A Vintage Summer

by Cathy Bramley

  ‘If you say so,’ said Clare, jolting me back to the present. She took the lid off a plastic tub of date and apricot flapjacks. ‘Tuck in, these will do the trick to sort out that little problem you mentioned. I’ve added extra linseed and bran too.’

  ‘Thank you, that’s very kind.’ I smiled weakly and took the smallest brown square, setting it next to the laptop. That’ll teach me to mention my constipation in public. ‘Actually, I think Godfrey’s syrup of figs, Roger’s half-tube of haemorrhoid cream and the long ramble along the river which Pippa insisted on taking me for have already produced several tricks. You’ve all been very kind.’

  ‘TMI.’ She snorted and took a small piece for herself. ‘Just indulge me, Lottie. I never got the chance to fuss around my daughter Frankie when she was pregnant, with her living in Australia.’

  I took a sip of water in readiness for a fibre hit and picked up my flapjack.

  ‘My mum would have thrown herself into full-on nurturing mode too. I’m sure she’d approve of these; they look very healthy. Evie’s fantastic, but it’s not the same as having your mum around.’

  Clare pulled a sad face. ‘Of course it isn’t. But anything you need, any advice or someone to come and hold your hand at any time, you just ask.’

  Everyone knew about my family situation and had sent good wishes to my dad in Germany. Betsy had told me to invite Evie over so she could meet her properly, having only seen her and Darren arguing in the Italian restaurant on the night I moved in. Evie was coming today, in fact. She and Darren had been back for a while but they’d been so busy re-establishing their marital home that I’d barely seen them.

  ‘I might ask you to bake for me again,’ I said through a mouthful of flapjack. ‘This is really good.’

  ‘No need to sound surprised! I was on the school PTA cake sale committee for years. My Viennese whirls are second to none. Now, tell me to keep my snout out,’ Clare brushed the crumbs from her cleavage and took her ever-present crocheting from her bag, ‘but you’re smart, lovely and, unless you’re very good at hiding things, you’ve got no obvious off-putting personal habits. And I can’t help wondering about you being single?’

  ‘You mean who’s the baby’s father and why am I not with him?’

  ‘Well, yeah.’ She looked sheepish. ‘Sorry, I’m a nosy moo, but in my defence I know first-hand how tricky first babies can be.’

  My face must have fallen because Clare reached across and rubbed my arm, smiling sympathetically.

  ‘Put it this way: it’s not what I’d have planned,’ I admitted, smoothing my T-shirt dress down over my bump. ‘But better on my own and happy than with someone who was making me miserable.’

  ‘Abso-bloody-lutely.’ Clare gave a nod of approval. ‘Although to play devil’s advocate, some men come into their own when they reach fatherhood and they finally grow up.’

  I shuddered. ‘Harvey would have to do a lot more than grow up for me to want him back in my life. I haven’t seen or spoken to him since before I started here. And I don’t want to either.’

  I posted the last mouthful of flapjack in and chewed resolutely.

  Clare frowned. ‘Knowing how easy-going you are, he must have really done a number on you.’ I nodded and she rolled her eyes. ‘Listen to me, I’m doing it again, poking my nose in.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ I said, laughing softly. ‘I don’t mind talking about him. We met online and I fell for him completely; I really thought Harvey was the one and we moved down to London to start a new life together. We were ecstatically happy for a while and then gradually he started to change; bit by bit he became very controlling and jealous. By the time I realized I ought to leave him, he’d even begun to get aggressive. I don’t know how I got him so wrong.’

  ‘I hope you’re not blaming yourself,’ she said indignantly, offering me another flapjack. I shook my head. ‘And you’re right, being on your own is far better than being unhappy.’

  ‘I must be a bad judge of character.’ I sighed, wondering how I’d let Harvey manipulate me for so long.

  ‘Oh, they’re not all the same; you can’t tar them all with the same brush.’

  ‘I suppose not,’ I said wistfully.

  I thought about how decent Jensen had been to me, how supportive. He’d taken me to hospital twice already and I’d only known him for three months. Still there was no use getting my hopes up there, not if he was planning a move to Cape Town. Unless, of course, he asked me to go with him. They had loads of vineyards there, didn’t they? Maybe I could get a job and carry on learning about viticulture. Except, I snapped myself out of my daydream, I’d have a baby in a few months. I kept forgetting that. I’d be busy getting it weighed and going to baby percussion classes or whatever people did with a new-born …

  ‘If I’d thought like that,’ Clare continued, picking up her crochet needle and focusing on the square of wool on her lap, ‘I’d never have allowed myself to fall in love with Ian and get married again. Sometimes we don’t get our happy-ever-after first time around, you know.’

  ‘Ian’s your second husband?’

  She nodded. ‘I’d been married for two years – happily married, so I thought – when I found out my first husband, Pete, was running a brothel. A brothel!’ Her eyes widened. ‘I couldn’t believe it.’

  ‘Gosh, even Harvey wasn’t doing anything that dodgy,’ I said, sipping from my water bottle.

  ‘He told me he was the night manager at a hotel in Stockport. I always wondered why he said we couldn’t get staff discount in the restaurant. I only found out because I’d taken a pregnancy test and couldn’t wait to tell him the good news, so I got on the bus to surprise him at work. You can imagine who got the biggest surprise. I found him in a seedy room with stripy wallpaper and swirly carpet with two poor girls clad in baby-doll nighties draped round his neck.’ She shuddered at the memory.

  ‘Oh Clare,’ I said in a hushed voice. ‘You must have been devastated.’

  ‘Life can change in the blink of an eye,’ said Clare flippantly. ‘All I’d wanted was a family. In the space of one evening I lost my home and my husband and my security. I wish someone could have told me at the time that all would be well, but right then, I thought my life had ended.’

  ‘I’ve always wanted what my parents had,’ I said. ‘That’s all. They did everything the traditional way: found the perfect match, tied the knot in church, had two children. I seem to be doing it back to front. And as to whether I’ll ever get married, who knows. Some men are funny about other men’s children, aren’t they?’ A shiver ran down my back remembering how Harvey had been so anti-fostering when I’d joked that I’d do it if I couldn’t have my own.

  ‘The right man won’t be funny about it,’ she said cheerily. ‘My daughter, Frankie, was six months old when I met Ian. I think he fell in love with her before me. He was totally besotted with her tiny fingernails and her button nose. I was a young mother, living in the cheapest flat I could find, with very few job skills and no hope. I thought I had nothing to offer another man. When Ian proposed, he said he’d found everything he’d ever wanted in me and Frankie. I got my happy-ever-after second time around.’

  ‘I’m so glad,’ I said warmly. ‘You’re a lovely lady, Clare, you deserve to be happy.’

  ‘Ditto,’ she said a wide smile. ‘Your happy ending is out there too. I promise.’

  I hoped so, I really did, but sometimes it was difficult to imagine.

  ‘Clare …?’ She looked up and I hesitated, not entirely sure if I wanted to put a voice to the niggling worry that I’d had on and off for weeks. ‘Can I ask you something personal, something just between us?’

  She rummaged in her wool bag and brought out a ball of the palest lemon yarn. ‘Course, fire away.’

  ‘Well. Even though you had all that going on, and things were not as you’d planned and your future wasn’t certain …’ My voice trembled and I took a deep breath before continuing. ‘Even then, did you never once think that maybe you s
houldn’t keep the baby?’

  She studied my face with concern before laying her crochet square on her knee and taking my hand in hers. My emotions felt exposed and raw and her touch absorbed them and soothed my heart. ‘I’ve never told anyone this. Not a soul. But yes I did. At first I thought about having a termination, because I was so scared of how I was going to cope on my own and I was also worried about Pete having a personality transplant and taking an interest in his own child.’

  She raised a wry eyebrow.

  ‘But I couldn’t do it. I know it’s right for some, but I’d been trying for a baby, I couldn’t give up on it just because my marriage had fallen apart.’

  ‘And you never doubted you’d be a good parent?’ I said, feeling the full weight of my words settling on my heart.

  ‘All the time,’ she said. ‘All the time. I thought about all the childless couples who had everything a baby would need, like two parents and a comfortable home, who would give it the start it deserved, you know?’

  I nodded. That was exactly how I felt. Even more so because of Evie and Darren’s difficulties conceiving.

  ‘But you kept her,’ I said, wanting her to tell me I was doing the right thing.

  ‘I did.’ She smiled, her eyes twinkling. ‘Despite everything – my circumstances, and knowing that I’d be on my own through the long nights of feeding and colic and never finishing a cup of tea while it was hot – I knew that I’d love it. And when it comes down to it, if a child knows it’s loved, even by only one of its parents, the rest – the big house with a swing in the garden, the new clothes, the piles of toys – is just window dressing. That’s all you need to ask yourself: can I love this baby?’

  And there it was: the million-dollar question. For the last seven weeks, my focus, whether conscious or not, had been on the practical and physical things and coming to terms with actually being pregnant. Could I love Harvey’s baby? Or would I be reminded of his furious face, his hand gripping my cheeks in Evie’s living room whenever I looked at it?

  I took a calming breath, closing my eyes for a second. Thinking like that would never do; this baby was pure and innocent and not to blame for what had happened between me and its father.

  I nodded gently and a smile of relief spread across my face as I placed a hand on my stomach. ‘I can; at least, I’ll do my very best. This baby is part of me, the best part of me. Thanks, Clare.’

  She did a comedy wink. ‘You’re welcome, honey. You know, perhaps I should go on a counselling course, I think I’d be good at that.’

  I laughed affectionately. ‘I don’t know where you find the time for all these activities.’

  ‘Multi-tasking,’ she said, tapping the side of her nose. ‘Why do one job when you can do three or four?’

  ‘What are you crocheting? It’s beautiful.’

  Clare wove her crochet hook through the yellow wool, looping and poking and twisting, creating patterns as if by magic.

  ‘Baby blankets. A lady at church sends them to Syria to the maternity hospital. Lots of the mothers come in with nothing for their babies, we make these little shawls and we send them with our love, so when they leave hospital with their babies wrapped up warmly, the mums are taking our good wishes with them. I’ll do one for your baby if you like?’

  Low down inside me, I felt a sensation like tiny bubbles fizzing and popping. I took a sharp breath in. ‘I think something’s on the move; the linseeds must be working already.’

  Clare lowered her crochet hook and sat forward. ‘Maybe. How far along are you?’

  ‘Eighteen weeks. Ooh!’

  The feeling changed from a fizz to a flickering, like the rapid fluttering of a hundred butterfly wings. I’d read about this; it wasn’t wind at all … My child was moving inside me.

  ‘It moved. The baby moved,’ I gasped and laid a hand on my bump, laughing.

  ‘Hello, Mummy,’ said Clare in a high-pitched voice.

  Mummy. Until now, I’d thought of myself as being pregnant, I’d focused on the nine months leading up to the birth, never really envisaging myself as a mother. A mum. I’d be a mum with a child of my own. For the first time since all this began, I imagined a baby in my arms, its soft body weighing nothing and yet, everything, peeping up at me from a blanket in the softest wool, and my heart leapt with an explosion of love for the life inside me. In that moment, that very moment, I became its mother.

  ‘Hello, my darling one,’ I murmured.

  Clare’s eyes misted up. ‘How lovely.’

  ‘Yes please, Clare,’ I said, tears pricking at my eyes. ‘We’d love one of your blankets very much.’

  ‘This cottage is very sweet,’ said Evie later that afternoon as she poked her head into my bathroom and made appropriate ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ noises about everything. ‘I was in too much of a flap about Dad to take it in last time I was here. You’ve been unbelievably fortunate, getting this.’

  ‘I have,’ I said, swallowing a sigh. ‘It’s going to take some beating when my job comes to an end in December.’

  ‘Would Betsy not consider keeping you on?’ She sat neatly on the sofa and kicked off her pumps. She looked so delicate and sylph-like compared to me. I was worried she’d bounce straight up in the air as soon as I plonked myself down.

  ‘It’s complicated,’ I said, lowering myself gingerly on to the seat beside her.

  ‘I’m listening,’ she said, helping herself to a banana from the huge bunch in the fruit bowl and offering one to me. ‘Where’s all your grapes? I thought you’d get loads of free grapes as a perk of the job?’

  The bananas were a gift from Pippa who’d read that they were a superfood that cured everything from constipation to cramp, something else I’d begun to suffer from.

  ‘Our grapes aren’t ready yet. I’ll take you on a tour of the vines later and let you taste some. They aren’t anywhere near as sweet as the table grapes you buy in the shops.’

  Evie grinned. ‘Lottie Allbright, Fernfield’s resident grape expert: who’d have thought it?’

  ‘I thought you were listening to my complicated story?’

  ‘Sorry. Go on.’

  And while she nibbled on her superfood, I told her about Betsy’s dilemma: her worsening macular problem and reliance on others to see and read her post for her, as well as to drive her around.

  ‘There are so many things she struggles with now,’ I said. ‘Eventually she won’t be able to cope with simple things like the central-heating controller or the display on the washing machine.’

  ‘Poor thing.’ Evie frowned. ‘And managing this place on top of losing her husband.’

  ‘She promised to see the next harvest through, but after that I think she’ll be ready to move on.’

  ‘You can’t blame her. She shouldn’t be running a business at her age if she doesn’t want to.’

  I puffed out my cheeks. ‘I wish there was a way I could afford to buy the vineyard, but I don’t think I’d even get a mortgage on a house, let alone a business.’

  Evie bit her lip. ‘I could lend you some money, but I imagine it would be a drop in the ocean; the property must be worth a bomb, and then the vineyard on top.’

  ‘Aw, that is so sweet of you,’ I said, pressing a hand to my chest. ‘But I couldn’t accept your money. Betsy was hoping that Jensen would take an interest in the wine business. If he moved back here, she could hand over the reins and stay in her own home. That would be the perfect solution.’

  She cocked an eyebrow. ‘For Betsy or you?’

  ‘I can’t lie,’ I said, feeling a flash of heat rise to my face. ‘I really like him.’

  She folded her banana skin up and laid it tidily on the coffee table. ‘And what are you going to do about it?’

  ‘Me?’ I blinked at her. ‘I wasn’t planning on doing anything.’

  ‘I see.’ Evie stretched her legs out and put her feet up on my lap. ‘Waiting for him to take the lead and decide where, when or even if you see him?’

  She looke
d at me pointedly. This was where I’d gone wrong with Harvey, I realized: following blithely, going along with his plans in lieu of making my own.

  ‘You’re right,’ I said firmly. ‘I need to be more proactive. Not just for myself; I’ve got the baby to think of now too.’

  Evie’s mouth twisted into a grin. ‘Now you’re talking. So, I repeat, what are you going to do about it?’

  ‘I’m seeing him for lunch in London next week before the radio interview.’ I shrugged. ‘But there’s no point doing anything at the moment; I don’t even know if he’s moving abroad or not. If he’s not, then maybe I’ll tell him how I feel.’

  ‘And if he is?’

  I forced a smile. ‘Then he’ll have got the big promotion he deserves, I’ll congratulate him, wave him off and I won’t stand in his way.’

  ‘Just like that?’ She looked very unimpressed. ‘That’s not very proactive.’

  I sighed hopelessly; taking a firmer stance was harder than it looked. ‘I’ll think of something. Anyway,’ I smiled brightly and patted my sister’s leg, ‘you look radiant. I take it you and Darren are love’s young dream again?’

  Her eyes sparkled with happiness. ‘I love him so much. I can’t believe I let him go in the first place.’

  ‘Don’t be too hard on yourself. You both went through a lot.’

  ‘If I’ve learned anything from our split it’s to never stop talking to one another. After losing the baby, day by day we withdrew a bit more from each other until we didn’t know what the other wanted any more.’

  ‘And now you know what you both want?’

  ‘Yep,’ she said firmly. ‘We want to be parents. Together. Whatever that means.’

  I was confused. ‘But wasn’t that always the case?’

  ‘Darren thought that, for me, being a mother was about giving birth. Because he couldn’t give me a baby, he decided that the best thing to do would be for me to find someone else to have a family with. But he was wrong about that: that was never my priority. Being pregnant is only one part of it. I would have loved to bring our biological baby into the world but it wasn’t to be. But being a mother is about the relationship you have with a child. And that lasts a lifetime; pregnancy is over in the blink of an eye. He was right about fostering, though.’