by Erin Green
‘Yeah, because they’ll have the knowledge that it isn’t them causing your pain.’
‘But what if it is?’
‘What if it’s what?’ asks Benni, frowning.
‘If it is them causing your pain . . . shouldn’t they know?’
Benni pauses and sips her wine before continuing. I do likewise.
‘I met my dad today for the first time, and after hearing him talk, I’m fine with his actions. He had a valid reason.’
I splutter my wine across my lap in shock.
‘I thought your dad was dead!’
‘Mmm, so did I, but I’m OK that he’s not.’
Ruth
I can hear Emma frantically calling me from downstairs as I plump up the pillows on Jack’s bed. If she’s about to continue her lecture about my son, I’ll pretend I can’t hear and stay up here a little longer. I have no objection to sleeping on the sofa for a few nights; at six foot two, there’s no chance Jack will even fit.
‘Ruth!’ The bedroom door bursts open, revealing Emma, red-faced and panting for breath. ‘Seriously, woman, you need to answer when called. You’ve got to come downstairs. Benni has had one hell of a day, and boy, you’re never going to believe who she’s met.’
‘Excuse me, I’m busy,’ I huff, determined not to give in to the demands of a woman who less than an hour ago was making me feel embarrassed about my protective nature.
‘Don’t get all sulky. You and Jack can please yourselves. I put my two penn’orth in purely to make you realise how quickly you snap back into the mummy role. He’s an adult; old enough to make decisions and cope with the consequences.’
I shake my head. She has absolutely no understanding of motherhood or nurturing, and yet she stands there offering me a lesson on how best to support my son.
I straighten the duvet, purely to busy my hands.
‘OK. I’m sorry, Ruth,’ she says. ‘I’m sorry for commenting, sorry for interfering and sorry for making you feel self-conscious about your mothering instinct, but . . . but I have a valid reason for doing so.’ I watch as she leans against the door jamb and chuckles at her own speech.
How much has she had to drink?
‘Ruth, come downstairs and hear the whole story from Benni. Seriously, she’ll explain about her thought of the day based on her chance meeting with . . . a very important person.’
She peels herself from my doorway and returns downstairs. I can still hear her giggling out on the patio.
‘Hi, Benni, how are you?’ I ask when I eventually decide to join the pair sitting outside. There was no fear I’d rush; I’m my own person and I’ll decide for myself what I do and when. Boy, have I undergone a reflective week.
‘Good, thanks. I’ve had the most amazing day,’ explains Benni, her face a picture of joy. ‘You’ll never guess who I met while I was in Totnes!’
As I listen to Benni, I’m sure I hear Emma mutter, ‘Took your time.’
I ignore Emma and focus upon Benni. The young woman seems like a different person this evening. She’s wearing the same clothes, the same ponytail, the same soap-and-water face, and yet something about her has changed. She’s alive with energy.
I shrug, unable to name anyone famous who might be in Totnes.
‘My dad!’ she squeals, her hands lifting in excitement to flap about her face.
I glance at Emma and back to Benni.
‘I thought he was dead,’ I say carefully.
‘And me.’ Benni bursts out laughing. ‘It turns out he left my mum when my brother was little. First he lived in Torquay, then he ended up buying a place in Totnes.’ She spills forth information about his previous partner, his two teenage sons and his music shop. I stand and nod, overwhelmed by her enthusiasm and positive attitude.
‘Wow, catch your breath, love,’ says Emma, topping up Benni’s wine glass when she pauses. ‘Ruth, do you want to grab a glass?’
‘I will, but . . . I can’t believe what I’m hearing. You’re telling me that your mother has lied for all these years about your dad being dead and you’re OK with it?’
‘I’m upset with her for denying me access to him, for not even telling him that I exist, but – and this is where I had my epiphany moment – the moment Ben – he’s my dad – explained why he left, I stopped being angry with her for hiding the truth. She was embarrassed, and so she lied. If anything, I feel sorry for her carrying the burden of a lie for all these years. She might have been much happier if she’d been honest. Does she drink so heavily because of that pain, or was she always destined to be the drinker she is? And the strangest thing is, when my dad explained why it had happened, I got it. Instantly. I understood what he meant about new beginnings, how he needed to get away, erase the route life had taken him on and start again. That makes sense to me . . . it’s what I want too. Which is why we’ve arranged a dad and daughter date for next Wednesday. I’m finally going to get to know my father.’
Chapter Eight
Saturday 25 August
Benjamina
I pull the luminous yellow banding over my head and secure it around my middle. It’s tight, but I’m not going to complain. Maddie has a matching tunic, which is possibly a tad more flattering, but it wouldn’t fit me.
‘Are you happy to lead him, or do you want me to?’ she asks, holding Bruce’s long rein looped in one hand. Her free hand holds his head bridle.
I shrug. I have no idea what she’s planning to do, or why.
‘I don’t mind, what do you think?’
‘How about I lead to start with until we meet up with the others and then you can take over when you feel like it?’ she suggests. I agree. I’m happy to be invited to join their morning hack. There’s no chance I’ll be complaining about this chance to enjoy the fresh air and the company of the horses.
‘Are you ready, Maddie?’ calls a young woman, appearing at the open end of the stables, her chestnut horse clip-clopping behind her.
‘Yes, on our way, Summer,’ cries Maddie, passing me the coiled rein in order to secure her riding hat. I have no intention of riding, but she’s already fitted and secured my hat for me.
Maddie leads Bruce out into the yard, where we join three other riders, all on foot, leading their horses towards the far end of the yard.
‘The bay at the back is my sister Marla’s horse,’ says Maddie. ‘She’s at work, so Jenny’s exercising Wispy for her.’
‘Marla from the Queen’s Arms is your sister?’
Maddie gives a quick nod.
‘I’m staying over the road from the pub – Marla’s doing my friend a favour,’ I explain.
‘Yep, that’s my sister,’ says Maddie, following my gaze as I stare at the other three horses.
‘What’s a bay?’ I ask.
‘Sorry, I keep forgetting . . . a rich brown.’
‘Is everyone’s mobile charged?’ asks the lady at the front, her jodhpurs splattered with dried mud and her frizzy hair sprouting from beneath a riding hat. I know she isn’t asking me. My phone is safely at the cottage, supposedly being ignored, though I do check it each time I walk past, hoping for a missed call.
A chorus of ‘yes’ rings out above the clopping of hooves and the jingling of tack. It sounds like heaven.
How strange that a specific sound can speak to your soul. If only I were leading my own horse across the stable yard, I think wistfully.
My calves are throbbing, my heart is pounding and I fear I may have the biggest blister on my right heel, but it’s all irrelevant given that I’ve walked two miles in the company of four beautiful horses and their owners.
The sun is shining, the hills are lushly painted in every shade of green and the blue sky is near perfect, without a single cloud.
I’ve struggled – I won’t pretend I haven’t – but not in the way I imagined. My pace isn’t as quick as
theirs, and my stride is small, due to the bulk I need to move, and I’m sweating like I never have before, but it feels great. As we return to the stable, I don’t look it but I feel like a million dollars. Alive, and very grateful for the chance to spend time at the stables.
Ruth
‘Did Nan come with us?’ asks Jack, as we walk the length of the harbour wall arm in arm.
‘No, just me and you. It was a rare moment for us to spend some time alone.’
‘I bet she wasn’t happy about that arrangement.’
‘Mmm, I remember it well. Her attachment to you was so strong, Jack – I wonder if she felt a connection to my father through you.’
‘It’s possible, I suppose, given that I was the only male in the household.’
Jack’s right; maybe his presence helped her to cope with her grief at losing her husband. I suddenly feel sorry for my mother, struggling alone whilst responsible for others.
‘I’ll always be grateful for her help,’ I say, ‘but I had every right to make my own choices regarding my own son, Jack.’
‘Much like me now, hey?’
I stop walking, pulling my arm from his. He’s over six foot, a strapping man in jeans and a rugby shirt, but I can’t help but see him as the little lad who always ran to me to solve his problems, if his grandmother wasn’t around.
‘Oh Jack.’ Is that really how he feels? Where do I find the strength to put my opinions aside, enabling him to make his own decisions?
‘It’s simple. I’m not happy, Mum. This isn’t the outcome Megan and I planned for, but I have to do what’s right for me. I’m moving out.’
‘Jack—’
‘Mum, please.’
I want to say ‘Hear me out, then decide’ but I mustn’t do that. I know the pressure of hearing someone else’s views, solutions and desires for your life. But how do you reject their opinion and still stay true to your own? I’ve never found a way.
‘I know,’ I say. ‘You must do what you feel is right. It’s your life, Jack.’
‘Thank you. The last twenty-four hours has given me a fresh outlook. I’ll drive back tonight and stay at a friend’s house for a few nights.’
Deep inside, something shifts as my maternal fear dissolves. I did it. I managed to hold back, unlike my own mother. It’s what Jack needs from me, to provide the green light to live his life as he wishes.
‘In the meantime, be kind to her. Break-ups aren’t easy,’ I add, as if I have a wealth of experience.
His arm wraps around my shoulders and squeezes tight.
‘And you?’ he asks, looking down into my face.
‘Me? I think this holiday might be the making of me . . . in one way or another.’
Emma
I arrive back to find a full cottage, Ruth, Benni and Jack lounging around the garden enjoying a lunchtime tipple.
‘So, anyone ready for an al fresco lunch?’ I ask, trying to maintain a cool composure after a busy morning.
‘Have you been to the posh deli?’ asks Ruth, sipping a large glass of wine.
‘I have. I picked up a selection of cheeses and olives that were on promotion in the chiller, plus a huge quantity of goat’s cheese for a new ice cream.’
Benni pulls a face overflowing with disgust.
‘Goat’s cheese and beetroot will be a perfect addition to our menu.’ I let the words settle before hastily returning to the kitchen. Through the open window I watch as Ruth and Benni stare at each other; their confused expressions confirm that they heard my hint. I rapidly turn from the window as both of them leap up and dash inside, heading my way.
‘Emma, what have you done?’ asks Ruth, rushing into the galley kitchen.
‘Our menu?’ asks Benni impatiently, filling the doorway. I notice that Jack remains outside in the sunshine with his beer glass; that’s how grateful he is for us putting him up overnight.
I carry on unpacking my shopping bag. I’m not expecting them to approve. All morning I’ve known they’ll pass judgement on my decision.
The silence grows; the weight of expectation is uncomfortable.
‘Emma?’ mutters Benni, squeezing past Ruth’s slender frame. ‘What’s going on?’
I wish I could rewind the last three minutes. I want to ignore their presence and simply plate up a selection of cheese and olives as I’ve planned. I turn away and begin searching the drawers for a sharp knife.
They continue to stare and the atmosphere thickens.
I don’t have to share my personal business with Benni and Ruth; there’s no rule against retaining your independence whilst holidaying at Rose Cottage.
I slam the drawer shut and turn to confront my audience.
‘I’m now the proud investor in a local ice cream parlour; it’s all signed, sealed and delivered. So now I need to earn my corn by creating an exciting new menu.’
They glance at each other before either speaks.
‘Are you serious?’ asks Ruth, her eyebrows knitting together.
‘It’s a bit hasty, isn’t it?’ adds Benni.
‘Absolutely not. I have a talent with flavours, Martin has the business and the premises; what’s more logical than us combining our interests?’
‘How much of your interests?’ asks Benni.
‘Ten thousand,’ I mumble.
‘How much?’ shrieks Ruth, her hands flying to her mouth in shock.
‘Did you say ten thousand?’ asks Benni faintly.
‘Yep, a round ten thousand . . . it’s a fair price for a share of the business and a decent return on my money. I wouldn’t get nearly as much interest if it was sitting in a bank account, so I’ve put it to work.’
‘Have you spoken to your bank, sought legal advice from anyone?’ asks Benni, shaking her head.
‘I’ve done my homework, if that’s what you mean. I’m satisfied with the business accounts, the contracts and the scope of my involvement. I can do as much or as little as I please.’
‘It sounds too good to be true,’ says Ruth. ‘At the bank, we’d advise customers to seek independent advice, and suggest a cooling-off period too.’
‘I don’t need that. I’m seizing the day with both hands. And I’d appreciate it if the two of you would stop ruining my glorious moment by raining on my parade. We’ve spent all morning with a solicitor, so I’d like some down-time this afternoon.’
I resume my search for a knife and find a suitable one for slicing and begin arranging the cheese board.
‘Emma, if you’re happy then we’re happy, but please be careful. You’ve known this man for how long?’ says Ruth, her voice soft and low.
I start to unwrap blocks of cheese from the confines of greaseproof paper.
‘You might still be able to get legal advice if—’
I cut Benni short with a laugh.
‘How ridiculous are you two? If the boot were on the other foot, I’d be delighted for either of you, genuinely delighted. I’m proud of my decision. I should be singing it from the rooftops, in fact, not having to defend it.’
‘We’re not criticising you, Emma. We simply want what’s best for you, given the circumstances,’ says Benni, reaching forward to rub my forearm as if I need a sympathetic touch.
‘Well, don’t. Focus on yourselves, because from what I’ve been hearing over the last few days, neither one of you knows what you’re doing when this holiday finishes. Me, I’ve got myself a future, so I’ll be busy moving forward.’
Benni’s plump hand retracts as if burnt, and the two of them silently retreat to the patio. I stand stock still at the counter and peer through the window. Jack watches them quizzically as they seat themselves and receives a sharp look from Ruth warning him not to ask. Benni settles in her seat before picking up her wine glass and resuming her lunchtime drink.
It might sound harsh, but it’s tru
e: they both need to wake up and smell the bloody coffee before it’s too late. They’ll be on the train heading back to the Midlands in no time, and to what? A bank job and factory work.
Benjamina
‘If you’re not happy, then don’t go back.’ Ziggy’s eyebrows lift as I stare across the pub table. My hands absently play with the cardboard beer mat as I ponder Emma’s new venture. I’m cautious about her swift decision, but deep down I wish something similar would happen to me.
‘You make it sound so simple,’ I mumble.
‘It is. You don’t like the job and you’re not happy with the prospect of agency work. They can’t even promise a full week of shifts next week. It seems to me they’re using you to feather their own nest.’
The situation sounds much worse when Ziggy summarises it.
‘So what have you got to lose?’
‘Nothing,’ I say, grabbing my wine glass and sipping. We’ve spent the afternoon drinking and chatting at the window table of the Sprat and Mackerel, watching the world and his wife walk along the quayside enjoying the sunshine while we enjoy each other’s company.
‘What about my family?’
‘Surely your mum will help you out to start with, until you get on your feet down here?’
‘Phuh!’ I spit my mouthful of wine across the table, quickly wiping it up with a paper napkin from the table’s cutlery box. ‘You must be bloody joking. If it’s a choice between me and a bottle of vodka, believe me, there’s no decision to be made. I’d lose every time.’
‘Really?’
‘Really. She loves me, there’s no doubt about that, but she loves her drink just as much. As far as she’s concerned, I’m old enough to look after myself. I pay my keep each month, I do my routine jobs around the home and I never bring trouble to her door – I do all I can to please them both. But my mum’s long past the parenting stage.’
Ziggy takes a swig from his beer bottle. ‘Fair do. You can’t rely on her support then; what about your brother?’
‘Same attitude as my mum. Dan needs every penny for his own bad habits.’
‘Drink?’
‘Gambling.’
‘Horses?’