Mattie nodded. ‘1944 and 1945. I thought you might like to read them. They’re all about the war and Bill Godfrey coming to stay at the farm as an evacuee – you remember Grandpa used to tell us stories about him?’
‘Remember? They were his favourite tales. Especially at Christmas. “We hadn’t warned Bill about where Mother smoked the ham – and when Father pulled it down from inside the chimney . . .”’
‘“. . . the poor lad thought we’d cooked Father Christmas!”’ Mattie finished the sentence, remembering the booming laugh that always accompanied their grandfather’s punchline. ‘It’s strange to read them from the time they happened – without all the years of embellishment.’
Joanna looked at Mattie, her hazel eyes apparently seeing through to her bones. She’d always been able to do this, and Mattie braced herself against the familiar unease that came with it. ‘But how do you feel about it?’
‘I honestly can’t say yet. It’s a connection to him that I never had before, so that feels like something new. But it can’t take the place of a hug, or a smile, or a goodbye kiss.’ Loss, like a blunt knife, bit into her heart.
‘No, it can’t. But it’s still a gift. And maybe, when all’s said and done, that’s what matters.’ Joanna carefully placed the diaries back on the table and wrapped her arms around her knees. ‘Mattie, I need to ask a favour and I’m not sure how to do it.’
‘Just ask me.’
‘Things aren’t good – with Fred and me.’
Her confession shook Mattie to the core. ‘Oh J-J, no!’
‘I haven’t said anything before because – I didn’t know what to say. How to even approach it. Mum’s in no state to even hear about it; you’ve had this awful situation to deal with.’ Tears filled her eyes. ‘I was supposed to be the one looking after all of you. The one that held it all together.’
Her heart breaking, Mattie rushed to her sister’s side, gathering her up in her arms. ‘That was never your job. Oh Jo, I’m so sorry.’
They held each other as the weight of months shifted, Joanna keeping her sobs below a whisper in case the children heard. Mattie wondered how many silent tears her sister had shed, and hated that she’d been so wrapped up in Asher and the row with Grandpa Joe to see what was really going on. Joanna and Fred gave the outward appearance of a happy, settled marriage: comfortable home, a lovely family and a peaceful life. Was any of that real?
‘How long?’ she asked, finally.
‘Years. But the last six months have been hell.’ Joanna pulled away and for the first time Mattie saw truth staring back at her. ‘I decided today that I’m not prepared for the kids to live in the middle of this anymore. Or me. We all deserve better. We need to get away. The money from the blog will tide us over for a while, but I need something else to supplement it. I feel awful asking, Mattie, but do you have any work at the shop? I could do anything – for however many hours you have.’
‘Yes, of course.’ She answered before she’d had time to consider the implications. She would find the money from somewhere, no matter what. ‘I can work out a rota with Laurie. Where will you go?’
‘We’ll rent somewhere. That’s our best option, I think. I’d ask Mum but she just wouldn’t be able to manage with me and the kids under her feet. She’s still coming to terms with her loss – she needs time and space.’
Immediately, Mattie thought of her own rented house, with its two spare rooms and an emptiness that made it hard to ever think she’d call it home. ‘Why don’t you move in with me?’
Joanna’s eyes grew wide. ‘M, I couldn’t ask you to have the kids . . .’
‘You haven’t. I’m offering. I’d love to spend more time with Ava and Ethan. My new place is too big for just me. I wasn’t exactly thinking of a perfect home when I rented it. There’s plenty of room for all of us.’
Later, tucked beneath a blanket in her living room, Mattie knew she’d made the right decision. The house would feel brighter and more alive once it was filled with Joanna, Ethan and Ava’s fun, energy and laughter. And maybe then it would start to feel like a home.
Chapter Five
‘What a Difference a Day Makes’ – Sarah Vaughan
‘Matilda! I must say I was thrilled when I saw your name on the visitor sheet!’ Gaynor’s sunny beam seemed to illuminate the all-white space of Beauvale’s reception area. ‘And you’re here to visit Reenie? How lovely.’
Mattie smiled as Gaynor – positively glowing today in a bright orange daisy-printed smock and mint-green bell-bottoms – bustled her through the doors past the grey thundercloud otherwise known as Eileen. In her off-duty clothes, she felt a little underdressed next to the centre’s operations manager. ‘We got on so well at the Memory Day. I’m looking forward to hearing more of her stories.’
‘Reenie has more than a few of those to tell,’ Gaynor chuckled. ‘She’s led quite a life.’
They walked through the communal barn to a large conservatory looking out across the Shropshire hills. The space hummed with conversation and activity as visitors mingled with residents. Children dashed between the high-backed leather armchairs and out through the open conservatory doors to the courtyard garden beyond, while proud great-grandparents looked on. As the Sunday morning sunshine streamed in, mirroring the warm and happy atmosphere that filled the barn, Mattie was reminded of Sunday lunches at her grandparents’ redbrick farmhouse at the opposite end of the village – always so filled with laughter and life. Her family would be clearing the house out this weekend, its former occupants no longer needing the things with which they’d surrounded themselves in life. The thought of the once-bright home lying dimmed and empty made her sad.
Sitting in splendid isolation from the other residents, Reenie Silver occupied the best position near the open doors, her eyes trained on the blue hills rolling beyond the complex. Today she was a woman in black and gold – dressed more for afternoon tea at the Ritz than a Sunday morning in a Shropshire retirement village. If she felt alone in the hubbub she didn’t show it, her chin held high and proud.
Gaynor tiptoed respectfully to her side, gently patting the old lady’s shoulder. ‘Reenie, dear, Matilda Bell is here to see you.’
Reenie turned with a beatific smile. ‘Mattie Bell, you’re here!’
‘I am. Hi, Miss Silver.’
Reenie was rising to her feet and Mattie noticed the preposterously pink fluffy boudoir slippers at odds with her elegant black-and-gold-striped dress. ‘Call me Reenie, kid. Excuse me being in my civvies. Sunday slippers are one thing I’ve retained from me days in LA.’ She extended her hand, which Mattie shook. ‘How about this one, eh Gaynor? She’s a good girl, coming to visit this little old lonely muggins on her day off.’
‘She is indeed.’ Gaynor smiled proudly at Mattie, as if bestowing a surrogate mother’s blessing.
‘It’s my pleasure,’ Mattie replied. ‘Can’t have you on your own on visiting day.’
‘Quite.’ Reenie’s smile was a little thin, and Mattie wondered if she’d embarrassed her in front of Gaynor. ‘Well, we’d better let you get back to it, Gaynor, love.’
‘But you—’ Gaynor was silenced by a glare from Reenie that could have frozen sunbeams. ‘Ah. Yes. Actually, I do have rather a lot to be getting on with. Accounts. You know the thrill, I’ll bet?’ And with that, she turned on her hessian platform heels and hurried away.
Odd, thought Mattie. But then, she was quickly learning that Gaynor Fairchild was a woman of surprises.
Reenie was still smiling. ‘So. You brought ’em?’
Remembering the pink-and-white-striped box she had brought from the chocolatiers in the village, Mattie reached into her handbag, stopped suddenly by Reenie’s vice-like grip on her wrist. ‘Not here,’ she hissed with a furtive glance over her shoulder, as if expecting to see a concealed spy by the potted begonias. ‘Come with me.’
‘Er – okay . . .’ Mattie managed, taken aback by the sudden pull on her arm.
Retaining her grip on Mat
tie’s hand, Reenie marched out into the courtyard garden, greeting residents as she sailed past. ‘Mornin’, George . . . All right, Vera? . . . Hangin’ baskets look grand, Howard . . . Shirley, your great-grandkids get bigger every week. What you feeding them, eh?’
They walked to the edge of the garden, where an elegant beech bench with scrolled arms surrounded by blue pots of English lavender faced out past the drystone wall, looking over the fields and hills. She released her hold on Mattie, and sat down with all the practised elegance of a head of state. ‘That’s better. Now, hand ’em over.’
Mattie did as she was told, watching as the old lady tore into the box and stuffed two chocolates into her mouth, closing her eyes and letting out a moan of satisfaction. She couldn’t help feeling like a dealer of some illicit substance, seeing the effect the artisan confectionery had on her companion. Reenie hadn’t been kidding when she’d called the chocolate shop fancy. If ‘fancy’ meant ridiculously overpriced, she’d have to be careful what else she agreed to buy for these visits. Reenie Silver had expensive tastes. Even her froufrou slippers looked as if they’d once carried an exclusive price tag. Grandpa Joe might have laughed at Mattie’s expense – in more ways than one. She shook off the thought.
‘Nice?’ she asked.
‘Heaven,’ Reenie mumbled back, patting the box as if it were an old friend. ‘Keep bringing me these, kid, and I’ll be your friend for life.’
If I keep bringing you these I’ll be bankrupt in a month, Mattie grimaced to herself. ‘Glad you like them. So – um – how’s your week been?’ What else were you supposed to ask a woman you hardly knew at all?
‘Come on, you can do better than that.’ Seeing Mattie’s expression, Reenie gave her a playful jab in the ribs with a bony elbow. ‘I’m just joshin’ with you. I appreciate you coming over to see me. Truly. But we don’t have to do small-talk pleasantries, Mattie Bell. We can be more exciting than that. So, why did you want to visit me, hmm? And please don’t tell me it’s because you felt sorry for an old bird. Charity like that I don’t need.’
Mattie could feel a hot blush spreading from the nape of her neck. ‘I did have an ulterior motive,’ she admitted. ‘My grandpa was a big fan of your group.’
Reenie raised a wobbly-painted eyebrow. ‘The Silver Five?’
‘Yes. He loved your music. It’s one of the things I remember most about him.’
‘Well, blow me over the white cliffs of Dover! I thought the only person who remembered us lot was the taxman when it came to royalty time. A big fan, you say?’
‘He considered himself your greatest fan. Had all your singles, and the album you released in 1955.’
‘Bloody hell, I thought those had long since been melted down. So, out of interest, which of us was his favourite?’
Mattie was tempted to lie, not wanting to say anything that might prevent Reenie from talking about her past fame. If she thought Grandpa Joe had lusted after her in his youth, she might say more to Mattie. But the truth was, she didn’t know. Grandpa Joe always referred to the group by their collective name only, which is why she hadn’t realised who Reenie Silver was when they first met. ‘He never said,’ she admitted. ‘I think he loved you all equally.’
‘Oh, right.’ Reenie sucked air in through her dentures. ‘Well, it was a long time ago. A lot’s happened to this old hoofer since.’
Fearing she might be defeated before she’d even begun, Mattie changed tack. ‘And that’s what I really want to hear about. You must have led such an interesting life, Reenie. I’d love to listen to your story.’
A pair of chattering blackbirds danced across the sky above them, skipping out to the open fields. Reenie’s pale grey eyes watched their arcing flight and the smallest hint of wistfulness flickered there for a moment. ‘You miss your grandad?’
‘Terribly. He was such a larger-than-life character. Life without him in it seems too sparse.’ Mattie swallowed hard. ‘You’d have liked him.’
‘You got a picture?’
Mattie hesitated. Nobody knew she still carried a small, black and white photo of Grandpa Joe in her wallet that had been taken in the early sixties. She had found it in the bottom of a box of records he’d given her when she was about to open her shop, and it made her smile. Despite everything that had happened to destroy the relationship they’d shared, his smiling, youthful face still gave her hope. Should she share the treasure with Reenie?
‘I bet he was good-looking,’ Reenie continued, her eyes narrowing as if she’d spotted Mattie’s dilemma. ‘I mean, you’re pretty. You don’t get that if your family’s been whacked with the ugly stick. What was his name?’
‘Joseph Bell.’
‘Joe, eh? Had a piano player in Vegas called Joe. I used to sing that old Frank Sinatra line, “So set ’em up, Joe, I got a little story I think you oughtta know” to him every night before we went on stage.’ Her voice cracked a little as she sang, but Mattie could hear power there that could only come from years of experience. ‘Handsome, he was. I think we might have had a bit of a fling once, you know.’ Lilac-rinsed curls danced as she let out a decidedly naughty chuckle. ‘Piano players. My Achilles heel. Couldn’t walk past one without hopping into bed with him. You take my advice, Mattie Bell: avoid the piano players. Won’t just be the keys they’ll fiddle with, if you get my meaning.’
It was slightly disconcerting to hear such frank advice coming from an octogenarian, but the glimpse into Reenie’s colourful past was enough to convince Mattie. She had to hear more. Reaching for her wallet, she pulled the photograph out from its hiding place behind her driving licence. ‘He was handsome. Here.’
Reenie accepted the photograph with a low whistle. ‘You aren’t kidding. Are you sure we never met? He looks familiar . . . Not that it means anything, mind. I met a lot of cute fellas in my life. Shame if I didn’t meet this one, though. Hello, Joseph Bell.’
Mattie winced as her heart contracted. I hope you can see this, Grandpa. ‘It would have made his day to hear that.’
‘Oh, I’m sure he heard it. They’re all up there, I reckon, watching us from the cheap seats. I ’spect I’ll find out myself, soon enough. I’ll have a fair bit of explaining to do if they’re all there, of course . . . But then, what’s a life if you haven’t got a few things wrong, eh?’
‘I like your attitude.’
‘Why, thank you. I’m proud of it myself. So,’ she folded her hands in her lap and squinted up at Mattie. ‘What d’ya want to know?’
The sun dipped behind cotton-wool clouds, but Mattie could feel a glow spreading within her. It was the same anticipatory thrill she’d experienced as a child faced with shelf upon shelf of books at the Severnside Book Emporium, Grandpa Joe’s favourite bookshop. ‘Everything,’ she breathed. ‘Tell me everything.’
‘Everything might take a while, Mattie Bell. I’ve been round the block more times than you realise.’ Reenie settled herself in her chair and selected another violet crème. ‘Righty-ho. Buckle up, kid, ’cos this ride could get bumpy.’
Mattie smiled. ‘I’m not scared.’
‘Glad to hear it. Well, it started when me ma went into labour on the scullery floor . . .’
Chapter Six
‘The Story of My Life’ – Michael Holliday
‘And then all the neighbours came round, fussing over her poor mum as she was giving birth. She said everyone did that where she grew up – your house was as much theirs as it was yours and nobody ever locked their front doors . . .’
‘Old people always say that,’ Jack grinned, offering Mattie a chip from the steaming paper nest holding his lunch. How he ate so badly and wasn’t the size of sub-Saharan Africa was a marvel. ‘I bet they did. Gramps’ front door was like Fort Knox, remember? All those sliding bolts and chains. You’d think he had gold bullion in his front room or something.’
‘Reenie said they didn’t. Terraces in Liverpool might have been different to Shropshire farmhouses.’
Jack grinned. ‘Sorry. I in
terrupted you. So her mother didn’t even know she was expecting?’
Mattie blew steam from the chip she’d taken. ‘Apparently not. Reenie was a late baby – her mum had already given birth to eight children and was well into her forties so she assumed her baby-bearing days were over. She called Reenie her “little surprise package” – although her father was less lyrical about it. He called her “the postman’s delivery”.’
‘Ouch. That must have hurt.’
Mattie considered how breezily Reenie had told her this fact of her life. She didn’t appear hurt by it, but Mattie couldn’t be sure that wasn’t years of mask-wearing. ‘She said he was proud of her when she started doing well in her teens, so I guess he grew to love her.’
‘You like her, don’t you?’
‘I do. The thing is, Jack, she’s nothing like Grandpa Joe was. She talks about her past like she’s proud of every bit of it. Even the bad stuff. I don’t think I’d admit to a relative stranger that my father suspected I was illegitimate, but to Reenie it’s part of her story. I’ve never met anyone like her. She’s a character, but there’s a brassiness about her that you don’t expect to find in an elderly lady.’
‘Did you ever feel that sometimes Grandpa wasn’t telling you the whole story?’ Jack asked, throwing a crumb of crispy fish batter at a hopeful-looking pigeon.
Mattie stared at him, momentarily taken aback by his sharpness. As a writer he’d always been able to cut to the heart of a situation, but he’d never shared this observation with her before. It felt strange to be discovering new things about their relationship with Grandpa Joe. ‘I did – often. I think he was quite a private man. More so after Grandma died.’
Jack smiled, but Mattie noticed his eyes didn’t. ‘I wonder if he did meet Reenie Silver. And they had a torrid affair. Can you imagine your mum’s face if she found that out about him?’
Searching for a Silver Lining Page 5
