by Jane Linfoot
‘I always forget that.’ His lips twist.
‘And next he’ll be seven.’
Barney laughs. ‘Now you’re just showing off, Edie Browne.’
I’ll take that, even though I know my counting should be better.
‘One more thing while you’re here, I couldn’t help noticing when I went down for more paint before, you do know who Josie’s talking to on her laptop?’
It sounds like a tricky question so I add all the details. ‘She and my mum could talk for England, except right now she’s at school, so it’s probably Jean from Happy-land.’ She’s another big chatter.
Barney lifts an eyebrow. ‘Unless your mum sounds like Dr Dre, I’d say it’s not her.’
‘Dr who?’
‘He’s a Californian rapper. It’s definitely a guy with a strong American accent, probably the same one she was Skyping yesterday.’
That too? ‘But she doesn’t know any men – from anywhere.’
‘It could be completely innocent, but you might want to check it out. There are random guys who befriend lonely women on Facebook, with the prime intention of emptying their bank accounts.’
‘Oh crap. So what do I do now?’
‘She’s only along the landing, why don’t we just ask her?’
‘You’ll come?’ Just for now, I mind his nosiness a lot less.
‘It won’t take long, we’re only looking out for her.’ He pushes his paint tray further onto the window sill.
In the few seconds it takes us to pad along the landing, the deep Yankee twang is unmistakable. As we reach the bedroom Barney taps on the door and I follow him straight in.
‘Aunty Jo?’
If we were going for an ambush, we nailed it. She’s sitting at her table with her laptop and as we breeze into the room her screen slams shut.
‘Barnaby, Edie …’ That’s all that comes out, before her squeal comes to a halt.
Barney gets there before I do. ‘Sorry, we didn’t mean to butt in.’
Aunty Jo’s opening and closing her mouth like a goldfish. ‘No, you’re absolutely not disturbing anything. Nothing at all. I was just sitting here … putting on my Dewdreamer. At my age beauty doesn’t happen on its own, we have to put the hours in.’
I’m racking my brain as to how we wind this back to her Skyping unsuitable people from across the ocean.
But Barney gets there first again. ‘Sorry, Josie.’ He’s still apologising. ‘We could have sworn we heard you watching Catastrophe just before. There’s this really funny American guy in it, he’s so hilarious I told Edie she had to come in and see him for herself.’
I have to hand it to Barney. On balance he might be telling a little while lie, but that probably worked a whole lot better than, Who the hell are you talking to? They’re trying to screw you over and empty your bank account.
‘Catastrophe?’ Repeating what’s just been said says Aunty Jo’s as guilty as they come. ‘Well, I’m not sure I’ve ever heard of that one.’ Her worried expression slides into dismay. ‘And now Robert’s here.’
Barney stoops down, scoops him up and tickles his head. ‘Trouble’s never far behind, are you, Robert? Great timing though, I’ve been wanting to ask, have you considered what good company a dog could be, Josie?’
‘Absolutely not.’ Aunty Jo pulls away as Robert’s tongue comes towards her cheek. ‘Mavis Baxter’s Retriever pup ate so much underwear the vet had to operate. When they opened him up they found six pairs of mini bikinis and her two best Chantilly lace thongs. I couldn’t cope with that at my age.’
I can’t hold back my smile. ‘I hope they gave her them back.’ I’ve no idea why we’re talking about dogs when we’re here to uncover Facebook love rats, but at least Barney knows where Aunty Jo stands on puppies now.
Aunty Jo turns to me. ‘You have put all your undies out of harm’s way, Edie?’
Barney’s grinning. ‘Checking for choking hazards is the first thing I do when I come upstairs, I even look under the bed.’
I don’t let him catch my eye there. Even if I could do snappy back chat I wouldn’t be replying to that.
And he’s still going. ‘Another thing I’ve been meaning to ask, Josie, with all the room you’ve got here, have you thought of taking paying guests – or doing Airbnb?’
I don’t believe he’s gone so far off topic.
Aunty Jo’s nose wrinkles even more than it did when she saw Robert. ‘I don’t like the idea of strangers in the house.’ Except for Barney and Malcolm, obviously.
‘In that case, maybe you should think about two or three shepherd’s huts. You’ve got plenty of room in the field.’
‘Barney!’ Considering he was worried about her being exploited, I hope my best ‘wither the builder’ look is enough to shut him up.
‘What?’ His voice goes high in protest. ‘I’m trying to make suggestions to help Josie consolidate her real life, not her virtual one, and sort her income problems out at the same time. With those sea views, you’d cover your costs and be into profit in no time, I’d obviously give you a great discount.’
I’m wondering what part of ‘making the property saleable to sell’ he doesn’t understand. I rush across the room and cover Aunty Jo’s ears. ‘Don’t listen, he’s being …’
‘Sensible? Creative? Constructive?’
‘No, the word I was looking for is “ridiculous”.’ And for the record, it has to be said. ‘And stop finishing my sentences for me.’
‘Sorry, I was only trying to be helpful.’
Aunty Jo’s voice is bright. ‘I appreciate your generous offer, Barnaby, but I’m afraid it’s a “no” for now.’ Her nostrils flare, then she clasps her hands together. ‘But I have to confess, you were right earlier, I was talking to an American. Chester Charles was one of Harry’s closest associates.’
I feel myself deflating. ‘So he didn’t ask for your cash?’ Even if I only feel as big as the one on the tape measure, I will get my word in on this. Just to be sure he’s not a hard-core fraudster from death row or anything.
She’s blinking at me. ‘Whyever would he do that? As far as I know, he’s a millionaire, possibly even a billionaire.’
In which case, it doesn’t matter. ‘Good to know, then how about a cup of tea?’
Barney’s laughing. ‘Thanks, Edie, great idea, mine’s two sugars, remember?’ Talk about a tea tart – the mug I brought him before won’t even be cold yet.
27
Day 186: Sunday, 6th May
Bank Holiday Weekend at Periwinkle Cottage
Epic Achievement: Waking up as me – that’s all.
When I drift into consciousness on Sunday, the early light is seeping through the muslin blind. For the first time ever, I don’t screw up my face and think I’m how I was before the accident, then take an agonising amount of time slowly clawing my way back to remembering how different real life is from how it should be. Instead, as I slide into the day, I’m myself as I am now, and I’m loving the stillness and the quiet. Even better, when I open my eyes properly and stare across the snowy expanse of quilt to the pale silver walls, it feels like I’m waking up inside a cloud.
Less serene is me thinking about flinging my arms around broad shoulders in a soft denim jacket, to say thanks for all the help for giving me my perfect bedroom. It’s only a fleeting thought, but realistically if it was a grateful hug, there would be no need at all to be hanging on for so long. I know I’m a bit all over the place, but I’m damn sure I’m right on this one.
What I was a lot less right about was barging in on Aunty Jo the other day. I know I only crept up on her because I was worried, but I still haven’t found the right moment to apologise. When I suggested we get her earning, I hadn’t expected her to embrace the idea with so much enthusiasm. Ever since, Aunty Jo has been flat-out helping sew Loella’s quilts, and when we’re working together on the hen party pillows it’s been more important to get the order finished than bring up my blunder over mistaken identity.
> Barney seems to pop in a hundred times a day too. For the record, I’ve been working on my big numbers. A hundred is now lodged in my head as a large amount. Like a lot more times than you’d ideally like anyone to go up and downstairs doing final touching up to your paintwork. And Malcolm is here almost as much, bobbing in and out, planting things around the garden. Although for some reason, I mind that less.
But now it’s Sunday, and apart from curling up with the book that just arrived, the whole day is free. Looking for Poldark is a quick reader, it’s very skinny, and has been specially written to tempt adult learners to dip in. Marcus always reckoned if he’d been dark not blond he’d have been the spit of the guy who plays the lead in the TV series. I never saw the likeness myself, but at least the book sounds like a page-turner.
But first I have to make it up to Aunty Jo, so for one morning only I throw myself right into the meditation with none of my usual groans. Aunty Jo’s adamant I’m going to get huge benefits as soon as I stop fighting and give myself up to it, so she’s been reading me long lists of mantras in the hope I’ll find something I can mutter without rolling my eyes every time I say it. Last night in front of the TV she read out Ninety-nine Ways to a New You. Instead of the usual Om Dum Tiddly Hum lines it was things like ‘Every day is a second chance’ and ‘When it rains, find a lemon under the rainbow and have a G&T’. After that I realised anything goes so long as it works for you. In fact most of what is on my useful phrase list would do the job.
I was going to try mumbling ‘Life’s better with blueberry pie’, then I remembered they’re black not blue, and even when I could taste I didn’t really like them. So instead I went for ‘I’m a strong independent woman, and I don’t need a man’, because even though it’s one of those things that are used too often that I can’t immediately remember the name of, it was a good match for today. After saying that for long enough to get cramp in my ankle and my right bum cheek, I’d pretty much blasted all those misplaced feelings about getting too close to denim jackets.
I wait until Aunty Jo’s put her spoon down from her porridge, then I burst in from the kitchen with a towel and a bowl of warm water, and launch into my plan to say sorry like I really mean it.
‘Sooooo, time to dip your toes into my Bank Holiday Surprise Treat.’
‘What’s all this?’
‘It’s a pedi, Aunty Jo.’ I hold up my bottle and a handful of cotton wool pads. ‘First I’ll take off your nail varnish.’
‘That’s nice.’ She slips off her ballet slipper, holds out her foot and gives a little shiver as the cold liquid touches her toe. ‘I always thought it would be exciting to work as a beautician.’
‘Now you’ve started making cash, there’s nothing to stop you branching out.’ I look up at her from where I’m kneeling on the rug. ‘It could be brill.’ I’m talking as I rub. ‘Imagine doing pedis for all your old friends?’
As she leans back she closes her eyes and lets out a sigh. ‘I’m not sure I’ll ever go back to Harpenden again, Sweetpea.’ Which is way off the plan I understood, but whatever.
‘Okay, next bit.’ I slide her foot into the bowl, slap on a handful of scrub, take a breath and try to work out how to begin.
She grabs my quote sheet from the table and starts to fan herself. ‘Could you open the French windows a crack, Chickpea? With my feet in this warm water, I’m overheating.’
I get up and do what she asks, then slide back onto the floor and get hold of her foot again. ‘So, I’m really, really sorry for asking about your friend, Chester.’
She sinks further back into the sofa cushions. ‘There’s nothing to be sorry for, I was hiding it. But he’s lost his wife too, and he’s such a good listener.’ Her chest heaves in a sigh. ‘Once I thought about it more, me spending so much time Skyping him in New York does feel like a betrayal.’
I feel so mean for making her say that. ‘It’s not, not if it helps.’
‘I probably won’t be doing it so often in future.’ She’s biting her lip and as I go back to working on her other foot she wiggles her toes. ‘I try not to show my feet too much, they’re so bent and twisted from all those years of ballet.’
‘Dancing did that?’ It’s a good way to move this on.
‘It’s not all tutus and pink ribbons, it wrecks your feet and your body. But you can’t give in, the moment you falter there’s someone else ready to take your place.’
‘So that was your job, just like Margot?’ After all our breakfasts together, her name slides out as easily as my own.
‘For a while. And then I met Harry.’ Her voice tails off, and we both know why. She gave everything up for him. That’s what women did. And now he’s gone.
I towel her feet dry and set to with the clippers and emery board. Then as I move on to scraping with the little stick, I can’t keep it in.
‘I chose work not Marcus.’
‘You had to make a choice?’ She sounds surprised.
‘He wanted a baby, but I wasn’t ready to give up on my career.’ The genie’s out of the bottle and I’m only on her first toe.
‘But I thought you modern women had it all – couldn’t you do both?’ Her brows knit.
‘With the new job there was lots of travelling, and a big workload, but I wanted a couple of years to prove to myself I could do it.’ I let out a sigh. ‘Kids were next up on Marcus’s life list, and he didn’t want to wait. All he could see was that without a baby he was lagging behind his friends. All I could see was him being selfish and not considering me at all.’
‘That’s why you argued? Why you separated?’
I nod. When it’s pared down to those few simple sentences, I can’t understand how we couldn’t find a compromise.
‘And do you miss him?’
‘Everything changed, so it’s hard to say.’ I’ve no way of telling if the ache in my chest is about losing myself or him. Or the shiny life we had together. So that’s another to put in the ‘pending’ tray.
‘It sounds strange to say, but Marcus might have had a point. If you don’t have children when you’re young and fit, you can be too old before you realise.’
I’m Edie Browne … ‘I’m only thirty-two, surely there’s loads of time?’ Marcus can’t have been right, can he?
‘We put it off too long and by the time we tried it was too late. I’d hate you to be like us.’
‘I’m so sorry.’ I give her foot a squeeze and pat her knee.
‘Eventually you accept it, but it’s very hard at the time. You shouldn’t be too hasty, if you want to be with Marcus, don’t be too proud to reconsider.’
‘Okay, I’ll think about it.’ It’s strange, when we argued, kids were a lot more of an abstract concept than they are now. After seeing so many tumbling through the cottage, and how interesting and quirky they can be, I can see why so many people actually plan to have them. As I smooth on the foot balm with mint leaves on, I smile at her for being so kind. ‘So what colour would you like?’ I nod towards the basket of little bottles.
‘I always choose peachy pink.’ She’s back to wiggling her toes. ‘But Harry liked dark red.’
‘Maybe that, then?’ The one I pick up is the colour of red wine. As I shake it, I’m searching for her fingers in the crack between the sofa cushions, and I give her hand a squeeze. ‘Harry wouldn’t mind, you have to let yourself live again.’
Her eyes are shining as she swallows. ‘You do too, Edie.’
I’m nodding, but for a time my throat’s too tight to talk. As I slide the silky colour onto her toenails I count in my head to take my mind off feeling weepy. I’m on the second coat and I’ve counted to fourteen when there’s a knock on the window.
It takes me a moment to arrange my bare-faced smile into a state to face ‘the world’. But by the time I’m ready to shake back my bed-hair, the pair of boots I’m staring at definitely aren’t Barney’s.
‘Malcolm!’ Aunty Jo reacts first. ‘Don’t look at my gnarly feet, we’re just doing a bit
of pampering.’
‘And having some of that girly chat too.’ He pulls a face. ‘I popped up to water the hollyhocks, I’m sorry, I couldn’t help overhearing.’
‘Oh dear.’ Aunty Jo goes pale.
Malcolm laughs. ‘Don’t worry, your secrets are safe with me. But for what it’s worth, a long-distance relationship?’ He’s tutting. ‘Totally unsatisfactory.’ He turns to me. ‘And children are great, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.’
‘Thank you for sharing that.’ If I glare at him the way Beth does, hopefully he’ll close down before he upsets Aunty Jo any more.
Malcolm’s looking over the stack of old wood he’s carrying, oblivious. ‘Anyway, how about tomorrow’s Bank Holiday Monday gardeners’ outing to take your minds off things? We’re visiting a couple of lovely cottage gardens in Rosehill village, then we’re having a rollicking’ on the beach on the way home.’
‘A what?’
He laughs. ‘A rollicking good time – it just means a bit of fun. And it’s certainly better for you both than staying home, fretting over absent … er … friends.’
‘Maybe when we start to drive we’ll come.’ We’ll be long gone by the time we do, but it’s the perfect excuse. And then I catch a glimpse of Aunty Jo, and take in how bereft she looks. ‘Unless you’d like to drive us, Malcolm? We could always take the Mini?’
Malcolm’s smile widens. ‘Great minds, Edie, I came to offer my services. I promise I’ll bring you home whenever you’re ready.’
He’s a retired paramedic. We couldn’t be in better hands. I’m actually watching those hands as he lowers the planks he’s carrying and heaps them onto the coffee table, along with a pot of paint and a coil of rope.
‘Malcolm! What are you doing?’ Anyone else would have set Aunty Jo’s sawdust alarm off a lot sooner.
‘They came from the barns, I’ve cut them to size and drilled holes in the corners. All Edie has to do is paint whatever will fit on from her list, then attach some rope handles. It’s an order from a shop on the quayside – they got back to Loella – and they’ll pick them up this evening.’ He takes in Aunty Jo’s astonished expression. ‘Don’t worry, Edie negotiated a top price.’
