‘Let’s do something,’ says Bella wriggling next to me, and I can feel a delicious tug of love in my heart. I pounce on her, and Bella squirms and giggles.
‘I’m going to blow hot potatoes on your tummy.’
‘Yes. NO. YES. NO. YES!!!!’ roars Bella, wriggling more and more as I tickle her.
Eventually we notice Lucy in the doorway, the baby, Cat, in her arms. Lucy is wearing a coat over her nightdress.
‘You must come and see, two lambs have been born and they’re in the field between here and the church. It’s Little Bo Peep for real.’
Following Bella out into the garden, I am overwhelmed by the full blossom and leaf experience of a May morning in the English countryside.
‘This is amazing,’ I murmur to Lucy. ‘Nothing can be this perfect.’
Lucy smiles. ‘Why not?’ she says. Good question. We are by the wall bordering the field now; Bella has climbed on to an upturned bucket and is on tiptoe trying to see over. I pick her up. Two black lambs are following a very exhausted-looking sheep across the field.
‘We’ve got to move them or they will get upset with all the people from the christening traipsing across.’ As Lucy speaks, Mac and a man in a boiler suit appear at the far end of the field.
‘How does he know how to do all this?’ I wonder out loud, as Mac walks quietly up to the sheep and waits, watching the other man for a signal to pick up the lambs.
Lucy puts the baby down on the grass and leans over the wall next to me. ‘He grew up here, and even though he went away for a long time, he knew he wanted to come back. But then he thought he couldn’t bear to.’
‘Why not? What’s unbearable about here?’
Lucy laughs. ‘Get you!’ she teases, ‘you’re the one who ran away to America to escape this place, and now you’re a convert.’
I grin, still interested. ‘So,’ I say, ‘Mac – what changed him into someone who hated to be back here?’
Lucy moves closer to me, and we are side by side. She murmurs, ‘I can’t remember if I’ve told you this before, but when Mac was at university, his girlfriend died in a car accident on the way to see him. The first big love of his life. You know, he didn’t even tell me about it until we had Bella. That’s why her middle name is Bonnie. She’s named after her.’
‘Oh, poor Mac.’ I look at him in the middle of the field, lifting one of the lambs and turning with it towards the gate. Suddenly I realise what I have said and how it might seem to Lucy. I reach out and squeeze her hand. ‘Sorry, Luce,’ I mumble, embarrassed and stuck now.
She smiles and shakes her head. ‘No. I know what you mean. I feel it too. And there’s no competing with a ghost. But there isn’t any need to. It was long ago. And, you know, one of the things I am looking forward to today is meeting her brother. He’s coming to the christening. Mac hasn’t seen him for fifteen years. He’s one of Bella’s godparents.’
My eyes widen, I stare at my sister. A few freckles have appeared on her cheeks, and her hair has fallen out of the knot she tied it in; a tawny curl bounces on her shoulder and she looks a bit Grecian in her pale nightdress with her straight nose and soft pink mouth. She really is beautiful inside and out. I always knew she was, and it used to drive me mad, but now I feel huge acceptance. I know that not only could I never be like her, but I also don’t even want to be any more. It is such a relief to finally realise my limitations and feel comfortable with them.
‘Is he sexy, and is he single?’ I ask, turning my face up to the sun, shutting my eyes.
Lucy laughs. ‘I don’t know about sexy, because I haven’t met him, have I, stoopid,’ she says. ‘But he is single. Or, rather, Mac hasn’t invited anyone with him, so he must be. Maybe he’s gay.’
I feel like I’m having a full nature-style sensory massage with the cooing of pigeons and the gurgling laughter of Cat and the smell of grass and blossom and the warmth on my face. ‘God, it will be strange for Mac,’ I think out loud. ‘Do you know what she looked like?’
‘Mmm,’ Lucy nods, ‘I’ve seen a photo. She looks lovely, and she was so young it’s devastating to look at it.’ She breaks off to tumble Cat in the grass, blowing a raspberry on her dimpled arm. It’s so sweet to see her so happy, and wrapped in her own family life. A yawn bursts out of me and I realise that at last the grey cocoon of jet lag has fallen away. Mac climbs the wall to join us and Bella runs to him, jumping to put her arms around his neck. He lifts her up and twirls her around him, laughing with her. My nose begins to run and I am gulping as if I am watching a soppy film. The notion of a happy family had never really occurred to me before as a desirable or attainable goal.
The bell tolling wakes me. I sit bolt upright, rubbing my face. I’m on the sofa, where I lay down after lunch promising myself I would be five minutes. Pins and needles in my arm and a shiver across my skin from being still tell me I have overslept. And I have certainly been noticed: two dolls, both wearing green tops and jeans, versions of what I am wearing, lie next to me. Apart from their clothes, they look like synchronised swimmers with their right hands thrown above their heads and their faces turned to one side, I suppose matching me while I slept. Creepy. Remembering that this is not voodoo but the work of a three-year-old child is a relief, but not something I have time to dwell on. I must get changed. The church bell sounds urgent, it’s the summons for the christening. Racing upstairs is slow work, the landing is strewn with clothes as though a tornado has visited a Chinese laundry, and Lucy is standing in front of her wardrobe groaning pitifully.
‘I can’t stand it, I’ve only got one shoe. I’ve looked everywhere. Bella must have taken the other one for dressing up.’
‘What’s new, Cinderella?’ I can’t believe it, this is so familiar. Lucy and I fall effortlessly into the pattern we carved out for ourselves years ago when getting ready to go anywhere. Even with almost no clothes between us, like the weekends when we were sent to stay with our father, we still hurled every garment out of the small case we shared and spread them as far as we could in his flat. Standing here with Lucy half naked in front of her mirror, her expression catapults me back to that time and I realise I have forgotten about having fun. Lucy pouts. ‘Oh it’s all right for you with your fancy New York luggage.’ We both look at my ancient, bashed-around zip-up bag. It has been in my studio for too much of its life and is paint daubed and marked with ink and tape. It looks like something a builder might use to take his overalls and tools around in. We burst out laughing.
‘Mmm, yes, it’s so fancy that I don’t know how I could bear to bring it here,’ I agree, delving through it. ‘Hey, look! I’ve got some shoes here you can borrow.’ I am half undressed too, by now, and pass the shoes while diving into a pink dress I bought especially. It came with a warning that crumpled was best, that was why I bought it. ‘Oh my God, it’s too tight.’
Lucy yanks at the dress. ‘No, you haven’t undone the zip, stoopid. Let me see. GOD, that’s so unsuitable – I want it. Hand it over. It’s gorgeous, I am the eldest.’
‘But I look like a rhubarb fool.’
‘No – plum tart, I reckon. Oh my God, Grace, that’s so NAUGHTY.’ Lucy is stroking the dress longingly, holding up a limp flowery one which she is about to put on, unable to let go of mine. She quickly ducks her head, saying about her skirt, ‘Look at this, Grace – it came from Mum.’
She waves it bravely. I have unhooked the pink dress and am wriggling out of it. ‘Here, Luce, you wear this one, I want to wear Mum’s.’ I am good at being determined, Lucy knows that, and the challenge in my eyes, as well as the fact that Mac is shouting in a stage whisper from downstairs, ‘Quick, it’s time, they’re all arriving’, stops Lucy protesting. Silently she takes the dress and pulls it over her head. I whistle under my breath. It’s sexy, and just as Lucy said, most unsuitable. Thank God we’ve run out of time so she can’t change. I wink at her.
‘Very good . . . Luce by name and loose by nature.’
‘Thank you, Grace. I haven’t worn anythi
ng like this for years.’ Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes bright, and she looks about eighteen. I hold up Mum’s chiffon thing and slide it over my head. It is completely see-through. Mum certainly didn’t wear this with us around.
‘Oh shit.’ I stare at the mirror in horror.
‘Don’t worry, it’s only the light in the bathroom. She had it from when she was about twenty, I thought it was quite demure.’
‘Lucy, you’re a bloody liar! Maybe I should wear a cardigan, or will that just make it worse?’
‘It will when you take it off, and it’s going to be hot.’ Lucy is putting lipstick on and being the older sister by setting an example of hurrying and having good deportment.
Defiantly, I reach into my bag again and drag out the borderline hat. Borderline ridiculous. I pull off the tissue from the layers dyed dark purple, almost black, at the crown, turning to crimson like a poppy. ‘Look, shall I wear this?’
‘Oh Grace, I love it! Yes, definitely, you must wear it. Those colours remind me of that poem you read at Mum’s funeral, you know. “The pansy freaked with jet.” You must wear it, it looks amazing. Honestly.’
Making faces at the mirror, I’m not sure. ‘It’s a bit vampy,’ I suggest, ‘and I don’t want to give all Mac’s aunts a bad impression. I want to be part of your family, not the black sheep.’
Lucy grabs my wrist. ‘No time to change anything now, we’ve GOT to go, poor Mac is holding the whole thing together on his own.’ And then, as we clatter down the stairs, she turns to me, her face stricken. ‘Do I really look like a tart in this dress?’
I raise my eyebrows back at her. ‘Yes, it’s great isn’t it?’
The small front garden is full of people I don’t know. I place myself close behind Lucy and Mac, fascinated to see them among their friends and family.
‘This is Grace, Lucy’s sister from New York.’ Introducing and greeting, Mac and Lucy thread through the garden. ‘We should be heading to the church now. I’ve just got to find all the godparents.’ Mac marches off around the side of the house, Lucy moves on towards the lawn where the children are playing with Aunt Irene in charge.
‘Hey, guys, meet Grace.’ Lucy kisses a blonde woman and a man wearing a pale purple suit. I smile at them, and follow on in Lucy’s wake. Briefly meeting Mac’s family, I realise with a start that I am all there is left of Lucy’s except for Aunt Sophie who cannot travel any more.
The garden is full of laughter and voices bubbling with enthusiasm. The apple tree by the gate has sprouted pink blossom, which almost seems to have happened since this morning. My shoe keeps slipping off my foot, when it’s not sinking into the grass up to the top of the heel, so I crouch to tighten the strap. Everyone has started crossing the field towards the church, leaving silence a swathe behind them. A sudden chatter of birdsong pours out of the hedge beside me, and I try to look in without touching, guessing that I am close to a nest.
‘Are you really interested in that hedge?’
The voice is familiar yet unknown. I squeal in surprise and clap my hand over my mouth.
‘Oh God, you made me jump,’ I mutter, my heart pounding, and everything contributing to self-consciousness in the peaceful summer garden. I have knocked over the flowers I was bringing in a small jug to put in the church porch. Crouching to pick them up, I push up the hat and find him beside me. He passes me a flopping sprig of lilac.
‘Here,’ he says.
It is him. Ryder. The man from Denmark. My immediate thought is not ‘How weird’. It’s, ‘I knew you would come.’ I am so surprised that all native wit and intelligence desert me.
All I can say is, ‘Oh. It’s you.’ We look at one another for as long as it takes to blink, and I am so overwhelmed that I lapse into nervous superficial thoughts.
‘Oh bugger, why did I wear this freaky hat and see-through dress? I look like a tea lady, and my underwear shows, and in a minute I’ll have to stand up; how can I hide?’
Ryder picks up another gasping bloom from where it had fallen, and threads it into the jug between my hands and he doesn’t look away from my face.
‘So they’re not your children,’ he says. ‘And I want you to tell me what you saw in that hedge just now.’
My knees are about to give way, I stand up, and try to stand only half facing him. Thinking about my knickers is making me blush, and I am distracted and confused.
‘What? The girls? No, they’re my sister’s children.’ He is very close to me.
‘I was looking for a nest in the hedge.’
He pulls a twig out of my hair and for a moment our eyes meet. I feel very shy, everyone has gone into the church, Lucy is beckoning from the door with the vicar, who looks like an angelic host in his long gown. I pull his sleeve, ‘Come on, it’s time to go in. It’s my sister’s children’s christening, you know.’
He nods, and a smile is breaking in his eyes. ‘I know, I’m a godfather,’ he says. I stop and stare at him.
‘Are you Mac’s friend?’
‘Yes. Does being a godfather make me related to my god-daughter’s aunt?’
I have to cross my arms to make my dress more decent as we walk through the churchyard. ‘Only distantly,’ I tease him back.
We are almost at the door when he glances across and adds, ‘I am so glad.’
‘What? About the christening?’
‘No, that they are not your children.’
‘Yes, me too. Though of course they are lovely, but . . .’ I suddenly realise that he is THAT friend of Mac’s. The one with the sister, and as if I am having a divine experience, another understanding crystallises as we step into the church porch. Everyone else is inside and the vicar is saying something, his voice full of soothing cadences like a cooing pigeon in the shady summer space of the church. I put my hand on Ryder’s sleeve to stop him and I whisper, ‘What do you mean? Why would the children be mine? What children are you talking about, anyway?’
‘Yesterday I saw you on the beach,’ he whispers. We are inside the doors now, he touches my back to guide me in and excitement races as clear as a bell.
‘Oh God. Was that you?’ All the fragments are rushing together and the picture suddenly makes beautiful sense. A lot of people are looking at us, and Lucy is making a ‘hurry up’ face.
In a moment I turn to him and I can’t stop myself saying, ‘I’m so pleased I’ve seen you again.’
Chapter 13
Ryder
Norfolk
She smells of patchouli. A trace of it lingers like smoke next to him as he takes his place in a pew a few rows behind Grace where she has joined Mac and Lucy. Ryder smiles apologetically at the person next to him, and bows his head, relieved to have a spell of quiet contemplation thrust upon him for a while. Grace is Lucy’s sister. Ryder finds he is experiencing a strong sense of completion.
All the way to Winterton, every moment until he saw Mac, he was haunted by thoughts of Bonnie, and how he could make it up to her memory that the children whose christening he was attending were not hers. It was irrational, but nothing to do with grief has ever been rational in Ryder’s experience, and his sister was so clear in his heart that he could see her long dark hair, her laughing eyes and her dimpled smile. Of course, Bonnie never asked him to make up for anything, but Ryder’s need to do so sat like a lump in his throat.
He pulled up outside the gate of Chapel Farm Cottages and parked the car across the road. The house was low, built of knapped flint, most of the windows upstairs were open, and anyone leaning out of one would be able to reach a hand up and touch the rosy-tiled roof. No one was leaning out, but as Ryder shut the gate behind himself, a man, tall in a dark suit, appeared in the doorway and raised a hand in greeting. It was Mac, older, of course, but with the same silhouette, the same imprint on the world.
‘Hey, Ryder,’ he said, and walking over to Ryder he had a smile breaking, ‘it’s so good to see you.’ Their arms wrapped around one another in a bear hug, and Ryder’s heart was hammering so he could only
just speak.
‘I am here at last,’ he said.
Mac nodded, gripping Ryder’s hand. ‘I’m so glad you could come, you know.’
‘Me too,’ said Ryder, ‘though I’ve been worrying like hell that I won’t make the grade with the vicar. Or with Bella. What’s her take on the day?’
‘Oh, she’s excited – mostly, it has to be said, about the cake which she helped make, and which she has been licking secret dollops of whenever she can get near it.’
Mac and Ryder, hands in pockets, hovered together on the lawn in front of the house, talking about nothing, getting over the initial enormity of seeing one another. After a few minutes they moved inside. Ryder looked around, absorbing the happy chaos. He was beginning to recognise a few key elements – miniature shoes scattered about, dolls looking like victims of domestic violence, and a lot of low-level stacking and tidying.
Following Mac through the kitchen and into a hall with a flag-stoned floor which bowed in the middle with hundreds of years of wear, he felt his heart thudding again. It was a big deal coming all the way here, meeting Mac’s wife and their children. But most of all, it was a big deal to see Mac again. All of it brought a layer of acceptance he hadn’t realised he was looking for.
‘I’m afraid we have no space downstairs that isn’t carpeted with dolls,’ apologised Mac. ‘I’ve got used to it now, and I’ve noticed a tendency for the plastic nightmare to creep into some of my editorial work as well.’ He grinned. ‘But I’m hoping I’ll grow out of it soon.’ Mac stepped around a pink doll’s pram which had been crashed into the bottom of the stairs and opened the door into a sunny room where a cat lay curled asleep on a crocheted blanket in front of the fireplace.
‘You’ve got plenty here for inspiration though,’ said Ryder, forgetting the rest of his thoughts as he noticed the two small girls perched on the arms of a big yellow sofa. How very odd. Not being a small-child expert, Ryder was inclined to doubt himself, but looking at these two, he would put hard cash on them being the ones from the beach yesterday. Same size, same hair. How many could there be like this in Norfolk?
Poppyland Page 20
