by Cathy Lake
‘You are being a prude, Clare. As I was saying . . .’ She leant against the worktop, her elbows resting on the edge and Clare set her focus determinedly on making the tea. She would never put Kyle through a scene like this. ‘When you get older and things start to droop, just crack open a window and PING!’ She clicked her fingers and chuckled.
‘Ping?’ Clare asked, dreading the answer.
Her mum reached for a garment draped over one of the kitchen chairs then pulled it over her head and it billowed over her body. It was a paisley-swirled kaftan in brown, red and gold, so light it must have been made of silk. ‘Yes, you know, everything is back where it should be!’
Clare handed her mum a mug of tea, trying not to laugh. In spite of her reservations at where the conversation was going, she couldn’t deny that it was quite a relief to hear her mum talking like that because since Clare’s return to Little Bramble, something about her mum hadn’t seemed quite the same. The formerly vivacious, exhibitionist, gin-drinking, show-tune singing woman that she had known had vanished and in her place was a quieter, far more solemn woman who Clare felt uncertain around. At least with the mum she’d known, she’d been prepared for the frank remarks, been ready to accept the somewhat stilted love – and known when to walk away. Now, something was very different, and she had yet to pinpoint why.
‘What are your plans today, Clare?’ her mum asked as they sat at the table.
‘Oh, well . . . I thought I’d go back to bed for a bit then take a bath—’
‘Clare!’ Her mum cut her. ‘That’s enough of the wallowing. You’ve been here for six days now and not ventured into the village once. It’s time for you to get out and about.’
‘Oh . . . uh . . . I’m not quite sure I’m ready for that yet.’
‘Nonsense! Do you think Jason is sitting around in a hotel room in Thailand or Dubai or Paris or wherever it is he’s gone first? Do you think he’s dwelling on what he’s lost? I bet he’s bloody well not.’
‘Mum, that’s not important. I don’t care what Jason’s doing.’
Although I would like him to be just a bit sad, just a bit lost . . .
‘That’s rubbish and you know it.’
Clare met her mum’s steely blue gaze and tried not to wince.
‘OK, I do care a tiny bit but yes, you are right, I doubt very much that he’s mourning what we’ve lost. He was very keen to sell up and set out to find himself.’
‘And so must you.’
‘It sounds very . . . cheesy.’
Her mum shrugged. ‘It’s just words but the sentiment is right. Sadly, your marriage is over. It happens to lots of people. But, Clare, you’re still young and you hopefully have as long ahead as you have behind you. It’s time for you to re-evaluate and get back on the horse.’
Clare snorted. ‘The horse?’
‘Well, yes, why not? You used to love horse riding. When was the last time you went?’
Clare frowned. ‘A very long time ago.’
‘Then you need to go again, although it might have to wait until the spring – but you could at least visit the stables. You should make a list of things you stopped doing because you were married and get out there and do them.’ Her mum’s eyes were burning with something and Clare found herself hoping it was fervour and not fever; doing exercise in your undies at seventy-five in the chilly October air could well bring on the latter.
‘I’ll try, Mum.’
‘Yes, you will, because Clare, much as I love you, I simply cannot have you hanging around here all the time, getting under my feet.’
A lump rose in Clare’s throat. She’d been here under a week and she was already getting on her mum’s nerves? She’d tried to be quiet, to do her bit around the cottage, to avoid saying or doing anything that would irritate her mum. She understood that having an adult child return home would be challenging for any parent, let alone for her mum. However, it seemed that she had inadvertently become annoying.
‘Do you want me to leave?’ Her voice emerged as little more than a whisper.
‘Of course not, Clare, don’t be such a drama queen! I merely want you to get out a bit more, not sit around moping.’
‘I haven’t been moping.’
Elaine raised her eyebrows and Clare realised there was no point trying to argue her case.
‘OK, perhaps I have a little bit.’
Her mum nodded. ‘Right, I’ll make some breakfast then you can shower and take Goliath for a walk. That would be a good start.’
‘Lovely, thanks.’ Clare drained her tea then stood up, trying to conjure some enthusiasm for the idea of a dog walk. ‘Are you . . . are you going to join us?’
Her mum turned around from the fridge. ‘No, I don’t think so. Not today.’
‘Are you sure?’ Some company might make going outside easier.
‘Quite sure, Clare. I’m actually rather tired. Now, let me focus on making breakfast.’
Clare nodded, but her mum had always been an advocate of exercise in all its forms, so the fact that she wasn’t keen on getting out for a walk was surprising, especially seeing as how she’d commented on how good it would be for Clare. There was definitely something different about her.
When they were seated again with plates of scrambled eggs and toast and another pot of tea between them, Clare decided to broach a topic that had puzzled her over the last week.
‘Mum, why haven’t you been to your drama society meetings while I’ve been here?’
Her mum’s fork froze halfway from the plate to her mouth and her eyes widened but she seemed to recover herself and lowered her fork again. ‘I . . . uh . . . don’t go anymore.’
‘What? But why not?’
‘Well, since the old village hall was . . .’ Her mum took a deep breath, her head shaking slightly as she did so. ‘Since it burnt down, there hasn’t been an amateur dramatics society.’
‘What? Not for . . . how long ago did it burn down?’
She saw her mum swallow hard. ‘It will be two years on 20th December. It burnt down the night of the Christmas show.’
‘And you haven’t been involved in any acting since then?’
‘No.’
‘But the drama society was such a big part of your life.’
Her mum shrugged. ‘Things change.’
‘They do, but aren’t you sad? Why haven’t you reassembled the village amateur dramatics society? Especially with Christmas just over two months away. You always did a village play and carol service and—’
‘Please stop!’ Her mum glared at her and Clare’s confusion deepened. Elaine had loved to talk about the latest successes of the local drama society, the latest star they’d found who’d gone on to find success at RADA or some other prestigious performing arts college. Clare had enjoyed being a part of the shows as a child, but as she got older and reached her teens, her mum’s bossiness, combined with her perfectionism, had started to grate on her. According to her mum, Clare never got the lines quite right or held the tune properly, and when she reached fifteen, she decided enough was enough and refused to take part in the shows anymore. She still helped out backstage and with the refreshments, but she stayed out of the limelight. Elaine had tried to get Clare involved right up until she’d gone off to university, and her dad had tried too, but Clare had been resolute, even though she’d hated to disappoint her dad. She’d still got to watch her parents as they performed, to enjoy how they perfectly complemented each other, and then felt a sense of regret at not being on stage with them. But she had known that it was how it needed to be for her own peace of mind. But now, thinking about her mum without the am dram society seemed so wrong. Her childhood had been centred around her parents’ love of theatre – her mum had shone as director and actor; it was who she was. Every phone call they’d had after Clare had left for university and then married Jason had included at least one reference to a village event sponsored by the society or about the main annual event: t
he village Christmas show. If her mum had lost that, as well as Clare’s dad, then what did she have left?
And now, almost two years after the village hall had burnt down, that part of her life was all over and her mum hadn’t told her. Even worse, Clare hadn’t noticed or asked during their phone calls. Had she been that caught up in her own problems that she hadn’t had the time or compassion to care what was going on in her mum’s life? Was she that terrible a daughter? What if she’d done the same with Kyle and failed to notice that he’d lost something as important to him as the society was to her mum? Guilt burned like bile in her throat and her heart ached. This was truly awful, and she wished there was something she could do to put it right.
‘I don’t think I ever asked you how the old hall burnt down.’
‘I don’t think you did.’
‘Well?’
Her mum looked at her, then averted her gaze, her eyes darting around the room as if she was looking for inspiration. ‘It wasn’t determined.’
‘The firefighters couldn’t work out what happened?’
Her mum shook her head then set her fork down and folded her arms across her chest. ‘Clare, could we drop this subject now, please? It’s really difficult to talk about, what with the loss of the old hall that your dear father helped build – and the fact that the new hall just isn’t the same.’
‘The old hall was the centre of the community, wasn’t it?’
‘It was.’ Her mum’s eyes glistened and Clare wanted to hug her, but knew that displays of affection were limited to hello and goodbye. ‘It was the heart of Little Bramble. The new hall was finished in August and while it’s very pleasant on the eye, all clean lines and fresh paint, it’s just not the same. Something was lost in that fire and I don’t think we’ll ever get it back . . .’
‘Mum, I’m so sorry.’
Her mum lifted her chin and sniffed. ‘Well, it’s certainly not your fault, Clare.’
‘I wish there was something I could do.’
‘Don’t get all sentimental on me now, dear. It is what it is and life goes on.’ Her mum stood up and took her plate to the sink. ‘I’m actually rather tired still, so I think I’ll go back to bed for a bit. You really don’t mind taking Goliath out, do you? He’ll be very grateful. But make sure you clip his lead on and hold him tight! If he sees a squirrel, he’ll drag you for miles chasing it, so wear sensible footwear.’
Clare nodded, although the thought of the walk now filled her with apprehension.
‘He hasn’t had a long walk in a-a while . . . I feel terrible, but I just haven’t felt up to it. Of course, I have taken him out on short daily walks but he needs a good stretch of his legs. Now you’re home, you can help out by taking him every day.’
‘Of course.’ Clare would have agreed to anything right then just to ease her mum’s worries. At least now, though, she had some idea of why her mum seemed different. She’d lost the centre of her world in losing the society. Goliath and amateur dramatics had filled Elaine’s life after she’d lost her husband and losing that too would have been a massive blow.
After Elaine had left the kitchen, Clare got up and took her own plate to the sink then scraped the food remains into the green waste bag and tied the top. As she took the bag outside, Goliath came and sat on the doorstep, his eyes fixed on her, his tail swishing along the kitchen tiles.
‘Would you like me to take you for a walk?’
He jumped up and bounded over to her. Before she could blink, his large paws landed on her shoulders and his wet tongue covered her face in slobber. She staggered back under his weight until she was against the wall of the shed, struggling to stay upright as laughter made her knees weak.
‘Goliath!’ She giggled. ‘Stop! Stop, please, so I can go and get dressed.’
He finally seemed to get the message and Clare ran the sleeve of her dressing gown over her wet face.
It might take a lot to make her mum smile again, but at least she could make Goliath happy. Dogs were easy to please, it seemed, and that was definitely a bonus. Clare needed some friendly unassuming company right now and apparently Goliath was delighted to provide it.
Chapter 5
Clare checked out her appearance in the hallway mirror. She’d brushed her shoulder-length brown hair until it shone, pulled it into a low ponytail and moisturised her face and neck. Wearing a pair of stretchy skinny jeans that were actually quite comfortable, along with a thigh-length grey wool jumper and her old green wax jacket that she’d found in the cupboard under the stairs, which actually fitted her better now she’d gained a few pounds, she was ready for a walk. Her dad had bought the jacket for her years ago, and she’d been a bit uncertain about it because while it was practical, it wasn’t exactly high fashion, but now she really liked how it made her seem as though she belonged in the countryside and walked the dog every day, especially with her dark green wellies (also found in the cupboard). This look was something that she’d lost, as if a part of her had remained behind in the village, and it felt comfortable to come back to, as though she’d found her own skin again.
Gazing at her reflection was not something she really enjoyed doing. She’d never been beautiful or striking, but had thought that she was all right, that when she made an effort with her appearance she could pass for just about attractive. Jason had called her beautiful back in the early days of their relationship, but over time she’d been content to accept that he probably thought she was OK, and that it didn’t matter all that much because they had a stable, solid relationship. Now she really thought about it, Jason had lost interest in her a long time ago and she couldn’t remember the last time they’d been intimate. When had they lost that side of their relationship? She’d assumed it was just part of being in a long-term relationship, that sex was for special occasions and on those occasions, if you’d eaten too much birthday cake or drunk too much prosecco, then the last thing either of you wanted to do was to get naked and do the deed. So sex had fallen by the wayside. She hadn’t missed it that much, had tried not to think about it, avoiding answering her friends back in Reading whenever they’d had a few drinks and asked each other how often they still ‘did it’. The answers often surprised her. There was her neighbour Lucy, a fifty-something businesswoman who was married to a man eleven years younger than her. Lucy worked long hours and was completely dedicated to her career, but she confessed that she had sex three or four times a week. Clare had wondered if she and Jason had ever done it that often. Then there was Denise, a senior librarian, who was just thirty-nine and said sex happened once or twice a month, but then she had three boys under ten and worked five days a week, so she was understandably exhausted most of the time. Her husband was a paramedic who worked shifts, so Clare was filled with admiration that they managed to have sex at all.
No, sex was something other people did and enjoyed and Clare had come to accept that it wasn’t for her.
A low groan from her side reminded her that Goliath was waiting for his walk. She grabbed the rope lead she’d found under the stairs and clipped it to his collar. She didn’t know whether it was the lack of space in the hallway or the fact that the lead looked somewhat inadequate, but Goliath appeared to be a very big dog this morning. HUGE, in fact. Like a small horse. Which made her feel a bit apprehensive about taking him out. However, she had promised him and her mum must be struggling with something if she had felt unable to take him far. Concern nibbled at Clare again that her mum wasn’t telling her something important.
‘Let’s get some air, shall we?’
She slid the looped end of the lead over her wrist then opened the front door and stepped outside. Just as she closed the door behind her, her mobile buzzed. She slid it from her pocket and checked the screen, hoping it would be Kyle.
Hey Mum,
Hope your week is going well. How’s Nanna? How’s Goliath?
Let me know how it’s going when you get a chance. I’m still laughing after you told me about the postman and Goli
ath fighting over the letters.
Love you millions! X
Clare smiled and slid her mobile back into her pocket. She’d reply later as she didn’t want to keep Goliath waiting any longer but there was something so comforting about knowing Kyle was thinking about her, that he cared how things were going. He was so different from his father and she hoped that was because of the part she’d played in his upbringing. Jason had never been particularly considerate, but Kyle was always thoughtful and caring.
The mist had gone and now the pale-yellow sun sat low in the sky. The air was cold and fresh, laced with woodsmoke from the fires and log burners of the villagers, and there was a hint of bacon from someone’s breakfast. The smells were familiar and comforting and she marvelled at how they brought back so many feelings. It was a strange sensation to feel happy and sad at the same time and yet not be able to pinpoint why, but she had blocked lots of things out during her absence from Little Bramble and suspected that she would struggle to do so now that she was here.
Clare walked Goliath along the pavement until they reached the end of the street, then crossed the road and headed along the narrow track that would take them through the woods that bordered the village. Birds sang in the trees, nature’s debris crunched under foot, and somewhere beyond the trees water gurgled. The grass at the sides of the path was long and damp with dew and it squeaked as her wellies brushed against it. Her footsteps disturbed the earth of the path, sending up a deep rich scent overlaid by the smell of rotting leaves and wood that seemed to hover in pockets of air that they passed through.
Every so often she stopped walking so Goliath could sniff the ground and she breathed deeply, filling her lungs. This wasn’t so bad after all. There had been some lovely walks near her home in Reading but the countryside surrounding Little Bramble was glorious, even at this time of the year and now that she was back and had time on her hands, she could take lots of long walks with Goliath and get fitter, healthier. She hadn’t put on that much weight, an extra ten pounds or so, but surely she’d soon lose that if she started walking the dog twice a day? She could even invest in one of those trackers and make sure she did her ten thousand steps a day.