When would it be two o’clock, and I could phone to find how he was?
I wandered back into the shop. The phone rang. I pounced. Just the usual hum to show the line wasn’t in use. So it wasn’t the phone. It was the shop doorbell. These days we didn’t leave the door open, even when Mrs Walker was accompanied by her fiancé, who liked to sit and write poetry in a far corner. Anyone wanting to come in had to wait while we checked that the security cameras had a nice snap before buzzing him or her in. This time it wasn’t a customer, but the fiancé himself, Paul Banner. Mary, who said nothing about my strange mistake, gave a little coo of delight at the sight of Paul, hugged him, and swept off. He gave me a hesitant smile and then a tentative hug. Why Griff and I should always call him Paul, while addressing his future wife, whom we’d known for so much longer, more formally, I could never work out. Today my brain didn’t even bother to try or to ask why he was here – Tuesday was his golf day, wasn’t it? Griff had speculated that golf was a hangover from his accounting days since it didn’t seem to sit well with poetry.
Mary returned before we could do much more than agree that the weather was fine, carrying a tray, complete with lace cloth, teapot, cups, saucers and plates. She and Griff were as one in the belief that mugs were an invention of the devil.
‘There,’ she declared, ‘green tea just as you like it. Of course you like it, Paul: it’s so good for you,’ she insisted as he pulled a face. He was really a builder’s tea and two sugars man. ‘Scones in my basket there. We’ve just had such a weird woman – quite gave me the creeps. I really wished you were here – though she’d have thought you were the boss, wouldn’t she, Lina?’ She didn’t bother to explain, but continued, ‘Since you’re here, darling, would you mind if Lina and I did girlie things for a few moments? She’s been to Paris, remember, and I haven’t seen what she bought there. I know it was a working visit, but I can’t imagine dear Griff not insisting she bought some clothes. And shoes, if I know Griff – such good taste, Paul!’
‘Good enough to pick out your wedding dress,’ Paul agreed, helping himself to a scone. ‘What about you, Lina? Has he organized your bridesmaid’s outfit yet?’
I was just about to wail, when Mrs Walker took my arm. ‘No need to worry about that. Pop a scone on your saucer, and we’ll go and look at your Paris booty,’ she declared, scooping me out of the shop and back into the cottage.
The chic bags still lay haphazardly in a corner of my bedroom, their contents languishing in the tissue Griff had swathed them in before we’d left France. So much had happened, nasty dangerous stuff, since we’d got home, that they’d simply slipped my mind. At least I remembered shoving our dirty clothes in the machine, but I couldn’t remember for the life of me if I’d ever switched it on. Probably I hadn’t – and Griff would be tutting with frustration if I didn’t get the benefit of a lovely drying day. Explaining briefly, I trotted downstairs and set the machine off, only to find that I was clutching Tim the Bear.
By the time I got back, Mrs Walker had transformed my room. Clothes, now on hangers, were festooned from the wardrobe doors, and pairs of shoes nestled like glossy birds in the now lidless boxes. She’d even collapsed and flattened the bags into their original folds.
She was actually stroking one of the dresses. ‘So he did think of the wedding, bless the dear man. Oh, Lina, this colour will go perfectly with the dress he made me buy. Not quite white, not quite cream, not quite grey – oh, it’s a gem. Like a pearl, against the opalescent greeny-blues and mauves of mine.’ This was delicate Italian painted silk, just right for a lady in her sixties, and she was right: the two outfits would complement each other beautifully.
Actually, though I’d never tell her, Griff had picked out my dress for me to wear for a formal evening in French society, where it had acquitted itself very well amongst all the top of the range gear the other women were wearing. It had gone further: it had reminded me that though I came from what my father mysteriously called the wrong side of the blanket, I was actually an aristocrat’s daughter. Noblesse had never obliged my pa to do anything, such as take an interest in any of his illegitimate children, and no one would pick him out as a lord; indeed, his closest mate was the decidedly shady pleb Titus. But that evening, his daughter carried herself as if she was in the habit of sporting aristocratic ermine. Griff had played a superb supporting role, of course, as dapper and worldly as he knew how.
‘And these shoes, Lina – just the right height for you and for the dress,’ Mary was saying. ‘Wonderful colour, a bit more definite than nude. But if the weather’s unkind, you’ll need a little stole or something – you won’t get away with wearing thermal undies under something as sheer as this. Any undies, come to think of it.’
I made my mouth say, ‘I’m sure the sun will shine for you.’ And I really hoped it would. For their sake, not mine.
‘But it’ll be autumn sun … You know, I’m sure a little retro fur stole – better still, a cape – is the answer. You and Griff must know some specialized clothing dealers, Lina, who’d help. Why don’t you check through your address book and email a few people? You could always send them a photo of the dress.’
If only she’d stop yapping. I might scream if she didn’t. But even as I tried to work out an excuse to get rid of her, it dawned on me that all she was trying to do was to take my mind off Griff. ‘That’s a good idea,’ I croaked. ‘Let’s move the other clothes into the wardrobe so that I can get a good shot of the dress without a lot of clutter.’
Miraculously, the room returned to nice tidy normality, as if Griff hadn’t maxed out his credit card on a loving legacy. No, I didn’t like that word at all. Not legacy. Gift.
If he didn’t pull through, would I ever be able to touch them, let alone wear them?
‘You know,’ Mrs Walker declared, head on one side, ‘the best way to give a proper impression of the dress would be for you to be wearing it. But first you’ll need to run a comb through your hair, and maybe put on a little make-up. I wonder why Griff calls it slap? It must be his theatrical background. And he’s taught you to apply it so well – there, just a bit more lippie, as he will call it. Now, I suggest we put a tea-towel or something over your head so you won’t get anything on the fabric when you pull it on. Or do you step in? Of course. Let me just – oh, my goodness – real buttons! I thought they were just for decoration, and there’d be a hidden zip. Good job my hands are warm.’ As she talked, she worked her way up my back. ‘It’s usually the bride who needs help getting dressed, not the bridesmaid! Promise you’ll help me with the make-up, Lina?’
‘Griff’ll do that,’ I said firmly. But she was right about the cape; even on a day like this I was dithering with cold.
She squeezed my hand. ‘Of course he will.’ She turned me round to face the mirror. ‘There. Who wouldn’t sell you a fur cape to go with that? Now, where’s your mobile? Or your camera? Is that it there? Beside those posh teddy bears? Thanks. Stand a bit straighter. Good. And if you don’t feel like smiling, how about looking meaningfully into the distance? No, that makes you look as if you’re about to start an aria. Not Wagner, you’re much too slender for that. Though they are encouraging opera stars to lose weight and look like normal human beings. Chin down a little? Excellent. And one more?’ She showed me what she’d done.
Heavens, she was good with the camera, wasn’t she? All this time she’d worked for us, and, always irritated by her constant chatter, I’d never recalled she had talents beyond talking customers into parting with their money. But she had a degree and was a qualified teacher, for heaven’s sake. It was just that life had given her a couple of really nasty kicks which had taken away her confidence. It seemed that a combination of working with Griff and the prospect of marrying a really nice guy had brought it back.
Just now she was checking a list of people who might help out, and we were sending them texts and the pictures via the phone. She might have kept up a constant commentary, but her hands and brain worked regardless.
The phone still in my hand, somehow I found myself heading back to the shop with her, telling Paul how she’d organized everything.
‘Once a teacher always a teacher,’ he said with an affectionate smile.
‘Quite. Sometimes I can even remember how to be in two places at once,’ she said. ‘But if Lina hadn’t stepped in when the Bossingham Hall administrators sacked me—’
‘I still think you should have gone for unfair dismissal,’ Paul growled.
‘Hard to do that when I was only a volunteer!’
They exchanged a look. It was as if he was asking her if she’d done something; hers in reply told him to shut up. All very clever. And they weren’t even married yet.
The little silence held.
My mobile broke it. Mary and Paul melted out of the shop.
‘Hi, Lina. Lina? Are you OK?’
Morris! ‘I hardly recognized your voice.’ It wasn’t the warmest of greetings, but he sounded as if he was talking through cotton wool.
‘I just wanted to know how Griff is.’
Hadn’t he read anything that I’d sent him? ‘He’s in surgery now. Right now. At this moment.’
‘Never! I thought he was just having a spot of angina.’ Morris wasn’t telling the whole truth. Two days ago he’d been sufficiently worried about Griff to take him straight to A and E in Ashford’s William Harvey hospital; he’d even seen him safe into the cardiac unit. But he’d not waited for me there, just left a note, saying he had to return to France for a vital meeting. It seemed he had time to talk to Europe’s top policemen but not to his girlfriend. He’d told Griff he thought he’d got the flu coming on and didn’t want to pass it on to me. Personally, at that moment I’d have swapped a kind hug for a few germs. One day I’d tell him that.
Not now.
‘I told you in my texts – and there are a couple of voicemail messages …’
‘Sorry – flat battery. Anyway, you can tell me now.’
‘The angina was so serious he needed immediate surgery. A triple bypass. I can phone at two to find out how he is.’ As if he needed to know that. Or even wanted to.
He coughed and sneezed convincingly. Perhaps he did have the flu. ‘Jesus!’ he croaked. ‘Let me know if I can do anything, won’t you?’ he said in the same tone as people who say, ‘We must do lunch sometime,’ knowing you never will. ‘Got to fly – another bloody meeting.’
‘But … OK.’ I cut the call. Why didn’t I feel anything? Anything at all? I was sure I ought to.
I’m not sure how long I glared resentfully at the undeserving phone, but my reverie was interrupted by Mary and Paul, who looked as if they had continued their silent conversation out loud and weren’t too happy with the result.
Coughing, Paul spoke first, punctuating what he said with sideways, challenging looks at Mary. ‘In the circumstances, with Griff … so … poorly …’ He leant confidentially forward on to the counter, speaking in the sort of hushed voice people use in church and trailing to an embarrassed halt. Finally, he took a deep breath and continued, ‘Mary and I wonder if we should postpone the wedding.’
Postpone the wedding! If I showed how touched I was I’d burst into tears. But I mustn’t Give Way, as Griff himself would have put it.
‘No need at all,’ I declared briskly, probably as surprised as they were by my positive tone. ‘Griff’s promised to lead Mary up the aisle, and lead her up the aisle he will.’
‘Yes, of course he will,’ she declared. ‘Paul was just wondering how long he’d be convalescent, weren’t you, dear?’ She shot Paul a sideways look.
He nodded, but I had the feeling he wanted to say more. He did: ‘We’ll leave you to be the judge of … If you think he needs a few extra weeks, that’s all.’
I took a gulp of air. ‘If anything will speed his recovery, the thought of the wedding will. Not just the champagne, either.’ But they were right to worry. How long would he be ill? Everything had happened so quickly that I’d simply no idea how long he’d be an invalid or what sort of care he’d need.
His long-term lover, Aidan, had enough money to throw squads of private nurses our way until he was fit enough to travel, and then would certainly want to whizz him off somewhere luxurious to recuperate. But my place was at his side, as long as he needed me there.
Mary patted my hand, and then pushed a tissue into the other one. I hadn’t even realized I was crying. ‘It’s all so sudden, isn’t it?’ she said, in her usual gossipy voice. ‘We realized this summer when he had all those tests that he had health problems. Of course, he wouldn’t speak about them – as if ignoring them would make them go away, bless him. We knew it’d only end one way – with an operation, I mean,’ she explained hastily. ‘I didn’t say anything to you, Lina, not because I didn’t want to but because – well, it wasn’t my place to. And it was so much better for you to hear it from Griff. It made you closer than ever, didn’t it? But now it’s all happened in such a rush.’ She did something she’d never done before – she put her arms round me and hugged me. She must have felt the sob rising. ‘Now, Lina, I really do think you should sit down and let me make us all a nice cup of tea. That’s what Griff would want. And you should certainly eat: there are still plenty of scones, and I can’t have Paul finishing them off – he’ll never get into his wedding trousers.’
TWO
Two o’clock approached. I could hardly breathe. Literally. My God, what was Griff going through?
The phone rang. I pounced. An Asian voice asked me about our loft insulation. I snarled – shouldn’t have done so really, since she was probably paid less than a pittance. And then it rang again. A phone survey. No thanks. And then I won a bloody holiday in Florida.
All I wanted was clear phone lines. Just in case the hospital wanted to call me. Please God, let it be two o’clock soon.
All the time this invisible band tightened round my chest. All I could think about was how I’d felt his pain when he’d had the bad attack that had kept him in hospital. Was this really his chest that was hurting?
The phone again.
‘Yes?’ It came out halfway between a snarl and a gasp.
‘Only me!’ sang a voice.
Big help, when I was almost deafened by the whooshing in my ears.
‘Just phoning about Griff—’
Robin, my clergyman friend. Last time I’d seen him he’d just given Communion to a man dying in the very hospital where Griff was being treated. And now – he’d phoned to break the news, hadn’t he?
I started to sob, scream, whatever.
‘Is he still in hospital?’ I heard at last.
‘You’ve not phoned to tell me he’s dead? Please tell me you’ve not!’
‘I think the hospital would call you,’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘Or get the police to come. No, I was just on my way to the maternity unit at Pembury to see Freya and thought I might drop in to see you. Why should Griff be dead?’ he asked. ‘He’s in hospital, for goodness’ sake.’
‘So was that guy you gave Communion too. And he died.’
‘So you’ve been putting two and two together and making about forty-three. Oh, Lina.’
‘He’s in the operating theatre right now. Robin, get off the line. I need to phone. They said I could at two.’
‘It’s not mandatory. Five minutes won’t hurt.’
‘It’ll hurt me! I need to know the minute I can.’
‘Well, there’s three minutes to go, if you’re being literal. Perhaps it’s not the time to ask, but I was wondering if I could tell Freya you might be dropping in to see her.’
He’d asked the same last time we’d met.
‘I told you then: if God brings Griff through safely, then maybe I’ll forgive Freya.’
‘And I told you, God doesn’t work like that.’ For Robin, that was pretty stroppy. ‘You need to forgive because—’
‘Robin, it’s bang on two, by my watch. I have to phone now, I really do.’ End of call.
Time to call the hospi
tal. Now.
Except I couldn’t make my hands work. Fifty thousand euros’ worth of china repair might be coming my way – and I couldn’t dial. After half a dozen attempts, I nearly smashed the phone. Then I remembered the number was on speed dial. And I got through after two rings.
And then I couldn’t manage the words. At last the woman at the other end must have worked out I was in a state, because she told me quite sharply to slow down and take a deep breath. At last we established who I was and who I wanted to ask about.
‘I’m afraid we only give information to patients’ immediate families.’
I was just about to let rip when it dawned on me: of course, we have different surnames. ‘I’m Griff’s granddaughter,’ I lied. But since we’d agreed this between us and I was down as his next of kin, I didn’t even cross my fingers behind my back. Actually, they were tightly enough crossed, but for Griff.
‘He’s doing fine. We’ve just got him breathing on his own. A very routine operation, according to the surgeon. You’ll be able to visit tomorrow.’ She must have heard my sob. Her tone changed. I could even hear the smile softening her voice. ‘Very well. Tonight. Just five minutes.’
If I had the ten minute long cry I wanted, Mary would fear the worst. So I dug as deep as I could, and made my legs run across the yard, and forced the voice to work. ‘Griff’s fine!’
Only a croak, but I managed a louder one as I opened the shop’s back door. I wasn’t sure why Mary came out to me, hugging me and having a bit of a weep too, until Paul emerged, grabbing her firmly by the shoulders and pushing her back in. He scooped me up and propelled me to the kitchen, where he set about making tea.
‘Mary’s just about managed to unload that hideous epergne – the one that got wished on you as part of an auction lot they wouldn’t break up. So there’s two good reasons for a cuppa – and a scone, I’d say,’ he added, looking at me. ‘There are still some left.’
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