Lucy braced herself. She’d known that her mum would think she’d completely lost her marbles. Ever since she’d left home Lucy had been a complete stickler for order, tidiness, everything in its place. For clean. It had been a backlash against the total disarray that her mother had brought her up in. Too many magazines overflowing from the tables, too many books in teetering stacks on the bookshelves, cushions overcrowding the settee. Piles of clothes begging to be ironed. Dirty dishes taking over the work-surfaces. An overgrown garden that was a fly-tipper’s dream.
She’d compensated in her own way, tried to bring some order back into her own life. Until she’d discovered, earlier in the summer, exactly why her mother had brought her up the way she had. To prove her independence, to celebrate her release from a cruel, controlling husband. Lucy’s dad.
Up until then, she’d never known why they’d fled home, leaving everything but their clothes behind. But it all made sense now. And in a strange way finding out had given her a release, permission to let go a little. Live how she wanted to, not how she thought she should.
But this was probably a step too far in her mother’s eyes. She thought Lucy had lost her mind. Buying a cottage that needed a major overhaul. ‘I know what it looks like Mum, but if I just—’ She loved it already, she had to persuade her mum that it was perfect.
‘Well I know what it looks like as well Lucy Jacobs.’ Trish shook her head. ‘It looks amazing, it looks just like the type of home I’d been dreaming of when,’ she hesitated, ‘he, your, when he said we were moving to a village.’ She turned to look at Lucy and her eyes were awash with unshed tears. ‘Oh, come here, darling.’
Lucy felt her own eyes burn as she was wrapped in her mother’s strong embrace. Her mum had always been strong, it ran through her, right from the tone of her voice through her slim body. Lucy had never noticed that it had only appeared when they ran away from her dad, that the only time it had crumbled was when she’d explained to Lucy why she’d done what she had. Why they’d run away, and she’d lost all her friends, her home, her dog. Her dad.
Trish pulled back a little, tucked Lucy’s hair behind her ear. ‘I am so proud of you, Lucy. How on earth did you find such a wonderful place?’
‘I think Elsie Harrington had a lot to do with it. You know, the old lady I introduced you to? She was standing at her gate, near the church.’
‘Ah yes, the elegant lady. I always wished I could have been that type of person, you know perfectly groomed.’ There was a wistful note in her voice that made Lucy smile.
‘It’s far too much effort, Mum. Just think about all the colour co-ordination, all the time you’d have to spend on your nails.’
Trish grinned. ‘It does suit her though, doesn’t it? She’s very refined,’ she paused, as though working out the best way to say what she was thinking, ‘but she’s got this air about her, she’s sad. If that doesn’t sound odd?’
Lucy shook her head. ‘Not odd at all, Mum. She’s definitely sad. I wish she’d talk, tell me the whole story, or tell somebody, anybody. She’s just told me little bits at a time, but I’m pretty sure she had to give her baby up when she was younger, when it was born.’ She looked at her mother, who nodded. ‘I don’t think she’s ever told anybody, but I think she’d really like to have things out in the open before it’s too late.’
‘Surely this day and age it’s possible to track somebody down? Although I suppose records weren’t as good back then.’
‘Oh she knows who it is, she’s watched him grow up. I bumped into her not long ago and she was sat here, on the green, watching all the kids coming out of school.’ A pang of sadness bit at her, making her eyes burn. ‘She’s done that for years, all the time he, her son, was at school, and then ever since.’ How hard must it have been, to sit all alone, just watch?
‘He doesn’t know?’ Her mother raised an eyebrow.
‘She left it and left it, not wanting to mess up his life, and then it felt like it was too late. But the woman who looked after him is dead now, and maybe it’s the right time.’ Lucy shrugged. ‘What do you think? I mean he’d be better knowing wouldn’t he? If he found out after she died, that would be terrible.’ If Josie had taken Maisie away, and she’d not seen her father again, not known how much he’d loved her, until after he died. She shuddered. It didn’t bear thinking about.
‘Well I’m sure you can guess what I think, Lucy. I put off telling you about why we’d moved for far too long, I regret that. But you do know why I was so frightened to tell you?’ Trish walked up the narrow, overgrown garden path and pushed open the cottage door before turning round. ‘I was scared of rejection, Lucy. That’s what we’re all most afraid of, isn’t it? Poor Elsie.’ She paused. ‘Well isn’t this lovely? You could polish these floorboards up a treat.’
They stood side by side and looked out of the dusty window towards the green. Maisie and Charlie were playing with Roo and Piper.
‘This is what I wanted for you before you were even born, Lucy. It’s been a winding route to get here. And that,’ she nodded at Charlie and his daughter, ‘is what I’ve wanted for you since you’ve grown up.’
‘But we aren’t a family, Mum. Even Charlie doesn’t …’
‘It’s not the legalities, love, they don’t matter in the end. It’s what is in your heart, it’s love.’
‘I think in her heart, Elsie wants to risk telling her son.’
‘Then that’s what she needs to do, isn’t it?’
‘But it’s different for Charlie.’
‘He’ll never lose her completely, love, not if he doesn’t want to.’
‘And we’re not a proper couple, we can’t be, not with …’
‘Tell the world whatever you want, but,’ she smiled, ‘inside you know exactly what you are. Now, the kitchen must be through here, is it?’
Trish smiled broadly at the big bright kitchen and its old Aga, then frowned at the mishmash of old-fashioned cupboards (which Lucy thought would look wonderful after they’d had some TLC), before exclaiming with delight at the quarry tiles. She declared the back garden ‘wonderful, though an industrial digger might come in handy’; she laughed at the bathroom, but agreed that removing the olive tiles and avocado suite and installing a claw foot bath and new basin and toilet would transform the place (although the plumbing might need more serious surgery).
‘You’re really settled here in Langtry Meadows, aren’t you?’
‘I am.’ Lucy ran a hand over the old, worn wood of the stair banister and smiled. ‘I feel like I’ve come home.’
‘I’m pleased.’ Trish’s tone was soft. ‘I never thought living in a city was right for you.’ She pulled the front door shut and they walked down the path arm in arm, then stood next to the rickety little gate, which hung bravely on one hinge.
Lucy turned back to gaze up at the cottage. The place that, fingers crossed, would soon be hers and it seemed to wink back at her as the last dregs of sunlight splintered off the old panes of glass.
The summer white of the jasmine that gave the cottage its name had all but disappeared now, giving way to the more autumnal oranges and golds of the marigolds, roses and gerbera. There was the slightest October nip in the air, and the chimney of the cottage at the end of the terrace was already puffing out smoke.
‘Oh my goodness look at that!’
Lucy glanced over at Charlie in alarm as her mother headed back up the path, then veered off towards the corner of the house. What on earth had Trish spotted? Was it something structural, something terrible that would throw all her plans into disarray?
Her heart in her mouth, Lucy rushed after her mum, Charlie and Maisie at her heels.
‘Blackberries!’ Trish held a fat, juicy blackberry up in the air triumphantly. ‘I’ve never seen so many so late in the season, look.’ Her eyes glowed with excitement and Lucy started to laugh with relief. ‘We can make crumble, come on, let’s all get picking.’ She paused for a second, doubt suddenly hitting her. ‘We are allowed I suppose? It isn’t s
tealing?’
‘No Trish.’ Charlie was laughing too. ‘I’m sure nobody will mind at all. Hang on, I’ll go to the Taverner’s and get some bowls to put them in.’
Half an hour later they had several tubs full of fruit, Maisie’s fingers and mouth were smeared with juice, and Trish had declared she had enough to keep them in pies and crumbles for quite some time.
She brushed her hands together with contentment. ‘Now then, I don’t know about you two, but I could murder a nice cup of tea and a biscuit.’
Charlie scooped up Piper, who had been racing round and round a giggling Maisie. ‘I’ll have to leave you to it I’m afraid. We better get off, hadn’t we Maisie?’
Maisie pouted and stared at the ground. ‘But I want to make crumble.’
‘Sorry darling.’ Charlie ruffled her hair. ‘Maybe another day? We really do have to get home. I’m expecting a call.’
Lucy could see the flash of tension that caught his features as he spoke. No doubt Josie had promised one of her intermittent calls, and Charlie dreaded them. He’d given up on telling Maisie in advance, because all too often the call didn’t materialise and he’d get a message the next day with excuses about lack of Wi-Fi, or emergency situations. It was bad when they didn’t happen, but in a way worse when they did. Maisie was pleased to see her mum, but all she wanted to know was when she would be back. Why she wasn’t here. When she was going back to her old bedroom and friends.
Moving to the farm had made a big difference to their lives already, but every mention of Josie raised questions. And Charlie couldn’t answer them.
‘You sure it’s okay if Maisie comes to see you in the morning, while I’m in surgery?’
‘Of course it is. She can tell Mum all about Treacle, and,’ Lucy paused, ‘we could make crumble maybe?’
Trish nodded and Maisie grinned, good humour restored. She bounced on the spot, rather like Roo did, and Lucy had to smile. ‘Yes, yes, blackberry crumble.’
‘That would be brilliant, thanks.’ Charlie raised one eyebrow. ‘And what do you say, Maisie?’
‘Thank you.’ With a squeal she launched herself at Trish, who blushed bright red and hugged her close as though she never wanted to let go.
‘You’re welcome.’ Lucy stood on tiptoe and kissed Charlie’s cheek. ‘Call me later?’
He nodded, smiled and handed over the wriggling cockerpoo. ‘I’ll be fine.’
‘I know you will be.’ She moved closer to whisper in his ear. ‘But will I? Mum seems to have planned a mother-daughter bonding session, which sounds a bit dangerous to me.’
‘You’ll be fine.’ He chuckled, the broad, deep chuckle that never failed to send a shiver down her arms.
‘Mum?’ Lucy put a cup of tea down in front of Trish, who smiled.
‘Lucy?’
‘I’m worried about Elsie.’
‘I know you are darling.’ Trish rested her hand lightly on top of her daughter’s.
‘It’s not just the baby thing, she’s got this cough, and she just doesn’t seem herself at the moment.’ She ran her hands over her face. ‘I feel guilty because she’s been so good to me, and I’ve hardly been round to see her at all lately.’
‘You’ve been busy, love.’
‘But I only need to pop in for five minutes, don’t I? On the way home from school. And I haven’t.’
‘Well they say actions speak louder than words, so I think once we’ve finished this drink we’ll make a nice pot of soup.’
‘Soup?’ Lucy couldn’t help herself, she smiled. There was one very good thing she’d never forgotten about her childhood, and that was the smell of soup. Trish had worked two jobs to make ends meet when Lucy was at school, and often after she’d gone to bed she’d hear her mother start to chop vegetables. Make a cheap but nourishing pan of soup, so that there’d be something waiting for her when she got in from school.
She’d doze off to the steady chop, chop, and when she woke up next morning the house would be full of the smell of chicken soup.
‘Well I know your Elsie doesn’t like charity, but she can’t say no if we turn up with a good pot of soup can she? And it works wonders if you’ve got flu. Right, get a pen and paper love and I’ll tell you the recipe, then when I’ve gone back home you’ll be able to make another pot in the week. Oh, and while we’re at it we can make her a nice blackberry crumble. Nobody can turn down one of those, can they? We’ll soon have her feeling chirpier and back on her feet, though I’m sure,’ she patted Lucy’s hand, ‘you’re right. Persuading her to come out into the open will be a weight off her mind, there’s no saying how much damage secrets do to your state of mind, darling. No saying at all. A burden they are.’ She shook her head, and her own regrets were clear. ‘There’d be a lot less stress in our lives if we didn’t hide things. Now, come on, where’s that notepad of yours?’
Lucy had just started to root through the drawers for a notepad, when there was a rap on the back door. She glanced up to see Maisie’s smiling face, and Charlie’s slightly apologetic one.
She raised a questioning eyebrow as she opened the door, and he shrugged. ‘My phone call has been put off until later, so we wondered if maybe you could let us have that recipe so Maisie can bake me a crumble for tea? If we don’t make it soon she’ll have eaten her share of the blackberries, they’re going fast.’
Trish chuckled, and turned on the tap. ‘No time like the present, is there Maisie? You come over here and wash those hands of yours, we can all make blackberry crumble together. You too Charlie, that table is big enough for all of us to work at.’
Lucy couldn’t help but laugh at the expression on his face.
‘I might be better just watching.’
‘Nonsense.’ Trish handed him an apron. She winked at Lucy. ‘There’s nothing sexier than a man elbow deep in flour!’
Ten minutes later Lucy had to admit her mum might have a point, as she chuckled at Maisie and Charlie.
‘Daddy, that’s wrong, that’s too big.’ Maisie sighed, her little fingers working on mixing the hard, cold chunks of butter into the flour, oat and sugar mix. ‘Look, this is right, isn’t it Trish?’ Trish nodded, but Lucy could see she was fighting to keep the smile off her face. ‘Perfect.’
‘You need crumbs for crumble, Daddy.’ She was frowning, the tip of her tongue peeking between her lips as she concentrated hard.
‘Well I think my hands must be doing it wrong, maybe you should do mine as well?’
‘You shouldn’t give up, should he Lucy? You have to do your best,’ she gave her bowl a little shake as Trish had told her to, so that the large lumps rose to the surface, ‘and if you do your best then that’s good enough.’ She peered over the edge of Charlie’s mixing bowl and shook her head. ‘I’m not sure that is actually good enough though, is it?’ Leaning over she gave his bowl a slightly more vigorous shake than was needed, and showered the table with flour.
‘Hands off, Missy! Honestly,’ he rolled his eyes, ‘can’t a man be left in peace to make his own crumble?’
Maisie grinned, and cheeky little dimples appeared at the side of her mouth. ‘Yours would go all wrong if I did leave you in peace.’
‘She’s got a point, Charlie.’ Lucy chuckled as she rubbed away the last chunks of fat in her own mix. She felt like hugging them both. Seeing them here together, laughing and joking, covered in flour had to be the best end to a lovely day. She glanced over to her mum, who was watching them. For a moment, as the scent of cinnamon tantalised her nostrils, she was a little girl again, helping her mum bake in a different kitchen.
Trish smiled and held her gaze for a moment and Lucy knew that they were there together. Sharing memories, the good bits.
‘Is mine crumbly enough?’ Maisie’s words broke the silence.
‘Perfect.’ She nodded approval then held up a tub of fruit. ‘Right, Miss Maisie, come and help me mix these blackberries of yours with some apple and sugar, and we’ll let your dad have a rest. He looks worn out.’
She copied Trish, slowly spooning the fruit into oven dishes, then layered the crumble mix on top. ‘That one’s yours, Daddy.’ Maisie pointed and giggled. ‘It’s got big bits in.’
‘Well I’m sure it will still taste delicious, and that’s what counts.’ Trish slid the dishes into the oven. ‘I think you’ve all done a wonderful job. Right, I’ll put the kettle on for a nice cup of tea, and before you know it we’ll be eating the best blackberry crumble in Langtry Meadows.’
The smells of the warm fruit, tinged with the sweetness of cinnamon flooded the kitchen as they drank their tea and Maisie played with Piper in the garden.
‘I’ll have to go.’ Charlie looked regretfully at his watch. ‘She should be ringing soon. We’ll pop back later and pick up the crumble.’
‘We can walk round with it if you like? If that’s okay, Mum?’
Trish smiled and nodded. ‘Lovely, an evening walk seeing a bit more of this village sounds a good way to end the day.’
As they waved Charlie and Maisie off, Lucy slipped her arm round her mother’s waist. ‘Thanks, Mum.’
‘Whatever for, darling?’
‘Being here, being you.’
Trish dropped a light kiss on the top of her daughter’s head. ‘I really wouldn’t want to be anywhere else, Lucy.’
Chapter 12
‘She’s filed for divorce.’ Charlie said it as he buttered the toast, thinking that somehow it was easier that way. More normal.
Not the blow that it really was.
He’d known it was coming, in fact, in a way he welcomed it. They needed that closure. But even so, it still was a mark of failure. Confirmation that he’d cocked up, that his view of his marriage and family life had been a million miles from the truth. Whether Josie had duped him, or he’d been as un-present in their relationship as she’d accused him of being, it still added up to one thing. The image in his head had been wrong. It had all been an illusion.
Coming Home to Jasmine Cottage Page 11
