The Wish

by Alex Brown

  ‘That sounds lovely, are you sure though?’ April said, surprised, as it wasn’t really Nancy’s thing.

  ‘Yep. It’s your birthday and I want to make it nice for you. And you love all that beauty and pampering stuff.’ A short silence followed. April swallowed, hard. And then Nancy added, ‘Weell,’ she hesitated, ‘you used to before Dad died, and I know it’s hard, I really still miss him too, but he’d want us to make an effort on your birthday and you made an effort on mine, even though I bet you didn’t really feel up to it.’ She pulled herself off the bed and went in search of April’s beauty paraphernalia. She opened the top drawer of a chest. It was full of underwear. ‘Sorry,’ she said, closing it again. ‘Nail polish?’

  ‘No problem,’ April replied, ‘it’s in the basket on the shelf in the ensuite.’ She paused and fiddled with the belt of her dressing gown. ‘And I say that a pamper afternoon is a very lovely idea, thank you sweetheart.’

  ‘Great!’ Nancy chimed. ‘But I’m sensing a big but!’ She stopped moving and turned to look at April.

  ‘It’s just that I thought my hair looked OK! Why didn’t you tell me before we went out for lunch?’ April pretended to admonish, but knew seriously that she hadn’t really bothered with all of that since Gray went, often wondering what was the point. Of course, she always made sure her hair was brushed and that she looked presentable and had clean clothes on, that sort of thing (well … underwear at least), but she had found it hard to muster up much enthusiasm for applying make-up or painting her nails. To be honest, the last eighteen months had seen her operating as if on autopilot, going through the motions really.

  ‘April, your hair looks lovely. Honestly. I just thought it would be something nice to do for the rest of your birthday.’

  ‘Ahh, OK. Then thank you, and sorry, ignore me, I’m just being oversensitive. Come on, you grab the chocolate and champagne and I’ll sort out what we need up here,’ April chivvied, seizing the opportunity to busy herself and be in her preferred state.

  ‘Perfect.’ Nancy walked towards the door. ‘Ooh, before I forget – this came too. It’s addressed to “Miss W. Lovell”, no idea who that is, but it looks like a birthday card and Lovell was your surname before you married Dad so I’m guessing it’s for you.’ She pulled out a crumpled lilac envelope from the back pocket of her jeans and gave it to April. ‘Sorry for squashing it.’

  ‘Thank you. Ooh, it’s from Edie,’ April said, taking the envelope and recognising the old-lady spidery writing on the front.

  ‘Your great aunt?’

  ‘That’s right.’ April opened the envelope and slipped out the card, drawing in the faint, but evocatively familiar scent of her childhood summer holidays spent in the quaint little village of Tindledale with her grandfather’s sister. This was before her parents had died in a car crash shortly before her sixteenth birthday and her life had changed for ever. April, an only child, had gone to live with her mum’s parents at the other end of the country and the strong connection with her great aunt Edie faded until she was able to visit more frequently as an adult. And then her grandparents died, leaving Edie as April’s last living relative.

  April wafted the card in front of her nose. ‘Ahh, lavender mingled with mothballs. Takes me right back – I used to get told off for fiddling with the mothballs hanging in the little muslin bag in the back of her wardrobe whilst playing The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe game, thinking I was on my way to Narnia.’

  ‘Really? I can’t imagine you getting told off for anything, April,’ Nancy grinned. ‘I always imagined you as a polite, well-behaved child … much like you are now.’

  ‘Trust me, I had my moments.’ April rolled her eyes before opening the card. ‘Ooops!’ She bent down to retrieve a five-pound note that had fluttered from it, while simultaneously reading.

  Happy birthday Winnie

  Treat yourself to a nice dinner somewhere fancy.

  Lots of love

  Your Edie xxx

  April frowned.

  ‘What is it?’ Nancy asked, sounding concerned. April sighed as she realised what this meant, showing the card to Nancy. Her great aunt Edie must be getting forgetful and somewhat confused. And a fancy dinner for a fiver? Oh dear.

  ‘Ahh! Well, it’s nice that your aunt remembered your birthday, eh? Probably just got into a muddle with names, that’s all, no need to worry. How old is she?’ Nancy asked, folding her arms.

  ‘You know, I’m not sure exactly,’ April said, feeling a twinge of guilt as she racked her brains trying to recall when she had last visited her great aunt Edie or indeed sent her a birthday card. ‘I reckon she must be ninety at least.’

  ‘Wow! And did she come to Dad’s funeral? I don’t remember seeing her there, but then it was all such a blur …’

  ‘No, she wasn’t up to it – was getting over a fall, I think she said, I can’t really remember either, as it was, like you said … all a bit of a blur for me too. But I do know that I promised to—’ April stopped talking.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Nancy asked gently. ‘You look like you’re about to cry. What’s up?’

  ‘Nothing.’ April dipped her head and busied herself with putting the card and the money back inside the envelope.

  ‘Something clearly is.’ Silence followed. ‘Come on, out with it,’ Nancy cajoled.

  ‘I feel dreadful,’ April eventually said.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘OK.’ April inhaled and let out a long breath. ‘When Great Aunt Edie wrote to apologise for not coming to Gray’s funeral, I said I’d visit her soon, and well, that was over a year and a half ago …’ April’s voice dwindled, knowing that it was eighteen months, two weeks and three days to be precise. She crossed off the days in her diary. At first, it had been a comfort, well, more of a life-raft, something to cling on to, because every day ticked off was a day closer to shedding the cocoon of numbness in favour of feeling something again – she had hoped. But now it was just a habit, because April had learnt over the months that grief really wasn’t as kind as all that. It came in peaks and troughs like a giant rollercoaster with no predictability; it was not a set process to be worked through at all, despite what people had assured her.

  ‘Oh April, come here.’ Nancy pulled her in for a big hug. ‘I’m sure she’ll understand – your husband had just died! I’d say that’s extenuating circumstances, wouldn’t you?’

  April knew that Nancy was trying to make her feel better, but it had to be at least a couple of years since she had visited her great aunt in Tindledale. The last time had been with Gray, when he was still fairly mobile. They had driven down one sunny Saturday afternoon, stopping on the way at a quaint old black and white Tudor-framed pub with a lovely garden full of pink hollyhocks and a couple of goats in a pen for children to pet. Gray had surreptitiously fed them his salad – never having been a fan of ‘rabbit food’, as he called it. They’d had a wonderful time relaxing, and for a few precious hours it had seemed like the old days, carefree and fun, before the diagnosis changed everything.

  ‘I guess so. But I’ve still neglected her,’ April said.

  ‘Then do something about it. Go and see her.’ Nancy stepped back from April and put her hands on her hips. ‘Go on! It’ll do you good – get away from here for a few days, give yourself some space, and you know what they say, a change of scenery and all that.’ Nancy looked April in the eyes. ‘A mini break is exactly what you need.’ She nodded.

  ‘Hmm! Are you trying to get rid of me?’ April asked, instantly wishing she didn’t sound quite so needy. It really was unlike her, but it was something she had noticed creeping upon her more and more since Gray had died. She felt exposed, vulnerable even, and she wasn’t really sure why, preferring not to think too much about it, hoping the feeling would go away if she ignored it.

  April coughed to clear her throat. ‘But I can’t go and leave you here on your own.’ She wasn’t sure it was right, certainly not so soon after the memorial service – the twins might
need her.

  ‘Of course you can.’

  ‘But what about Freddie?’ April knew how hopeless he was at getting himself up for his job as a car mechanic every morning. And hadn’t she promised Gray that she’d be here for the twins no matter what?

  ‘What about him?’ Nancy shook her head. ‘No. It’ll do Freddie good to look after himself for a day or two. He’s a lazy arse and relies on you too much. And you really must stop doing his washing!’ She wagged a finger in the air.

  ‘But it’s no trouble to put it in with my stuff, I quite like doing it in fact,’ April said, always happy to help out.

  ‘Oh April, pleeeeease, go and visit your great aunt. If only to remind her that your name isn’t Winnie! And you never know, you might even solve the mystery!’

  ‘Mystery?’ April raised her eyebrows. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You know … find out who this Winnie woman is,’ Nancy joked.

  ‘Ahh, yes, indeed. And I could very well have her fiver here,’ April smiled, waving the note.

  ‘Exactly! And Freddie is perfectly capable of seeing to his own washing and I’ll be here to make sure he pulls his weight around the house,’ she laughed.

  ‘Hmm. But joking aside, the name Winnie does seem to ring a bell. I’m sure I’ve heard it before … a relative perhaps. I think there was an old black and white picture of her on my aunt’s sideboard in the sitting room … in a uniform during the war … It used to fascinate me as you don’t often see that, it’s mostly men, the soldiers.’ April creased her forehead, casting her mind back trying to remember more.

  ‘Sounds intriguing, what happened to her?’

  ‘I’m not sure – you know how family history gets lost in the mists of time – but I’d like to see if I can find out before it’s too late. My aunt is getting on now and once she’s gone that’ll be it, I suppose, for my family, my flesh and blood. It’ll just be me left.’

  ‘Then you must go right away, before, as you say … it’s too late.’

  ‘Yes, I should do that. And I am concerned about Aunt Edie.’ A short silence followed, leaving April deep in thought.

  ‘And it can’t be easy for her on her own at that age. Has she got a husband? Any children? I can’t remember …,’ Nancy asked.

  ‘No. She never married,’ April replied, then pondered, casting her mind back. ‘She used to joke that there was a shortage of men around after the war, and the only eligible ones in the village were either daft, or already spoken for … And that she much preferred the company of horses in any case.’

  ‘Oh dear.’

  ‘Indeed. She always had a good circle of friends though, but I guess most of them have probably died by now.’ April shook her head.

  ‘I guess so. Ninety is a ripe old age. And definitely more reason why you should go and see her.’

  ‘But are you sure?’ April checked, but now that all the practicalities following Gray’s death had been completed, she was actually starting to feel a tiny bit brighter each morning. Gone was the dreadful split-second gear change on waking, that glorious moment before the synapses of her brain kicked in and it was as if Gray was still alive and still well, only for the grief to come hurtling back all over again when her memory was restored. Yes, April was definitely on the way to feeling a little bit more like her old self, less wobbly, and it would certainly keep her busy for a couple of days. All this sitting around doing nothing very much really wouldn’t do. And hadn’t Gray said on his card for her to seize the day?

  So, April made a decision. Nancy was right: she could do with a break, time to gather her thoughts, dust herself down and figure out what next. And it was a pleasant, pretty drive through the countryside to get there, which would give her plenty of time to do just that. Yes, first thing tomorrow morning April would go to Tindledale and visit her great aunt Edith in Orchard Cottage.

  Click here to buy The Secret of Orchard Cottage

  Also by Alex Brown

  Cupcakes at Carrington’s

  Christmas at Carrington’s

  Ice Creams at Carrington’s

  The Great Christmas Knit Off

  The Great Village Show

  The Secret of Orchard Cottage

  Short Stories

  Me and Mr Carrington: A Short Story

  Not Just for Christmas: A Short Story

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