by Cathy Lake
Time . . . the counsellor said. Time would help her to find her way.
She was still waiting and, while she did, her mum had suggested (to her great surprise) that she could come home and use that time to think.
Tick tock . . .
She wheeled one suitcase to the front door then went back for the other and locked the car. The stone cottage was chocolate-box pretty with small latticed windows set in thick walls and a heavy oak door with an antique brass knocker shaped like a lion’s head. Over the years many festive wreaths had been tied to that knocker, often summery ones too when her parents had been entertaining, something they had loved to do. Her mum had enjoyed placing pumpkins of varying sizes outside on the path leading up to the door at Halloween and at Easter, she’d set out baskets of colourful painted eggs along with a few fibreglass rabbits. Props were important to Elaine and Clare was convinced it was the actress in her mother, the love of theatre of all kinds that led her to want to turn the ordinary, everyday setting into the extraordinary. Elaine was concerned with appearances, but Clare had often wished that her mum would lift up the rug and check what was going on beneath the surface.
Clare had a key to the cottage tucked away in her handbag but she didn’t want to just walk in and startle her mum, so she used the doorknocker, hearing it echo through the hallway. A loud bark told her that she’d woken her mum’s dog and she smiled, realising that she’d be living with that dog too for a while until she could pull herself together, find a new job and a place to live, which might mean returning to Reading or moving somewhere else. Clare had told her mum that she would be arriving that afternoon but had been unsure of timings because she hadn’t wanted to rush leaving her old home, aware that it wouldn’t be easy saying goodbye. The removal team had arrived at the crack of dawn to take her bed and sofa from the lounge – the only furniture still remaining at the house, what with the fridge and the cooker being integrated in the fitted kitchen – along with the final few boxes of Jason’s things. All of it had gone to the storage facility on an industrial estate in Reading for now and Clare had no idea when she’d be in a position to collect her things, but she hoped it wouldn’t be long.
As she waited for her mum to answer the door, she looked up at the darkening sky and smiled, because a plume of grey smoke was curling up from the fat chimney, which meant that the fire was lit and the lounge would be cosy and homely. Clare loved sitting in front of an open fire and the aroma of woodsmoke in the cold air was so familiar, so comforting, that her eyes stung. When the door swung open, she had to blink hard.
‘Clare, darling! There you are.’
Her mum stood on the doorstep, her arms folded across her purple cashmere jumper, blue eyes sharp behind the thick black frames of her glasses, her sleek white bob pushed behind her ears. At her mum’s side, gazing up at her with his big, brown eyes was Goliath, an enormous fawn Great Dane, the arcs from his swinging tail as powerful as an electric fan.
‘Hi, Mum.’ Clare felt her bottom lip wobble and she dug her nails into her palms, not wanting to crumble now after being brave for so long, but there was something about coming back here, about seeing her mum, that made her vulnerability rush to the surface. It was as if the little girl she’d once been had woken up and she needed to know that someone cared. ‘Hi, Goliath.’ She eyed the dog cautiously, hoping that he wouldn’t rush at her and plonk those enormous paws on her legs because she already felt unsteady.
‘Come here, darling.’
She stepped into her mum’s hug, leaning forwards slightly because Elaine was two inches shorter than she was, and breathed in the familiar floral scent. They might not have been as close as some mothers and daughters were, and they might struggle living together again, but right now, Clare was glad to be home.
Sam dropped his keys on the table by the front door then bent over to rub Scout’s head.
‘Hello, girl. Surprised to see me home so early?’
She wagged her tail then licked his hand and he laughed. There was nothing like a doggy welcome.
He walked through to the lounge and stuck his head around the door but the room was empty so he went back out to the hallway then into the open-plan kitchen-diner.
‘There you are, Alyssa.’
His sister smiled at him.
‘What’re you doing home at this time? I thought you’d be at least another hour or two.’
‘My last appointment cancelled so Miranda told me to head off early. She must think I look tired or something.’ He laughed, but Alyssa shook her head, causing her shiny dark curls to bounce.
‘You do look tired, Samuel. Perhaps you need to take a holiday.’
His sister was the only person who sometimes used his full name, to everyone else he was Sam.
‘How did the interview go?’
‘Really well.’ She grinned, and for a moment his breath caught because she looked exactly like their mother. Alyssa was twelve years younger than him and sometimes he forgot that she was an adult, that she was thirty-four years old with a very strong will of her own.
‘Really well as in you got it?’ He was nervous asking because Alyssa really wanted the job at a tattoo parlour in Woking but he wasn’t sure that it was right for her.
‘I certainly did!’
‘That’s wonderful. Congratulations! When do you start?’
‘Next Monday.’
‘Great!’ He tried to inject more enthusiasm into his tone than he felt. Alyssa was a talented artist and he’d always thought she’d end up designing clothes or selling her art at galleries or doing something incredible with her life that their parents would have approved of. After leaving school at sixteen, she’d studied Art and Design at college then decided not to go to university, even though Sam was prepared to support her through a degree. She’d refused, telling him she didn’t want to be a financial burden. They’d been living in London at the time and Alyssa had decided to look for a job instead of pursuing her education. Sam had been disappointed but knew that trying to get her to do something she’d set her mind against would end in failure. Alyssa had got a job in a pub and then, through that, some seasonal work at music festivals across the country. At one of the festivals, aged only eighteen, she’d met a man the same age as Sam and moved in with him. The relationship had lasted six years, in spite of Sam’s reservations, and only ended when things had taken an unexpected turn. The man Alyssa believed loved her turned his back on her and walked away when she needed him most, right after she was badly injured in a motorcycle crash.
Sam’s shoulders tightened as he thought about Jerry and what he’d done to Alyssa. He couldn’t help the rage he felt about how he had abandoned Alyssa, even holding up his hands and stating that he couldn’t face being tied to someone in Alyssa’s condition. If Sam hadn’t been so cut up himself about it all, so overwhelmed with guilt and grief for his little sister, he might have gone after Jerry and done something he’d have later regretted. As it was, Alyssa had needed him too much so he’d swallowed his own feelings and focused instead on doing the best he could for her. She deserved the very best he could give her and that was what he’d always tried to do.
‘What do you think?’ Alyssa asked, breaking into his thoughts. He tried to let go of the tension that had gripped him as he thought about the past.
‘Sorry?’
‘I asked what you think about the job?’ Her brown eyes sparkled with mischief; she knew he didn’t think it was the perfect job for her but that he would keep quiet because it wasn’t his decision to make.
‘I’m happy for you. Really happy. In fact, we could go out tonight to celebrate if you like? I’ll buy you dinner.’
Alyssa’s eyes widened slightly.
‘Thanks. I appreciate the offer but perhaps we could go out tomorrow instead?’
‘Oh . . . OK.’ Sam shrugged. He was tired and a bath and an early night was more appealing than eating out, but he’d have made the effort for Alyssa’s sake.
‘Sam,
don’t go mad . . . but I have a date.’
‘A date?’ Sam frowned. ‘Since when?’
‘Since my interview. The owner of the tattoo parlour introduced me to her younger brother, Sebastian, and he asked me out.’
‘You’re going out with your new boss’s brother?’
‘Yes. He lives in Woking and –’
‘Alyssa . . .’ Sam rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, trying to buy some time so as to work out what he wanted to say. ‘Are you sure that’s a good idea?’
He met her gaze and she glared at him, her nostrils flaring slightly, her lips set in a determined line. He knew at that moment that he had no hope of convincing her otherwise. The dynamic of their relationship was such that if Sam thought something wasn’t a good idea, Alyssa would do it anyway and be damned with the consequences.
She sighed dramatically and Sam braced himself, prepared for her to tell him why he was wrong, but she merely shook her head, making him feel like a child being reprimanded.
‘And before you ask, yes, he is a tattoo artist too and yes, he has lots of tattoos and piercings, some that I suspect I couldn’t see because he was fully clothed.’
‘But what if it doesn’t work out? It could make things awkward between you and your new boss and –’
‘Sam, you really have to stop being so negative about everything and so bloody overprotective! Go get a life of your own! Every time I meet someone I like I either have to keep it from you completely or downplay it so you don’t get all stressed out.’
He opened his mouth to reply but couldn’t find the words. Instead of standing there like a goldfish, he nodded, then left the kitchen, not wanting to make things worse or make Alyssa think he was even more pathetic than she already did. He was only trying to look out for her, but she clearly did not want him worrying as much as he did.
As for getting a life of his own – how exactly was he supposed to do that?
‘There you are, Clare,’ her mum said as she handed her a mug of tea. ‘Are you sure you won’t take a slice of lemon drizzle?’
‘I’m sure, thanks. Tea is lovely for now.’
Clare sat back on the fat purple sofa and cradled the mug between her palms, savouring the heat. The lounge was just as she remembered it being when she was growing up: cosy, homely and scented with woodsmoke and vanilla and lavender candles, her mum’s favourites. The open fireplace was the focal point of the dual aspect room, with a solid wooden mantelpiece and the gold-framed mirror above it. Amber and red flames flickered in the grate, casting dancing shadows across the room, and Goliath lay on the hearthrug, his chin resting on his large paws, his eyebrows raising in turn as he peered at Clare and Elaine. It was almost as if he could read their thoughts and feelings and wanted to watch over them; Clare found his presence comforting.
On the mantelpiece were family photographs of Clare, her parents, and her paternal grandparents, Alice and Terry, who had passed away over twenty years ago. Clare had never known her maternal grandparents and although her mum had briefly mentioned them being disinterested in their daughter, she had never elaborated on the subject, always found ways to avoid doing so. Even from a young age, Clare had sensed that it was a topic that upset her mother, so best avoided.
Elaine sat on the sofa opposite Clare, an emerald velvet affair with plump duck down cushions and a faded patchwork throw over the back.
‘Goliath is keeping an eye on you,’ she said, smiling at the dog.
‘I know. I hope he doesn’t mind me being here.’
‘Oh, he’ll love having more company. He gets a bit fed up with it being just the two of us, I think. He’s a sociable dog, considering his age.’
‘How old is he now?’ Clare asked, then took a sip of her tea. It was hot and strong with just a splash of semi-skimmed milk, exactly how Clare liked it.
‘About eight and a half, a good age for a Great Dane. I’ll never know his exact age as I didn’t get him as a puppy but I can’t imagine not having him around. He’s filled the space left by your father . . . well, not entirely, but he’s helped.’
‘Really?’ Clare had heard her mum say this before but much as she liked animals, she found it strange to think that a dog could come anywhere close to replacing a human being. Her mum had adopted Goliath from an animal charity eight years ago. His first owner had abandoned him after he started growing bigger than expected and had an appetite to match, but when Elaine had seen him, she’d fallen for him instantly. During his first year at the cottage he had eaten everything Elaine fed him and more, including a piano chair, a bookshelf, a variety of valuable first edition hardback books, a table leg and two picture frames. Whenever Clare’s mum had told her about the latest item to meet its demise, Clare had wondered how her usually no-nonsense mum didn’t feel tempted to take the dog right back to the shelter. After each incident, Clare had tried to offer some cheery comment about Goliath growing out of it, and he had grown out of his puppy antics – all except one.
‘Yes, Clare. Goliath keeps me company, warms my feet and is there to greet me every morning. A dog is a faithful companion. You should get one.’
‘Perhaps.’ Clare shrugged. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Goliath, or other dogs, because she really did, but she couldn’t imagine the extra responsibility on top of everything else. Of course, Kyle had begged for a dog growing up but she’d found ways to avoid getting one, knowing Jason would have been indifferent to a dog and she’d have been the one cleaning up the poo, feeding and walking it and she’d had enough to do without being responsible for another living creature. Now that she was single and her son was grown, she could get a dog but then she would be tied to it and to its care. She wasn’t sure how to help herself at the moment, let alone a dog.
‘Maybe when I’m settled.’ She raised her mug and finished her tea, hoping for a change of subject. When her mum had rescued Goliath, Clare had been surprised because they’d never had a dog when she was growing up. Her parents had both worked and said it wouldn’t be fair to leave a dog at home alone all day, and Clare had been able to enjoy caring for the animals at the farm and the horses at the stables, so she’d never felt that she was missing out.
‘Don’t wait too long, Clare. Getting out for daily walks wouldn’t be a bad thing for you, you know.’
And there it was!
Clare had known it would come. Elaine Hughes spared no one’s feelings, especially not her daughter’s. Clare knew that she’d gained a few pounds since Jason had told her he wanted to separate. She had comforted herself with wine and chocolate, as well as those big blocks of crumbly, golden mature Cheddar, but then why shouldn’t she? After years of trying to keep an eye on her weight, of Zumba, boxercise and more, she’d thought, What the hell? She’d done all those things to stay in shape, to age gracefully, to be the best version of herself she could be – and it hadn’t made a jot of a difference to her husband. He had barely noticed her towards the end of their time together. She’d told herself that all the exercise and healthy eating was for herself, and to a large extent it was, but she had also wanted to feel appreciated, to feel loved, to feel that even though she was past forty, she still had it. Whatever it was. So when she’d realised that all the effort she’d made hadn’t stopped her husband from walking away from her, she’d stopped and found comfort in tasty food and nice wines, especially the wines that Jason had stocked his wine fridge with over the years. When he’d commented on it, she’d shrugged and told him he couldn’t take them away with him, so she might as well enjoy them. Besides which, after years of supporting his penchant for purchasing wines with eyewatering price tags, she’d found great enjoyment in downing them as she slouched on the sofa in her pjs or in the bath with a paperback.
And yes, seeing her mum had been nice initially; she’d felt a surge of emotion as they’d hugged, but now she was back to reality with a bump. Clare’s dad had somehow tempered the harsh edge that Elaine could show, had made her laugh and take herself and the wo
rld around her less seriously. Since he’d gone, she had been tougher, harder, colder. It was as if losing him had extinguished the tiny spark of warmth that she was able to demonstrate.
Clare had come back to stay with her mum because she felt her choices were limited. With no job and nothing appealing on offer in Reading, along with a sense of inadequacy about what she was skilled to do other than cook, clean, garden and sort books, she had floundered in uncertainty. She had a degree but she hadn’t done anything with it. She’d loved working at the library surrounded by books, recommending them to customers who were as excited as she was about new titles and favourite authors, and had been able to work the ancient computer system there, but her IT skills weren’t up to date and the idea of going for an interview was terrifying. She had money from the house sale, as well as some savings, but they wouldn’t last indefinitely, especially if she ended up paying some extortionate rent, and she couldn’t exactly land on Kyle’s doorstep at his student digs and ask for shelter. All of her friends in Reading were either married or cohabiting and who wanted a newly divorced friend on their sofa or in their spare room? Besides which, Clare hated the thought of being a burden. But she needed some time, some breathing space, a chance to lick her wounds and heal. When her mum suggested that she return to Little Bramble, it had seemed like the only option. Yes, she knew it could end in disaster, that living with Elaine could be challenging, but she’d had to do it.