The Vineyard

by Karen Aldous

  ‘I’m going to have a look online later for the Macmillan website. Apparently they offer help and support for cancer patients,’ she told Cal.

  ‘Sounds like a really good idea. Let me know if there is anything I can do. I feel pretty useless.’

  Chapter 15

  Giving Thierry his bath later, Lizzie’s mind was in overdrive. Cal had certainly been making her think. She decided if she was going to have a step-father she could do a lot worse. What she admired was his way of engaging himself in what she was going through even though he was also anxious. He had a rare quality for a man because he listened! It seemed like he questioned her until she found her own answers. He encouraged her to think more rationally, more logically. She thought him clever and non-offensive. She never felt he was talking her into anything. He just prompted her thinking. He seemed to know automatically what to do and she began to trust his judgement.

  Cal was meeting friends at the pub later he told Lizzie, which she was actually thankful for. She didn’t need the distraction and she wanted to gather information. He did, however, ask she and Thierry along to the winery in the morning, which she was looking forward to. She wondered if Cal was also feeling the heat between them and was deliberately staying out of her way. She still wasn’t sure if he was encouraging her or if it was just her attraction to him which had her lusting for him like a hormonal teenager.

  Once Thierry had been read his story and in bed, Lizzie grabbed her notebook and began her research on the Macmillan Site. There was so much information but she found what she needed and made two pages of notes. She found the section on emotional support and how it affects not just the patient, but their partners too. It made her wonder if Cal was scared. Maybe he needed her to lean on or support from Macmillan too. She would, however, begin with her mother. She made a note of the centre opening times and the types of help they could offer, which was vast, but she noted only those immediately relevant. A new determination took hold of her. Hope lightened her heart. It would also give her an excuse to stay out of Cal’s way, before her feelings for him became too intense.

  The following morning after breakfast, Cal led Lizzie and Thierry to what would be his new wine cave. Stepping over bags of plaster, wood, sawdust and strips of wiring the builders and electricians were depositing on the floor, they followed him around as he showed them what was going where, explaining the layout, equipment and the process. They then strolled along to the vines. Lizzie couldn’t believe how much the land had changed as neat rows of grapevines now replaced grazing and rape fields. They also reminded her of the vineyards of France. Most campsites she had worked on were surrounded by them.

  Returning to the house with Thierry, she took a new toy fire engine from the small selection of toys she’d bought out of the cupboard for Thierry. She settled him in the conservatory to play and with notebook in hand, rang the Macmillan helpline, explaining her dilemma. They responded quickly and the lady she spoke to quickly put her at ease. She was relieved to hear that her concerns and her mother’s reaction were all quite normal, though not usually so severe.

  They were able to help her, they informed her, but her mother would need to contact them personally if she required their help. Lizzie doubted her mother would know about them and didn’t hold out much hope of getting her help. They answered most of Lizzie’s questions however and told her to call back if she had any more.

  Lizzie then rang the hospital to find out how her mother was.

  ‘Yes, Caroline Lambert is progressing well. She’s now off the drip and eating. She still has a drain in. Her blood pressure is returning to normal.’

  ‘You will let me know if my mother wishes to see me?’ Lizzie asked

  ‘Of course. We will call you,’ replied the nurse.

  Lizzie was just about to hang up but then said, ‘Oh, wait. Could you pass her a message? Can you just mention the name Macmillan to her and tell her to ask for information please?’

  Lizzie knew her mother would reject the information from her but as it came from a nurse, she just hoped that her mother would ask questions and seek help. That was all she could think of right now.

  Cal had come into the kitchen whilst she prepared Thierry’s sandwich. She had missed him last night and offered him lunch. He soon demolished two cheese and pickle sandwiches. She updated him on news from the hospital.

  What she didn’t tell Cal about was some of the chat she’d had with the Macmillan nurse. She had learned so much in a short space of time.

  Finishing his tea and a cake, Cal sat in an old leather chair by the window. He was deep in thought for a while and seemed anxious, Lizzie thought.

  ‘Why don’t you go and see her?’ she asked.

  ‘I would but, she…she said she didn’t want visitors. But I think it’s a dignity thing, because she’s a woman and maybe because it’s her breast. I don’t really know. There was little time to talk it through with her.’ He then stood up and paced in front of the window, hands on his hips. He glanced over to her.

  ‘Wait and see if they call back today or by visiting time tomorrow. It might be a good time to tell her about Thierry.’

  ‘No Cal. It’s too soon. She’s too vulnerable. You didn’t hear her.’

  ‘Well think about it at least. She is, with respect, possibly concentrating so much on herself and what she is going through that this may just be what she needs.’

  ‘No I couldn’t take him in there. Think what would happen to Thierry if she began behaving like she did when I was with her last.’

  Over the next two days, Lizzie phoned the hospital each morning but the nurses, whilst giving her progress updates, were unable to relay any message from her mother. Each day Lizzie had spoken to the people on the Macmillan helpline with questions and found their help and friendliness at least was giving her some of the support she needed. Although tempting, she resisted going in to visit her mother, hoping with time she would soften. She must surely be the only one in there with no visitors, Lizzie thought, sadly.

  Cal added her to his car insurance so she was able to borrow his car for shopping and to take Thierry to nursery. She divided her time between cleaning the house, taking Thierry to the local park and ringing the salon, which Josephine seemed to be managing very well in her absence. This also gave her time to work on plans for the new salon and start work on the marketing material. She also did her best to keep busy whilst Cal was around. Although they ate together, she worked in the evenings, not just to avoid Cal but to occupy her mind. Thierry, however, was always pleased to see him and had gone out to the vines with him, with his own little bucket to collect leaves as Cal’s little helper.

  ***

  Tapping her fingers on the dining table, Lizzie crossed her legs and then cupped her chin. Four days of stalemate was quite wearing.

  Maybe Cal could be right. Her mother could possibly be getting too focused on her problems and now might be a good time to intervene. Having something else to think about could make her feel better. Lizzie made up her mind and was now eager to sort things out. When Cal popped in for lunch she also felt his anxiety for her to tell her mother.

  ‘What if I took a photo of him in? That might work. She will see how sweet he is. I could leave the photograph with her and tell her I will bring him to visit if she wants.’

  ‘That sounds like a good plan,’ he agreed.

  ‘I’m really not sure but maybe you’re right it could help her, give her something else to focus on. When Thierry gets back from nursery I’ll take a nice photo of him. Actually, I have some on the camera from Provence. Where can I get it processed?’

  ‘There are a couple of options. We can go to town or the shopping centre, Bluewater.’

  ‘Great. I’m feeling pretty positive she’ll respond. Nervous, but positive.’

  Cal came up behind and gently rubbed her shoulders. The sensation warmed and excited her whilst goosebumps made her shiver.

  ‘Oh are you cold?’ His hands automatically shifte
d onto her bare arms and rubbed them to keep her warm. Lizzie savoured the moment. His touch was tender and became slower, more sensual. She had never felt an urge as great as now to fall into his arms and make love to him. Go away! She had to sever the thought.

  ‘No, just anxious,’ she lied. She imagined he must be really worried about her mother. He must miss her and want to see her.

  ‘I need to get back,’ he said, ‘get these guys back working.’ He walked over to the back door, sliding his feet in to his boots with, Lizzie observed, unusually hunched shoulders.

  ‘See you later,’ Lizzie said daring not to look at him again. ‘I’ll get the photos done whilst Thierry’s at nursery this afternoon.’

  It was bad that she was having erotic thoughts but he didn’t need to be so tactile surely? Confused, she grabbed her notebook and telephoned Josephine. Keep your mind occupied she told herself, but Lizzie was restless all afternoon hoping for the hospital to call. She rang the Macmillan team and ran her idea past them. They couldn’t obviously commit but agreed, as it was hopefully a matter of time before her mother softened, it would do no harm to visit and test the water. Lizzie really did want to try and to make her mother feel very special.

  Lizzie took the camera from its case on the sideboard. She had brought it down from her case earlier. Being a digital it still had images from their walks in the Luberon and of Thierry in the pool. Then she spotted one with her and Thierry. Sophie must have taken it but it was a beautiful photo of her son which she could use. Before she collected Thierry in Cal’s Range Rover she got some photos processed at the express service.

  The following afternoon, Cal agreed to walk along and collect Thierry from the nursery so that she could use his car and not have to rush back. She placed into a bag her photos, a mixed carton of green and red seedless grapes, a ‘Get Well Soon’ card and a pretty button-front nightdress. There was something strange about buying things for her mother when she had no idea what her mother liked anymore. All she remembered was that her mother took her to the big stores in London like Harvey Nicks or Selfridges. They didn’t shop locally very often. She gambled on her nightie choice from John Lewis.

  In the hospital foyer, at the shop, she bought a couple of magazines, Woman & Home and Vogue. She pushed them down the side of the same bag. Her mother, she recalled, always liked Vogue for fashion and make-up. She remembered her mother had a fascination for shoes. Her mother’s wardrobe was packed out with shoes. Shoes and make-up! Being a beauty editor for a Sunday supplement, her mother had boxes and boxes of cosmetics sent to her. As a child she would have hours of fun experimenting with products. Her knowledge was vast, although now out of date. It certainly gave her a head start when knowing what products to recommend to clients at the salon. Madame Renauld immediately rewarded her for her sales ability and it was the recognition of the increase in turnover which made her boss offer her the business when she retired. It was a blessing for Lizzie as it turned out.

  She took a deep breath and made her way to the ward. She feared a repeat of her last visit, felt her stomach churn.

  ‘Please, please be ok,’ she whispered ‘Please,’ she pleaded.

  Approaching the bed with caution, Lizzie paced forward slowly. The bed was empty. She panicked for a moment and then, in the corner, she saw her, on one side of the bed, seated in a high-backed chair. She observed her mother for a few moments as she read a magazine, her brown-rimmed glasses drooping on to the bauble of her small nose. Her hair appeared brushed and tidy but not the well-groomed state she’d had weeks back. Colour had returned to her complexion though and she appeared comfortable and relaxed, wrapped in a fluffy towelling gown.

  ‘Hello,’ Lizzie spoke gently. Her lips pursed into a smile. Give her time she thought. Let her have control. In a bed beside her, a grey-haired woman, possibly in her eighties, peered curiously at her. She forced a smile to the woman. Two other ladies looked on from the opposite side of the ward. Her mother then glanced up, snatched sight of Lizzie and flicked another page in her magazine.

  ‘I thought I told you not to…come.’

  ‘I tried not to,’ Lizzie said and a silence hung in the air. She cleared her throat whilst her eyes settled on her mother’s. She saw a grey hollowness around them and gradually the rims reddened, spilling tears. Lizzie tip-toed slowly towards her as tears rolled down her mother’s cheeks. Then her vision blurred as her own eyes filled. Neither spoke.

  Caroline rose and reached out. Surprised, relieved and slinging her bags on the neatly-made bed, Lizzie caught her in her arms.

  ‘Of course you did. You always tried Lizzie.’ Her mother’s words brought more sobs as each had their own pain to release. Lizzie shuffled them both to the bed and they sat down together. She reached over and grabbed several tissues from the cabinet beside them and passed some to her mother. Both wiped their eyes and blew their noses before they smiled at one another. Lizzie then gently hugged her mother once again, grateful she had opened up to her.

  ‘I’m so sorry for upsetting you but I do care mum. I want you to know, I care and I want you to get better.’ Her words flowed so naturally.

  ‘Thank you for coming back, I’m so sorry, I was still shocked. It all happened so fast. I was angry,’ her mother confessed.

  ‘Mum, you don’t need to explain, honestly,’ she said, stroking her mother’s hand. ‘I’ve been the one at fault so…please accept my apology for everything I said to you.’

  Caroline gripped her hand. ‘You’re not to blame for my bad mothering. I’ve given a lot of thought to what you hurled at me and you’re right, I was…’

  ‘Mum, let’s not go over this now. Tell me how you are and how your operation went?’

  Caroline brushed one hand with the other, now free of the drip but still stained with purple bruising. ‘Well, I’m fine, the operation went fine. I’ve got to recover physically and I’m still waiting for results from the biopsy but I don’t think they are going to tell me anything I don’t already know. I’ve just got to pray they’ve cut out the nasty stuff.’

  ‘Well they certainly didn’t hang around. And you certainly look much brighter than a few days ago. How is the wound healing?’ Lizzie’s eyes swooped to her mother’s chest.

  ‘Oh, fabulously. The surgeon comes in daily to check the reconstruction and he assures me it’s mending really well.’

  ‘That’s excellent news Mum. So, tell me all about it.’

  Lizzie gave her mother a squeeze. This was far more than she expected and she needed to just keep the focus on her mother. She didn’t want to risk upsetting her in any way so she kept the conversation on all the things she had learned she could do for her mother in the hope she could persuade her to come home. It didn’t seem right to bring up the subject now though. She kept the visit brief telling her mother she would return tomorrow.

  When she spoke to the nurse before she left, she reported her good news. She floated back to the car, delighted at their progress.

  ***

  With now less than a week remaining in Paris, time was a valuable commodity. Sophie received a text from Lizzie insisting she stay at her apartment for now and that she had informed Marie-Claire. Sophie had begun cleaning any rubbish from her apartment and packed boxes up and labelled them. Her clothes, she sorted into two large suitcases. Among these items were photographs which she now lingered over. Many evoked memories of campsite days with Lizzie. Days which she treasured even when the work was hard. There were photos of them in Burgundy in central France, a famous wine region but on a campsite with the highest turnaround of campers, often one-nighters travelling south. She looked at pictures showing them cleaning tents, on their bikes, which were the only way to get around. How young and carefree they both looked. How hot and hungry they always were! Demands on their stamina were high. It was a fun time though for both of them. As they were the more senior of the couriers, they managed some sneaky time out. Sophie looked at her younger self, the hair bleached by the sun, the tanned skin, wh
ich she knew would now come back to haunt her. A chubbier version of Lizzie leaned into her, her arms folded with a huge smile. She too glowed with those sunburned cheeks and skin, sun-dried hair glistening in the heat. She was just considering their diet in those days, high in bread, cheese and wine, when the telephone rang again. Since telling her boyfriend two days ago she was moving on without him, she had managed to ignore Guillaume’s calls. Each time she saw his number, she turned the sound down but now she just had to speak to him. She drew a deep breath.

  ‘Hello Guillaume, and before you say anything, yes I have been avoiding you and I couldn’t have made it any clearer to you. You and I are finished.’

  ‘Well I still care and I suppose I didn’t see it coming. We always got along so well but all the time you were planning to leave Paris and me.’

  ‘I’m sorry you are hurt Guillaume but we have both to move on as I explained. You will find other girls in Paris.’

  ‘But I want you Sophie.’

  ‘Right. I have to go now so please don’t make this any harder for yourself. Be good to yourself because you deserve it Guillaume. Goodbye.’

  Holding the phone hesitantly away from her ear, she paused.

  ‘Goodbye Sophie. I shall not forget you.’

  She put the telephone down. She stood for a moment and ran her hands through her hair. Her hands automatically lifted up the full length of hair and twisted it. She twisted it again. Then she moved back from the phone and back to her photographs.

  ‘Goodbye Guillaume,’ she said aloud as if to affirm its finality. She picked up the photos again and tried to distract her mind from the guilt that now engulfed her. From that day she finished their relationship, she had not felt any remorse. Sadness yes, after all she was cutting ties from a lovely person. She believed herself to be in control, assertive and straight with him. Men like straight talk. She didn’t owe him any more. She wanted to talk to Lizzie and offload but Lizzie had enough to deal with. She collected her diary on her bedside table. She took a long look at herself in the mirror. Her hair falling back down to her shoulders she spoke to her reflection