Judith tutted, well used to her granddaughter’s disapproval. “You know Susan only uses it for medicinal purposes. It’s her back, you see . . .”
“You don’t have to justify it to me, Judith,” laughed Rowan. “It’ll be the party of the century, I know. You folk will all party like it’s 1969!”
“Don’t be cheeky,” Judith replied snippily. “Anyway, what are your plans, then? Staying in that little hole you call a flat in Clapham with a read-along film and a cup of Horlicks?”
It was Rowan’s turn to frown. “You know I don’t drink much, Judith,” she bit back, folding her arms and observing her grandmother make another two cups of tea. It took at least four to get the day started, after all. “And I actually have plans this year. I . . . I’m going away, actually. For the New Year’s weekend . . . with a friend.”
There was a moment when Judith froze, but just a moment. A blink would have disguised it, but Rowan saw it as she watched her intently for a reaction. The silence that followed lasted a millisecond too long until Judith recovered herself enough to speak.
“That’ll be nice,” she managed. “I don’t suppose it’s anyone I know?”
Rowan sighed. “Look, I’ve met someone, all right? That’s what you’re trying to get out of me, isn’t it? If it’s a boy – a man – and it is. And he’s lovely and kind and caring. He works at Grafix too – he’s one of the designers – it’s a really good job. And it took us ages . . . well, before it turned into something more than a friendship . . . which isn’t to say that it’s much more, but I think it might be . . . it could be . . . and I think it’s time and I think I’m ready . . .”
Rowan’s voice trailed off as she watched her grandmother desperately, waiting for a response. Judith, after all, was the only person who knew. Was the person who had picked up the pieces the last time. And there had been no one since then. Not a soul.
Rowan watched as Judith stood still for a moment, paused in the act of making tea, her back turned to her granddaughter as she leaned against the counter top and stared straight ahead.
“Happen you’re right, Rowan, love,” she said softly. “Happen you’re right.”
Judith turned, and Rowan marvelled for a second at the emerald green of her eyes in the sunlight that shone in through the window over the sink.
“I think it might be time,” she continued. “But will you promise me something, love?”
Rowan nodded, tears pricking at the back of her eyes.
“You’re a good girl, Rowan,” continued Judith, a slight waver to her voice as she spoke. “And what happened before . . . well, you know that wasn’t your fault, don’t you?”
Judith nodded, unable to speak, bowing her head so that Judith wouldn’t see the tears that ran suddenly down her cheeks.
The old lady continued. “Well, you just remember that, this time. And remember that you’re beautiful and precious and that you deserve the best, you hear me?” She paused for a moment. “And Rowan . . . ?”
Rowan nodded again, raised her head a little to hear.
“You be careful this time. Just take care of yourself. And remember that I’m always here at the Acre, do you hear? Always here for you.”
And with that, Judith turned back to making the tea, carrying on as if nothing had ever happened. Just like she had always managed to do.
Chapter 32
March 2001
Jenny
It’s happened. A single knock on the front door and everything has changed. I’m filled with so many emotions – such heightened emotions. I am anxious, worried – I am in turmoil. It can’t be happening. Cannot actually be happening. Is it too soon? Should he dare to do this at all? Did I expect it? Was I right to think it might never happen or was it inevitable?
Bee isn’t happy either. Does anyone understand that? Has anyone actually thought of her at all and what she might be feeling? I am so angry with Ed – how dare he do this to her? How could he be so thoughtless as to land this on her like that?
What does it mean? Will everything change completely now? Will he leave? Will he take my baby away from me? Will he go away from me?
How could he be possibly ready? Only five minutes ago it seems that he couldn’t get through the front door to get himself to work – and now this. It will not end well – it can’t. It’s too soon. Too soon.
Does it mean he has forgotten me? Is over me? Has he boxed me off? Put me in a compartment entitled ‘the past’. Is that it – am I just something from his past now? Just a memory? Am I ‘before’? No longer part of ‘now’?
I cannot bear that. I cannot be just an occasional fond thought when I feel everything so fiercely still. It will pass, surely. It’s just a thing that he has to go through. It’s not the real thing. It couldn’t be. Not this soon after me. It’s just something that I will have to bite my lip and get through, while he learns, while he gets it out of his system and then I can have him back.
I just have to get through it – whatever it is with this woman who has come to our door.
Chapter 33
March 2001
Rowan
Rowan knew, from the first moment that she set foot inside the door of 17 Pilton Gardens, that she wasn’t welcome. It wasn’t something that she could explain – it was ridiculous, irrational, but from the instant Ed had opened the front door, despite the fact that he was there, grinning from ear to ear with delight at seeing her, she felt that she couldn’t relax. She was overwhelmed by a feeling that to enter she would need to break through some sort of barrier. She had a real sense that she didn’t belong.
It could, of course, have been that horrible child, she reasoned. Bee. Ed’s pride and joy. Who had stuck her tongue out before screaming at Rowan to “Get Out!” and running to her bedroom where she hid for the duration of the visit. Until Ed had tried to force her downstairs to say goodbye which caused a tantrum of mammoth proportions. Rowan had been glad when the time came for her to slip quietly away, leaving Ed to calm his child who, with her red curls and screeching voice had reminded Rowan of Violet Elizabeth Bott from the Just William books.
So that was Bee, she thought to herself. The Big Meeting. She and Ed had openly been a couple at work since just before Christmas and Judith had been told at New Year.
Only Ed’s family to go then. To make the official announcement. That they were serious about each other – that they were going to give this a go. But first, a visit to Pilton Gardens – an address named after a Somerset Village – a good omen, surely? – to meet Bee. Queen Bee, she thought bitterly.
Rowan wondered if Bee’s reaction might have been because of something she did, but she couldn’t for a second think what that might have been. She hadn’t said anything other than “Hello”, hadn’t been overly affectionate with Ed, hadn’t tried to establish any form of supremacy or go to the other extreme and try to be instant best friends. Regardless of all the advice on how to deal with this sort of thing, that just wasn’t her style.
Her heart was heavy as she walked away from the house, Bee’s squeals still audible from behind the closed door. Was she destined to be the wicked stepmother, then? She wasn’t even entirely sure that she wanted to be a stepmother of any sort, in fact. The part of her that so wanted to be with Ed had naïvely overridden any fears – any thoughts, in fact – of what meeting his daughter would actually be like. But seeing Bee’s little face scrunched up with rage, her eyes narrowed with instantaneous hatred, her fists clenched and her knuckles white with tension – and all of it directed at Rowan – had been a sharp shock. Rowan had felt completely ill at ease.
But maybe that was the problem? Maybe she gave off that vibe and the child sensed it. Maybe Rowan emitted some low frequency of fear and Bee, with the ruthlessness of her tender years, took advantage of it? Maybe it was because Rowan couldn’t, for a single second, not think about how uncomfortable the house made her feel in the first place and she somehow projected this discomfort? Or maybe it was simply that Bee was absolutely �
�� and probably justifiably – horrified at the thought of her father taking love away from her and passing it over to someone else? Rowan sighed. Thinking about it like that, she’d probably have thrown a tantrum too.
She’d need to swot up on it, she reckoned. After all, it had been solely Ed and Bee for so long – five years now? And it was clear from the way he spoke about his child, from the way that he glowed when he talked about her, that Ed quite simply and quite unashamedly worshipped the ground that Bee walked on. And why wouldn’t he? His only child, the last remaining link to Jenny. She could understand perfectly how every sentence he uttered to her finished with the word ‘sweetheart’ or ‘precious’ or ‘darling’. She couldn’t understand, however, why he allowed Bee to interrupt conversations constantly to demand information, food, attention, hugs. She couldn’t understand why he suddenly walked off, mid-chat with Rowan, to make Bee a sandwich which she rejected instantly, flinging the contents on the floor. Couldn’t understand why he didn’t tell Bee to wait until he was finished speaking, or not to interrupt adults or to pick up her mess, like Judith had always instructed her. Rowan surmised that she had a lot to learn about children. And their parents for that matter.
She was due to return the following weekend – Ed had phoned her while she made her way home in the brightening evening, once Bee was settled.
“Take Two,” he’d gently urged, as if selling her the idea. “We’ll do it on her territory again but I’ll have a word with her in between times. Maybe if we can get through lunch she might tolerate a trip to the park afterwards, what do you say?”
And Rowan knew that she had no choice but to say yes because, as off-putting as his child was, when weighed against the strength of the feelings she had for him, she found that yes, she did wish to try again the following weekend. And the weekend after, if needs be. She’d just have to get herself used to it all. Learn a bit more about how to manage kids. And brace herself for his house and that strange, eerie feeling that she had there. If she wanted to be with Ed, then she’d just have to get over the feeling that she wasn’t welcome. The feeling that she wasn’t even wanted.
Chapter 34
SEPTEMBER 2001
Rowan
Jon had found it hysterically funny, of course, with that childish sense of humour of his. He’d even gone so far as to give her a copy of Hitchcock’s Rebecca on DVD as a housewarming gift. Even Claudia expressed reservations.
Rowan had called her friends together to announce that she and Ed were moving in together in expectation of a celebration: of congratulations and best wishes. Looking at their concerned faces, she realised that she had most definitely thought wrong.
“It was her house, sweetheart,” Claudia had observed over Jon’s vodka martinis in her flat where they lounged around the pastel-painted living room, decorated like something straight from a Doris Day movie. “His wife. His dead wife. If that’s not a bad omen for you guys . . .” She had left the sentence hang in the air.
Rowan had shrugged in response, sipping an orange juice. “I know it’s maybe not the most romantic thing in the world,” she reasoned, which was greeted by howls of laughter from an already tipsy Jon. “But it’s practical. It makes sense.” she had continued, once he had calmed a little. “My lease is up and if I stay then I’ll face a rent hike. On the other hand, Ed’s mortgage is low, so even if I pay a share of it I’ll still be paying slightly less than if I stayed here. Plus, there’s Bee to think about. She’s lived in that house all her life – isn’t it weird enough that she has to get used to a complete stranger moving in without having to be completely uprooted as well?”
Claudia and Jon had remained unconvinced.
“That’s so dull, darling, I need to put the light on,” Claudia had replied drily.
Rowan sighed. “Besides which – there’s a whole room that I can use for Corkscrew Cards. Now that I’ve got that space, I can seriously think about giving up Grafix and working at that full time – I’m swamped with orders as it is and it will be far better for me and Ed if we don’t live and work together. It gives me the opportunity to do something I love – to be my own boss. Doesn’t everyone want that?”
“And I suppose you want to use his dead wife’s forks and knives and teacloths – and sit on the furniture where she sat, and sleep on her side of the bed . . .” said Jon.
“Enough!” barked Rowan, uncharacteristically. “Now you’re just being silly. It’s not ideal, I know that. And we’re buying a new bed, as it happens. But I love Ed and he loves me and this is called compromise. It’s what grown-ups do in relationships.”
“Except it seems to me that there’s only one of you actually making compromises.” Claudia’s voice was low. And wise. As always.
Rowan had sighed again and toyed with her glass of juice.
“We are genuinely happy that you’ve met Ed, Rowan,” Claudia continued. “But for what it’s worth, I think that if you’re moving in together, then a fresh start would be best . . . I know that there are complicating factors, but don’t settle for anything that doesn’t make you happy, do you hear? Don’t settle.”
Rowan frowned. They had a point, particularly Jon with his observation about living day to day with Jenny’s things. Would it drive her mad? Wondering if everything she touched, everything that she used on a daily basis had been Jenny’s? Had Ed’s wife drunk tea from this mug? Lain her head on that cushion? Was Rowan’s underwear drawer also Jenny’s?
Rowan shook her head to banish the thoughts, took a deep breath and drained her glass of juice.
Chapter 35
November 2001
Rowan and Ed
Rowan picked at a piece of lint on the hem of her dress and then rubbed her forefinger and thumb together until it floated to the ground and disappeared in the multicoloured rug. She then pulled the dress over her legs which she had folded underneath herself. For the tenth time since she had sat down fifteen minutes before, she glanced around the room. Three weeks she had lived at 17 Pilton Gardens now. Everything she owned had been unpacked, her belongings merged with Ed’s. They looked a little out of place, she had to admit. She hadn’t realised how much her tastes mirrored Judith’s until they were taken out of the context of her flat and put against the modern, minimalist décor of her new residence. Beaded lampshades and heavy throws in velvets and brocades, collected at second-hand shops and brought from the Acre itself. The small jade Buddha that Rowan always kept in the hallway, the pair of admittedly ugly but much-loved ceramic cats that had come from her father’s family in Yorkshire. All of it, out of place against what she knew to be Jenny’s handiwork. It was a feeling that didn’t serve to make her any more comfortable in the slightest in her new home.
She stood, abruptly, deciding that she needed to keep herself busy, that it was nerves that were making her anxious and negative. She swept from the living room and out into the hall, walking intently down to the kitchen and through to the sunroom where she studied the scene before her with satisfaction.
Rowan had laid the dining table with a rich gold raw-silk cloth and then added pale-green silk placemats and a matching table runner. In the centre was her pride and joy, the centrepiece that she had made from leaves collected on a trip to the park the previous day – vivid golds and browns and reds, arranged around a cluster of conkers and pinecones that Bee had grudgingly helped to gather with her.
At least there was an impasse between them at the moment, Rowan reflected thankfully. An entente cordiale, even. Bee’s open animosity of those few months ago had now turned to a suspicious tolerance, much to Rowan’s relief. It wasn’t ideal – she still had to be on her guard with more or less everything that she said or did in relation to the child – but at least the tantrums had stopped.
Bee even tolerated time alone with Rowan now, occasionally suggesting that they play together, or offering to help out in the kitchen. Rowan had put her to good use a few times, allowing her to help to pack orders of invitations and envelopes, working toge
ther in the small study that was now the headquarters of Corkscrew Cards. And in doing so, she had found in herself a new understanding of the angry, bitter girl.
Rowan had begun to see Bee less as a tiny tyrant, and more as a terrified, motherless child, trying her best to make sense of the enormous change that was taking place in her life, trying to get used to a strange new mother figure – a mother figure being something that she had never known, or at any rate did not remember.
Which was something that Rowan understood only too well, something that was brought home to her while she paused to watch Bee examine a sample that had caught her eye while helping out one day. It was a birthday invitation, cream woodchip paper, decorated with dried flowers and a small cluster of red beads and paste jewels that glittered on catching the autumn sun through the window. “This is lovely, Rowan,” she had announced, out of the blue, smiling suddenly for a moment before remembering that Rowan was not to be smiled at and returning to her habitual frown.
But for a second, Rowan knew that she had seen through all of the bluff, all of the front that the child could muster, all of the pretence, through to the real Bee. Through to a sweet, innocent little girl with magpie tendencies. And in that instant, her feelings for Bee changed. Her heart opened a little wider than she had thought it possible to do and she resolved to try a little harder – not just for Ed’s sake, but truly for Bee’s.
Rowan glanced at her watch again and then looked away from it with annoyance. She was nervous of meeting her partner’s family for the first time, particularly with Ed’s warnings that they could be difficult to manage ringing in her ears. At least the dinner table looked great, she admitted, even if she said so herself. And the food was prepared already – Judith’s chicken pie, accompanied by creamed leeks and buttered carrots and a Queen of Puddings for afterwards.
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