‘How could I forget you? Anyway, I’m not going to squeeze seeing you into the times when Hamish is busy,’ she said with an admonishing look. ‘Sisters before misters, remember? Although my weekends might have more Hamish-shaped holes than I’d like. With the number of football players he represents and the matches he has to attend, I’m already a Saturday sport widow.’
‘You’ve got to be married before you can be a widow, remember.’
She blushed and leaned forward. ‘I’ll let you into a secret. I’ve been practising my married signature. Mrs Laura McNamee.’
I snorted. ‘You’re not still doing that! Remember that boy—’
‘Paul Leggett! Don’t!’ Laura covered her face in embarrassment.
We both collapsed in a fit of giggles at the memory. Laura had been so obsessed with Paul Leggett in sixth form that she’d scribbled Laura Leggett everywhere. Which was absolutely fine until our English teacher held up a piece of homework at the front of the class and asked whether it was Paul’s or Laura’s or was it in fact a team effort. Paul never did ask her out after all that.
‘You haven’t changed,’ I said, shaking my head fondly.
Laura’s face grew serious for a moment. ‘But you have. I feel like I’m getting my best friend back. I’ve missed going places with you. Like book club and yoga and drinks with the girls.’
I smiled awkwardly. ‘You are getting your friend back. And I’m sorry I’ve been away so long. It’s just that it has been easier to avoid public situations.’
She covered my hand with hers; I knew she understood. It had been hideous for her when her mum died. ‘People are on your side,’ she said. ‘They just don’t always know how to show it, or what to say.’
‘And then it becomes the elephant in the room,’ I said with a shudder. ‘Until someone cracks and feels the need to address it. I can tell when they’re about to launch into some crappy platitude and I can feel my porcupine spikes ping into action.’
Laura pulled a piece off her cinnamon bun and laughed. ‘You have been a bit porcupine-y. Good image.’
I grinned. ‘I thought so. But seriously, how can someone think that telling a grieving sister that things happen for a reason was ever going to improve matters?’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Ugh. Or my personal favourite, which made me want to stab them in the eye. “She did what she came here to do, it was her time to go.” If that was true, I wanted to yell in their faces, Mum would never have booked a holiday which she never got to go on, so put that in your patronising pipe and smoke it.’
Until Freddie died, I’d only lost Granny. I’d cried at the time, but I’d got over it fairly quickly. I think I’d been just as upset when her cottage in Wales had been sold to pay for her care home. I was a teenager then and although I loved her, selfishly my world revolved around me and my friends; dying was what old people did. But brothers weren’t supposed to die and neither were women Laura’s mum’s age.
‘Was I a terrible friend when your mum died?’ I asked.
She blinked at me, surprised. ‘Not at all. You listened without butting in. That was all I really needed: someone to listen to my ranting and raving. You were a great friend. Still are.’
She squeezed my hand and we were quiet for a moment, lost in our own thoughts.
‘Ditto,’ I said. ‘Although in my case, I didn’t want to talk at all. Which isn’t like me.’
She grinned. ‘True. But no one knows how they’ll react until it happens. That’s why “I know how you feel” is so bloody annoying. No one can possibly know how you feel. And you’ll talk about it when you’re ready.’
She held my gaze for a moment, giving me the chance to speak if I wanted to and then stirred the remains of her latte slowly, staring into the milky foam.
‘I’ve resisted talking about my feelings because I didn’t want them to be real,’ I admitted, feeling under the table for the reassuring solidity of Scamp’s body.
Laura stayed perfectly still, but gave me an encouraging smile. I swallowed. Already my throat was tightening, making it hard to form my words. But if I could manage to talk to my new friends at the floristry school, the least I could do is open up to my oldest friend.
‘Freddie has just always been there,’ I began. ‘My earliest memory is of him stealing the ice cream off the top of my cone. I must have only been about two. Greedy sod.’
Laura laughed. ‘Sounds about right for big brother behaviour.’
‘It didn’t matter where I was, he was always with me. When my dad left us, Freddie was the one thing that remained constant. Mum’s attitude to life changed overnight, not that that was a bad thing, but it took some getting used to. Dad we rarely saw even before he moved away. But whether I was at home or at Granny’s, Freddie was always with me, shaping the memories of my life. Even my first house purchase was done with him.’
‘I always envied the relationship you had with him.’ She tore off a piece of her bun and ate it. ‘You were lucky to have a sibling. Being an only child isn’t half as much fun.’
‘None of the new memories I make will have him in them,’ I said. ‘And I don’t want that to be true. I haven’t wanted to move on because I’m worried about leaving him behind.’
Laura frowned. ‘You know, I think he’d be really sad about that.’
‘I know. I can’t stay in denial forever, I accept that. I need to find a way to live without him, to live alone and still be happy.’
‘Without him, yes,’ she said, briskly, ‘but not alone, there’s no need to banish other people completely.’
‘I never want to miss anyone this much again,’ I said. ‘It seems the best way to do that is not to let anyone in.’
‘Just keep your mind open,’ she said. ‘You won’t always feel this way, I promise.’
‘What if I fall in love and lose them? Look how badly I’ve coped with losing a sibling. I don’t want to go through this again ever.’
‘I’ll always miss Mum but I try not to dwell on all the things she hasn’t been part of; instead I remember the times that she was there. And I do believe I carry a piece of her in my heart always.’
‘Same with me and Freddie. And now that I have that letter from him, I feel even closer to him than before.’ I gave myself a shake and forced a laugh. ‘How did we get so maudlin all of a sudden? Let’s change the subject.’
‘OK.’ Laura cast about for a second and then slapped the table. ‘Let’s talk about your happy list. Number one on the list is flowers. What’s your number two going to be?’
‘Not sure,’ I said with a frown. ‘Freddie’s big thing was travel, different cultures, different scenery. But I’m quite fond of England. I like cottages and cream teas and now I’ve got a dog, I quite like country walks. I know, I know, I’m boring!’
‘You’re you,’ said Laura loyally. ‘Nothing wrong with this green and pleasant land.’
She picked up a discarded newspaper from the table next to us and pointed at one of the headlines. ‘You can travel and stay at home. Look at this article in the Derbyshire Bugle: ten villages which the locals don’t want you to know about. There you go. You’ve got a whole year at your disposal, you could travel around, discover undiscovered England, stay in cottages and eat your way through cream teas.’
I took it from her and turned to the article mentioned on the page.
‘This isn’t a bad idea, actually,’ I said. ‘I could go away for a few days, find a cottage to rent. I haven’t got any plans for next week and Scamp would love it.’
I was in the fortunate position of not needing very much money to live on. Freddie and I had taken out an insurance policy when we bought the house so that if either one of us became seriously ill or died, the mortgage would be paid off. So now I owned the house in full and that, coupled with a conservative attitude to savings since childhood, meant that I could get by for a while without the need to earn a wage.
‘That’s you sorted then. Do you want another drink?’ Laura poi
nted at my empty mug.
‘Better not. Scamp will need to go out for a wee soon and I promised him a long walk before I start boxing up more of Freddie’s stuff.’
She got her purse out and tried to give me money for her share of the bill, but I waved her away.
‘My treat. It’s the least I can do after everything.’
She sighed in defeat. ‘Thank you. But no more. You’ve already given me a beautiful bouquet and you’ve apologised a million times anyway,’ said Laura, putting her purse down.
‘Just one more thing,’ I said, smiling. ‘If you and Hamish do ever get married—’
She gave a bark of laughter. ‘You want to be my maid of honour. Yes of course, goes without saying.’
‘Well, thank you. But I was going to say I’d like to do your flowers. As my wedding present to you.’
Her eyes widened. ‘Oh, Fearne. That is the loveliest offer I’ve ever had. I’d love that, thank you.’
‘All you need now is the groom to pop the question.’
She beamed. ‘Of course, and there’s no rush. No rush at all. Although I might have a scroll through Pinterest, just to pick up a few ideas.’
‘You might as well,’ I said with a grin, ‘seeing as you’ve already perfected your signature.’
A few minutes later, we were ready to leave. Laura headed to the loo while I stayed put with Scamp. I turned my attention back to the article on undiscovered villages in the newspaper to see if any of them were close by. There was one that stood out immediately:
The picturesque village of Barnaby nestled in the heart of the Derbyshire Dales will charm the pants off you. With its traditional village green, narrow streets and chocolate-box cottages, it’s so beloved by its tiny population that property rarely comes onto the market. Locals, however, welcome visitors with open arms and the Lemon Tree Café in the centre of the village is dog-friendly and serves delicious Italian delicacies, making it the perfect destination for a weekend hike.
Was visiting two cafés in one day really greedy, I wondered. Because suddenly the thought of being cooped up at home clearing yet more of Freddie’s things held no appeal at all.
Scamp thumped his tail vigorously against the table leg, alerting me to Laura’s imminent return.
‘This one’s actually not far away.’ I tapped the page while she read it over my shoulder.
‘Barnaby? Sounds idyllic,’ she agreed.
I folded the newspaper and stuffed it into my bag. ‘I shall report back and let you know if it makes it onto my happy list.’
She stared at me, amused. ‘Are you really going to go?’
‘Yep. Right now. Next stop the Lemon Tree Café.’
Chapter Eight
According to the satnav, Barnaby was about half an hour away from home. Not far, but before I’d had Scamp, I hadn’t really been into walking so I didn’t know the Derbyshire Dales well. But by the time I’d negotiated tight bends and up and down hills I was already a teeny bit in love with it. Scamp behaved himself perfectly and after turning a few circles on the passenger seat, settled down for a nap while I enjoyed the scenery.
I passed the village sign informing me I’d reached Barnaby and my heart skipped with delight; whoever had written the article in the Derbyshire Bugle was right. It was love at first sight; the village was charming the pants off me.
Everywhere was in bloom: trees were covered in pink blossom, cottage gardens were brimming with tulips, daffodils and grape hyacinths, and the village green was dotted with clouds of bluebells and cowslips. I slowed down after passing a little school and edged carefully down the main street which was partially blocked by parked cars outside the church. In my peripheral vision I was aware of a row of shops opposite. The Lemon Tree Café and its famous Italian delicacies were probably over there, but I carried on until I found a space to park, intending to take Scamp for a walk before eating anything else.
Once Scamp had completed his full range of yoga stretches, I attached him to his lead and we set off. A signpost ahead promising a riverside walk drew me towards it and before long, we were passing through a wooden kissing gate and underneath a canopy of hawthorn blossom. A small patch of woodland stretched ahead of us; new growth swished in the slight breeze and filtered sunlight made a fluttering mosaic on the ground. I stuck to the fairly dry path, but Scamp, his tail waving like a furry flag, tore from left to right, hoovering up the delicious smells of damp earth and brittle sticks and clumps of wild garlic. Overhead an orchestra of birds serenaded us with the sound of springtime and I breathed in deeply, feeling incredibly smug with my spur-of-the-moment excursion.
We emerged from the trees and joined a towpath bordered each side with swathes of long grass sprinkled with dandelions, one side of which sloped down towards the river. We walked past a hotel where people were sitting out on the terrace enjoying drinks in the sunshine. Off to the side, as if awaiting a wedding party, was a large white marquee decked out with bunting. In front of the hotel was a small wooden jetty where a row of brightly painted narrowboats were lined up end to end.
‘England’s green and pleasant land, eh, Scamp,’ I said, remembering Laura’s words. I picked up a stick and flung it as far as I could. ‘We approve, don’t we?’
I smiled, watching him delve into the tufty grass after his stick. I honestly couldn’t think of a single thing I’d rather be doing right now than this. This unexpected expedition might well earn a place on my happy list.
Because I was happy.
Doing this simple thing with the dog had made me happy. It seemed so straightforward, too easy almost, but it felt as if there was a shift in the burden of sadness I’d been under and light was beginning to find its way through, like the sunlight through the trees. Perhaps it was just timing; perhaps I’d have been feeling better by now without coming across those words of wisdom from Freddie. I’d never know. But that letter felt like a lucky charm, a talisman to live my life by.
The weather was warm for the time of year and I was beginning to feel the sting of sun on my pale face. Scamp had begun to pant and was eyeing up the river longingly. I had no idea if he could swim or not and had no desire to find out just at the moment.
I called him over and clipped on his lead. ‘Let’s head back and get you a drink. Perhaps that dog-friendly café will have a bowl full of water for you. And then we can explore the village.’
We retraced our steps and were soon back at the car. I collected my bag and shook out a lump of dried liver from a tub for Scamp. I’d parked a couple of hundred metres or so away from the village green and I could see it in the distance. Small groups of people were clustered together posing for photographs, others were milling about chatting while children played around their parents’ legs. Even from my position, I could see that the number of cars near the entrance to the church had swelled to almost gridlock proportions. The church bells began to ring and people sprang into action, gathering little ones, adjusting buttonholes and straightening hats.
It had to be a wedding, and what a perfect day for it. I stowed the dog treats back in my bag and we set off towards the church. With any luck I’d get a glimpse of the bride and I was interested to see the wedding flowers. We’d made all sorts of wedding arrangements at the Wisteria Cottage flower school: bridesmaids’ bouquets, garlands, table decorations and even the pièce de resistance – the moongate. If I managed to get close enough, I’d take some photos and send them to Harriet.
‘Come on, Scamp,’ I said, picking up my pace, ‘let’s try and find somewhere to lurk before the bride arrives.’
There was a beautiful ancient lychgate at the entrance to the churchyard and a floral swag made from various types of narcissi had been wound around one of the old oak beams. I took my phone out to take a few pictures quickly and had just managed to zoom in on a gorgeous detail of twisted willow and variegated ivy when Scamp’s tail began flapping against my leg, alerting me to the presence of someone else.
I turned to find myself face to face
with a man with unruly brown hair and amused eyes. He was dressed in a suit and holding a professional-looking camera.
‘I’d get yourself seated inside, if I were you.’ He nodded towards the road. ‘Here comes the bride.’
Sure enough an old-fashioned cream Rolls Royce was creeping at a snail’s pace towards us.
‘I’m not a guest,’ I said.
He grinned. ‘I’m not a photographer either, so wish me luck.’
Odd, I thought, watching as the man leaned into the road as the wedding car came to a halt. He snapped away at the bride who waved and smiled from the back seat. Next to her, an older man, the father of the bride presumably, looked beside himself with pride.
The driver opened the bride’s door and the man who claimed not to be a photographer squatted down and took some more pictures. The bride was on the opposite side of the car to me so I couldn’t see much other than an awful lot of ivory lace veil, but I could hear her laughing and saying that she couldn’t move in her dress and had anyone got a winch.
Aware that Scamp and I looked rather conspicuous standing there like lemons, I opened the lychgate and slipped inside the church grounds out of view. There was a sudden clatter and yell behind me and I turned to see a long-legged dog with a bow around its neck hurtling towards us and a small boy in hot pursuit trying to catch the end of the dog’s trailing lead. Scamp raised his eyebrows and bounced on the spot at the prospect of a new playmate.
‘Catch Hugo for me please!’ shouted the boy.
Hugo, tongue wagging, made a beeline for us. He looked delighted with himself for breaking free from church. As he and Scamp began the ancient ritual of bottom-sniffing I grabbed the end of Hugo’s lead and held on to it tightly.
‘Good boy,’ I crooned to the dog who looked like a cross between a spaniel and a Labrador and had the most gorgeous fluffy ears.
‘That was close,’ said the little boy, pretending to wipe his brow with relief. ‘Thank you.’
My Kind of Happy - Part One: A New Leaf Page 7
