by Katie Ginger
‘Hmm?’ Her mum seemed far away and not quite with it which was worrying. She was normally happy to see her and chatty. And considering she’d invited Hetty for dinner it was odd that she wasn’t more interested in their conversation. Hetty repeated the question. ‘Oh, I’m fine, darling. Just busy with dinner.’
‘Can I help?’
‘No, it’s all under control.’ Her mum began attacking a head of broccoli with such force Hetty stepped backwards.
‘Can I take some leftovers for Stanley?’
Her mum paused her chopping. ‘You’re not still feeding that awful seagull, are you? You shouldn’t encourage them. They’re just pests.’
‘Stanley’s not a pest. He’s a good boy.’ Daisy looked down her nose at Hetty. ‘What?’
‘Are you sure he even is a boy?’
‘Well, no.’ How did you tell if a seagull was a boy or a girl? She’d Google it later. ‘He loves your Yorkshire puddings almost as much as I do.’ Hetty looked up to see her dad was now on his back looking under the bush he’d been wrestling with moments before like a mechanic looking under a car. ‘What’s Dad up to?’
‘Gardening.’ Her mum’s voice was cross, which didn’t bode well for dinner.
‘Well, I can see that, but is he doing anything in particular? I thought there were special gardening terms for things.’ She popped another piece of carrot in her mouth and her mum narrowed her eyes again. ‘You know pruning, composting … shearing.’
‘That’s for sheep.’
‘Oh.’ Hetty smiled, but Daisy didn’t join her. ‘You know what I mean.’
Her mum gave a great sigh and, picking up the chopping board, slid the knife down it to push the chopped carrots into a saucepan of water and the florets of broccoli into a steamer. ‘If there is a term, I don’t know it.’
Hetty eyed her mum suspiciously. This was all very unusual behaviour. First of all, she hadn’t put the kettle on yet, which was always the first thing she did when a visitor stopped by. And then, Daisy was a sharer. Even when she was annoyed about something, she was more than happy to tell her daughter all about it. They had what Hetty considered to be a fantastic relationship, discussing everything from serious health worries and cancer scares to everyday chit-chat and town gossip. She wasn’t normally this closed off, especially with Hetty. Taking the lead and filling the kettle for a cup of tea, Hetty asked, ‘What’s wrong, Mum?’
‘It doesn’t matter, sweetheart. Now come here.’ She turned and gave her daughter a proper hug. When she spoke next, her voice was at its normal cheery level, but there was a tense undertone and her smile didn’t reach her eyes. ‘How are you really? How’s Macie?’
‘We’re good thanks, Mum. I’ve got some news to tell you later, but I want to tell you both together.’
‘Okay,’ Daisy replied nervously, gathering cups and plopping teabags into the pot.
‘Don’t worry, it’s good news.’ At least she thought it was good news. Now she was getting into the nitty-gritty of the festival and shelling out her own money, she was beginning to wonder if she’d bitten off more than she could chew.
‘And how’s life without Ben?’
Hetty hesitated. This had been a standard question over the last six months and one she was usually happy to answer but since she’d seen him on Tuesday, old feelings had been creeping back into her heart and soul. Deciding she wasn’t ready to talk about what seeing him had done to her, she settled on, ‘Oh, it’s fine. I’m moving on.’
The kettle boiled and Daisy began to talk about normal day-to-day things. After sharing a cup of tea, her dad having forgotten to come and get his, Hetty helped with the last-minute preparations for dinner and laid the table.
On her mum’s command, Hetty went to the back door. ‘Dad, dinner’s ready.’
Jeff wandered in with an affectionate, ‘Hello, darling. I didn’t see you’d arrived. I’d have come in sooner.’
‘That’s okay, I could see you were busy. What were you doing?’
‘Oh, just fiddling with my dahlias.’
‘Fiddling? Is that a technical term?’
‘It is,’ he replied cheerfully. ‘So, how’s tricks?’
‘Good thanks. I’ve got some good news to tell you over dinner.’
‘Oh, good. I’ll look forward to that.’
While her mum was petite, Hetty had inherited her dad’s figure. He was tall and a bit softer around the middle. Not exactly overweight, but despite all the golf and gardening his tummy had grown a little rounder. With a smile at Hetty, he approached the sink where Daisy stood, gazing out of the window lost in her own world. She expected him to give her mum a kiss on the cheek and playfully shove her over – something she’d seen a million times before – but instead, in a very formal voice he said, ‘Excuse me, please.’ Begrudgingly, her mum moved aside, and he washed his hands before heading to the dining room and taking his place at the table.
Hetty felt like she’d entered an alternate reality. This wasn’t the happy house she was used to. Even as things had become strained over the last few months, they’d never treated each other like this. How had she not seen things had reached this level of unhappiness? They’d always been so connected, so together. And in a way, she’d thought their recent arguments were just part of the post-retirement adjustment. After working full-time for so long, it was inevitable that suddenly being together 24/7 would cause some friction. She was sure that was why Dad had become a little golf-obsessed. But Hetty had been so sure the obsession would pass and they’d find a balance of being together and having their own hobbies.
Hetty had friends who had gone on maternity leave and they’d often talked about a loss of identity with not working. Perhaps her mum and dad were undergoing something similar and they needed time to find themselves again? The worrying thing was it had been a year now, and rather than being happy that the slog of work was over, they were unhappier than ever. Could it be money worries? She didn’t think so. Her parents were comfortably off and had decent pensions; they’d also been keen savers and had imparted that lesson to Hetty. Hetty chewed the inside of her cheek. There must be something she could do. She’d have to think about it later. Maybe she could take her mum out for the day to cheer her up. Yes, she’d make the suggestion at dinner.
Daisy carried her and Jeff’s plates through to the dining room and Hetty followed, carrying her plate and the gravy boat. Her stomach gave a loud gurgle and she realised how hungry she was, and there was her mum’s amazing trifle to look forward to.
Unfortunately, dinner was a horrid, tortuous affair. Both her parents spoke to her but whenever they did and said something the other didn’t like, there’d be sneers and huffs and dismissive sideways glances. Hetty felt more like she was running a nursery than having dinner with her mum and dad. Deciding the situation wasn’t going to get any better and knowing just how to steer it to calmer waters, Hetty said, ‘So, my good news is that I’m turning the old strawberry festival into a huge food festival.’
Jeff smiled at his daughter. ‘Well done, you. What a great idea.’
Hetty grinned back and turned to her mum. ‘What do you think, Mum?’
‘It’s a very good idea,’ she agreed. Hallelujah! They’d agreed on something at last. ‘What made you think of it?’
Hetty told them about the business forum and all the work she’d done so far in convincing John to let them use some land. She’d glossed over his contribution to the committee meeting, not quite sure what to make of it herself. ‘Sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, but I’ve been manic trying to get things organised. By the time I’ve sat down in the evenings I’ve been so wiped out I fall asleep. Yesterday I dozed off in front of Casualty.’
‘You must look after yourself,’ her mum chided.
‘I know,’ Hetty replied. ‘I’ve had a great response but there’s still so much to sort out. I need to organise volunteer stewards, the St John’s Ambulance – all that stuff.’ She loaded her fork with beef smothered in grav
y and a large piece of Yorkshire pudding. ‘John Thornhill’s been surprisingly helpful now he’s got on board with the idea.’ She placed the food in her mouth and savoured the taste. Her mum made the best roast dinners.
‘I always loved the strawberry festival when you were little,’ Daisy said sounding wistful. ‘The whole town came out for it and there were red banners everywhere, criss-crossing the high street—’
‘And stalls,’ her dad added.
A flicker of reminiscence passed over her parents’ faces and they gazed at each other in a moment of fondness. Eager to keep the cessation of hostilities, Hetty said, ‘Thornhill Hall’s something special, isn’t it? Have you guys ever been up to the house?’
Daisy sipped her water. ‘I think we went once a few years ago, before Rupert Thornhill lost his marbles, poor thing. They had some sort of open day because they were showing off the produce from their vineyard.’
‘Poor man,’ offered her dad, pushing a piece of Yorkshire pudding around his plate so it soaked up all the gravy. ‘He should have hired a financial adviser or something before agreeing to anything.’
Dribs and drabs of town gossip had come Hetty’s way over the years, but the talk was unfailingly unsympathetic. Thinking of John’s comment that despite what the town thought, they knew what was being said about them, Hetty suddenly felt a lot more kindly about the family. From his defensive tone, John clearly felt the barbs and digs. No wonder they kept themselves to themselves. ‘Do you know what happened?’
‘All I know,’ her dad began, ‘is that Rupert was a bit of a wine snob and sunk the whole of the family’s money into a French vineyard. There was some sort of fire that ruined pretty much everything, and he lost the lot.’
‘But why?’ Hetty asked, sitting forwards. ‘Surely they had insurance or something?’
Her dad shrugged. ‘There must have been a reason they didn’t pay out. But I don’t know about that.’
‘I don’t think he could cope with the guilt,’ added Daisy. ‘He used to come into town and be all la-di-da but after that he apparently shut himself away and now barely speaks to anyone. Since then the family have been scratching around trying to make ends meet.’
Jeff nodded, placing his knife and fork down on his empty plate. ‘They sold off a lot of land—’
‘But the place is huge. How much bigger was it originally?’
He shrugged. ‘I’m not sure exactly. But that money must be running out by now.’
Daisy began to clear the table. ‘After that, according to Mrs Porter who used to clean for them, Rupert Thornhill went a bit ga-ga and has even stopped talking to his own family.’
‘How awful,’ said Hetty. So John had been left to try and rectify his father’s mistake. If Rupert had sunk the family’s fortune then selling off land would help, but with a place like that having such high running costs it must be a constant battle to stay afloat. She could only imagine how much the heating bill was for somewhere so big. Hetty watched as her mum brought in the trifle she’d made for pudding and as she eyed the layers of custard, sponge, jelly and cream, she saw her dad’s eyes light up. How would she feel if her dad suddenly shut down and stopped talking to them? A shudder shot down her spine. It would be awful. Almost like losing someone.
During pudding, which was as delicious as Hetty knew it would be, her dad started talking about golf and gardening and the sombre mood that Hetty had encountered when she first walked in fell on the house again. Afterwards, her dad disappeared back into the garden as her mum washed the plates and she dried them.
‘Hetty,’ her mum began cautiously, and Hetty hoped she’d finally find out what had been bothering her so much.
‘Yes?’ she answered, stacking the flower-patterned plates on the side.
‘I want you to know something.’
‘Oh yes?’ She mentally crossed her fingers that there was nothing physically wrong with either of her parents.
‘I’m going to see a solicitor tomorrow to ask how I get a divorce. And I’ve decided to move out.’
Hetty almost dropped the wet plate and caught it in the tips of her fingers. She leaned back against the counter as her heart squeezed. ‘What? Why? Surely things aren’t that bad, Mum?’
‘I’m afraid they are, darling,’ her mum said calmly, still washing plates as if they were talking about the weather. ‘I’m afraid I’ve become very unhappy.’
‘But why? What about Dad? Don’t you love him anymore?’ Hetty’s voice was pleading and while she didn’t want to guilt-trip her mum, she couldn’t help but wish this conversation wasn’t happening. The idea that her mum and dad might divorce was crazier than her organising a giant food festival, and she knew how bonkers everyone thought that one was. Hetty tried to control the faint trembling in her legs.
Her mum rested her rubber-gloved hands on the edge of the stainless-steel sink and watched Jeff through the window. He was struggling with a rose bush and from the way he was flapping his arms around and giving it angry looks, he was losing. Bubbles slid slowly down the cheerful yellow rubber of her gloves and into the water. ‘I haven’t been happy for months now.’ She hadn’t said whether she still loved him though and Hetty needed to know. Her dad would be devastated and the thought of it all broke her heart.
‘But you do still love Dad, don’t you? And I know it must be weird being retired, and I know he can be annoying but—’
The sigh that escaped her mum’s mouth seemed to deflate her whole body. ‘I think your dad’s having an affair.’ Tears misted Hetty’s vision and her mum’s.
‘Mum, that’s crazy. Why on earth would you think that?’
Daisy answered without looking at her as she picked up a dish and began scrubbing it clean. ‘I have my reasons.’
‘Mum, you can’t not tell me.’ Dropping a bomb like that and then refusing to give details was not on as far as Hetty was concerned.
‘I’d prefer not to. You’re just going to have to believe me.’
It suddenly occurred to Hetty that it might be to do with bedroom antics and chose not to press. She’d always trusted her mum and their honest relationship, and from Daisy’s expression, now wasn’t the time to press too hard for information. ‘Anyway, I just wanted you to know. I’ll let you know how I get on at the solicitor’s.’
‘So you haven’t told Dad yet?’ Hetty’s voice was almost wild with shock. Daisy handed Hetty a clean dish and on autopilot she dried it.
‘No, not yet.’
It was the faintest glimmer of hope but Hetty dug her fingernails in so it wouldn’t slip away.
‘But I will. Tonight. When I leave.’ In an instant her hope was extinguished.
Hetty looked again at her completely oblivious dad. An image of him sat alone in the house this evening filled her mind and made her want to howl. ‘Where are you going to stay? I mean, of course you can stay with me, but—’
‘I’m going to stay at Aunt Anne’s.’
At least that meant she’d still be in the bay. Hetty felt like her heart had been torn out of her chest. Her parents were going to be separated. They were having a trial separation – on the verge of divorce. How had this happened? She didn’t believe for one minute her dad had been having an affair. They’d always been so devoted to one another, she was positive neither of them would have strayed. Whatever her mum’s reasons were, Hetty was sure there’d been a misunderstanding. She watched her mum staring out at her dad battling away in the garden. If Hetty could find out more, she could show her what a mistake this all was. From her mum’s forlorn expression there was still love in her heart somewhere, Hetty was sure of it. But now she had to handle this on top of organising the biggest event Swallowtail Bay had ever seen, and she wasn’t one hundred per cent sure she could.
Chapter 9
John had a feeling that however Monday mornings should be spent, it wasn’t like this. He gingerly placed his foot on the attic beam, hoping it would take his weight, and waved the torch around. Dipping his head to avoi
d a joist that was threatening to knock him over if he didn’t pay attention, he cursed under his breath. He hadn’t even had a coffee yet.
This morning, as soon as he’d sat down at the breakfast table, his mother had mentioned a drip-drip-drip that had kept her up half the night. She wasn’t entirely sure where it was coming from, but as the attic was above her and his father’s bedroom, it wasn’t a complete leap of the imagination to assume that there was yet another hole in the roof. Typical that they’d have a leak in the middle of summer. Most houses saved leaks for winter, but not Thornhill Hall. Oh, no. His annoying home had to have leaks in the driest season they’d had in fifty years. There’d been no rain for ages, except for last night. He’d seen storm clouds gathering out of his bedroom window, rolling in across the sea. They’d slowly filled the sky, covering the stars and a beautifully bright moon. Then, the heavens opened.
As usual, John had been awake in the early hours, tossing and turning, his brain full of strange and worrying things. Money, of course, featured heavily but thoughts of Hetty kept wandering in, only to be snatched away by tiredness before he could really get a handle on why she was there in the first place. Eventually sleep found him as he listened to the rain clatter hard on the windowpanes.
Sometimes, John wished he hadn’t agreed to move back in when the vineyard had burned down. If he hadn’t, he’d have much more control over his time. But after his father had shut down so completely on the rest of the family – lost and ashamed – his mother had had to bear the brunt of the disaster, fearing not only losing her home but her husband too; John knew he didn’t really have a choice. Felix and Elizabeth had 8-year-old twin girls and it would have been too disruptive for them to move back in. But still being single, he’d been the logical choice. It was probably his own fault for being a workaholic and prioritising his business over relationships.
The two long-term relationships he’d been in had fallen by the wayside, their success diminishing as his business thrived. The problem with being so focused was the tunnel vision that came with it. Both his partners had also mentioned (none too gently) that he had a habit of never backing down once he’d said something, and up until recently, he had seen changing his mind as a sign of weakness.
