Today, she felt sluggish as she made her bed, leaving her room to pause, as always, outside the door opposite, one hand reaching for the doorknob, the brushed brass. Her fingers paused centimetres from it. She felt a painful lurch inside her, the room such a physical reminder of her grief. ‘I’m not being silly,’ she said, starting down the stairs, defensive.
She needed to get ready. A promise was a promise and the poor boy must have been getting bored: she knew her life wasn’t exactly suited to an energetic ten-year-old child. And she still felt guilty for shouting at him in the garden; he had accepted her apology with grace. She was surprised how relieved she had felt that she had the chance to make things right.
Today, she should be continuing the jigsaw, there were some complicated clouds to complete. She gulped down the anxious feeling she got every time plans changed. She’d had time to prepare at least and that always made her feel better, more in control of things. She had written down their itinerary the day before, bought snacks for the travel, a thermos for her peppermint tea. She had polished her reading glasses and had packed her bag early that morning, triple-checking she had everything she might need. She was just popping in a plaster just in case the walk gave her or Billy blisters when there was a knock on the door.
Samantha was already halfway down the road to her shift, a wave goodbye as Billy slouched inside. He was rather scruffy and she was a little disappointed he hadn’t made more effort for their big adventure. He had scowled at her when she had politely asked about his clothing, so she didn’t push it.
Attending the cinema with her mother all those years ago had been quite the occasion. They would wear their best clothes and would only go once or twice a year and she would spend the months afterwards re-enacting everything she could remember from the show. She remembered her mother had to ban her from singing ‘Sixteen Going On Seventeen’ for a month because she sung it so much after watching The Sound of Music in 1965. Elsie knew it wasn’t like that any more, the kids these days had DVDs and streaming – Billy had told her, it was one of the things he missed about London. To her though the cinema was where magic happened and she had been transported to a glamorous world of technicolor.
Would the cinema be the same? ABC Reading? She licked her lips, nervous to be returning. She felt a wave of grief almost cripple her as she started down the road to the station. She was jittery by the time they arrived in Reading, the whole place another world. The station itself was a futuristic maze of escalators, shops, lifts and more in places that hadn’t even existed all those years ago.
In many ways the changes made her relax a little, unable to reconcile the setting with her memories. By the time they found their way to the cinema she was feeling more confident. The sad nostalgia that so much had gone was replaced with an amazement at the changes. The slick, streamlined buildings, the cycle lanes, the lights, the glossy department stores… none of it how she remembered. And she felt as if she could start enjoying the day, not worried about being floored by a memory any more.
She had a wonderful time. She had never really thought of herself as a dog person but after that movie who wouldn’t be?
As she pulled back the curtains in her bedroom the day after their trip, she felt so much lighter. Billy was due to appear after school, his mother agreeing to extra shifts for her hard-nosed manager Richard, who sounded rather charmless and kept changing things at the last moment. Elsie had written a ‘To Do’ list for the garden and after their successful cinema outing, she was hopeful that things might be a little easier with the boy. Certainly she had to admit to forming a small soft spot for him.
The tell-tale fire-engine red of the tin flashed in her peripheral vision as she made herself some tea. She thought of the items inside, the string of pearls that her mother had worn. How she had loved them. She hadn’t been too fussed by appearances but had always looked smart, even when it had just been them on their own in the house.
Billy was quiet as he appeared, pulling off his school sweatshirt in the porch, perhaps wanting to leave the day behind him, to shed school. It was clear he wasn’t happy there, his mouth downcast as she politely enquired after his lessons.
‘Fine,’ he mumbled, accepting the glass of pear squash, a sad expression on his face as she handed him his own plate of custard creams. She didn’t probe further; perhaps he would open up more in the garden. She was excited to get back out there with him.
Billy seemed distracted today though, swinging his legs back and forward on the chair, barely touching his biscuits. It wasn’t quite time for the garden and he was fast losing patience, spinning his teaspoon on his plate so that she almost snapped at him to stop it. Instead she got up.
‘Cards?’ Elsie asked, remembering the pack in the tin, half-forgotten games merging into one.
‘Alright…’ Billy said, even more dejected, hands in his lap.
They played cards – Strip Jack Naked, a two-player game – but Billy, after his initial amusement, didn’t seem too enamoured, and Elsie regretted having asked him. She should have just ignored the timings and gone to the garden with him. She had loved to play cards with her mother, had played endless rounds, pestering her, and when her mother was too busy using the pack to line up rows and rows of cards in a game of patience.
‘Is it time yet?’ Billy asked, chin in one hand, not even hiding his boredom as he placed down another King.
‘That’s three cards I owe you,’ Elsie replied brightly, not liking things disrupted, because then everything would be all out.
‘Shall we check out another place on the map, see where it leads us?’ Billy asked, standing suddenly, his cards forgotten.
Elsie couldn’t help a worried look at her watch. ‘I thought we were going to select some new spring bulbs.’
But Billy had already moved across to the dresser. Elsie had left the map out, forgetting to put it back in the tin, staring at it for an age, her tea long cold that morning.
‘How about here?’ Billy pointed to a square in a small patch of bright green, like a chopped-up field, houses in a semi-circle around it.
Elsie moved round to see where he was pointing, her mind already filling with images from the past, how that map triggered them.
‘Well, I’m not sure,’ she said, biting her lip.
‘Come on, you can show me how to get there. Mum keeps telling me I need to get to know my new home.’ He half-spat the last word and Elsie felt a pang for this boy who seemed so at sea, his accent a constant reminder that he was from somewhere else.
‘Come on, Mrs Maple,’ Billy pleaded, seeing her waver.
She thought of her enjoyment at their trip to the cinema. Some of this map was clearly meant to be a wonderful walk through special memories. ‘On one condition,’ she said, putting one finger in the air, ‘you must call me Elsie.’
He screwed up his nose.
‘I’m serious.’
‘Alright then,’ he said, energy restored, ‘come on, Ells.’
Elsie made a face, ‘No, no, that won’t do!’
He burst out laughing at her horrified expression and the stilted atmosphere of the past hour melted away.
‘Come on, you horror!’ she said, reaching out to ruffle his hair.
They both looked surprised at the action.
It was a beautiful afternoon, the days longer now, the temperature rising. They moved down an alley edged by lush green bushes, dodging stinging nettles and brambles as Billy told her a little more about London and a boy called Liam who had been his ‘best mate’. He told her that Liam had saved money up to buy Billy a new tyre for his BMX bicycle and pretended his mum had given him the money. Liam sounded like a nice boy. Getting outside seemed to loosen Billy’s tongue and he stopped intermittently to point out things he’d seen.
‘Eagle!’ he cried.
‘A red kite,’ Elsie corrected.
‘A bee!’
‘Wasp.’
They emerged from the path, the village behind them, fields and wo
ods stretched out before them. On their right was a field of allotments: spades sticking out of the ground, water butts, small sheds, the odd lone gardener.
‘What are they doing?’ Billy watched a man in a beige sunhat carry a watering can back to his patch.
‘It’s the village allotments,’ Elsie replied, moving through the gate to the field behind. Billy, however, had stopped dead on the track, gazing around at the different sections. There were radishes, lettuces, rows of asparagus, seemingly bare patches, holes ready for something to be sowed. ‘Billy?’
‘Coming,’ he started, joining her at the gate. ‘Hey, a rabbit…’ he said, pointing quickly as a rabbit peeked out from the hedgerow and then dived back inside.
‘You’ll probably see a few of them.’
They skirted the back of the allotments, Billy amazed at the sight of twenty or so chickens scraping and strutting over an area of dirt, laughing as one rushed up to the wire fence to stare at him. It gave Elsie the seed of a thought.
They were headed to the old pillbox, the square on the map that Billy had pointed out. A place Elsie had played in as a child, hiding there as if it were her personal den. She watched now as Billy ran through the long grass, chasing another rabbit that bounded away from him. ‘It’s like the zoo here,’ he said, eyes wide, taking in the field of cows beyond, the birds circling overhead.
Elsie realised his world of concrete, endless streets and countless people was a hundred miles away from this view: the different shades of green, the dense wood beyond, the hazy blue sky, enormous overhead. For the first time in a long while she could see it through fresh eyes and she realised how she had always taken it for granted: how lucky she should have felt, growing up in this beautiful countryside. She had always focused on the smallness of it: the two-bedroomed house they lived in, the handful of shops on the tiny high street, the same bench they fed ducks from, the feeling that life ended at the edge of the village.
Billy was fascinated by the pillbox, Elsie explaining the concrete structure had been built in case of a German invasion in the Second World War. His eyes were wide as he contemplated a world of guns, spies and battles, so far removed from this sleepy, sunny day.
‘The doorway is blocked up now but I used to play around here, imagining screaming from the enemy that arrived on the Thames. Mother taught me all about the Second World War: the preparations for an invasion, a German army, they dug anti-tank ditches all the way along here, stretching right into Theale…’
Billy followed her arm, mouthing ‘Cool!’ as he moved around the dull block, an eyesore in this rural stretch.
Whispering, Elsie told him to stand still and he froze as if she had spotted the approaching German army. ‘Muntjac,’ she said in a hiss as close by, a baby deer peeked out from behind a cluster of trees. Billy followed her gaze, his excitement palpable from the drawing in of his breath. They watched as the deer picked at the ground, oblivious to its audience before a cry overhead startled it, neck raised suddenly, bounding back to cover.
A woman in large sunglasses, her blond hair tied up, was approaching, pushing a pram along the narrow, flattened grass of the path. Elsie realised she recognised her as she moved closer. Billy was off again, racing around the pillbox pretending to fire machine guns, theatrically throwing himself in the long grass: he obviously needed to blow off steam. Where were his friends, Elsie wondered sadly, realising that he looked just as she had at that age: enjoying the day by escaping into his mind. How had that worked out for her?
She was miles away as the woman passed, muttering a quiet, ‘Hi.’
It was Scarlet, the librarian who always tried to help and waved at her in the street. Elsie felt a strange sensation of seeing someone out of context. This woman was walking along dressed in a bright pink vest top and jeans when normally she was in something a little more staid, sat at the desk near the library entrance, squinting at the computer screen or organising the returned items. Her hair was up in the high bun again. Elsie realised as she looked at the woman and then the pram that this woman who had spoken to her every week for the last year or two had a baby. And Elsie had never even thought to ask. It would explain why she hadn’t been in the library for a few months last year.
‘Hello,’ she replied, shame making her embarrassed.
‘It’s lovely out here, isn’t it?’ Scarlet said, pausing and adjusting a blanket over the body of a chubby-faced baby on the edge of sleep. ‘Is that your grandson?’ She smiled, looking at Billy star-fished on the grass, staring up at the scud of clouds overhead.
‘No,’ Elsie said, the shortness to the reply making Scarlet shrink back a fraction. ‘What’s the baby’s name?’ Elsie indicated the pram, trying to fix things. Scarlet had always been nice to her, polite and never badgering, pointing out that month’s recommended reads but otherwise staying silent. She must have guessed that Elsie didn’t know she had had a baby.
‘Harry. I’ve always liked it.’ Scarlet smiled, barely any lines appearing, her forehead completely smooth.
‘A lovely name. Fit for a prince!’ Elsie said, frowning inwardly at her own terrible joke. ‘How are you finding him?’
Scarlet sighed, a sneaky look at the pram in case Harry took offence. ‘It’s been good. I mean, not much sleep, but he is a sweetie.’
‘He looks it,’ replied Elsie. Harry rewarded her by waking and giving her a bashful smile.
‘He’s a flirt, like his dad.’ Scarlet laughed.
Elsie hadn’t even known Scarlet had a partner. She must remember to ask after them next time she was in the library.
‘Well, I hope you enjoy the sunshine. I love these warmer days,’ Scarlet said, tilting her head towards the sky, her skin peachy in the light.
‘Me too. A great time for the garden.’
‘My mum loves gardening,’ Scarlet replied, a concerned look as Harry cried out, kicking up the blanket. ‘I haven’t inherited the green fingers though, every plant pot in our house has died a death on my watch.’
‘My mum loved the garden too,’ Elsie said fondly, feeling a familiar ache in her chest. ‘But you’re too busy for all that,’ she added kindly, watching as Scarlet fussed again over the pram.
The sentence was rewarded with a smile.
‘Do you have kids?’ Scarlet asked.
Elsie would normally have responded in a curt manner but today, she felt different. Today, she found herself simply shaking her head. ‘I’m sad to say I do not.’
Scarlet’s smooth forehead crinkled. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.’
Elsie waved her concern away. ‘It’s alright. The chance of all that disappeared a long time ago.’ She glanced across at Billy, who was zigzagging down the path ahead.
Scarlet’s face relaxed and then Harry wailed again. ‘I better get going or he’ll only get worse,’ she apologised. ‘But you take care, Mrs Maple. I’ll look forward to seeing you in the library soon.’
‘It’s Elsie,’ Elsie said for the second time that day, feeling the tiniest glow inside her.
‘Elsie,’ Scarlet repeated as she moved away, and something about the way she said it made Elsie want to weep. Apart from Mr Porter the butcher, no one used her first name – she’d been Mrs Maple for twenty-eight years.
Chapter Fourteen
BILLY
Mum was literally always working now. We were meant to have a day together, it was half term and she’d promised, but then stupid Dick had phoned and she hadn’t even argued with him. She zipped up her skirt quickly, apologising, but this felt just like all the times Dad would tell me we could go to the trampoline centre, or go-karting, or bowling and then he’d spend the day smelling funny, lying on the sofa taking paracetamol. Mum had always kept her promises but now it was just her she was doing that a lot less, like bits of Dad had come with her.
Thinking about Dad still made me sad and sort of confused because sometimes other memories of him popped into my head that I didn’t want. I’d stopped asking when he was coming, knowin
g that Mum had left him. She asked me if I missed him, and I did, and then she cried a little and said she was sorry and that she would sort something out and could I be patient and she’d explain. I hated Mum crying. I’d heard her once right in the middle of the night, like I used to sometimes in London, so I’d given her a hug and told her I was OK, even if I wasn’t.
So, I was headed next door. Mrs Maple always said yes to looking after me – I don’t think she really ever had any plans and I never heard anyone else in her house. I didn’t mind going there as much now because Mrs Maple was a little more chilled but I still had to be on my best behaviour and sometimes I’d do something that would upset her, like if I touched some of her china things or asked too many questions, and she’d get that hard look on her face and her mouth would go all small, like she was trying to stop from snapping at me.
Today was warmer and I wanted to wear shorts but my shorts are back in London and Mum said I’d have to wait because she couldn’t go shopping and really, I knew it was because we didn’t have a lot of money. She came back last week with a T-shirt that I knew was from the village charity shop because it had been in the window when I’d walked past. She pretended she’d just taken off the tags though and I looked at her ‘like I wasn’t born yesterday’ as Mrs Maple would say.
I still can’t really call her Elsie; she asks me to but it sounds all funny. Sometimes I call her ‘Ells’ because she looks really mad and then sort of laughs and it makes me chuckle. She can be so weird.
Today when we got to hers I could see her sat at her desk in the front room with a funny look on her face and she was holding her pen. She took a while to answer the door, purple ink still on her fingers.
The Garden of Lost Memories Page 9
