Snowflakes Over Bay Tree Terrace (Willowbury)

by Fay Keenan

  Charlie shook his head. ‘I can’t vouch for my colleagues, I’m afraid, but I like to keep an eye on things. I can’t preach unless I practise, of course.’

  Insomnia temporarily forgotten, Florence had a brainwave. She was proud of her ability to ask a cheeky question and seized the moment. ‘How would you feel about coming in to talk to our students?’ she asked. After all, it wasn’t every day you bumped into your local MP, however high his profile in the community.

  Charlie considered for a moment. ‘In what context? I mean, I’m always happy to chat to people, students included, but what exactly would you want?’

  ‘Well, we’ve got Careers Day coming up at the end of February, and we’re looking for a variety of local speakers with really interesting jobs.’ The whole staff had been asked to think about who they might know who might be interested in giving up some time to talk to students about future choices, and even though the new school currently only had five out of seven year groups, it was never too early to think about setting them on a career path. So far, the school had signed up a vet, a doctor, the manager of a mobile phone shop, a baker, and, of course, Sam, but they still needed a few more professionals for the carousel of events on the day.

  ‘Sounds good,’ Charlie replied. ‘Can you send details over to my office and I’ll see if I can get it in the diary.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Florence said. She’d kind of expected a little more resistance, a polite but firm brush-off, so she was pleasantly surprised by Charlie’s enthusiasm. ‘I’ll be in touch.’

  ‘Everything OK here?’ Charlie asked, turning his attention back to Holly. ‘I’m taking an early lunch and wondered if I could tempt you to come with me to Jack’s for a bite to eat?’ The Cosy Coffee Shop had become a bit of a hub for locals since Jack had introduced a free cup of coffee or tea with every slice of cake for the month of December.

  ‘I’d love to, but Rachel’s taken Harry for his eight-week check-up at the cystic fibrosis clinic at the BRCH today, so I haven’t got anyone to cover my lunch hour,’ Holly smiled ruefully. ‘But if you could bring me a takeaway from Jack’s I’d love you forever.’

  ‘You mean you won’t anyway?’ Charlie teased.

  Florence smiled. It seemed a bit weird, hearing the local MP being so silly and romantic, but then, she figured, he and Holly could still just about be classified as newly-weds, and it was nice to see them being so affectionate.

  As Charlie said his goodbyes to them both, kissing Holly and giving Florence another smile, she made a note to try to remember to email his constituency office when she got home, before tiredness made her forget.

  ‘So, let’s see if we can find you something to help sort out those sleepless nights,’ Holly said, as Charlie left. ‘I’m sure I can find, if not a cure, then a few things to try.’ She wandered back to the shop counter on the back wall of the building and glanced up at the shelves of large glass jars behind it, evidently searching for something in particular. ‘I can make up a blend of camomile and valerian that might be good to start with,’ Holly said. ‘Lots of my customers swear by it for its knock-out properties.’ She paused. ‘It tastes a little bit soapy, but you can always add a slice of lemon to take the edge off.’

  Florence nodded. ‘Sounds good. At this stage I’ll try anything!’

  Holly reached up to the second shelf above the counter and pulled down the two jars she needed. Then, on a pair of vintage grocer’s scales, she weighed out equal quantities of both, before giving them a stir with her serving spoon. ‘Did you want a jar to keep them in?’ she asked. ‘Only I’m trying to cut down on plastic bag waste, and the paper bags might get damp in this weather.’

  ‘Sure, that would be great,’ Florence replied, watching Holly intently as she tipped the contents of the scale pan carefully into a small glass Kilner jar. She then grabbed the calligraphy pen from its place beside the till and carefully wrote the contents and the date on a label, before sticking it to the jar.

  ‘Come back and I can refill the jar if you like it,’ Holly said, ringing up the purchase on the till next to the scales.

  ‘Will do,’ Florence replied. She noticed there was a pile of gauze bags of lavender on the counter, and picked up one of them as well, to put under her pillow. If it didn’t help her sleep, at least it would smell nice. Handing over the cash for her purchases, she bade Holly goodbye.

  As she left, Holly reminded her to email Charlie’s office again.

  ‘He loves getting involved in student events,’ Holly said. ‘I think, in another life, he’d have wanted to be a teacher.’

  Florence laughed. ‘Maybe the two jobs aren’t that different, really! I always thought the House of Commons looked like a rowdy school assembly.’

  ‘You’re not wrong,’ Holly said. ‘I’ve been down a few times and witnessed it first-hand.’ She paused, then added, ‘I reckon Charlie would be up for organising a school visit to Parliament if you’ve got some students who might be interested.’

  ‘I’m sure there are plenty of kids who’d love to see behind the scenes,’ Florence replied, pleased that Holly had been so forthcoming. ‘I’ll put that in my email as well.’

  ‘Do,’ Holly replied. ‘Despite not always agreeing with my husband’s politics, his heart generally seems to be in the right place.’

  Florence laughed. ‘Must make for some interesting dinner-table discussions!’

  ‘Like you wouldn’t believe,’ Holly grinned. ‘We’ve had to learn to keep our conversations just the right side of shouty on occasion – wouldn’t want the press to pick up on our more animated disagreements.’

  ‘Disagreement is healthy sometimes,’ Florence said, tickled by the thought of sensible, serious Charlie Thorpe being tackled on issues of policy by his more alternative-thinking wife.

  ‘Yes, but somehow we always manage to find some common ground,’ Holly said, somewhat more reflectively. ‘That’s what it’s all about really, isn’t it?’

  Florence nodded, wondering if she and Sam would ever be able to find their own common ground. They seemed so far apart in their fundamental perspectives on what a relationship needed to be right now, and how responsible you should be for the people you loved. She regretted telling Sam what she thought, but not enough to change her mind on it. They probably had a long way to go before they agreed.

  ‘Have a good day,’ Holly said, as Florence turned to wander back out of ComIncense.

  ‘You too,’ Florence replied. She decided that she liked Holly, and hoped that, perhaps, they might become friends.

  41

  In an attempt to take her mind off both the report writing and her estrangement from Sam, Florence decided to explore the rest of the boxes in the attic, to see if she could find out more about Aunt Elsie and her mystery man, Henry Braydon. After the initial emotional discovery of his navy dress jacket and the telegram, she’d been too caught up with Christmas and, later, the trauma with Aidan to really devote that much more time to it. But now, she figured, she’d have plenty of time before school started to find out what the real story was.

  When she’d got back from the High Street and stashed the camomile and valerian tea by the kettle for later, she headed back up the attic steps to see what she could find. As she plunged her hands into the musty-smelling cardboard boxes, finding newspaper clippings and assorted militaria, a picture began to form of the man her Aunt Elsie had obviously fallen so hard for. It was chilly in the loft, however, and she wanted to do justice to her research, and to the memory of Elsie and Henry, so she began to carry the boxes down to the newly arrived oak table in the kitchen, a Christmas present to herself in preparation for when the kitchen itself was going to be refitted.

  Just as she was spreading out the contents of the first couple of boxes she’d brought down, and trying to make a kind of sense of what she’d found, her heart lurched as there was a soft tap at the door at the back of the kitchen that led to the garden. Looking up from her research, she felt a twinge of disappointment as sh
e recognised Aidan’s unruly hair and uncharacteristically tentative smile. She hadn’t actually seen him since he’d been discharged from Southmead, and although she was pleased to see him looking better, she wished, rather guiltily, that it was Sam standing on the other side of the glass, instead.

  ‘Hey,’ she said as she crossed the kitchen and opened the door. ‘How are you doing?’

  ‘Not so bad,’ Aidan replied. ‘I was at a loose end and thought I’d pop round for a natter, as I haven’t seen you since Christmas.’ He glanced at the kitchen table with its piles of paper and other bits and pieces. ‘That’s unless you’re busy?’

  Florence smiled. ‘Nothing that can’t be helped by the addition of a chat to a neighbour!’

  ‘What is all this?’ Aidan asked as he wandered around the table, picking up various letters and clippings. ‘Something for school?’

  ‘Not exactly,’ Florence replied. ‘I found it all in the attic.’

  Aidan studied one of the newspaper clippings intently, pulling out a chair and settling himself in it at the same time. ‘So this Henry Braydon was shot down over Korea then? Poor sod. Or, rather, poor those who were left behind without a body to bury.’

  ‘It looks that way,’ Florence said. ‘And it looks like my Aunt Elsie never really got over it. All this was just sitting in the loft, in boxes, as though she couldn’t bear to be reminded of him.’ She felt her throat constrict a little at the thought.

  ‘Shows that you really need to make the most of each day,’ Aidan said. ‘That’s a lesson I’ve learned well over the past couple of years.’ He gave a slightly shaky laugh himself. Then, something else caught his eye on the table. ‘Looks like you follow in the family am-dram tradition!’

  Florence, relieved to be off the subject of Henry’s tragic death, smiled. ‘I saw a print on the wall of the pub that made me curious – of Aunt Elsie and Henry posing for a cast photo. When I started going through this stuff, I found a couple of snaps of them playing opposite each other, as well. I think this is the best one.’ She passed Aidan a snapshot of Elsie and Henry gazing into each other’s eyes, both dressed in what looked like Shakespearean costumes. ‘I wonder what the play was?’

  ‘Something schmaltzy from the look of it,’ Aidan observed. ‘Although that kind of passion isn’t easily imitated, if what I’ve seen between you and Sam recently has been anything to go by.’ He threw a meaningful look in Florence’s direction.

  Florence shook her head. ‘I’d rather not talk about Sam right now.’

  ‘He misses you, you know,’ Aidan said softly. ‘I can tell from the way he keeps moping around the house when he’s off duty.’

  ‘It’s his duty I’m worried about,’ Florence said unthinkingly, her last, emotionally charged conversation with Sam still fresh in her mind.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Aidan looked blank. ‘He can’t help the shifts he works.’

  ‘Of course not,’ Florence said hurriedly, trying to back-pedal as quickly as she could. ‘I just meant, well, that he feels he has a lot of responsibilities.’

  ‘Including me,’ Aidan looked down at the table. ‘Especially when I end up having to be rescued in a snowstorm.’

  ‘He loves you,’ Florence murmured. ‘He just wants what’s best for you.’

  ‘So he says, morning noon and night,’ Aidan said, eyes still cast down. ‘But I can’t help thinking that sometimes he uses me as an excuse.’

  Florence’s heart lurched. She knew the answer, but asked the question anyway. ‘An excuse for what?’

  Aidan looked up at Florence again. ‘An excuse not to let anyone in, to get close to anyone. It’s all very convenient to claim that I’m his responsibility if it means he doesn’t have to commit to anything else, isn’t it?’ He shook his head. ‘It seems like he uses me as a reason to keep everyone at arm’s length at times.’

  ‘I’m sure he doesn’t see it like that,’ Florence put a hand on Aidan’s, where it was resting on the table. ‘But I do wish he’d give you a little more credit.’

  ‘You and me both,’ Aidan gave a hollow laugh. ‘For a lot of things. He doesn’t know me half as well as he thinks he does.’ He glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall and seemed to think better of elaborating. ‘I’d better let you get back to all this.’

  ‘Thanks for coming over,’ Florence said. ‘And Aidan?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Just because Sam and I aren’t, well, you know, any more, that doesn’t mean you and I can’t still be friends, does it?’

  ‘Of course not. We’ll always be friends.’ He gave a smile that, had he been Florence’s type, would have sent her weak at the knees. For the first time, she could see a resemblance between the two so very different brothers she lived next to. ‘I’ll see you soon.’

  ‘Take care,’ she said as he wandered back out of the kitchen door.

  As she settled back down to look at the clippings and photos, Aidan’s warning about making the most of each day kept flying around her head and her heart. The parallels between Elsie and Henry’s lost love, Aidan’s terrible war experience and her own uncertain relationship with Sam all seemed to be there for the making. But for the moment, thinking about them was all she was prepared to do.

  42

  With the nights still long and the daylight hours short, January drifted past for Florence in a cloud of schoolwork, redecorating and trying to get the odd book read for pleasure. She was surprised how time-consuming sorting out her aunt’s house actually was, but was especially pleased when she arrived home one day to see that a package had been left in the garden box by the front door. Ripping open the paper, she smiled as she saw the blown-up photograph, printed onto a rectangular A4 canvas. It was the shot of Elsie and Henry from the play, where they were in costume, looking into each other’s eyes.

  As she wandered through to the kitchen to get a better look in the sunlight that was streaming through the back window, she smiled. ‘I hope you don’t mind, Aunt Elsie,’ she said softly, ‘but I want to have something to remember both you and Henry by.’ She knew that no single picture would ever bring her closer to the truth of what had happened with her aunt and Henry, but she felt it was only right that they hung in pride of place in her newly redecorated living room; it seemed a small, but fitting tribute to their brief love affair.

  Florence placed the canvas carefully down on the kitchen table, and then, since it was a beautiful afternoon for early February, she made a cup of coffee and threw open the back door to let some fresh air into the house, as the doors and windows had been closed all day.

  Wandering out onto the raised patio area outside the back door, she cupped her coffee in her palms to keep them warm and breathed in the twin scents of wintry air and a good brew. Having lived in the north for a fair few winters, she wasn’t overly fazed by frost; in fact, she found it invigorating.

  After a busy day, she felt the cares of school begin to drift away on the light breeze that curled around her. It had been a hectic week, but at least she had a couple of days at home now.

  As she was about to finish her rapidly cooling mug of coffee, she heard Tom Sanderson’s strident tones from over the garden wall. Whatever his faults, she thought, as his perfect diction and excellent projection came over the air, his voice would be able to reach to the back of the London Palladium, if he ever got there. They could probably hear him from here. Tom, and Aidan again, had both popped over a couple of times over the past few weeks, trying to convince her to sort things out with Sam, but she’d resolutely ignored all of their well-meaning ‘advice’; she just wasn’t ready to be the one to break the wall of silence.

  ‘Are you sure he’s still hung up on her?’ Tom was saying, between rustles of the branches he was obviously chucking into the council-issued green recycling bin.

  ‘Oh Christ, absolutely!’ Aidan’s voice drifted back across the garden. ‘He can’t sleep, he can’t eat. He’s even talking about spending more nights at the air ambulance base because being on the o
ther side of the wall from her is making him mad with lust.’ Aidan gave a filthy laugh.

  Florence’s face flushed as she realised that they were, of course, discussing Sam. She knew full well, from the layout of the houses, that Sam’s bedroom was adjacent to hers. She’d had enough trouble sleeping herself lately; the thought of an aroused and lust-ridden Sam barely four feet away from her in bed at night was guaranteed to eradicate any last chances of rest. Holly’s tea had helped a little, but she was still waking up early and not able to get back to sleep.

  ‘Well, why doesn’t the stupid fucker get his act together, then?’

  ‘He feels as though he can’t,’ Aidan replied. ‘He’s too scared to make the first move after they had that stupid row. He’s worried about looking like a twat.’

  Florence felt conflicted at Aidan’s words; not because she was surprised by Sam’s apparent thoughts, but because she wondered if eavesdropping on this conversation wasn’t the most polite thing to do. However, since she’d seen very little of Sam over the past few weeks, apart from if they happened to be leaving their houses at the same time, she had an urge to know what he’d been up to, and how he’d been feeling. Guilty or not, she had to keep listening.

  ‘But that’s daft,’ Tom said. ‘Anyone with half a brain can see he’s still crazy about her. What’s he so afraid of?’

  ‘That she’ll rip out his heart and stamp all over it,’ Aidan said, and Florence was sure she heard him sigh. ‘He knows he dropped the ball big time by reacting so badly to her – he struggles to commit at the best of times, but he knows he just ran out on her without really listening to what she had to say and now he’s regretting it.’

  Florence swore under her breath as the coffee dregs in her mug spilled over her top, her hands were shaking so badly. In at least one conversation she’d had with Aidan, he’d basically called Sam a massive commitment-phobe! This felt like something else, though. Of course she’d made it clear how upset she was, but had she been crosser than she’d remembered during that last conversation with Sam?