by Lucy Knott
‘How is George, treasure?’ Margot asked, with a warm smile from over her teacup.
Florence took off her glasses and rubbed at her tired eyes. Travelling and the walk in the sticky summer heat had exhausted her, but the thought of George made her smile.
‘I think it’s me who should be asking you that question, Nanna,’ Florence said with a grin. ‘How long have you two been enjoying your afternoon chats and why did you never tell me about him?’
Margot placed her teacup on the table, taking a moment to gather her thoughts. ‘I suppose I should have told you. We have been friends for an awfully long time, but in the last few months our fondness for each other has grown and I could not bring myself to tell you. I was fearful, my dear; I have been for too long. If you knew about George, I feared you would push me to visit the camp and that I was setting a bad example to you of keeping people you love at arm’s length,’ Margot said, uncharacteristically fiddling with the teaspoon that lay against her teacup.
‘Nanna, you have never been a bad example. My fear was my own, not yours. If you would have told me about him, I don’t know what I would have said. Maybe I would have told you to forget about him along with the camp, but I suppose your pushing me did a bit of good. Meeting George, seeing how you both light up when you speak of each other, well now it just seems preposterous that you have not been to visit,’ Florence said, placing a hand over her nanna’s arm to calm her fidgeting. She gave Margot an understanding smile. Though she tried to keep her tone light and playful, she knew all too well that her nanna could not simply snap out of her fear. It was going to take a little more gentle convincing.
‘I was mad at you on my walk there. The accident, the aftermath, it all came flooding back in fresh waves. I was angry that you made me do it alone, but now I see why. I needed the push. I needed to be free of cloaks and cover pages, no protective shields, just me. The happy memories paid me a visit too, our days spent by the lake, dancing under the magnolia trees.
I had buried them so deep and didn’t dare let myself enjoy them for fear that I’d only miss them more,’ Florence said, her words quiet, her hands trembling slightly as they lay over the top of Margot’s, not doing much good to steady hers. ‘That fear is real but I allowed myself to see them. I even spoke to Mum today and it hurts, it does. I do miss them more. I get frustrated that they were taken from me so soon but then it feels like my heart is expanding, like Mum is filling it with so much love, like she is reminding me she was there, Dad was there, for a reason. Those five years mattered, they do matter, and I should not try to forget that,’ Florence finished and though there was still a touch of tightness in her chest, she could feel the love that she was talking about filling up her heart and realised that she had been looking at things all wrong.
Margot had tried to encourage her to speak of them, but in the same regard Margot spoke of them very little and Florence worried it would hurt her nanna too much and so they had both merely gotten on with life without them. Florence squeezed her nanna’s hands and gently nudged at her teacup, urging her to take a sip to bring some colour back into her cheeks. Margot, for once, did as she was told. When she placed her teacup down, she twisted slightly in her seat so that she was facing Florence. Her bright blue eyes peered directly into her granddaughter’s.
‘You were five when your parents died. You went through a traumatic experience, one that I was never quite sure how to handle, and I do not know if keeping you inside with your books was best, but seeing you curled up safe, I may have been selfish but it was my way of protecting you. I should have done more. The hospital had suggested a children’s grief counsellor, but you cried when I took you. You clung on to me so hard and I panicked, hearing you scream like that. I could not do it. I had not seen what you had, and I felt by taking you there I was forcing you to talk about your pain and to relive it. You were five. I was an adult, I couldn’t bear to imagine it, yet you had witnessed it all.’ Margot’s eyes glistened with tears, but Florence could see that she was trying to hold it together. She squeezed her nanna’s hands tighter for support, until she said everything she needed to say. Then Florence tucked her legs up underneath herself for her own comfort.
‘When you had a book in your hand, and eventually, when we would go out to the theatre, you were happy. The smile on your face, the worlds you would talk about seeing in your head, I felt it far better for you to fill your mind with such lovely visions. You had, and still have, the most wonderful imagination, treasure. I did not wish to hinder that. You have such a beautiful soul and, my dear, I didn’t want to destroy it by getting you to remember that dark time. Selfishly, I struggled to talk about Darcy because the pain was intolerable, but that was not fair on you. I felt one day you would need to go back to Calla Lily, that maybe you might feel her presence and it would bring you closure, but the thought of going myself, well I’m not as brave as you. I could not bear to walk the path where my daughter had been taken from me and what caused my darling son-in-law to leave me too.’ As the words fell from Margot’s lips, so did the tears fall from her eyes. Florence calmly stood and wrapped her arms around her nanna’s shoulders, resting her head against hers.
‘You must think me awful, for sending you back on your own, but George had told me of the huts and of Jo and you had been fading a little as of late, my Florence. Sitting behind that desk was doing you no good and though dear Olivia’s heart is often in the right place it pained me to see you come home after these encounters with men looking so forlorn and disheartened.’ A blush grew on Margot’s cheeks and the tears were replaced by a mischievous glint in her eyes. Florence kissed her nanna playfully on the cheek, quickly wiped at her own wet cheeks and took her seat.
‘Nanna, did you send me to the camp to try and set me up with a man?’ Florence gave her nanna a pointed stare, making Margot purse her lips in innocence.
‘Not just any man, dear. I hear that Jo is quite the writer. George tells me he is working on a novel.’ Margot raised her brow with a grin.
Florence tried to defer chatter of being set up with a man and instead confided in Margot the worries she felt for George and Jo’s relationship. ‘I think he and Jo butt heads sometimes. George never seems happy when Jo is around, and his face is always frowning whenever Jo leaves his office. Jo came to help him save the camp. I know selling it is not in anyone’s interest, but Jo’s plan isn’t a bad one if everyone would trust him,’ Florence noted.
‘George is simply wary, my dear. He’s been around the moon a fair few times now; he’s worried that Jo has put his trust in the wrong people.’ She tilted her head from side to side. ‘Then there is simply that stubborn heart of his that finds it impossible to give up the land that he has loved and lived on for his whole life. My heart is heavy for him, for one’s home is one’s home and you will find when you get to my age, it is extremely difficult to break old habits and routines.’ Margot’s eyes reflected her own fight but just as her nanna had not given up on her, Florence would not give up on her nanna. Margot needed the camp and Florence was determined to get her back there. Maybe her nanna could work her magic on George and Jo’s relationship? Before Florence could make this suggestion, her nanna continued. ‘I believe George carries a lot of guilt over not being around for Jo and so he struggles to accept the help when he was not there for his grandson when he needed him most and yes, it’s not quite the help he had in mind either,’ Margot added with a small smile and a wave of her hand. Florence refilled their teacups from the teapot and had a nibble of her sandwich while she mulled over her nanna’s words. They made sense.
‘But I don’t believe Jo holds any anger towards his grandad for not being in his life. He has so much love for the place and wants to see it succeed. And being a successful businessman and architect, I’m sure he knows all the right people and George is in safe hands,’ Florence said, in between chewing on her sandwich thoughtfully.
‘Oh, I do not doubt Jo for a second. I believe he is quite handsome too,’ Mar
got said with a twinkle in her eye.
‘I can’t believe you. Do not for a second think I am not mad at you for sending me there with no warning about this man.’ Florence gasped, playfully, enjoying the light in Margot’s eyes. A large part of her was happy to play along, but a small piece of her felt perturbed that her nanna had felt the need to set her up. ‘Besides, you know I don’t need a man,’ Florence added indignantly, returning the two bites she had left of her sandwich to the plate.
‘Oh, behave. I didn’t send you there to meet a man. That was simply a happy coincidence, my treasure. If I had warned you, you would have fussed and meet-cutes do not come with warnings,’ Margot informed her with a nod of her head. At the mention of meet-cutes, Florence’s mind drifted back over her initial encounter with Jo, how he had stood regal under the magnolia tree, his floppy curls dangling in front of his face but unable to hide the piercing emeralds that were his eyes. There was a shyness in the flush of his cheeks yet a confidence in how he held his heart-shaped jaw when he dipped into his accents. It certainly had all the makings of a memorable meet-cute. The voice from earlier that told her she had work to do piped up again. This time it told her that she might not need a man, but she might like a Jo. The clink of her nanna’s teacup blinked Florence back to the table where Margot was looking at her expectantly.
‘Jo is a marvellous creature, Nanna; I think you’d like him. He doesn’t think of me as odd or weird but runs with the thoughts in my head,’ Florence said, unaware that her tone had turned wistful, though this did not go unnoticed by Margot. Then her face turned sombre as she stared at the delicate pattern on her china teacup.
‘Nanna?’ she said softly, raising her head to meet her nanna’s warm gaze.
‘Yes, dear,’ Margot replied.
‘Do you believe George to be your true love?’ The question had been formulating in Florence’s brain during their conversation. Not until Margot had spoken so hopefully of Jo had Florence decided to pay attention to it, but now it gave her pause. Her nanna looked at her and Florence could see a tiny hint of a smirk appearing at the corner of her mouth. Was it obvious to Margot what Florence was thinking?
‘When your grandad died, I did not believe I could ever find another Prince Charming so to speak, nor like you, did I want one. I was absolutely terrified of the thought. Then when Darcy died and Henry too, the only thing I could think about was you. I loved my daughter, I loved my husband, but to give up everything in a way I had never known, to put every ounce of thought, worry, joy, care, attention, and love into one being, to create a bond like one I have never known… You, my darling, have been my life’s truest love. Do not let your books confuse you. Do I believe George to be my Prince Charming?’ She returned the question with an airy shrug. ‘If I would like him to be and of course if he would so choose to be, then yes I can believe it.’
Feeling a little thrown by the magnitude of her nanna’s answer, having not expected the depth in which it made her both feel and think, Florence sat back in her chair and pondered Margot’s words. She already knew true love in her nanna and their life had been one full of heartbreak and magic. They had created a beautiful world from the ashes of a crumbled past that threatened every day to bring them pain. Yet they had laughed, adventured, explored, and built their life together and while of course Florence would give anything to have her parents be in her life, she wouldn’t change what she and Margot had for the world. It wasn’t that she wasn’t capable of love, that she couldn’t have the love that Jo had offered, it was the fact that she was choosing not to.
‘When one puts limits on what life can be or thinks they are too old to imagine, it is such an awful shame, a waste of a magical mind and all the love the heart has to give,’ Margot said in a soothing tone, breaking Florence’s trance. She had been limiting her life because she was scared, running away from things that could be good because of all the things that had been bad before. She had built a wall separating the real world from her dream world, simply accepting the fact that she was a little different, that she was a little bruised and would never be able to have what other people had because she wasn’t a part of their world. If Jo was going to choose her and she wanted to choose Jo, then she was going to have to work a little harder to break through her fears and find a way to blend her two worlds into one.
Smiling at her nanna’s advice, and feeling slightly queasy about it too, Florence sat up straighter in her chair and took a refreshing sip of tea.
‘Nanna, I’d like to take you back to Camp Calla Lily soon and I will not take no for an answer. I understand your fears, for I had them too, but you ain’t getting any younger and we have spent too long letting the world write our story for us,’ Florence announced, getting up from her chair and refilling the kettle. That last sip of tea had not been quite as refreshing as she had hoped, for it had gone cold. She looked out of the window, across the narrow, cobbled road, at the recycle bins that lined the street and smiled a wobbly smile. Her heart thumped against her chest, adrenaline made her legs feel like jelly, but she could feel in her bones that she was not simply about to write a new chapter; the next page would be more like a part two.
Nineteen
Florence found herself shivering under her duvet. As her eyes flickered open she saw the sheer white curtains blowing violently in the wind, her window wide open. Hesitantly she crept out of her bed, scurrying as quickly as she could across the stone floor and over to the castle ledge. There wasn’t much she could do about the draught. The rickety frail wooden frame wasn’t strong enough to hold off the chill but still she attempted to push the window to. She had only made it halfway back to her bed when a loud slam from behind her indicated that the window had once again been forced open by the gale. The rain was getting louder, the storm more aggressive, there wasn’t much she could do to keep the window shut. She would simply have to pull her duvet tighter around herself and wait for the storm to pass. As she turned to return to her bed, her feet going numb on the icy stone, a clap of thunder and a flash of lightning illuminated the sky. When it did so, Florence noticed a figure in the field below. A white stallion, almost glowing under the yellow streak of the lightning, rose on its hind legs, knocking off the figure atop it. Florence gasped and without thinking grabbed her dressing gown off its hook and bolted to the door.
She had to get to the rider, to help him or her up and get them out of the storm. It was far too dreadful outside to be horseback riding. Whatever were they doing out so late at night?
‘Hello. Hello,’ Florence bellowed through the pouring rain. ‘Hello, can you hear me? I have shelter. You must follow me,’ she shouted, but there was no movement in the fog, causing Florence’s heart rate to pick up. Had the rider hurt themselves? What would she do then? Would she be able to carry them back to the castle and into the warmth?
‘Hello,’ she tried again until she could make out a dark silhouette lying in a heap on the ground. She ran towards the figure and threw herself into the mud, kneeling close to check for signs of life. When she touched the figure’s shoulder, a loud grunt emitted from somewhere deep in the mud and it started to stir. Florence sat back on her heels not wanting to crowd what she now presumed to be a man. When he rolled over onto his back, his face was covered in dirt and the gooey mud that had softened his fall, it was hard to make out all his features except for his piercing hazel eyes that lit up when they fell upon their rescuer. In that moment, another clap of thunder shook the night sky and…
Florence sat up in her bed, panting and sweating and feeling around her pyjamas for signs of mud. Coming up mud-less and clean, she patted her sweaty forehead. It had only been a dream. She rolled her eyes at her heart just as her alarm clock decided to ring out and she sprung out of bed as fast as she could, grabbing her glasses off her bedside table so she could focus on the day ahead.
The first thing on Florence’s Monday morning agenda was to return to the job section of the newspaper and ring up the potential places that she had spent
Saturday afternoon and Sunday highlighting. After a quick shower and throwing on her long polka dot shift dress, she made herself and her nanna a pot of tea and some toast and sat at the kitchen table.
‘Morning, treasure,’ her nanna said upon finding Florence in the kitchen looking fresh-faced and determined, her cheeks still rosy from the hot shower.
‘Morning, Nanna. I made you tea. I’m just going to see if I can get hold of some of these places and then I’ll nip out and let you have some peace and quiet so you can ring George in private,’ Florence said, wiggling her eyebrows and taking a bite of her toast. She could only assume that her nanna spent her days on the phone to George when she was at work and though Florence was extremely curious about their conversations, she also didn’t wish to intrude on their time and eavesdrop now that she wasn’t currently working. Plus, she hoped that she would have a productive morning and get some interviews lined up that would mean making a trip out anyway.
Her nanna grinned as she eased herself into her chair and stirred a teaspoon of sugar into her tea.
‘Right, wish me luck. I’ll be in the front room,’ she added, picking up the paper and heading for the armchair by the corded phone.
‘Good luck, my Florence, if you need anything I am always here,’ her nanna replied. Florence paused before leaving the kitchen and turned around to give her nanna a cuddle and a kiss before going on her way.
After getting comfortable in the armchair, which meant placing cushions on her lap to fiddle with as she dialled each phone number nervously, Florence spent the morning answering many of the same questions over again and hearing the same patronising advice numerous times. By the time the clock ticked over to eleven a.m., she was feeling wholly disheartened and defeated. Blending into the real world was not easy. There were only so many times one could hear:
