warming pot, shovelling tea leaves from a nearby tin and pouring hot water over them.
Lucy shrugs. ‘Honestly, Eve, I appreciate all your help, I do. But I don’t think we need to plan for every eventuality. It was a great idea of yours to ask the
pub to supply the food and the booze. And the rest … well, a certain amount of … spontaneity is a good thing, right? I envisaged the day unfolding in a more free-form way. Everyone I love, here, having a good time.’
Eve grits her teeth as she carries the teapot to the table. She tries another approach. ‘I’ve seen some sweet dresses online. If we ordered them today they should be delivered in time. Chloe and May would love them. Perhaps they could hold little baskets, ribbons, throw rose petals, you know the sort of thing?’
‘Rose petals?’
Eve turns to Margot to enlist her help. ‘I’ve been trying to persuade Luce that flower girls would be a nice touch.’
Lucy sighs. ‘I’ve already told you, the ceremony will just be Tom and me, with our parents as witnesses. No fuss. The girls can wear whatever they like to the party afterwards. They can have flowers in their hair, wear sparkly shoes, hold posies, whatever.’
‘But if they’re not doing anything then they’re not really bridesmaids, are they? Besides, they would look so sweet in the photographs. Actually,’ says Eve with a frown, ‘while we’re talking about this, we should come up with a list of the family groupings that you want photo graphed on the day.’ She moves to the cutlery drawer and searches for the teaspoons.
Lucy groans. ‘Formal photographs? I don’t want to spend hours posing for pictures. I want everyone to enjoy the day. Besides, we’ll all have our phones.’
Eve rolls her eyes. ‘A wedding represents the start of your life with Tom. Don’t you think your in-laws might like a professional portrait or two of their son marrying his beautiful bride? Something for posterity, something to show your grandkids when you’re old and grey?’
Lucy’s shoulders sink. She closes her eyes and exhales deeply, a pained look on her face. ‘I don’t want a cheesy wedding photographer.’
‘I think you’ll live to regret it.’
‘Eve, please—’
‘And about the girls?’ continues Eve, the bit between her teeth.
Lucy throws up her hands. ‘Fine. I don’t mind what they wear.’
‘I’ll tell them they’re bridesmaids?’
Lucy casts about the kitchen for support.
Eve sighs. ‘So I’ll go home and crush the dreams of two excited little girls?’
‘I’m sorry, Eve. I never said anything—’
‘No,’ agrees Eve. ‘You never said. You haven’t made decisions about anything. Believe it or not, I’m trying to help you, Luce.’
Lucy’s face flushes red. ‘I didn’t ask you plan anything. You’re hijacking everything.’
Eve stares at Lucy, open-mouthed. Hijacking? Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Margot reach for the pot and begin to pour the tea. Their mother is busy at the fridge, suddenly fascinated by the seal on a bottle of milk. It seems she’s not going to find support from anyone else in the room.
‘Tom and I, we want to do things a bit differently,’ continues Lucy, more gently.
Eve shrugs. ‘I guess it’s more fool me, then.’ She lays the teaspoons she has been clutching onto the kitchen table and reaches for her bag. ‘I’ll leave you to it, if you don’t need my help.’
‘But what about that cup of tea?’ asks Kit, waving the milk bottle.
‘Sorry, Mum, I don’t have time.’ She knows it’s childish, but she can’t help herself. She sweeps out of the kitchen, the back door catching in the breeze and shutting behind her with a slam.
Inside the car, she winds down the window then rests her arms and forehead on the steering wheel, letting out a long sigh. Why is Lucy so annoyed with her? Can’t she see that she’s only trying to help?
Up close, the leather of the steering wheel appears crackled and discoloured. She closes her eyes. It’s a unique peculiarity, her family’s ability to get under her skin. Why can’t she sit back for once and allow them their mistakes? Perhaps then they would learn? Instead, there she is with her constant need to help, to try to guide them through their messes and to smooth the way when it all goes wrong. She’s like one of those ‘helicopter parents’ she heard being talked about on the radio the other day. Hovering and doting, trying to do everything for their children. Of course, they never learn. They’ve never had to.
Lifting her head, she checks the time on her watch and sees that she has nearly an hour before she has to collect the girls. The farmhouse looms large in the rear-view mirror. She wishes she could go back in. She thinks of her mother and sisters sitting around the table, drinking tea. She thinks of Margot and Kit and the difficult terrain they face. She thinks of the list of jobs lying on the coffee table in the living room and all the items that still need to be bought for Saturday, and sighs. Her phone buzzes on the seat beside her. She unlocks the screen and reads the text message, warmth spreading across her cheeks. She stares at it for a long time, her eyes scanning the words, her finger hovering, until she comes to her senses and swipes it into the trash bin. With another sigh, she turns on the car engine and pulls out of the driveway. That’s the last kind of distraction she needs right now. There is so much to sort out.
5
A heavy atmosphere lingers in the kitchen as the slam of the back door fades to silence. Kit turns to her two remaining daughters, Margot, hunched at the table, with her short dark hair and inscrutable eyes, and Lucy, looking pale and exhausted, slumped in the chair with her hands at her temples.
‘Well, I royally fucked that up, didn’t I?’ says Lucy. ‘I don’t know what’s got into her. She’s so tense.’
‘Eve’s just being Eve. She’ll calm down,’ says Kit, placing the milk on the table. She pulls out a chair and sits beside Lucy.
‘Was I wrong? Am I being unfair?’
Margot shrugs. ‘It’s your day. You should do it your way.’
‘I do want her help.’ She sighs. ‘But she has such rigid ideas about what constitutes a wedding.’
‘It’ll be fine,’ reassures Kit, patting Lucy’s hand. ‘Let her calm down a little and she’ll be back here tomorrow acting as if nothing’s happened. I don’t know about you,’ she says, standing up and retrieving a bottle of white wine from the fridge, ‘but I could do with something a little stronger.’ She waves the bottle at them in invitation.
‘Not for me,’ says Lucy. ‘I’m driving.’ She checks her watch. ‘In fact,’ she adds, ‘I should probably get back.’
Kit, realising that Lucy intends to leave her alone with Margot, feels a small surge of trepidation. ‘Stay for supper,’ she says quickly. ‘You look tired. I’ll cook. You two can catch up.’
‘I should get back to Tom. We’ve got a lot to discuss. As I’m sure you do too,’ she adds with a meaningful glance in Margot’s direction.
Kit sighs. So that’s why she won’t stay. She glances across at Margot and sees a similar look of apprehension on her youngest daughter’s face.
Lucy makes a show of gathering her belongings and hugging them both. ‘Enjoy your dinner,’ she says. ‘I’ll call you tomorrow.’
‘Don’t think I haven’t noticed you’re still wearing my jacket,’ says Margot.
Lucy blows her a kiss from the back door and is gone.
Kit meets Margot’s gaze. She smiles lightly. ‘Would you like some wine?’
She sees Margot hesitate, then nod. ‘OK. A small one.’
Kit pours two glasses. ‘Why don’t you go and freshen up? Unpack? I can handle dinner.’
‘I’m fine.’ Margot stretches her legs out and crosses them at the ankle. ‘I haven’t brought much with me.’
Unable to bear the ensuing silence, Kit switches on the radio, turning it to a low volume before beginning to rummage for pots and utensils. She fills a saucepan with water and retrieves a potted basil plant from the windowsill.
‘Want me to chop?’ Margot asks, indicating the herbs.
‘Why not,’ says Kit.
Margot shrugs off her leather jacket, and begins to pull the leaves from the basil plant, their pungent aroma filling the room. Kit takes a bag of p
asta from the cupboard. As she turns back to the hob, she startles. The whole of her daughter’s left arm from her wrist to the sleeve of her T-shirt is decorated with swirling black ink, curling vines crawling across her skin in looping patterns. Kit stares at the tattoo. The creeping black ink is shocking against the whiteness of Margot’s skin. She clears her throat. Margot lifts her head but as their eyes meet, Kit changes her mind. Leave it be, she tells herself.
She turns back to the pan, filling it with water, placing it on the hob. She reaches for the salt and olive oil, stealing surreptitious glances at her daughter as she chops the herbs. The tattoo is oddly beautiful. She wonders if it hurt. She wonders what it means. Margot is like a distant country she once knew, familiar and yet remote, changed. No longer the soft girl of years ago but a slim, angular woman – beautiful, yes – but somehow hard and unreachable. How changed she is. Kit looks at her daughter and feels the ache of loss. She doesn’t know this woman.
‘You don’t have to worry,’ says Margot after a long silence. ‘I’m not here to cause trouble.’
Kit lets out a laugh that sounds false even to her ears. ‘I know that.’
‘I’m here for Lucy.’
Kit gives a small nod. ‘Yes. I figured as much.’
‘What’s the forecast for Saturday?’ Margot asks after a time, the blade of the knife moving smoothly over the wooden board.
‘Mixed,’ says Kit, throwing pasta into the pan of boiling water.
‘A little rain on your wedding day is supposed to bring good luck, isn’t it?’
Kit stares at the pan of steaming water. ‘So they say.’ They are talking about the weather. She would laugh again, if it wasn’t so awfully sad.
‘I’m sure the argument between Luce and Eve will blow over,’ says Margot, after another long moment. ‘Emotions are bound to be running high this close to a wedding.’
‘Yes,’ agrees Kit. ‘I’m not worried,’ she adds. ‘Those two never bear a grudge for long.’
An awkward silence rises between them. Kit kicks herself for her poorly chosen words. They hover in the air, lassoing the lingering tension, holding it in place.
The River Home : A Novel (2020) Page 3