by Jane Linfoot
Some things never change though. I’m still just as embarrassed by the neon print on Mum’s wacky luggage as I was the last time it was out on this lane. If anything, it’s worse today because the sun’s so much brighter and my case is huge because it’s bursting with enough borrowed bunting to fill my parents’ back garden. But it doesn’t matter, it’s not as if there’s anyone around to see. Other than Reggie the postman, obviously, who’s skidding to a halt in front of us now.
‘Mind your toes, ladies, here you go.’ He hands the letters to us through the open window of his little red post van. ‘It says Bradleys on the back of the envelope, so these will likely be your sales details, Josie. I’ve looked you up on Rightmove, you’ve certainly done wonders in there. You should have a fair few viewers this weekend.’ He frowns at the suitcases. ‘You’re not going away today, are you?’
‘It’s fine.’ Aunty Jo brushes away his horror. ‘The agents are doing viewings while we’re up in Bath.’
‘Good luck anyway and travel safe.’ He laughs and crashes the van into gear. ‘The way the roads are today, it wouldn’t surprise me if you’d sold before you get there.’
‘Thanks, and see you soon.’ Watching the dust rise from the tyres as the van bounces off along the lane to Barney’s, I’m trying to remember what it was like having letters delivered by someone who didn’t care about every last detail of our lives. Maybe I’m being unfair; Tony the postman at Zinc Inc came for a chat most days but we knew that was mainly an excuse to hit up Sadie’s sweetie drawer. But there’s no time to think of more because the City Link van is bumping our way.
‘Hi, Seth.’ This time I get in first as he jumps down, parcel in hand.
‘That’s one suitcase I’m not going to run over in a hurry.’ He pulls a face at my luggage. ‘Signature here, please.’
I do a zigzag on his little screen with my fingernail, Aunty Jo steps forward and takes the parcel, and as the van turns in the barn yard she’s looking as if her eyes are about to pop.
‘Everything okay, Aunty Jo?’
‘It will be when you’ve opened this.’ She’s pushing the package into my hands. ‘I thought it wasn’t going to arrive in time … don’t look at the label.’
‘But …’ For a moment my heart stops. ‘It’s Leah Lemon.’
‘I said not to look, but never mind that now. This is just a little …’
‘It’s not little, it’s big.’ Even as I’m pulling the tape off, opening the wide, flat box, I’m biting on my lip. Then, as I pull back the tissue paper and run my fingers over the wonderfully soft fabric inside, I can’t say anything at all because my chest implodes.
‘No present in the world would be big enough to say thank you properly for everything you’ve done for me, Greenbean. But I hope you’ll find this useful.’ Despite my yowls, Aunty Jo’s carrying on. ‘It’s for when you go back to work.’
I pull her towards me, juddering as I sob. ‘It’s the suit – the one I wanted – isn’t it?’
‘Yes, it is.’ She’s nodding and sniffling and we’re standing on the lane, clinging onto each other, tears washing down our cheeks, until eventually she dips in her pocket ‘What are we like?’ She passes out a hanky each and we both blow our noses.
‘Thank you so much, I’ve never had a better present.’ I’m half laughing, half crying. ‘I only hope our Glamlash is tear-proof.’
That makes Aunty Jo laugh too. ‘The day the catalogue first came I really didn’t believe you’d make it back to your job. But now I do.’ She gives another loud sniff. ‘It’s not just everything you’ve done for me, I’m so proud of everything you’ve achieved and overcome, Edie. I couldn’t be happier to buy it for you.’
There’s no time to say any more because yet another van pulls up in the lane, and as the driver flings open the back doors and pulls out a length of wood and a mallet my stomach drops.
‘Look, Aunty Jo, he’s putting up the sign.’
I’m half waiting for Barney to come out and tell him not to block the lane but he doesn’t because he’s on the beach. We watch in silence as the driver hammers in the stake and attaches the classy dark blue For Sale sign. Then he taps on a second smaller one.
I’m working my way down it. ‘… Cottage … 4 beds … sea views … barns … huge po - po – po …’
‘Huge potential, Sweetpea.’
‘Of course.’ It’s as if the sign makes it real for the first time. Real, and very final. As I clasp her fingers I can feel her shaking. ‘Are you okay?’
‘I have to be.’ She lets out a faltering breath. ‘I can’t possibly manage a place this size on my own, quite apart from everything else.’
Somehow in our rush for the finish line, and the latest plan – for Aunty Josie to move closer to my mum – I’d lost sight of how upsetting letting go this last link to Harry might be. How much like home it feels here. How much I love the sea, even if she doesn’t.
‘New beginnings for both of us,’ I say. Except that’s total crap because she’s uprooting for a second time and I’m going back to what I’ve been missing for months, so it’s way easier for me. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll all be there to help you.’
Then as the door slams and the van turns and drives off towards town, in my head I can hear the door on the room of the orchard and Barney’s barns inching shut. Very soon that door’s going to be clanging closed behind me too. I know exactly how wobbly Aunty Jo feels because, for a tiny fragment of time, I want to wrench the door open and dive back inside too. Stay where it’s safe. Which is completely ridiculous, considering everything I’ve worked for over the last few months is so I can leave.
I dip into my bag and pull out my mirror. ‘Lippy?’
We’re still doing the running repairs to our faces when Malcolm’s car trundles along the lane. He pulls to a halt in front of us, gets out onto the verge and runs straight into the sign. But all he does as he moves around to open the boot is to shake his head very slowly.
Once we’re all on board, he turns the car around, and it’s only when we get to the lane end that he takes his hands off the steering wheel and rubs his hands together.
‘Right, Bath here we come.’ For someone beginning a weekend away, he couldn’t sound less enthusiastic. And we get all the way to Bodmin before he asks us if we’d like to listen to Beth’s special Dad’s Jukebox CD.
‘Ooh, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Free Bird, that’s nice.’ Aunty Jo recognises the first track straight away. She turns round and hands me the fat envelope. ‘Now the road’s winding less, see what you think of these, Chickpea.’
As I close my eyes and listen to the twangy notes and song lines that are all about someone having to leave, the picture stuck on the insides of my eyelids is Barney. Sitting on the top step of a hut, with his beaten-up guitar resting on his ripped jeans, the stubble shadows playing across his cheekbones, Cam a little further down.
And I’m so hoping that I haven’t taken too much from them. That while I’ve been soaking up all the benefits in the orchard, I’ve done well enough by him and Cam too. Because I know I’m leaving him with an orchard full of beautifully decorated huts, and more orders than he’d ever dreamed was possible. But there’s still this nagging feeling that I’m leaving a job half done. There’s an awful sinking, doubting pain deep inside my chest that’s telling me I could have – should have – somehow done more.
Then Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy comes on, followed by Razorlight, and America, and it’s as if I’ve landed in Dad’s car, not Malcolm’s. I lean back against the velour seat, pull out the brochure Aunty Jo gave me, and leaf through the sharp edges of the paper.
The neat black writing is the same kind Sadie used to do on the Zinc Inc documents and I’m staring at the print so hard it goes wobbly. It’s funny because all the letters look like old friends, but we get all the way to the road where all the cars go really fast and I’m still stumbling over the first few words. Even though I’m sounding out the bits like Cam and I have done a million tim
es, I manage the first few, but after that my head won’t work at all.
We’re seeing signs to Bristol when Aunty Jo’s mobile rings, and it’s the estate agent telling her she’s got an asking price offer on the cottage and they want to buy the contents too. So I probably don’t need to look at the details too carefully after all.
39
Day 298: Sunday, 26th August
Back in Bath
Epic Achievement: Finding my way home (finally.) Just that.
As we got closer to my parents’ house the swathes of green fields gave way to the mottled blue sprawl of the outskirts of town, and as we sped past heavy lorries and the warehouses and factories I hadn’t seen for months I could already feel the thrum of the city vibrating through me. Then we left the fast road and looped around the streets of Bath where the pale stone terraces with their tall repeating windows and the rolling vistas of grey slate roofs broken by tall church spires were achingly familiar. At first, after the cosy patchwork of St Aidan’s higgledy cottages, everything looked huge and oversized. But by the time we turned the corner into Mum and Dad’s close the houses were more homely again, little brick boxes cosying up with their neat gardens, double garages and driveways. And by the time we pulled up outside number twenty-six it was almost like I’d never been away.
Mum was extra shiny, and hugged us in through the front door instead of through the porch at the back. I’m not sure if her hairdresser’s blow dry, Joules T-shirt and new pale pink lippy were down to the fact she would be adding a zero onto her age or the pressure of Aunty Jo turning up with her own driver. It took Dad approximately three seconds to get a beer in Malcolm’s hand and whisk him off to his shed. Which left Mum free to bring us women up to speed on the party food lists – there were pages of the damn things – and give Aunty Jo a rundown of places nearby she might want to move to. This is Mum, she’d checked out all the new developments within a ten-minute drive and booked viewings for later in the day.
It’s funny when you go home for celebrations and the place is unrecognisable. I just hope Dad gave Malcolm the heads-up that we aren’t always this tidy or he might have the wrong impression entirely. Mum and Dad had been in overdrive; all the furniture indoors was pushed back against the walls, and outside the back garden was bursting with borrowed garden chairs. Apart from a break to see the flats with Aunty Jo and to go out to pick up the giant ‘death by chocolate’ birthday cake, we just got sucked into helping with the preparations. By the time we’re having our Thai takeaway on the patio that evening, the garden is festooned with bunting. As we relax on an exotic array of other people’s sun loungers, everyone except me is already getting stuck into the party alcohol and Aunty Jo is pretty much sold on a flat around the corner. What with a balcony overlooking the park, dado rails on the landings, and being next to a row of shops with a veggie shop which is so on-trend you can’t buy anything unless you take your own bags, what’s not to like?
As Mum and I said – as we high fived each other before bed – ‘Our work here is done’.
The upside of being alcohol free is not having hangovers. When I wake next morning, even if the light isn’t quite as luminous as I’m used to, for the first few seconds it’s kind of wonderful that in place of the distant crash of the waves I’m listening to the rumble of buses and the whine of next door’s lawnmower. I have time to sit in my little grey room, breathing deeply and muttering, ‘I’ll soon be back, it’s going to be awesome, bring on the cake, work will be fab.’ I say it quite a few times before I hear Dad groaning his way along to the bathroom.
Once we go downstairs I astonish Mum by making everyone Oat so Lovely for breakfast, which she very sweetly says is her best birthday present ever. Suffice it to say, no one else looks in any state to make their own porridge. Then, after a couple of green teas, Aunty Jo puts the oven on and starts cooking vol-au-vents, Malcolm counts out the candles and I cram them onto the cake, and a singing fireman birthday telegram comes to the door, sent as a joke from Mum’s mates at her ‘Bums and Tums’ class. Then Tash, Brian, Tiddlywink and Wilf arrive with armfuls of flowers, and homemade cards with the glue still wet that somehow accidentally get stuck to Dad’s new M&S sweatshirt, and that kicks the party off.
It’s one of those afternoons that goes by in a blur while I eat my own body weight in Brie and cranberry puffs and mini cheese soufflés. The garden is heaving, and there are so many of Mum’s friends I haven’t seen in ages I’m spending so much time mingling and chatting I’m seriously neglecting the sweet table. It’s only after the cake and the toasts – I’m sticking firmly to cans of elderflower fizz so there’s no mistakes here – that I finally manage to load up a dish with strawberries and profiteroles and double chocolate mousse for Tiddlywink and me, and we flop down on the grass beside Malcolm, Mum and Aunty Jo to eat them.
‘It’s a great way to kick-start your new social life, Aunty Jo.’ As I grin at her and hand Tiddlywink a strawberry, I’m wishing Malcolm was enjoying himself more, but I can see why he’d be overwhelmed by the city.
‘I’ve already been asked to join the book group.’ Aunty Jo pretends to flick a crumb off her dress, but she’s secretly looking very pleased. ‘And Tums and Bums and the Rachmaninov Society.’
‘You don’t have to join them all.’ I send her a wink. ‘Remember to save time for life drawing.’
‘It would be a shame to waste those easels.’ She’s smiling at me. ‘If you like we can go to that together, Sweetpea. And if ever you want a break from your mum and dad, you can always come and stay with me. Two bathrooms – we could have one each.’
‘Thanks, Aunty Jo.’ I reach over and give her hand a squeeze. She’s so full of thoughts, but she’s also got a point. In the long-term it might be easier to live with her than here.
‘Actually …’ My mum’s clearing her throat and looking unusually tentative. ‘Thinking about that, I’ve been meaning to tell you. I said Marcus could come this afternoon, so he might be popping in later.’
‘You did … WHAT?!’ I’m rubbing the lump in my throat where I swallowed my profiterole whole, checking Tiddlywink’s okay after my sudden lurch, and wondering how exactly my mum made the jump from Aunty Jo’s flat to my ex. ‘Why the hell did you do that?’
‘He came round on Friday with flowers for my birthday. It seemed mean not to invite him.’
How does he do it? Well, her birthday was probably programmed into his phone from before, but the rest? I don’t remember him ever bringing me flowers, but the hard bit is, I’m not completely sure if that’s because he never did or because it got lost in one of my mind holes.
‘Well, you’re going to have to un-invite him.’ At least I’m sure about that bit.
‘Don’t be silly, Edie, that would be rude.’
‘And asking my ex to your party isn’t?’
‘I know you’re not together any more but he’s like part of the family. He’s often popped round with roses the last few months, he still cares about how you’re doing.’ My mum’s somehow missing that we need to stop living in the past and move on. ‘In any case, he pretty much asked himself.’
‘That figures.’ I can see Tash eyeballing me from where she’s scraping chocolate icing out of Wilf’s ears with a napkin.
‘Don’t worry, Edie, you know what he’s like, if he isn’t here by now, he’s probably had a better offer.’ Tash gets to her feet, and slides her feet into her flip-flops. ‘If you’ve got a minute, I could do with a hand changing Wilf?’
‘Back soon, Tiddlywink.’ We both know Tash is completely capable of doing this herself and just trying to get me out of the way to smooth things over here. I’m not that happy about leaving my pudding either, but there’s still lots left on the table so I hand the dish to Mum and follow Tash towards the back porch.
We’re making our way past the coat hooks and Tash has her hand on the door to the kitchen when she pulls up, looking towards the open front door. ‘Talk about bad timing, that’s all we bloody need.’
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‘What … why?’
‘There’s no good way of saying this. It’s Marcus. He’s just getting out of his car.’ She’s frowning as she releases her grip on me. ‘Do you want me to send him away? Give me five seconds, he’ll be gone.’
‘It’s okay.’
Part of me wants to hide in the cupboard, and yet I also know I need to get this over. I go to the door and look across at that familiar blond hair, more the colour of dirty sand now I know the beach so well. Then I call out, ‘Marcus!’ I watch him twist around.
‘Edes, shall I come in?’
‘No, stay there, I’ll come out.’
‘Are you sure?’ Tash is next to me, her voice low. ‘Do you need a wingman?’
I shake my head.
‘I’ll be here by the window. If you want backup, Edie, wave and I’ll come.’
‘Thanks.’ I squeeze her hand. Numb is okay. It could be the best way to be to handle this.
By the time I get to the end of the drive, Marcus has still got his boot lid up. As I arrive on the pavement he’s holding out a can.
‘Fancy a cold beer?’
‘I’m an alcohol free zone now.’
‘My bad, I didn’t think.’ He’s using the same vintage Coca-Cola icebox I bought him for parties and he grabs us a couple of bottles of cola then closes the boot lid. ‘Do you mind if we have a quick chat here, before we join the others?’
‘Fine.’ I choose a spot on the garden wall between the bushes with red and purple flowers we used to pop when we were kids, and ease my bum onto the sun-warmed stone coping. This was our favourite place to sit back in the day, only then we had bubblegum and rollerskates and annoyed my mum by writing on the pavement with the purple crab apples from the tree.
‘So, how’s it going?’ Marcus arrives in the gap next to me. ‘Is it good to be home?’
‘Great, thanks.’ It’s a lot easier talking to him here on familiar ground. ‘Next visit I’ll be going back to work.’
