by Daisy James
‘Does Jacob have any medical issues or allergies?’
‘No, he doesn’t, thank goodness.’
‘Great.’
Gabbie pushed the key into the lock and twisted, hearing the familiar click before the door swung back to reveal the wonders within. To Gabbie, the summerhouse had always been her Aladdin’s cave, somewhere to retreat from the world when the going got tough. As she hesitated on the threshold, her legs felt like jelly and she was convinced the walls were starting to close in on her. She gripped the doorframe, fearful for a moment that she was about to crumple to the floor, and waited for the initial shock to settle.
‘Are you okay? You look very pale. I’m sorry if it’s a lot of trouble…’
‘No, no, Andrea, it’s absolutely no trouble at all. Why don’t you take a seat, pop Jacob on your knee and I’ll start mixing my magic potion?’
Gabbie gave Jacob an encouraging smile, which he returned, making her feel a little better.
‘Do you have a wizard’s hat like Professor Dumbledore?’
‘No, I don’t, but actually, I do have a magic wand.’
‘Cool! Can I see it?’
Gabbie ran her eyes over the wooden shelves that lined the room, every available inch of space crammed with bottles containing liquids and oils of varying colours, from transparent to pale yellow, from gold to a dark honey. She had over fifty different oils, each one labelled carefully, as well as several containers filled to the rim with carrier oils: coconut, sunflower, jojoba, and her favourite, moringa oil, akin to olive oil but much lighter and with natural antioxidants.
The shelves to her right were stacked with books, pamphlets, academic papers and articles she had printed from the internet on the uses of essential oils – from ancient Egyptian cultures right up to modern times – in the relief of medical conditions such as cancer. However, she had no intention of reacquainting herself with any of the literary wonders stored in the summerhouse, the place where she had formulated elixirs of comfort for her mother to inhale, bathe in or massage into aching limbs.
Pushed into the far corner was the leather recliner upon which Sofia had rested, covered in fluffy white towels and a white cotton sheet, and Gabbie couldn’t bear to even glance in that direction. She reached up to the top shelf and grabbed a long skinny black box inscribed with gold lettering and handed it to Jacob.
‘Why don’t you take a look inside there while I conjure up a special potion for that wasp’s sting?’
Jacob was now overcome by awe at his surroundings. After all, what little boy wouldn’t be when invited to spend some time in a wizard’s apothecary? Gabbie watched him from the corner of her eye as she selected bottles of eucalyptus and camomile oil and a tiny pipette.
‘Wow! Is this a real wand?’ whispered Jacob, clearly recovered from his earlier trauma.
‘Yes. It’s Professor Albus Dumbledore’s actual wand. Now, Jacob, all I need you to do is wave it over this potion three times and then it’ll be ready to pop on that sting. Okay?’
‘Okay.’
Gabbie turned to Andrea. ‘This phial contains regular vegetable oil with just a single drop of camomile and eucalyptus oil added. Eucalyptus has antibacterial properties and is frequently used in the treatment of wounds, burns, cuts, abrasions and sores. Camomile oil soothes the area around the sting, prevents inflammation and stops itching, which could cause infection. Is that okay?’
‘Absolutely fine. Thank you,’ nodded Andrea, almost as entranced by what Gabbie was doing as her son was.
‘Okay, Jacob. Time for the magic.’
Jacob grasped the wand – a gift from Clara from her visit to Harry Potter World several years ago – and waved it over the potion three times; then he sat completely still while Gabbie treated the skin around the sting.
‘Better?’
‘Amazing! The magic really works! I can’t wait to tell my friend James. He’s going to be so jealous!’
Gabbie flashed a look at Andrea – who was smiling at her with gratitude and warmth – unsure whether to say what was on her mind.
‘Actually, Jacob, do you mind if we keep this as our little secret?’
‘Sure.’
A flicker of disappointment stalked across his face, but there was no way Gabbie wanted a whirl of playground boasting about her magical shed to get back to the children’s mothers. What if a queue of people asking for magic potions to cure their ailments formed at the summerhouse door? No way! All she wanted to do now was usher Andrea and Jacob out of her former sanctuary and forget the whole episode had ever happened.
‘I don’t suppose you have anything in here to help with the fatigue caused by bringing up three boisterous children single-handedly, do you?’ asked Andrea, not altogether joking.
‘Gosh, I might be able to perform magic, but I draw the line at miracles!’ Gabbie laughed, almost resorting to shoving Andrea physically out of the door so she could lock it and extinguish the anguish that was threatening to consume her. She focused her mind on what she had planned for the rest of the day – wading her way through the dense thicket of Andrews Autos’ business accounts.
‘Thank you, Gabbie. You’ve been very kind.’
Gabbie could see the deep shadows of tiredness encircling the poor woman’s eyes. She glanced at the hand resting on top of Jacob’s curls and saw the skin was chapped and red, and her fingernails ragged. A wave of sympathy surged through her.
‘Hang on a minute.’
She returned to the summerhouse and selected a tub of hand cream containing a few drops of sandalwood oil, which she had created to soothe her mother’s blistered skin after months of radiotherapy.
‘Here, massage a little of this into your hands before you go to sleep every night. It should help.’
She pressed the tub into Andrea’s hands with a smile and finally locked the door. Relief rippled through her body, mounting with every step she took away from the wooden cabin and back towards the garage to reunite Andrea and Jacob with Maisie and Nora before waving them off in their little Fiat 500.
Chapter Nine
Gabbie sat opposite her father at the kitchen table, watching him pick at the vegetable lasagne she had made for them, along with a huge green salad. A bowl of fresh fruit awaited them for dessert.
‘This is delicious, sweetheart,’ Jeff said, giving her a grateful smile.
Gabbie laughed. ‘You don’t fool me, Dad. I know you’d rather have a burger or a fry-up, but the dietician gave you those recipe cards because she wanted you to give them a try. I know you’re not going to like them all, you’re not expected to, but some of them – the chickpea curry, for instance – sound great.’
‘Chickpea curry? No, thanks! What’s wrong with chicken tikka masala? That’s curry and that’s delicious.
‘Yes, but it contains lots of cream and probably your whole day’s allowance of calories! Which isn’t a healthy choice when you’re looking to lose a few pounds,’ she replied gently.
‘Mmm, salad,’ grinned Jeff, shovelling in another mouthful of lettuce and giving her a fake thumbs-up.
‘Sorry, Dad.’
‘No, it should be me apologising to you, Gabbie.’ Jeff put down his fork and reached over to squeeze her hand, his eyes gentle and understanding.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’m sorry about this afternoon in the garage. I shouldn’t have sprung that on you. I know how you feel about the summerhouse, how much it meant to you and Sofia to have your own space to talk and pamper yourselves.’
‘Dad, we weren’t pampering ourselves. Mum was adamant that some of those oils really did help her cope with her pain, especially the geranium oil, and the lavender helped her to relax and sleep better.’
Gabbie was surprised to hear the passion in her voice, and to experience the same fervour for the subject she’d had when she was experimenting during her mum’s treatment programme. They must have ordered every oil available, waiting excitedly for the postman to arrive with the next shipment
of ylang-ylang, or American spice apple oil, or even tiny bottles of frankincense and myrrh! Together, they would rush out to the summerhouse to mix the new oil with other fragrances, or pop a few drops in the diffuser, inhaling the bouquet and commenting on what the aroma conjured up for them.
‘I know, I know. Look, Gabbie, I understand how much you miss your mum. I miss her too, every day…’
‘Dad…’
‘No, please, hear me out. You mum was an amazing woman and we were blessed to have her in our lives. I loved her from the very first time I set eyes on her in that quaint little coffee shop next to the bus station. I was gobsmacked when she agreed to go on a date with me. I mean, me, Jeff Andrews, the boy who, according to his friends, always smelled of engine oil and car polish, asking out a stunningly beautiful foreign-exchange student from Genoa. But one of the things Sofia was best at was seeing beneath the scruffy exterior. That’s the quality that made her so special. I’ll never forget the day she agreed to marry me.’
Jeff looked away from Gabbie, staring out of the window overlooking the village green and the church beyond, the fingers curled around his coffee mug trembling at his reminiscences.
‘I was the happiest man alive on that spring morning in Italy when she walked down the aisle towards me. You know, the sun shone from the moment it poked its head above the horizon to when we set off in my Triumph Stag for our honeymoon in Paris before settling back here in Devon. Do you remember the little blue soft top we had?’
‘Yes, Dad, I do.’ Gabbie’s heart gave a nip as she brought to mind the image in the photograph by her bed.
‘I loved that car, but that was nothing compared to how much I loved your mum.’
When Gabbie saw that her father was choking back tears, she couldn’t hold on to her emotions any longer and crumpled onto his chest, sobbing for the loss of such an amazing mother and loving wife of over thirty years.
She had no idea how long they sat there together, hugging each other, but when she lifted her head, she felt as though a tiny chunk of her grief had dislodged from the larger block that had pressed against her chest like a slab of concrete for two long years, and had floated away on the stream of tears she had shed. Her father looked into her eyes and gave her a smile.
‘You know, Sofia would have been so proud of you, sweetheart, proud of everything you’ve achieved over there in that French perfume laboratory of yours.’
‘Dad, I…’ Gabbie paused.
Was this the right time to tell him she had quit her dream job? To confess that she had perhaps acted on impulse because she had been jittery and distracted on the anniversary of her mum’s death? Would he still be proud of her when he knew the real reason she was back in Oakley?
‘I’m glad you’re home, Gabbie. Pushing your sorrow away isn’t always the best thing to do. Sometimes we just have to embrace it, stitch it into the tapestry of our lives, go easy on ourselves and recognise that our feelings of despair are normal. I might be wrong, but I think your visit to the summerhouse has made you realise that. You’ve taken the first step now and was it really so bad? I know it reminded you of all those times you and Sofia spent in there, some of them good, some of them not so good, but didn’t it also bring back the urge to create a little bit of magic to help others soothe their pain?’
Jeff ran his fingers through his thick, silver-grey hair, causing it to stand up in tufts, his forehead creased as his eyes raked hers for an answer to his question.
‘You’re right, Dad. It was difficult to take the first step over the threshold, but I admit helping Jacob brought back every bit of the passion I used to feel before… before Mum passed away.’
‘So do you think you could fix me up a couple of those air fresheners your mother used to love to hang around the garage?’
Gabbie laughed.
‘I’m not sure Max would approve of that. He was pretty irritated when I cleaned up the day before your fall.’
‘Max isn’t only a great mechanic, but he’s also one of the good guys. Don’t think I don’t know about the favours he’s been doing for the less wealthy of the parish. He’s like an oil-splattered fairy godfather!’
‘Dad!’
A sudden image of Max standing before her in a pink tutu, brandishing a magic wand, caused a splash of warmth to shoot into her cheeks.
‘Gabbie, losing your mum has taught me that we need to grab every single opportunity we’re presented with. Life is short and we need to work hard to make it as sweet as we can. That means surrounding ourselves with the people we love the most, but it also means dishing out those golden coins of happiness to other people; making others happy makes us happy too.’
‘I know that, Dad.’
‘Then why haven’t you reconnected with Clara? You only have a few days before you go back to France and I know you haven’t got together yet. What’s stopping you? The two of you were as close as primer and paint before you left. Did something happen? Because most disagreements can be ironed out, you know.’
‘Nothing happened, Dad. It’s just we haven’t seen each other for a couple of months and emails and texts aren’t the same.’
‘You have to nurture friendships, that’s true, but real friendships can spring back into life. I can tell you miss her. Ring her, even if it’s just to test out my theory. Will you do that for me?’
Gabbie added yet another difficult task to the ever-increasing list. If she had known how hard it was going to be returning to Oakley – first the shock of seeing her father’s weight increase, then the financial worries about the garage and the unexpected visit to the summerhouse – she might have considered staying in France with Jasmine to work out what to do next. But her mother had always counselled her that nothing worthwhile was ever easy, and she knew her father was right. Clara would welcome her with open arms – and a deluge of questions. It was Gabbie who was avoiding the encounter, and that filled her with a heap of remorse.
‘Okay, I’ll call her.’
‘Great, because I know she misses you too. She’s always popping in here and asking for an update, whether you’re dating hunky French guys, sipping cocktails on the beach, or sailing yachts on the Mediterranean like your friend Jasmine. On the subject of dating…’
‘Dad! Really, we don’t need to go there. There’s nothing to report.’
Jeff laughed and pushed himself up from the table. ‘Well, I think I’ll leave the washing-up until the morning and catch an early night – unless there’s anything else you want to offload.’
There was an invitation lingering in the air, evident in his tone and raised eyebrows, as if he was waiting for her to spill the real reason she was there. Now was the perfect time to confess she was home for at least the foreseeable future. In fact, had her father guessed?
She swallowed down hard and hauled her courage from the depths of the dark chasm where it usually lurked. Everything she did was with the intention of causing her father as little anxiety as possible. He’d had more than his fair share of trauma for one lifetime and she didn’t want to add even a smidgeon of extra worry. However, she had also been brought up to believe that honesty and integrity were the central requisites to a happy relationship.
‘Actually, there is. I’m not going back to Grasse at the weekend. I’ve, well… I’ve quit.’
‘Oh, sweetheart, I thought something like that must have happened.’
‘You did? Why didn’t you say something?’
‘I wanted to wait until you told me yourself. You’re an adult now, in control of your own destiny. Any decision about your future has to be your own without any interference from your doting father. You don’t need me to say it, but you will always have a home here for as long as you need it.’
Tears gathered in her eyes as she said, ‘Thanks, Dad. And while I’m here I might as well take a look at the garage’s accounts. When you go for your next appointment at the bank, I’m pretty sure they would prefer not to be presented with a jumble of out-of-date figures.’
‘Night, Dad.’
‘And there’s no time like the present to make that call,’ he added pointedly, before disappearing up the stairs.
Gabbie looked at the clock, expecting it to be well on the way to midnight. She was surprised to see it was only nine o’clock, which stirred up more anxiety about her father’s health. However, she had to admit that the colour seemed to have returned to his cheeks, and his double chin had all but disappeared after two weeks of healthy home cooking instead of ready meals and calorie-laden snacks. She knew there was no quick fix, though, and that he would have to keep up the good work to see permanent results.
Her brain was still busy processing the day’s events, bouncing from one incident to the next: Jacob’s injury, her visit to the summerhouse, her father’s urging her to call Clara. She knew if she went to bed now she would end up churning through every detail until the early hours, so she unearthed an old pair of trainers, pulled on a hoodie and decided the best cure for such symptoms was a run.
Maybe she would jog out to the lake and back – five miles should be just the right distance for someone who hadn’t made exercise a priority for a couple of years. She refused to listen to the voices in her head that were accusing her of resorting to avoidance tactics – something she was an acknowledged expert at – instead of using the privacy her father had clearly given her to speak to Clara. Or maybe she should have used the time to start the arduous task of going through the business accounts she had been meaning to look at since she arrived.
But she was ready now and it was a warm night. She locked the door behind her and sprinted across the village green, then past the church, breathing in the smell of freshly cut hay and damp earth as she pounded the tarmac of the narrow country lane, increasing her speed as she found her stride.
