by kendra Smith
They both needed some comfort right then.
*
Later, about eight o’clock, Maddie was just putting on her dressing gown after a bath (Rachel had insisted) and pulled the cord tightly around her middle. It had been exhausting today. At least she knew there’d be some money coming in soon. She couldn’t live off Rachel’s charity forever. She went back to her bedroom to hang up the wet towels. Her phone was on the dressing table and she noticed a missed call from the nursing home. Her stomach clenched as she called back.
‘Mrs Brown? It’s Clare – thank you for calling back. I can’t get hold of Mr Brown.’
‘What’s wrong?’
‘It’s Olive. Her breathing. The doctor is with her now.’
‘I’m on my way.’
*
The room was stuffy and smelt of antiseptic. Where was the lavender? Maddie walked through the open door to see Nurse Clare and a doctor she didn’t recognise next to Olive by her bed. Olive looked like a tiny sparrow. Her bony outline was covered by a sheet and thin blanket. She was always getting hot, so she never slept with many blankets. The one covering her was floral, little yellow and white daisies on a pale blue background. It could almost be a child’s blanket, and it served – undulating across Olive’s tiny frame – to make her appear even more fragile.
Olive’s eyes were closed, her papery skin so thin you could see the purple veins in her eyelids. She looked like a doll, a skeletal version of the woman Maddie had only eaten eclairs with a while back, who had complained about not liking anything on the care home menu, and asked Maddie to bring in some Jaffa Cakes. Just a few.
Tears streamed down Maddie’s cheeks as she walked over to the bed, aware of the doctor and Clare, who shook her head at Maddie, and knelt by the side of it, placing her head on the edge of the bed as a huge sob left her.
Oh, Olive. Maddie’s tears were for Olive, for the life she’d lived, for the energy she’d brought to every room. They also fell for Maddie, for her loss, for how torn she was that she had been away from Olive in her last weeks. They were for all the memories at Maris Cottage, for the summer days and nights, for the fish and chips eaten in the garden and the screeching seagulls swooping down on Ed as he ran away, startled, a five-year-old safe with his mum and Aunty Olive in his world. They were for Ed. How he’d miss Aunty Olive and would be heartbroken he couldn’t be with her now. Olive had always staunchly been on his side, no matter what. He’s my favourite great-nephew, she’d say, and laugh every time she saw him. The fact that he was her only great-nephew was never mentioned as they used to hug each other tightly each time.
Olive’s cheeky grin was now a straight line of thin lips, a face that held no emotion, an empty canvas of wrinkles and lines belying the warmth and humour that used to live there. Her usually neat hair, styled every week at the hairdresser’s, now rumpled wisps held together with a solitary pearl clip. No necklaces, no red-lipstick armour today. Maddie squeezed her hand; it was cold. The only sound was the ticking of the gold alarm clock on the bedside table and a quiet cough from the doctor.
‘It was very peaceful,’ Clare said, as Maddie nodded, holding on to Olive’s hand as if that might bring her back to life.
27
Maddie was back at Rachel’s with a half-finished bottle of red wine. Rachel was sitting opposite her at the kitchen table, stroking Taffie who was by her feet; the cat was in its basket, purring peacefully. Nurse Clare had said they would take care of all the arrangements, of all the plans, she was not to worry, and that they’d try again to contact Tim. She’d also told Maddie there had been a letter for her, filed in the office ‘in case this situation arose’. Maddie was holding it now, with shaking hands, reading.
My dear Maddie,
You have been such a spark of light in all my days – from visiting me at the cottage, to Maybank View and all the bits in between. If you are reading this letter it means that I have passed away and I don’t want you to be sorry, or sad and morbid, or to do anything silly like wear black at my blessing. Or cry. So come on, no tears for me.
In fact – and I know the lawyers will sort it all out – but I insist on everyone wearing colours. Absolutely no black – do you hear? I have left a lump sum in order that it can all be done properly. But I want you to do something for me. Do you promise? I want you do this, Maddie, do you hear? I want you to scatter my ashes out onto the ocean. Out to sea, not far from my little cottage. I have left plans for the blessing. It’s all arranged and I want you to do something there that you probably won’t think is possible: I want you to have fun.
Maddie smiled at this bit, then wiped her nose on a tissue.
It’s not a sad time; it’s just a marking of time. My life is over, but here’s the thing, Maddie: yours isn’t.
(This bit was underlined shakily in pencil).
And I want you to enjoy it. Ever since we met I felt that you had more to give. You’ve been cooped up in that house with that little job. I don’t know what the future holds for you but I do know one thing: I want you to have my cottage. It’s all arranged, in your name only. Somewhere to escape to – if you need to. I’m not often wrong about things, Maddie, and I have long believed that you needed something for yourself.
You’ve shone through Maddie, in full technicolour – you have been more like a daughter to me than you’ll ever know. In a way that Tim has never really ‘come through’ for me as a nephew. You have. I wanted you to have something for yourself. Just yours, Maddie. Use it as you will. A holiday house, a place for you and Ed. You decide. It does need a fair bit of work, but it’s all yours, and you can’t buy a view like that, can you? Or the sound of the gulls on a winter morning, swooping into the bay. Look after it. I have fond memories of you, me and Ed in the holidays there and you always seemed quite at home.
Look after it – and look after yourself.
And remember, no black. It’s a celebration of life.
(That was underlined, too.)
Send my love to Brightwater Bay, but I’ll be seeing it soon, as soon as you scatter my ashes there. Send me on my way with love. Will you do that? Do that for me?
Thank you, darling girl.
Fondest,
Olive. x
Maddie looked at the date it was written. It was dated a week before her diagnosis of Alzheimer’s. Here was the Olive she remembered, the feisty woman who gave the hairdresser a run for his money. ‘Bloody klutz!’ she used to call him affectionately. Maddie smiled through her tears. She pushed her chair back and took a deep breath. Rachel reached out and squeezed her hand. Maddie handed her the letter to read as she looked out the kitchen window into next door’s golden-lit sitting room. After a while, Rachel placed the letter on the table, next to Maddie.
‘She’s left you the cottage.’
Maddie nodded, twisting the stem of her glass around in her hand.
Rachel placed a hand on her knee. ‘So you do have somewhere to go.’ She squeezed Maddie’s knee.
‘I suppose so. My own place.’ She picked up her glass and drained it, as Taffie came and rested his head on her knee.
28
Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there.
I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
Pearl, a close friend of Olive’s from the village, was reading out a beautiful poem by Mary Elizabeth Frye. Pearl was probably in her seventies, with neat, cropped grey hair and a cream dress with a sparkly brooch on her jacket. Maddie found it hard to concentrate what with all the tears, and the looking for tissues in her bag and blowing of her nose. She smoothed the fuchsia pink skirt across her knee and tugged at the hem to try and bring her into the present. Pearl looked up when she finished, took a deep breath and walked carefully down from the lectern, her navy patent shoes reflecting the light from around the church.
She was in St Agnes Church, in the heart of Brightwater Bay, right in the centre of the
village. Olive had been a regular churchgoer there for many years. Don’t believe in a damn thing, Maddie, but the company and cakes are good! She’d arranged for a reception in the Rose Hotel after the scattering of the ashes. She hadn’t wanted a traditional funeral service; she’d wanted her body cremated with nobody there, but for there to be a blessing in the church, followed by her ashes scattered out at Brightwater Bay, out to sea. Maddie looked down at her ankle boots and hoped she wouldn’t let Olive down.
Pearl had taken charge of all arrangements and had been on the phone to Maddie to make sure she knew what she was doing. ‘Most people have their ashes scattered on a beach, or taken to the crematorium, but not our Olive!’ She’d laughed. ‘Maddie, you’re sure you’re OK with this? Martin, the skipper, is meeting us at the boat club later and he’ll take you out.’
The church was chilly. It was a gorgeous mid-November day, sunny and bright. But although the sun was out, it hadn’t heated up yet. Maddie looked around the church. It was packed – a tribute to Olive’s popularity. Julian the hairdresser was sitting in a dark lavender suit, a pink carnation in his buttonhole, he was with Nurse Clare, who was blowing her nose on a tissue. Clare was wearing a cream trouser suit with a dainty peacock feather attached to the buttonhole. Everyone had followed the no-black dress code. Ed had been heartbroken he couldn’t be there. But they had no money between them. And Tim certainly didn’t. She was just about surviving at Rachel’s, but knew things would be a little easier when Olive’s settlement came through to her. Poor Olive.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn’s rain…
Olive had made good friends on the island. She’d come here when she was in her twenties. Maddie watched as jewel-coloured strangers silently took their seats in the pew. There was green, gold, a bright sapphire-blue. A few of the older generation were in black dresses but with colourful hats. Had she gone too far in the bright pink outfit? No, Olive would be proud. Maddie twisted her ankle round and looked again at the height of the heel on these ankle boots. She rarely wore them. She wasn’t sure what had come over her, but last week, after she’d been on the phone to Tim and had yet another row, she’d gone to the charity shop and bought herself the pink outfit she’d noticed in the window. It had only been ten pounds.
The solicitors had been in touch about the cottage. She was able to get the keys in two weeks. It was all very simple, they’d said, as Olive hadn’t any living blood relatives. That made Maddie feel especially sad and she’d vowed to herself that she would look after Maris Cottage as if it were her own.
Olive had left her a little bit of money, too. Not much, but with her remaining income from her school job, it was just enough to get by. Thank goodness the car was paid off.
She glanced at the back of the church where Tim was sitting. He’d nodded at her outside the church, but she knew that he was only staying for the blessing. He had told her on the phone he couldn’t stay on longer. Honestly. He was acting more and more like someone she didn’t know. And he’d had the cheek to phone up to ask what the lawyers had said. He had his head down at the back of the church and was scrolling down his phone. He glanced up and caught her eye. He looked terrible. There were smoky grey shadows under his eyes and he kept scratching behind his ear. His eczema had probably flared up again.
Maddie turned around. She hoped to talk to him about their house again if she could.
The pews were a sea of hats and bowed heads, nodding and bobbing in front of Maddie. There were small bunches of dahlias tied to the end of each pew, their bulbous pink, orange and purply blooms brightening up the gloomy church. The sun’s rays tried to filter through the stained-glass windows. A posy of all-orange dahlias sat next to Maddie on her seat. She was to throw these out to sea along with the ashes. Pearl had had to order the dahlias from Australia. Olive would have loved them, she’d told Maddie on the phone.
Maddie remembered how Olive used to run her hands over the ones in her room. Perfect flowers, she’d say. Just like a child’s pom-pom. Can’t be doing with no fancy things. She used to grow them in her garden here on the island. It was a fantastic sun trap, right on the edge of the beach, a coastal path running alongside the back fence, and inside, a small stone wall keeping out the chilly sea breeze but forming the perfect place for them to grow all summer.
The organ struck up and the vicar came to the front of the church. Someone handed Maddie a hymn book.
She couldn’t actually believe she’d never see her again, hold her bony hand, laugh at her about the awful fake cream on the cakes. Tears pricked Maddie’s eyes as she looked over at the pom-poms on top of the coffin. In life and death, Olive had always been joyful. And Maddie was going to do Olive proud, give her one last hurrah out on the ocean waves, out on Brightwater Bay where she would be at one with the sea, a place she’d spent the best part of her life.
29
‘Here, Maddie, put this on.’ They were at the sailing club, and one of the crew was handing her a bright orange life jacket. The congregation had gathered down by the pier to watch as Maddie went out in a speedboat to scatter Olive’s ashes and fulfil her wishes. The vicar was coming on the boat with them to bless the ashes. Maddie tottered along the pier and yanked down her life jacket. She was wearing a rain jacket underneath, and that, coupled with pink stiletto boots, made for a most peculiar sight.
The boat pulled up alongside the pier and a couple of men hopped on, followed by the vicar. It was a small boat. Maddie took a step towards it, stumbled a bit, then steadied herself as she clambered on. She quickly sat down as the wind got up. The crowd on the pier watched the proceedings. The captain turned to them and shouted, ‘All right?’
Maddie nodded. She couldn’t really say much else. The vicar was holding the urn in his hands and looked mighty out of place with a life vest on, too.
The boat sped across the waves out across Brightwater Bay, across from the sailing club. Maddie clutched the seat as the boat bumped and jerked along the water, her hair flying across her face. It had turned cooler and there were thick clouds resting on the horizon. Pretty pastel-coloured houses lined the shore, in lilac, green and yellow. The congregation on the pier now looked tiny. It was quite a different view from the beach. The perspective allowed you to see how the houses hugged the coast, the grassy, rugged headland above the beach, the way the cliffs fell away at the other end of the beach, rubble and rocks underneath. It made Maddie think about how just changing your position could completely alter your view of things that were right in front of you.
Maddie spotted a clutch people in wetsuits on windsurfers, some kids and a man; he was shouting instructions at them; a woman helming a small sailing dinghy and a girl with a dog on a paddleboard slowly crossing the bay.
‘OK?’ the captain shouted, then cut the engine and put the anchor down. ‘We’d better get on with this. The weather’s changing a bit.’ He nodded to the now swirling, aubergine-coloured clouds on the horizon.
The vicar nodded and stood up, holding the urn. Maddie knew that he was going to say a few words, hand the urn to her and then she was to scatter the ashes into the bay. After that she would throw over the bunch of dahlias from the coffin.
‘We are here to honour, to remember and to say goodbye to Olive Rose Hunter. Bless her. Now I am going to read a psalm.’
‘The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures;
He leadeth me beside the still waters.
He restoreth my soul;
He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His name’s sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for Thou art with me;
Thy rod and Thy staff, they comfort me.
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies;
Thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, a
nd I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.’
Maddie looked around the bay and saw two enormous gulls soar into the sky, then they both looped down towards the sea and made a splash in the water.
‘Maddie?’
She turned her gaze back to the vicar who had finished; he silently handed Maddie the urn. She took it in her hands and moved towards the edge of the boat. She smiled at the vicar and at Martin, the captain. C’mon Maddie, you can do this. But something about holding Olive’s ashes unleashed a torrent of emotion in her and she could feel her throat tighten and tears threaten. She took a deep breath, which became a sob, and stepped towards the side of the boat. The solid black urn with its lid was heavier than she had imagined. Olive is in here. It just seemed all wrong that such a massive force of life was reduced to this.
She opened the lid and handed it to the vicar who smiled at her, then frowned as a wave from a passing speedboat hit the side. She took another step towards the bow of the boat, but suddenly, the boat started to tilt to the side and her heel got caught in the wooden grooves on the deck. Before she knew it, she was hurled across the side. She clung on to the urn as she went flying off the boat and into the murky sea beneath. Plunged into the cold water, Maddie almost couldn’t breathe. It was freezing. As she screamed in shock, water filled her mouth and she started to choke. She panicked and tried to take another breath, just as a second wave washed over her. Everything seemed to be upside down; she was choking, she was freezing cold, there was water everywhere, she felt utterly exhausted and the weight of her clothes was dragging her down, down… Then, all of a sudden, she was being hauled backwards by her lifejacket on top of a windsurf board to a voice that was ridiculously familiar. She lay on her back, grateful that there was now the solidness and safety of being on something firm, as the owner of the voice peered down at her and gently moved her hair away from her eyes.
