‘Really?’ Lizzie couldn’t help the kick of excitement, though she tried to keep it under control – nothing was ever certain on a project like this, and she’d been disappointed before. Still, it did look as if it was almost ready, even to Lizzie’s untrained eye. Already she had colour schemes and soft furnishings whirling round her mind – now came the fun bit.
‘Aye.’
He looked at Lizzie with a rare smile. Perhaps her excitement was infectious, or perhaps it was just pride in a long and trying job that was almost done. Whatever the reason, he didn’t look quite as much like a drunken Eeyore as usual.
‘I expect you’ll miss me,’ Lizzie said.
‘I’ve got a lot of customers who’re sick of waiting for me to get to their jobs, that’s for sure. They won’t miss you.’
Lizzie laughed. ‘I suppose not. But I snagged you first so fair’s fair.’
‘The kitchen fitter wants you to talk to him about the extractor hood when you’ve a minute.’
‘What’s wrong with it?’
‘Don’t know. I expect it’s something and nothing – he’s like that.’
‘Oh.’ Lizzie nodded, though she didn’t know exactly how to take Tim’s statement. ‘As long as it’s not going to cost me more money.’
‘I shouldn’t think so; he’d have run that by me first.’
‘I’d better pop and see him then.’
Tim gave a short nod and Lizzie made her way to the front door of her almost new home. Inside, it was still full of echoing voices, snatches of music from different radios on different floors, the air full of dust and solvents. But as the sun slanted in through the high windows onto smooth walls and sharp woodwork – blank canvases just waiting for Lizzie to make her mark on them – it was beginning to feel like it could just be her forever home. But the picture had changed since she’d first imagined it, because while she’d always planned to live here alone – at least for the foreseeable future – now, in her mind’s eye as she pictured the finished rooms, there were toys scattered around the place, later on maybe textbooks and muddy trainers and the sounds of children playing out in the garden. It had been a family home once, and maybe it would be again. Maybe the old place would never have felt complete without family in it, despite Lizzie’s original plans.
She passed one of the smaller rooms that had been earmarked for an office and couldn’t help but imagine how perfect it would look painted in bright colours and housing a cot.
Was she actually getting excited about Gracie’s baby? She’d reflected more and more with sadness on the day when her sister would leave her – and they’d talked about it at some length, Gracie aware that it was ultimately what Lizzie wanted. But was all this still what Lizzie wanted? Why did Gracie have to bring up her baby alone in some dingy flat when they could share the burden? Not only that, but Lizzie would probably love it. No, not probably – definitely.
It needed some thought, and she’d need to talk to Gracie, but Lizzie was sure that if she decided to ask Gracie to live in the mill with her, her sister would jump at the chance. They could share the childcare for Gracie’s baby, and they could share the work at the mill, if Lizzie’s business ever got off the ground. Now that Gracie and Florentina were getting on, that possibility might be so much easier to achieve – Florentina as a silent, financial partner and Gracie as an actual extra pair of hands. It wasn’t like Gracie was in any rush to get back to her pressured life in London as far as Lizzie could tell, and she’d said more than once how she envied Lizzie’s future in the peace of the Suffolk countryside. Together, they might just make this crazy scheme work. Lizzie smiled to herself. She might be making a huge mistake. Then again, she might just be making the best decision of her life.
* * *
Lizzie looked up to see her brother amble past the vast window of the café on his way to the door. Fifteen minutes late wasn’t bad at all considering how late he’d been on other occasions. Lizzie was pleased to note that he looked neat and clean. He would have made an effort, of course, knowing that his mum was coming to see him, and that in itself was encouraging because it meant he was still bothered about what she thought.
The bell on the door tinkled as he opened it. The café was of his choosing – Lizzie, Gracie and her mum had all agreed that given the choice they’d have taken him somewhere far less greasy spoon, but he’d insisted it served the best fried breakfasts in London. So much for Gwendolyn’s plan to get a plate of vegetables inside him. As his gaze settled on their table, he lumbered over with a soppy grin.
James was as ginger as the rest of them were dark, and it had been one of their dad’s favourite jokes that he’d scoured the neighbourhood for any sign of a ginger milkman when his son had been born. But nobody who saw them together could deny the shape of the nose and the lopsided smile that they both shared. Even as slight as he was now, James had never lost the roundness of his cheeks, nor had he lost the spark in his eyes that made it seem as if he was constantly plotting his next elaborate practical joke. He’d grown like a weed as a kid too, and by the age of seventeen he had towered over not only his sisters and mum, but over his dad as well. He was over six feet tall as a grown man, almost crouching through the doorway of the café today as he came in.
‘Alright?’ he asked, folding himself into a seat and tucking his long legs under the table. ‘Haven’t ordered yet?’
‘We thought we’d wait for you,’ Gracie said.
‘Thought you’d watch me eat first?’ he asked, his grin widening. ‘Didn’t like the look of the place so you decided if I don’t keel over then the food must be OK for you to eat?’
‘And still not funny,’ Gracie fired back, though she couldn’t help a grin now too.
‘So, I hear you’re up the duff,’ he replied. ‘Is that congratulations or commiserations?’ Gracie’s smile faltered, but he seemed oblivious to her discomfort.
Gwendolyn leaned over the table to kiss him on the cheek, but Lizzie and Gracie stayed put. James didn’t really do kissing and hugging – and the only exception he made in this rule was his mum. Even that was only because she’d been so vocal about it. The nonchalant indifference he showed to Lizzie and Gracie cut his mum to the quick, and she’d told him so, many times. Lizzie didn’t worry quite so much about it, because she knew it was really just an act.
‘And Frank is over the moon about it, is he?’ James grabbed a menu from a rack and glanced down at it before tossing it onto the table.
‘What do you think?’ Gracie asked, raising her eyebrows.
‘I think he’s a twat – always have done. Don’t really know why you had to ask.’ Without waiting for Gracie to reply, James looked at Lizzie. ‘What are you having for breakfast?’
‘As it’s lunchtime, I’m planning on having lunch.’
‘Yeah, but they do all-day breakfasts here. You can have your fry-up at midnight if you want.’
‘You certainly haven’t been in here having fry-ups at midnight,’ Lizzie said. ‘You’re still like a whippet.’
James grinned. ‘That’s my fast metabolism. I’ve always been skinny.’
‘I could murder a bacon sandwich,’ Gracie said brightly. ‘In fact, I can’t even remember the last time I had a decent bacon sandwich.’
‘Well, that doesn’t insult me at all, considering I cooked one for you last weekend,’ Lizzie said.
‘Exactly,’ Gracie smiled sweetly. ‘I said I couldn’t remember the last time I had a decent bacon sandwich. Yours has all sorts of rubbish on it.’
‘It’s not rubbish! That’s a Nigella recipe; you were the one telling me to get more creative in the kitchen!’
‘A bacon sandwich is bread – the cheaper the better – bacon and sauce. There’s no need to mess with the formula. Even Nigella should know better than to break that rule.’ Gracie turned to James. ‘What do you say?’
‘I always knew you were the smart sister,’ James replied, his relaxed grin back now.
‘Well, you never said a
word when you were stuffing it into your mouth,’ Lizzie said savagely.
‘I’d been having morning sickness for about a gazillion years before that – I’d be stuffing anything into my mouth because I was starving.’
‘And I suppose it was so awful that it brought your morning sickness right back.’
‘I didn’t say it was horrible – just that it wasn’t really anything like a proper bacon sandwich at all.’
‘I still can’t believe you two haven’t killed each other yet, living in that caravan together,’ James said.
‘My thoughts exactly,’ Gwendolyn agreed. She reached for the laminated menu that James had dropped and glanced briefly over it before placing it back down and wiping her hands on a napkin from a box on the table.
‘We are capable of being adults, you know,’ Lizzie said.
‘Well,’ Gracie cut in, ‘one of us is.’
‘That’s me you’re talking about,’ Lizzie fired back, ‘obviously.’
‘Now, now, children.’ James grinned. ‘Now you see why I haven’t come to live in your windmill, Lizzie. Not only is it just plain weird that you want to live in a windmill, but I’d have to put up with you two.’
‘Then it’s a good job nobody’s asking you to move into our windmill,’ Gracie said, but then coloured as she looked at Lizzie. ‘I mean, Lizzie’s windmill…’
Lizzie smiled. A few months ago she couldn’t have imagined she’d feel so relaxed about her sister’s slip of the tongue, but in light of the thoughts she’d been having about asking Gracie if she’d like to stay for good, she didn’t mind at all this time.
‘You know you can come and stay whenever you want, though,’ Lizzie said, turning to James.
‘What, with you two there? No thanks.’
‘You love us really,’ Gracie said.
‘That’s what you think.’ James leaned back in his chair and regarded them both with a wry smile.
‘But you will come over occasionally?’ Lizzie asked. ‘At least to see it? I know you think I’m a nutter for wanting to live in a windmill, but it is pretty spectacular, and I’d love you to visit and see what we’ve done with the place.’
‘And it was special to Dad too,’ Gracie added. ‘You’d want to see what it might have looked like if he’d ever taken a chance on it, wouldn’t you?’
‘Dad would never have taken a chance on it,’ James said. ‘He never took a chance on anything.’
‘He had other priorities,’ Gwendolyn said. ‘Like his family for a start.’
‘Not that much of a priority when he ran off with his younger model, were we?’ James shot back, and Gwendolyn’s lips pursed into a perfect knot as she looked across at the door to the café. Perhaps she was thinking about how easy it might be to escape, because despite the banter, there was a subtle tension in the air. There always was when the family was together like this. Even though they were all blood relatives, they had hardly any common ground at all, and it was only love that kept them coming back to try and get along, again and again.
‘So…’ Lizzie cut in, her voice brighter and breezier than she felt, ‘how about we order one of these legendary all-day breakfasts then? If they’re half as good as James thinks they are then maybe we should all try one?’
‘Yes,’ Gracie agreed, clearly as keen to move on as Lizzie was. ‘I think Little Baked Bean is getting hungry.’
‘Little Baked Bean?’ James raised his eyebrows.
‘The baby,’ Gracie said. ‘That’s what we call him.’
‘It’s a boy then?’
‘Oh, I don’t know that yet. It’s just I don’t like saying it so I say he, she… but mostly Baked Bean.’
‘Only you could give an unborn child a name like that,’ James replied lazily. ‘Think it might stick?’
They were interrupted by a waitress who couldn’t have been older than nineteen or twenty. She exchanged a few pleasantries with James that suggested they knew each other. She took orders for four breakfasts and four cups of tea before leaving them again. James watched her go with some interest, and Lizzie wondered if they’d had some sort of fling.
As she disappeared into the kitchen with their order, he turned to Gracie. ‘You know what?’ he said. ‘It might not be all that bad being an uncle. If it’s a boy I can take him to football matches and stuff, can’t I? Introduce him to the ways of the Jedi… tell him all about the mysteries of the opposite sex… Might be a laugh.’
‘Good God, you don’t think I’m leaving you alone with any son of mine, do you? Not even for a minute!’ Gracie laughed. ‘You’d teach him the most awful things!’
James inclined his head. ‘Naturally.’
‘You never know,’ Lizzie said, ‘he or she might actually be a good influence on you.’
James turned to her. ‘Are you insinuating I need influencing to be good?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, what is good anyway?’ He crooked his fingers into speech marks in the air around the word good. ‘How do you know I’m not already good? It might not be your version, but then it’s all a matter of viewpoint anyway. If you’re sitting me next to Hitler then I’m saintly by comparison.’
‘Hmmm,’ was all Lizzie could manage in reply.
‘I can’t believe we’re talking about uncles and aunts and grandchildren,’ Gwendolyn said. ‘I never thought I’d see the day.’
‘It’s not that unlikely one of us would have a child,’ Lizzie said.
‘With you three it seemed very unlikely,’ her mother said. ‘You were all interested in other things.’
‘Most people have a bit of a life first.’
‘Well,’ Gwendolyn insisted, ‘I can’t help feeling that I’ve been waiting a long time.’
‘And Mum’s got a point,’ James said, turning to Gracie. ‘You’re only up the duff by accident so it’s not like you were planning on giving her a grandchild any time soon. If Frank hadn’t done the deed it might have been years.’
‘I wish you’d stop calling it that,’ Gwendolyn said.
‘It might have been never left up to Frank,’ Gracie said, her expression darkening.
‘Speaking of which—’ Gwendolyn began, but Gracie held up a hand.
‘No, I haven’t changed my mind about telling him. I don’t need him, and I don’t want him.’ She forced a smile and glanced in turn at everyone seated around the table. ‘I have all the people I need right here.’
‘Why not?’ James asked.
‘You know Frank,’ Gracie said tartly. ‘Would you tell him?’
‘But you’d get money out of him,’ James replied. ‘It’d be worth it just for that, surely?’
‘I don’t need his money. I don’t need anything from him.’
‘You say that now, but I think you might change your mind.’
‘She’s made her decision,’ Lizzie said. She might not completely agree, but it was Gracie’s decision to make, and she, for one, wanted to support her sister at least that far. Especially as Gracie had been such a good support for her since she’d split with Jude. ‘We’re family and we can be more than enough support for Gracie.’
‘Don’t expect me to be changing nappies for you,’ James said.
‘I’m perfectly capable of changing a nappy,’ Gracie said.
‘You know they don’t smell of Parma Violets, don’t you?’ he fired back.
‘Sometimes I wonder why I bother coming to see you.’
‘So do I.’
‘OK!’ Lizzie clapped her hands. ‘I’m sure Gracie will find a YouTube tutorial somewhere that explains how to change a nappy, and she’ll be fine once we pick up the gas mask.’
‘Cheeky cow!’ Gracie squeaked, and James threw back his head in laughter.
* * *
Lizzie, Gracie and their mother spent a quiet evening at a budget hotel half a mile from James’s flat, squished together on a soft sofa in the corner of the bar while they discussed James. On the surface he seemed fine, but then he always did, and they’d
learned over the years that his jokes told them very little about how he really was. Perhaps it would have been easier to drive away and leave him in his bedsit with his loser friends if he hadn’t tried to kill himself five years earlier. He’d always denied that he’d meant to take quite so many paracetamol and drink so much whisky, but nobody had believed it. He pretended to be resilient, but James was perhaps the least resilient of all the Lovell siblings, however it might look to outsiders. Today, it seemed like he’d well and truly come through whatever issues he’d been having back then, but the fear of a repeat was always there, lurking in the darkness just out of view and throwing a shadow over their relationship with him.
The following morning they’d decided to call on him at home to see him again before they left for Suffolk, but when Lizzie had phoned ahead she’d got no answer.
They stood at the intercom now and buzzed again, but nobody answered.
‘I suppose it’s quite early,’ Gwendolyn said, glancing between Lizzie and Gracie. ‘You know how he sleeps – dead to the world once he’s gone.’
‘You’d think one of his flatmates might have heard it,’ Lizzie said.
‘Perhaps they went out last night after we’d left him,’ Gracie said. ‘If they’re all hungover it would be no wonder nobody is answering. Try phoning him again, Lizzie.’
‘I don’t want to wake him,’ Lizzie said uncertainly. ‘He won’t thank us.’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake,’ Gracie said, getting her own phone out and dialling. She waited, listening until the dialling tone cut off and the answer service message kicked in. ‘Buzz him again,’ she said, nodding at the intercom as she put her phone away. ‘We did tell him we’d call to say goodbye and it’s very rude of him not to be up.’
The Mill on Magnolia Lane: A gorgeous feel-good romantic comedy Page 24
