Lil's Bus Trip

by Judy Leigh

  ‘So, what are you cooking tonight?’

  ‘Keftedes followed by honey-soaked doughnuts. I’ve invited Cathy and Mark. They send their love, by the way.’

  ‘I’m glad they’re coming over.’ Cassie imagined Jamie in the kitchen, cooking for their friends, mixing ingredients and tasting them tentatively. Cassie recalled him cooking dinner for the four of them a couple of weeks ago; they had eaten the same dish of delicious meatballs then. She took a breath. ‘Jamie, are you sure you’re all right?’

  ‘Of course.’ His voice was bright, excessively cheerful. ‘Why shouldn’t I be?’

  ‘Oh.’ Cassie wasn’t sure how she could explain the feeling that was scratching at her skin: something wasn’t quite how it should be. ‘Have you seen the doctor this week?’

  ‘Oh, yes, I saw Mariposa this morning. She’s changed my meds. But there’s nothing to worry about.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Cassie frowned.

  ‘I’m fine,’ he protested, his voice loud in her ear. ‘She’s pleased with me… and I walked to the surgery and back, by myself.’

  Cassie nodded. ‘That’s good.’ She closed her eyes. ‘So why do I have the distinct feeling there’s something worrying you?’

  ‘Nothing’s wrong. I can’t wait to hear all about the delicious Belgian feast you’re having this evening.’

  Cassie protested. ‘I wish you were here to share it with me.’

  She could hear him thinking for a moment, then he replied. ‘It’s strange being by myself. The house is so quiet…’

  Cassie sighed. ‘I’m sure it must be. I miss you too. But Lil’s having a fabulous time meeting new people and I’m enjoying visiting all the great locations. Everyone here is really nice and, besides, I’ll be home in eight days.’

  ‘Eight?’ Jamie’s voice wobbled slightly. ‘Oh, of course it is. Time will fly.’

  ‘That’s no time at all.’ Cassie moved back to the window. Thilde had taken up position, her brows knitted, for a penalty kick. Duncan was refereeing, waving his arms and shouting frantically – he had just blown his whistle, a sharp blast that Cassie could hear through the thin glass as Thilde surged forward and kicked the ball.

  ‘I’ll ring you tomorrow. I don’t want to miss the rest of the game. I promised I’d be there.’

  ‘I’m looking forward to hearing all about it.’

  Cassie murmured, ‘I’ll ring tomorrow evening. Enjoy your meal – give my love to Cathy and Mark and try not to drink too much wine.’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘Great. Well, take care.’

  Jamie’s voice was warm with emotion. ‘Love you, Cassie.’ There was a click. She gazed through the window, still anxious about Jamie. She thought he’d sounded lonely. He was clearly missing her more than she’d anticipated. To be honest, Cassie thought, she’d have enjoyed bringing him with her on this holiday; they’d have had fun sharing experiences together. She was missing him too.

  Cassie noticed Lil clapping and cheering: the purple-clad keeper had fallen over as the ball sailed from Emily’s foot over his head and into the net. He stood up smiling, his face clumped with dirt. Cassie scanned the scene: DJ had just hugged Jake and Pat, and Sue was embracing Ken, full of excitement. Marieke and Lil were yelling encouragement. Maggie was blowing her nose and waving her handkerchief. Albert simply stared ahead smiling, his chin tucked under a scarf. Duncan was trotting up and down the muddy makeshift pitch, shouting some sort of instructions but no one was paying any attention to him. He was gesticulating wildly and blowing his whistle, desperate to control the game. At the other end of the pitch, Tommy had started to strike muscle-man poses, leaping energetically, throwing himself into the air without a ball then checking to see if anyone was watching just as Thilde sailed past him and thumped the ball over his head, cracking the goalpost. Cassie heard the door click behind her, tugging her from her thoughts. Denise shambled in and threw herself on the bed. Cassie offered her warmest smile. ‘Aren’t you watching the game?’

  ‘Clearly not.’ Denise was stretched on her back, her eyes closed. Cassie thought for a moment. Denise had been quiet during their walk this afternoon; it had been mostly Ken and Sue dominating the conversation, exchanging their views on art and literature and Ken talking about a new idea for a novel, based on an eccentric male Belgian detective. Ken had seemed unhappy when Cassie had mentioned that it had probably been done before. She moved over to the edge of Denise’s bed and sat down. ‘Is everything okay?’

  Denise said nothing for a moment, then she opened her eyes and pushed herself bolt upright. ‘To be honest with you, Cassie, I’m beginning to regret coming on this trip.’

  ‘But why?’ Cassie shook her white hair, making the colourful scarf move and the bow on the top flop forwards. She put a hand to her head to straighten it. ‘Aren’t you enjoying all the fun?’

  ‘No, I’m not.’ Denise glared at her. ‘Not at all.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ Cassie said, genuinely concerned. ‘How can I help?’

  ‘This sort of holiday’s just not for me.’ Denise paused. ‘I don’t seem to fit in. I’ve nothing in common with the others. I thought coming on this trip would cheer me up – I had a dreadful time a year ago with Bob, my husband, who I found out had been cheating on me for years. The divorce was truly appalling and I left the area I lived in because everyone in the neighbourhood knew what had happened to me. My job is dull, my life is dull and now I’m on holiday and – it’s all dull.’

  Cassie reached out and laid a hand on Denise’s, her voice soft. ‘We’ll have a great time, Denise – you’ll see. We can sit together at dinner—’

  Denise pulled her hand away. ‘I don’t need anyone to feel sorry for me. You, with your clever songs and poems; you’re so intelligent, speaking all the languages and helping everybody and Ken thinking you are something special and Sue saying how nice it will be to share a room with you.’ Denise paused for breath, her cheeks burning. ‘Perfect Cassie. No, thank you. I’m all right by myself.’

  Cassie blinked as if she had been stung. ‘I’m sorry you feel that way.’

  Denise flopped back on the bed and rolled over, away from Cassie, her face to the wall. Cassie watched her as her shoulders shook. She was sobbing silently. Cassie rested a gentle hand on her back.

  ‘I’m going downstairs now but I’ll call back up in half an hour or so. We can have dinner with all the others…’

  Denise didn’t move. Cassie sidled away quietly towards the door, turning back to gaze at the auburn-haired woman curled in the foetal position, her body tense, angry and yet somehow vulnerable. Cassie stepped outside silently, holding her breath; the last thing she heard before the door snapped shut was Denise’s voice, her tone desperate and miserable, shouting, ‘Please just go away.’

  17

  Lil was feeling glamorous: she had chosen a long, pale blue dress for dinner and had borrowed a pair of Cassie’s colourful dangling earrings. She was like the Queen or, more accurately, like a movie star surrounded by acolytes ready to light her cigarette. Not that she’d ever been a smoker but, with Albert on one side, who had already topped up her wine glass twice, and Herman on the other, passing dishes of food and ladling too much on her plate, she was in great demand. Albert kept smiling and patting her hand and Herman was engaging her in bubbling conversation about how wonderful and healthy life was on a Belgian farm. Lil smiled at both of them and waved her hand regally, in the hope that they’d both persist. It made a pleasant change, after years of being alone; she liked the attention.

  She glanced around the table. Everyone had scrubbed up clean after the football game and was in high spirits, chatting and sharing food. Ken was wearing a red silk cravat; Sue had put on a fitted dress and Jake’s all-black garb had been brightened with a dark red football scarf. The football players were cheerful although England had lost by one final goal: Pat had been more attentive to the pretty Belgian striker who had launched the ball past him into the back of the net. Marie
ke’s sons, Teun, Maarten and the youngest, Damiaan, were chatting happily to DJ, Tommy, Jake and Duncan, their conversation punctuated by loud guffaws. Ken was sitting between Sue and Denise, but appeared to be giving most of his attention to Sue, whose high, tinkling laugh had become even louder and who seemed to be finding his every comment excessively amusing. Denise, on his other side, was staring blankly across the table although Cassie, next to her, was dividing her time equally between her and Emily. Denise had little to say but Emily was keen to relive a goal she had scored, having tackled the muscular Teun to the ground, sending the ball flying past Herman’s ear. Lil thought Denise seemed sad and she decided she’d make a point of talking to her later to cheer her up a bit.

  Lil noticed that Pat, his hair freshly washed and glossy, appeared to be eating very little; he was gazing at Thilde, who was gazing back with the same doe-eyed expression. Next to them, Marieke was in full swing, the perfect host, talking to everyone and passing around more food, beer and wine. Lil felt pressure on her hand and turned to Albert, who was patting her fingers. She smiled at him and he held a dish of chips under her chin. Herman patted her arm on his side, offering a dish of mussels. Lil helped herself to both and turned her attention to Marieke, who was addressing everyone around the table.

  ‘Have you all seen Oud Woot by the outbuilding across the field?’

  ‘Who is he?’ Lil asked.

  ‘It is the name we give to the tree at the end of the ploughed field, the one with no leaves,’ Herman explained softly.

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Emily nodded. ‘It’s very sparse, its branches all bare and sticking up into the air, like it’s been struck by lightning.’

  ‘Is it a cursed tree?’ Ken wondered. ‘I could put it in my new novel about a detective – an intelligent Belgian man with a moustache who picks up clues and is very logical…’

  ‘It sounds excellent, Ken,’ Sue cooed. Denise curled her lip.

  Cassie murmured, ‘A bit like Agatha Christie’s Poirot…’

  ‘We used to play up by that tree when we were children.’ Teun smiled at the memory. ‘Grandma Theodora would tell us not to go there because of the terrible story of Oud Woot.’

  Sue leaned forward. ’Oh, I’d like to hear that, wouldn’t you, Ken, my dear?’

  ‘Indeed, I would.’

  Herman sighed. ‘My wife was very superstitious. The story goes that Oud Woot was a man who lived hundreds of years ago and he defied a magician, so he was imprisoned inside the tree for eternity. The branches are his arms reaching for help towards the heavens. When the wind whistles at night, you can hear him screaming to get out, apparently.’

  ‘That’s terrifying – you can see the tree from my window.’ Lil’s eyes opened wide. She leaned across Albert to Maggie, who was helping herself to stew. ‘I hope we’ll be all right by ourselves.’

  Maggie filled her plate with food. ‘So, is the tree haunted? Does Old Woot creep into the house at night?’

  ‘He’d better not.’ Lil grimaced.

  ‘It is a myth,’ Maarten scoffed.’ You’ll be fine. But my grandfather will look after you if you need help.’

  Lil noticed Marieke give her middle son a warning stare. Herman winked at Lil.

  Ken’s eyes flickered to Cassie. ‘You should write a poem about why Oud Woot was imprisoned in the tree.’

  Cassie nodded. ‘What a great idea. I might just do that.’

  Marieke opened another bottle of wine. ‘Cassie, are you a poet?’

  ‘She’s a great poet,’ Tommy spluttered, his mouth full of chips.

  ‘She performs in my pub.’ Duncan gave a toothy smile. ‘You’ll all have to come over and visit The Jolly Weaver.’

  ‘And Cassie sings too,’ DJ added.

  Jake waved his fork. ‘And she plays the banjo.’

  Cassie picked up her glass and sipped red wine.

  ‘Can you recite a poem for us now?’ Herman asked.

  ‘I suppose I could.’ Cassie shrugged cheerfully.

  ‘What about a poem about your mother?’ Herman beamed at Lil. ‘Have you written one about her?’

  Maggie nodded. ‘Yes, give us a poem about Lil.’

  Duncan lifted his beer glass. ‘What about the one you did in the pub on Mother’s Day about making a cake?’

  ‘Cake and mothers – perfect together,’ Damiaan suggested.

  ‘It’s a sad poem, that one,’ Lil murmured.

  ‘Do you want to hear it, Lil?’ Herman placed his hand over hers.

  Lil was enjoying being the centre of attention. She beamed like an actress in camera flashlights with a golden award. ‘Oh, if you insist. Cassie – what do you think?’

  Cassie met everyone’s eyes. ‘It’s a poem I wrote on my birthday years ago, when I was teaching abroad. I felt guilty about being far away from Lil, after she’d given so much of her life to bringing me up. I was far from home, feeling grateful and yet not able to repay her for everything she’d done, for all the sacrifices she made.’

  ‘I’d like to hear that poem.’ Marieke placed her hands on the table.

  ‘Me too,’ Ken agreed.

  Herman’s eyes shone. ‘Cassie – would you mind telling us your poem?’

  Cassie shook her white hair, tonight tied in a yellow band, and stood up slowly. In her rainbow top and green dungarees, she was a focus for everyone’s attention. She smiled, meeting every pair of eyes.

  ‘So, this poem is about a birthday I had when I was a child, and Lil made me a cake that took her ages. It was shaped like a doll’s house with chocolate squares for windows. It had eight candles.’

  She paused for a moment then she murmured, ‘I’m not sure I ever told Lil how much I appreciated what she did for me. But this poem touches upon how, as a child, I wasn’t really aware of how special a mum she was. It just felt normal to have such a loving mum and no dad. The poem’s called “The Birthday Cake”.’

  She cleared her throat and began to recite, her eyes shining, animated.

  The child is eight years old today.

  The cake is baked in secret, a surprise.

  A gingerbread house spiced, sweet as love.

  The sharp aftertaste of an absent father.

  The whisk whirls in the mother’s hand as she beats away thoughts of his silent leaving,

  her lacklustre life, a closed door, a single slamming.

  The eggs dissolve, frothy: her life dissolved, messy.

  The flour, light as hope.

  The sugar, each grain a birthday wish,

  the cake rising in warmth, golden, blessed as the child’s future.

  She looks at her hands: cooking hands, caressing hands, empty.

  She will keep them busy, useful, fluttering.

  The cake is finished, flourished, displayed.

  A perfect house: rainbow roof, lollipop doors.

  A candy home, sparkling with sugar.

  The icing soft and crumbling, a mother’s kiss,

  melt in the mouth and then forgotten.

  The candles flare then snuffed in one rushed blow

  The cake sliced and sampled, left on the plate

  The child squeals, rushes off to play. She has other things on her mind.

  Absent now, like the child’s father, and silence fills the room again.

  Soon her child will be like him.

  Gorged. Grown. Gone.

  Silence followed Cassie’s words, all eyes on her, all faces serious. Then Herman began to clap and everyone else applauded and cheered. A single tear rolled down Lil’s cheek and Albert touched it with his long finger, wiping it away. Lil’s eyes shone as Cassie sat down quietly and lifted her glass to her lips. She noticed Pat had tears in his eyes, Thilde too. Maggie had taken out her handkerchief and was sniffing and dabbing her eyes.

  Marieke spoke softly. ‘That was charming. Thank you, Cassie.’

  Herman rested a hand on Lil’s shoulder. ‘Your daughter is special, like her mother.’

  Teun was on his feet, holding up his glass. �
��A toast, to all our mothers.’

  Everyone shuffled to their feet, glasses raised. ‘Mothers.’

  Marieke put out a hand in protest. ‘Wait, wait, before you all begin to toast and drink too much. I have the puddings to bring to the table. Who would like mattentaart and who would like Speculoos ice cream?’

  All hands shot up and Tommy called out, ‘I’ll have both, please.’ Lil noticed each face around the table; everyone was smiling and enthusiastic, apart from Pat and Thilde, who were still gazing into each other’s eyes, and Denise, who seemed left out and was examining her fingers.

  The meal was over and everyone had moved away from the dining room. Maggie tugged Albert’s sleeve, coaxing him to watch television with her. Lil smiled; it was unlikely that she’d understand the language of the local channels, but she could put her feet up and doze. Albert followed her reluctantly, looking back over his shoulder hopefully, his eyes begging Lil to go with him.

  Lil watched as Damiaan helped his mother to clear the table, Marieke insisting that the guests should enjoy their leisure. Teun and Maarten led the way to the games room where there was a pool table and darts; DJ, Jake, Emily, Duncan and Tommy rushed after them carrying bottles of Belgian beer. Cassie announced that she was going to write a poem about Oud Woot, the man imprisoned inside the tree, and Denise slunk away, saying she was going to bed. Ken had asked Sue if she’d glance over his travel guide to Amsterdam, so that they could work out in advance where to eat. Pat and Thilde had already disappeared. Lil turned to Herman hopefully. He held out a hand. ‘The stars will be particularly bright tonight. Would you like to take a stroll?’