by Sarah Morgan
“You were so upset this morning at breakfast. You looked so alone.”
“So how come you saw that and my dad didn’t?”
“Well I have a lot of experience in feeling alone.” Flora rubbed her chest with her palm, trying to ease the burning. “And I can see why you might have thought your dad was being insensitive, but I think in his very clumsy way he was trying to show you how independent he is, and how he can manage. He feels guilty that he’s put too much pressure on you this year. Also, he was focusing on making a cheese sandwich and remembering to pack a drink and men aren’t always good multitaskers. Gross generalization, obviously. But I think he was so determined to get it right and not forget anything, he wasn’t paying attention.”
“But you were paying attention.” Izzy gave up squatting and sat. She stared at the water.
“I wanted to help, Izzy. That’s all.”
“Er—correct me if I’m wrong, but I think I was the one who helped you. Rescued you.”
Flora coughed again and nodded. “Turns out my rescuing skills aren’t up to much.”
“I was on the other side of the island, eating my picnic, and I heard you shriek.”
Flora didn’t know whether to be humiliated or relieved. “A wave hit me.”
“I couldn’t believe it when I saw you in a boat. I thought you were done with people-pleasing. Was this another attempt to make friends and impress me?”
The sun was out again but Flora couldn’t stop shivering. “If I wanted to impress someone, I’d bake them a cake or arrange a bunch of flowers. I wouldn’t do anything that involved water. And I hope we’re already friends, at least a little bit. But even if we weren’t, I’d still want to check you were okay. Feeling alone and isolated is terrifying—and yes I’m speaking from personal experience—so if I can help someone not feel that way then I will. And I know I’m probably the last person in the world you’d talk to, but if you do want to talk, then I’m here.”
“Did my dad not try to stop you coming? Especially as he didn’t even think anything was wrong.”
“He doesn’t know. He’d already left the house.”
“Aunt Clare?”
“She’s taken her mother to the hospital for stitches. Cut her finger chopping mushrooms,” she added, seeing Izzy’s face.
“Oh no! So no one knew you were doing this?” There was a tense silence. “Have you been in a boat or in the water since—you know?”
“No.” Flora wiped water from her face with the corner of the towel. “And I’ve never been in a kayak before.”
“That’s not a kayak, Flora. It’s a canoe.”
“Oh. Is there a difference?”
“Yeah.” Izzy squeezed water out of her hair. “Yeah, there is.”
“Well no wonder I didn’t know what to do with it. Are you going to kill me if I confess I dropped the paddle?” She saw that Izzy had a funny look on her face. “You are going to kill me. I’ll buy you a new one, I promise.”
“I don’t care about the stupid paddle.”
“What then?”
“You got in a boat and rowed yourself across here because you were worried about me?”
“Yes.”
“That’s it? No other reason. It wasn’t because you wanted to try out the water, or rowing or anything.”
“Nothing except extreme anxiety would have got me onto the water.”
“Extreme anxiety—for me?”
“Yes.”
Izzy jumped to her feet and exploded. “That is the most selfish thing I ever heard!” She jabbed her hands into her hair, paced a few steps and then paced back again while Flora sat frozen and confused.
“Selfish?” Stupid, maybe, but selfish? “Because I dropped your paddle?”
“No, because I’ve been trying to hate you, and you’ve made it so hard and now it’s impossible because how can I hate someone who is prepared to do the one thing that terrifies her because she is worried about me?”
Flora unraveled that speech piece by piece. “You—were trying to hate me?”
“Yes.” Izzy scowled. “But it turns out you’re impossible to hate!”
Flora wasn’t sure how she was supposed to respond. “Don’t let my boat rescue affect you. You’re still allowed to hate me.” She tried to keep it light. “The rescue didn’t come with any obligation.”
Izzy gave her a look. “What rescue? Flora, there was no rescue. If anything, I rescued you. I thought we agreed on that.”
“Exactly. So you definitely don’t have to feel guilty about hating me. Go for it.”
Izzy slumped down next to her. “I don’t hate you. Maybe I did, for a little while, although it was never really about you. My life is a mess, but none of it is your fault. At least, not much of it. I kind of wish Molly didn’t adore you so much. And that you weren’t so good with her, and with everything in the house. But the truth is I’m not needed anymore—” her voice broke “—and that’s not all your fault.”
“Not needed?” Flora was horrified. “What do you mean?”
“You said it yourself. My dad doesn’t need me anymore. For the first time ever he remembered to put cheese in Molly’s sandwiches and he even packed a drink. He never remembers a drink.” She rubbed her face with her fingers, leaving behind a muddy streak. “He’s always been pretty hopeless at the domestic stuff— I mean, he tries, but he’ll put laundry on and forget to put it in the dryer so it comes out smelling of wet dog, even though we don’t have a dog. He has no idea that Molly wets the bed still—” She flushed and glanced at Flora. “I promised her I wouldn’t tell anyone.”
“I won’t say anything, I promise.” But it broke her heart to think of it. “I used to wet the bed, too.”
“You did?”
“Yes. After my mom died. But I knew my aunt would be mad so I tried washing them myself. But that was a disaster, so for a few months I slept on the bathroom floor because it was easier to clean.”
“Seriously? That’s bad.”
“It wasn’t the best time, but you do what you have to do.”
“Yeah, you do.”
They sat close, shoulder to shoulder.
“I don’t blame my aunt. It was really tough on her having me. She was a single woman with a job she loved and she ended up with a child she never asked for.”
“But that wasn’t your fault. It’s not like you asked for it to happen.”
“No. Lots of the tough things that happen in life aren’t anyone’s fault. In the end you just have to handle it best you can. You know all about that. Molly’s lucky that she has you to change her sheets and hug her. She’s so happy and well-adjusted, and that’s down to you.”
“She yelled at me this morning.”
“And she has the confidence to yell because she knows how much you love her. The fact that you love her makes her feel secure. And it’s because she knows you love her that she is happy to be around me. If she didn’t feel secure, she’d be clinging to you.”
“Do you think so?”
“I know it.”
Izzy looped her arms round her legs. “Maybe. She clung at the beginning. I actually liked it. Is that pathetic?”
That honest admission brought an ache to Flora’s chest. “No. It’s human to want to be loved, but you are loved.”
Izzy scrambled to her feet and paced to the edge of the water.
Flora wondered if there was something else going on here.
“Izzy?”
Izzy rubbed her hands over her arms. “He’s pushing me to go to college. He wants me to leave.”
“Because he wants the best for you, and sees college as the best. He doesn’t want to hold you back. But I can see how the things he said could be misinterpreted.”
“Can you?” Izzy turned her head. “Really?”
“Yes.” If Jack had been there at that moment, Flora would have pushed him in the lake. “Believe it or not he is thinking of you. He is so aware of everything you’ve sacrificed this year to keep things going
at home. You hardly see your friends. You’ve cooked and cleaned and cared for your sister. He wants you to have a life of your own.”
“I just thought—” Izzy shifted her gaze back to the lake and stared into the distance “—that he’d had enough of me. He was basically saying that the family would manage just fine without me in it.”
Flora scrambled to her feet, too. “How can you think that, or say that? You’re his daughter. He loves you so much. Nothing that happens is ever going to change that.” She reached out but was shrugged away.
“Are you hungry? I’ve got food in my backpack. I’ll fetch it.”
She sprinted off so fast, Flora was left wondering if she’d said the wrong thing.
She seemed to constantly say the wrong thing. Family life should come with a manual, in the meantime she did what she could to figure it out.
Jack wasn’t that great at communicating with Izzy that was true, and he could definitely be accused of being clumsy, but she’d never seen anything that might lead Izzy to think he didn’t love her.
How had that thought formed in Izzy’s head? She was sure Jack didn’t have the first clue.
Izzy was back a moment later with a bulging backpack. “I raided Aunt Clare’s fridge at breakfast. I’ve got cheese. Bread. Tomatoes. Apples.”
Flora was so full of lake water she didn’t think there was room for food, but eating was a bonding experience so she was determined to force something down. “I thought you’d come here on impulse.”
“No. I came because I love it. It’s peaceful. But my dad, Aiden—they usually try to stop me coming because it can be rough when the weather turns.”
Flora had been trying not to look at the water. “I’d noticed.”
“When I’m here, I pretend this is my island. No one can land without my permission.”
“Except people who have no idea how to row a boat.”
“Technically you’re now shipwrecked.” Izzy spread the picnic out on her coat and Flora discovered that maybe she was hungry after all.
“I love picnics. There’s something about eating outdoors that makes the food taste better.”
“Yeah?” Izzy bit into a hunk of bread. “Mom hated picnics.”
“She did?” It was the first time Izzy had said anything about Becca that wasn’t effusive praise. It made the conversation more real somehow. “Which part did she hate most?”
“Wasps, flies, picnic food. You name it.” Izzy helped herself to cheese. “She preferred dining in smart restaurants. Champagne. Sparkling glass. Sorry. I know you don’t want to hear about my mom.”
“I don’t mind.”
“You’re doing it again.” Izzy scowled at her. “Doing stuff you don’t want to do just to please me.”
“Not true. I’ve given up trying to please you. But I do think you should talk about your mother whenever you want to.”
“Did you?”
Flora picked at her bread. “No, because it upset my aunt and I hated upsetting her. But I carried a photo and looked at it often. That helped.”
Izzy cut herself a slice of cheese. “I’m sorry I swore at you. And shoved you. I don’t normally—”
“It’s okay. I understand. You were upset. We all do and say things we don’t mean when we’re upset.”
Izzy glanced at her. “So do you have it with you?”
“What?”
“The photo. Do you have it?”
“I—yes. I always carry it.”
“Can I see it?” Izzy looked at Flora’s face and stopped chewing. “Forget it. You don’t have to show me if you don’t want to.”
“I do want to.” Flora grabbed her backpack and pulled out her coat. “I don’t normally show it to people, that’s all.”
“Why not?”
“Because then I end up having conversations I don’t want to have.”
“Makes sense. Sometimes people are so clumsy. My friends at home—” Izzy selected a tomato “—they drive me insane with their trivia.”
“Yes. When you’re hurting it seems unbelievable that the world is still going on without you. You feel like the whole thing should have stopped moving.” While they bonded over the tactlessness of people, Flora dug around until she found her purse and then the photograph of her mother. Looking at it always made her emotional. “This was taken a month before she died, in the flower shop where she worked and where I still work.”
Izzy took it and studied the picture. “She’s pretty. She has kind eyes. And you look just like her.”
“A lot of people who knew her say that.”
“Has my dad seen this?”
“Yes. But only recently. I don’t talk much about my mother.” Those memories were the most intimate thing she could share, and she held them close. But she’d shared them with Jack, and now she’d shared them with his daughter.
Izzy nodded. “If you ever want to, you can talk to me. I won’t ever repeat anything.”
It was more than progress. It felt like a lottery win and Flora felt the sudden rise of emotion.
“Thanks.” The words emerged thickened and unsteady. “Thanks, Izzy. And the same goes for you.”
“What about your dad?”
“He left us before I was born. Not big on responsibility. You’re lucky with your dad.”
Izzy handed the photo back. “Remembering is okay, but sometimes it hurts. Grief is so weird. No one tells you how weird. One minute you’re sobbing, then you feel kind of detached. And then there’s the guilt—horrible guilt. And the anger.”
Anger?
“Grief is like being strapped to a bad fairground ride you never paid to go on.” Flora kept her tone casual. “Do you feel angry a lot?”
Izzy helped herself to an apple. “Yeah.”
“Angry that she died?”
“That, and other stuff, too. Stuff she did. Sometimes I wish I could yell at her and shake her and ask her what the hell she thought she was doing. I mean she was my mom and I loved her but some of the things she did were real stupid, you know?”
Flora didn’t know, but she wished she did. It was hard to say the right thing when you didn’t know what the problem was. She was stumbling around in the dark. “Have you talked to your dad about it?”
“No.” Izzy took a bite of apple. “He’s the last person I could tell.”
“If there’s something upsetting you, I’m sure he’d want to know.”
“He wouldn’t want to know this.” Izzy chewed slowly. “Did you ever feel mad at your mom? Like really angry for some of the things she did?”
Flora didn’t want to lie. “I don’t remember feeling that way, but I was a lot younger than you. Do you feel mad?”
“Sometimes.”
“Is there something specific you’re mad about?” Something in the way Izzy was staring across the lake made her think there was definitely something specific, but Izzy shook her head.
“No. Forget it.”
“It’s good that you have memories of your mother. I don’t have that many, and the ones I have seem to have faded with time.” Flora helped herself to food. “You’ll have more memories than Molly. She’ll probably want you to share them when she’s older.”
Izzy finished the apple and tore off a chunk of bread. “You think so?”
“Yes. My aunt didn’t like to talk about my mother, but when she did it was like being given something precious. I used to rush to my room and scribble it all down, in case I forgot it.”
Izzy dug her hand into her bag and handed Flora a bottle of water. “I like writing. I write a lot. I have a blog. I mean, no one knows that. It’s kind of a secret.”
“Well it’s a secret that’s safe with me. I’m glad you’re writing. I bet you’re good at it.”
“I really do want to be a journalist, regardless of the whole college thing. Maybe I should write something down about Mom in case Molly wants to read it later.”
“I think that would be great. If it didn’t upset you. Not just your mom’s
achievements, like running a company or a marathon, but stories that say something about who she was. How she hated picnics because of the wasps. That’s a good one.”
Izzy twisted the cap off the bottle and drank. “She once wore a long dress to a school picnic. That was embarrassing. Everyone else’s mother was in jeans, and mine shows up like she’s going to the opera. I wanted to hide.”
“She sounds incredibly glamorous.” Flora waited to feel insecure or envious, but nothing happened. At some point Becca had stopped being this mythical, impossibly perfect creature and turned into a real person with flaws.
“She was glamorous. I think she felt she had to be. That she had this image to keep up. She wanted to stand out. Be the best.”
Insecurity, Flora thought. It fitted with some of the things Clare had said when they’d been gardening together. “See that’s why you’ll be a good journalist.” She slotted a slice of cheese into her bread. “You’re finding the story beneath the facts. You’re asking the question why. Why did your mother feel she had to wear a long dress to a picnic? Do you have pictures? You could write it up and add pictures. Then if Molly wants to see it when she’s older, she can.”
Izzy wiped her fingers on her shorts. “Tell me a story about your mom. Not a what story, but a why story.”
Flora thought about it. “One day when I came home from school she blindfolded me and made me identify flowers just by the scent.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I’m not kidding. I smelled what felt like a hundred flowers.”
Izzy grinned. “You sneezed and ended up in the emergency department?”
“Almost. And she was so creative. She decorated our apartment with things she found lying around on the beach. Shells. Pieces of driftwood. Our table was made from crates, but she sanded them and painted them and it looked like a work of art.” Flora finished her food and licked her fingers. “That was delicious.”
“Yeah, it was. I wish I’d stolen some cake.”
“I can help with that.” Flora reached into her backpack again and Izzy stared at her.
“You brought cake?”
“You probably don’t want it, because bringing you my lemon cupcakes definitely falls under the heading of people-pleasing.”
“If you’ve brought cake, I’ll forgive you.” Izzy almost drooled as Flora pulled the packet out of her drenched backpack.