by Fanny Blake
‘Why don’t you leave it until you’re older?’ Oh God! Was that the wrong thing to say? ‘When your exams are over. When you’ve left home.’ No, she was encouraging her not putting her off.
Charlie picked up her cards. ‘Whatever. But you mustn’t tell Mum.’
‘Charlie, how can I not say something? Unless you tell her.’
She looked horrified. ‘I couldn’t. She’d go mental. I shouldn’t have told you.’ She threw her cards across the room.
Isla stood up. ‘She’ll go mental if she finds out you told me and I kept it to myself.’ Or perhaps she would be glad if Isla tried to help Charlie. After all, their relationship would continue beyond these couple of weeks and perhaps she could be more constructive when they got home. This was a result they hadn’t foreseen. ‘Telling the truth can be a good thing.’
‘Not this time.’ Charlie went outside.
Isla followed her. ‘We’ll work this out. I promise. You want me to trust you. Well, that cuts both ways, and I promise I won’t do anything without telling you first.’
Charlie turned to face her. ‘Promise?’
‘I promise.’ Exactly how easy was that promise going to be to keep? Why could children make one’s life so bloody difficult?
30
Paris, 1955
‘Are you serious?’ Wendy’s eyes were wide with disbelief. ‘A baby. A father who’s been abandoned. You’ll be working all hours. We’ll never see you.’ She twirled in front of the shop mirror, considering the spotted blue jacket she was thinking about buying. ‘Do you really think this suits me?’
‘Yes, it does.’ May wondered whether Wendy ever thought about anything deeply. ‘I’m just going to help him out until he decides what to do. And you will see me. I’m only going to be there while Emile’s at school.’
‘But you’ll be exhausted.’ She put her hand on her hip and pouted towards the mirror. Sometimes the way she skittered over the surface of important things could be quite irritating. ‘I’m not sure about the colour. I think I’ll leave it.’
However, Wendy’s prediction was spot on. Within a week of beginning work with David, May had found out just how demanding a baby could be and she was on her knees. Where David lived was very different from the Dubois’ apartment. Instead of the faded but elegant grandeur where neatness was paramount and nothing was out of place, his was a cosy bohemian flat in a tall, dilapidated building in a little cobbled side street just off Saint Germain. On the ground floor was a pâtisserie that sent the smell of baking up into the apartment at all hours, driving May to distraction. The apartment itself was chaotic. Chairs were covered with baby clothes, books lay everywhere, the washing up was barely done. Céleste’s clothes trailed out of the wardrobe, and May found bits and pieces of her make-up left in the bathroom cupboard. There was one painting of three angels that hung at the end of the bed, draped with David’s ties and a scarf that must be Céleste’s. Sometimes she sat on the bed staring at it, lost in appreciation of the limited palette of blues and greys, wondering how they owned such a beautiful thing.
She did her best to organise things so David could run his life more smoothly, sorting out Eloise’s room so everything was in its place, finding a laundry where things could be washed on a regular basis. Looking after Eloise meant that she barely had time to sit down, never mind eat. If she wasn’t attending to her immediate needs, she was washing baby clothes and nappies, ironing, sterilising bottles and making up feeds. It was non-stop.
But it was worth it. Every gummy smile had her beaming back at Eloise. Holding her, rocking her, soothing her, feeding her gave her greater fulfilment than she would have ever imagined possible. But Eloise was also a constant reminder of what she had lost, often making her wonder whether Max was making plans for his own family with June. As far as May was concerned, however much she might yearn for it, that side of her life was over. Connecting with someone else in the same way she had with Max seemed unimaginable. Instead she would make the most of what she had and, at the moment, that was this adorable baby.
Sometimes, just before she left to collect Emile, she would stay to have a baguette and cheese for late lunch with David. They would swap Eloise between them, taking it in turns to hold her as she screwed up her face and wailed inconsolably or charmed them with her gurgles and smiles.
As Christmas overtook the city, she found herself looking for little gifts for Eloise, certain the child’s mother wouldn’t. They hadn’t heard from her once. A little pair of bootees. A rattle. A tiny knitted hat. She even bought David a pair of gloves. Was that too presumptuous? No, he would think it entertaining.
May found herself enjoying being with David more and more. What had started as a working relationship and friendship became something much more precious as they began to confide in each other. He was the first person she had met in some time whom she felt she could trust. They had so much in common. They were Scottish, they had both fallen in love with the wrong person; they had both been badly hurt; they loved French food; they admired the Impressionists and loved wandering the streets of Paris. And of course they both adored Eloise. But there were differences too. David thought the Eiffel Tower was a monstrosity. She liked washing in hot water.
One day, David was describing how much Céleste hated being pregnant and how sad that had made him. ‘All I wanted was for us to be a family. Her, me and the baby. I would have done anything to make her happy. But I couldn’t change her mind.’
‘But having an abortion might not have made her happy either. I should know.’ And suddenly she found herself telling him why.
David didn’t bat an eyelid but listened, intent on her story, reaching out to put his hand on hers. The first time he had touched her.
‘I’m so sorry.’
Leaving her hand in his, she felt tears on her cheeks. ‘Thank you.’ He didn’t think the worst of her.
While she had gone through her ordeal, she had never dreamed of talking to anyone about it. It was a matter of shame, sadness and regret that she didn’t want to share. All three emotions had stayed with her, digging in their claws. Madame had helped with her recovery but they never spoke about Max again or what the loss of the baby really meant to her. Madame offered practical help and a respect for her privacy: no more. After all they were employer and employee, not dear friends. Wendy, her closest friend, had expected her to bounce back from the abortion as if nothing had happened. That’s what she would do. She wouldn’t allow anything to spoil her time in the city.
May tried to explain to her. ‘But I feel so confused. Although I couldn’t have done anything else, I can’t stop myself feeling sad.’
‘Really? Still?’ Wendy didn’t understand. ‘But you’ll get over that. You must come to the little club that Sam and I found round the back of the Sorbonne. The drinks are deliciously cheap. He says…’ And she’d be off, prattling about Sam, with zero interest in how May’s body was full of yearning for something lost. Or she would gossip about what the other girls were up to or what they might do themselves. For her, life had to be one long round of uninterrupted enjoyment.
Which was why May was hardly surprised when Wendy broke the news that she was going back to America with Sam. ‘There’s nothing for me back home in England but Boston, Massachusetts… that’s different. It’s a land of opportunity. That’s what they say.’ Her eyes shone, her curls bounced. ‘Just imagine, our children will have American accents!’
‘But it’s so far away,’ was May’s feeble objection.
‘Exactly. But it’s new and exciting and Sam’s family are longing to meet me.’ She held out her left hand so May could see the amethyst solitaire that sparkled on her finger.
May grabbed it. ‘You’re engaged! This is gorgeous.’
‘Sam chose it himself. He said the colour went with my eyes! We’ll be married in Massachusetts.’ She looked wistful. ‘How I wish you could be there. You could help me with my dress and be my matron of honour.’
Neither of
them spoke as they thought of what might have been.
Then Wendy brightened. ‘But I’ll send you photos.’
Her excitement was infectious, and May suppressed her thoughts of how life could have been for her and Max, if only they had both been braver. But she couldn’t help envying Wendy’s situation. Marriage seemed such a secure and enviable alternative to facing the world alone.
In David, May had found a soulmate, someone with whom she could share anything that was on her mind. He was a wonderful listener, kind and considerate, and, in return, she listened to him. She was intrigued by the sound of his family. There was just him and his brother Donald. She knew their department store. She remembered as a child being mesmerised by how money was sent shooting round the store in tubes suspended between counter and cashier. Favourite was the haberdashery counter where she had bought ribbons and buttons. Their shared background helped them understand each other so well. And of course they had Eloise in common now. Despite her frustrations in trying to get the angry little bundle to sleep or to stop crying, May felt she had been given a purpose at last. Just when she was on the point of giving everything up and going home, she had been given a second chance.
Céleste had abandoned her little family completely. David hadn’t heard from her for weeks. At least May could give Eloise some love that, if not motherly, was the next best thing. Poor little scrap.
Constantly rocking her in her arms, burping her on her shoulder, changing her nappies were chores made bearable by those blue eyes that gazed up at her, trusting, reliant. May’s ambitions to go to London and find herself work as a translator faded away altogether as she devoted herself to the welfare of two beings who needed her most.
31
Edinburgh, 2019
Lorna had lost weight since they were last together. She looked anxious, brittle, her smile barely reaching her eyes as Isla hugged her, shocked to finding herself embracing a bag of bones. Lorna’s resistance was barbed with tension.
‘Oh Jock! I forgot he was coming too.’ Lorna pulled away as he came up, tail wagging, to say hello. He looked up, expectant, but she ignored him.
‘He comes almost everywhere with me. You know that.’ Isla tickled his grizzled muzzle.
‘I’d forgotten. Could he sleep in the garage?’
‘Of course not. When I’m away, he sleeps where I sleep, or where Charlie does.’
‘I don’t like animals in the house, but if he must.’ Lorna looked as though she was waiting for Isla to back down.
However, she didn’t. Some things were sacrosanct.
As they followed her into the house, Andrew emerged from the living room to meet them in the hall. His welcome was warmer than his wife’s, although Isla suspected that might be down to the amount of alcohol he had clearly taken on board at lunchtime, judging by the smell of it on his breath. His complexion was redder than ever, his nose more swollen, his eyes sunk into the flesh of his face. His belly prevented them getting close enough to kiss hello.
‘Isla! Too long! And you must be Charlie. Last saw you when you were yay high.’ As he put a hand out to show her, he staggered forward a couple of steps.
Lorna reached out to steady him. ‘Why don’t you have a nap this afternoon?’ she suggested through teeth so gritted, Isla could almost hear them grinding together.
‘A nap?’ he roared. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, woman. I’m just doing up my flies ready for tomorrow.’ He looked around at them through glassy eyes, a smile hovering on his lips. ‘Fishing competition,’ he explained to Isla, then started laughing.
Lorna’s eyes were closed as if she’d heard the joke a thousand times. Charlie’s were wide open with astonishment as Andrew grasped the end of the banisters for support before tucking in his paisley cravat with his free hand. Some of his lunch had stained the front of his shirt. He picked at it ineffectually then lurched back through the door he had entered from, leaving the three women speechless.
‘See what I have to put up with?’ said Lorna sharply, but Isla didn’t miss the sadness there too. The grandfather clock in the corner whirred before striking three. ‘Tea, I think. Let’s go in the kitchen.’
The kitchen, like the rest of the house was a testament to organisation and control. Everything was in its place. Not an overlooked crumb, not a stray wooden spoon, piece of cutlery, open tin or even the day’s post messed up the pristine quartz surfaces, so clean a surgeon could operate on them without qualm. On the walls, painted a soft relaxing green, open shelves held ordered piles of white plates of different shapes and sizes, jars arranged in order of ascending height, and a bookshelf laden with the latest cookery books arranged by colour. Charlie and Isla perched on the bar stools tucked into the central island while Lorna started filling the kettle and getting what she needed from the shelves. Every move she made showed Isla how tense and unhappy she was.
What had happened to her? As the baby of the family, she had been more sunny than difficult, more loved than not. Now, she seemed like the loneliest of souls rattling around this house having lost Andrew to the bottle and her children to their own lives. ‘Are you okay?’
She spun round from the kettle. ‘What do you mean? Of course.’ She tucked her pink T-shirt into the waistband of her jeans.
‘You seem a bit jumpy.’
‘I just get scratchy when he drinks too much in the day.’
Of course. Appearances mattered, and nothing would prompt an admission that things were anything other than they should be. But Isla could tell there was something else her sister wasn’t saying. She tried another tack. ‘How are the kids?’
‘They’re good. At least as far as I can tell on WhatsApp. I didn’t think Canada would suit Jamie but that logging company’s just promoted him, and Lesley and the kids seem to be enjoying themselves there.’ Her eyes had lit up at mention of her family. ‘And Beth’s got her hands full with the business but it’s doing so well. Who knew that making bespoke pyjamas would become such a thing? Tea, Charlie?’ She seemed to deflate in front of Isla’s eyes.
‘Yes, please.’
‘Shall we go into town afterwards?’ Isla suggested. ‘I thought we could get our nails done. For Aggie’s party.’ Doing something together might cheer up Lorna.
Charlie turned her palms upwards, bending her fingers to examine her nails. ‘Really?’ This was the first time she had sounded positive about anything Isla had said since the previous day. An uneasy truce had existed between them as Isla digested Charlie’s confession and Charlie regretted making it.
‘Yep. Do you want to come, Lorna? It’d be fun.’ She deliberately repeated Lorna’s word from their last conversation. She was also aware of wanting to butter up her sister so they could talk openly.
‘I had mine done just the other day. I’ll tell you where to go, though.’ She drummed her perfect peachy nails on the counter. ‘And I’ve supper to get ready. Ian should be here soon.’
All the more reason for them to get out of the house. And while they were out, Isla would think of the right way to approach Lorna about what lay behind her desperation to sell the paddocks.
By the time they got to the nail bar in Morningside, it was five o’clock. As soon as they got in there, Charlie’s phone was put on charge, her face relaxed and she was busy catching up with whatever she had missed. Not that it seemed to improve her general mood much.
‘So, what colour?’ Isla passed her a swatch of coloured nails.
Charlie brightened as she flicked through them, stopping at an edgy deep green. ‘This one, Things I’ve Seen in Abergreen. You should try this one. Purple with a Purpose. It’d go with your skirt. Or Do You Have This Colour in Stockholm?’ She pointed out an icy blue-violet.
‘Who thinks up these names? I love them but the colours are a bit much for me.’ Isla flicked back towards the safety of neutrals.
‘Noo! They’d look great on you. Those are sooo boring.’ Charlie took the swatches back again.
She was right. They were.
&nb
sp; ‘Look, what about this. Significant Other Colour.’ She picked a shimmery pink lilac. ‘Different but a kind of a statement. Go on. Dare to be different.’
Isla balanced the nail shape on hers, turning her hand this way and that. What the hell? ‘Okay. I’ll go with this.’ The colour was nothing like any she had worn before and didn’t go with her red shirt but Charlie’s triumphant smile made that worthwhile.
As the nail technicians got to work, Charlie had to put down her phone. ‘I’ve had a message from Alice.’ She sounded pleased.
‘Good.’ Isla kept her eyes closed. ‘All good?’
‘Her mother confiscated her phone for two days because… Imagine.’ She was outraged, but Isla could imagine only too well. And sympathised.
‘So you weren’t ghosted at all?’ And apparently not bullied either.
‘No. Shame about the streaks though. We’ll just have to start again. Look.’
Isla opened her eyes to see Charlie taking a photo of her nails. ‘Before and after,’ she said with a grin. Isla smiled back. She was resigned to her granddaughter’s changeable moods. She was even beginning to rather like them.
The outing was a success. Isla was pleased with her nails, despite noticing Lorna’s raised eyebrow when she saw the colour. She just had time to take Jock into the wooded public park not far from the house. Charlie came too. They walked through the woods by the Braid Burn, sun filtering through the trees and across the path, until they reached the gothic eighteenth-century house at its heart before turning back. Now the heat of the day was waning, runners were out, other dog walkers too. Jock trotted along, sniffing and wagging, happy to be out and about. Isla began to look forward to the gin and tonic Andrew would make as soon as they got back.
‘So! The wanderers return.’ Ian’s voice was the first thing to greet them as they walked through the door. ‘Hello, my darlings.’ He came into the hall with Lorna at his heel, looking more cheerful than she had done since they arrived. ‘Come here, my favourite granddaughter.’ He swept Charlie into a bear hug.