by Sarah Morgan
The view from this room would be beautiful all year round, but she guessed it would never be more beautiful than it was right now. She wanted to collapse onto that wide comfortable bed, wrap herself in the soft cream throw and just admire the colors through the window. She wanted to switch off the part of her brain that was worrying she was never going to persuade Izzy to trust her. A large rug covered the wide oak planks. There was an armchair by one of the windows, and next to it a small table stacked with books. At the end of the room was a fireplace, which gave the room a cozy feel even though it wasn’t lit.
If she could have chosen her perfect house it probably would have been this one, although she would have decorated it differently of course. It nestled comfortably among the neighboring buildings, sure of its place. Belonging.
She glanced at Izzy, and encountered a frozen look of despair in the few seconds before she masked it.
She should have gone to Julia’s and shared a bed with Kaitlin.
“It’s kind of you to do this for me,” she said, and Izzy’s smile was stiff and frozen.
“You’re welcome.”
Flora almost wished Izzy would yell and cry and tell she didn’t want her here. At least then she’d know what she was dealing with.
They’d arrived with Flora’s bag of damp belongings and Izzy had insisted on being the one to take Flora upstairs while Jack and Molly unloaded the pathetic dregs of Flora’s life from the car to the house. I’ll show Flora round and help her feel at home.
Flora had a feeling she was being tested. “It’s a beautiful room, Izzy.” It was beautiful, if a little clinical for her tastes. She preferred a room to feel lived in, and to be filled with individual touches. This room was like staying in a very upmarket hotel.
“My mother designed it. She was very stylish.”
“I can see that.” The implication was that Flora wasn’t stylish, but she didn’t blame Izzy for thinking that given the state of her apartment.
She imagined Becca standing in this room, her dancer’s body perfectly poised and balanced as she made decisions. We’ll keep the color scheme neutral and add touches of luxury with drapes and cushions.
She would have stood in front of that full-length mirror and flung open windows to let in blossom-scented air. She would have stroked her well-behaved dark hair over her shoulder and laughed a throaty laugh, utterly at home in these sumptuous surroundings and sure of Jack’s love.
Flora had never been sure of anyone’s love except her mother’s, and she could barely even remember how that felt now. The yearning was so powerful her insides felt hollowed out. It wasn’t only that she missed her mother, she missed the possibilities and the promise of the life they might have shared, the laughs, the trips, the confidences. She’d missed out on so many special moments.
Half a dozen photos were clustered on the nightstand and without thinking Flora picked one of them up.
“That’s my mother on top of Mount Kilimanjaro,” Izzy said. “She climbed it to raise money for charity.”
Of course she did. “That’s—impressive.”
“She loved a challenge. There was nothing she couldn’t do.” Izzy snatched up another photo, gripping it until her fingers whitened. “This is her crossing the finishing line of the New York Marathon. And here—” she grabbed another one “—this was taken after she’d rowed the Atlantic with five other women. One of the TV stations filmed a documentary on it. It was an insane adventure and a huge achievement. She believed very strongly that it was important to live a meaningful life.” She laid out her mother’s qualities like tiny stones, presumably hoping they’d become stuck in Flora’s feet.
“So impressive.” Flora was out of adjectives. Her vocabulary wasn’t expansive enough to acknowledge Becca’s many qualities with any degree of originality. She was starting to wonder why Jack was with her. She couldn’t row her way out of a bath.
“Do you run, Flora?”
Flora wanted to run now, down the stairs, through the door and back to her underwater apartment. Instead she put the photo back carefully, placing it a safe distance from the edge. It wouldn’t do to drop Becca. “I’ve never run a marathon, but I’ve always wanted to.” She had no idea what made her say it. Pride? The desire to connect with Izzy? An insecure need to demonstrate that there was at least one thing that Becca had done that she could do, too?
Izzy’s eyes narrowed an instant before she gave a sweet smile. “That’s great. We can run together while you’re staying here. I’d love the company.”
Stupid, stupid. How had she allowed herself to be trapped? She wasn’t sure she was capable of running to the end of the street, let alone a decent distance. She’d probably drop dead, which would be a win for Izzy. It might be the only chance Flora had of winning her approval.
“I’d love that, too. Great.”
“It will be fun.”
It would be torture. “I agree.”
“Early mornings are better for me because then Dad is still in the house to watch Molly.” Izzy put the photographs back carefully. “If we leave at 5:00 a.m. we should be back by 6:30.”
“Did you say 5:00 a.m.?”
“Yes. Is that too late? You’d rather make it 4:15? Mom did that occasionally when she had a lot going on.”
Flora didn’t know why Becca had died, but she was starting to wonder if it could have been exhaustion.
“Five sounds like a good time.” She told herself it would be like doing the run to the flower market, only her reward would be blisters instead of blooms.
“Great. We’ll be back before Dad leaves for work. Does that sound like a good idea?”
It sounded like the worst idea Flora had heard in a long time, but that was what you got for allowing yourself to be intimidated by a tricky teenager and a dead woman.
Izzy flipped her smooth hair back over her shoulder. “We’ll start tomorrow. I’ll wake you at 4:45. Do you like tea in the morning?”
At that time the only thing that was likely to get her out of bed was a bucket of iced water over her head, but Flora didn’t say that. If she was doing this, then she was doing this. “I prefer to run on an empty stomach. I’ll have breakfast when we get back.”
“Yeah?” Izzy looked surprised. “My mother didn’t eat breakfast. She fasted all day and ate a small dinner in the evening. Usually just protein and vegetables.”
“Your mother was an impressive woman.” Oh for goodness sake, Flora, use a different word. Any word! “Special.”
“She was. Dad said she was the most special person he’d ever met.”
There really wasn’t an answer to that.
Flora glanced at the photos again. Apart from the one taken on Mount Kilimanjaro, they were all of Becca and her family. There was one of Becca sailing, her hair flying in the wind as she laughed up at Jack. Flora was sure that in the same situation half her hair would be in her mouth and the other half in her eyes.
Behind that there were two black-and-white photographs of Becca hugging the two girls. She was barefoot, dressed in jeans, and all Flora could think was that this was a woman who seemed to have had it all. Until she didn’t.
Life, she thought, had a sick sense of humor.
“I can move the photographs if they bother you,” Izzy said, and Flora stirred.
“They don’t bother me.”
“I hope you’ll be comfortable. My mother wanted it to be the perfect guest room.” Did she emphasize the word guest or was that Flora’s imagination?
Flora thought about all the times she’d tried to talk about her mother, and the times her aunt had cut her off. Flora had found it indescribably difficult. In time she’d forgotten how to talk about her mother and she didn’t want that for Izzy. If Izzy wanted to talk about Becca, then she’d listen.
“You must miss your mother very much.”
Izzy’s fingers sank into the throw. “We’re fine. We have each other. We have to stick together, that’s all.”
And now here was Flora
, intruding. “I’m sorry that you suddenly have a guest, disrupting your family routine.”
“It’s not a problem. I know it won’t be for long.” Izzy stood up abruptly, and gestured to an open door. “I’ve put fresh towels in the bathroom, and there are toiletries, too. They were my mother’s favorites. I hope you’ll like them, but of course if you’d prefer something different—”
“I don’t need anything different. I don’t want to change a thing.” She wanted to blend seamlessly into this family, not disrupt it, although there was little chance of that.
Izzy had declared war.
“Dinner is at six. It’s family time.” Izzy paused. “I could put yours on a tray and bring it up here? You’ve had a stressful day. You’d probably appreciate the chance to settle in quietly.”
The message was clear.
And although Flora felt desperately uncomfortable for herself, she felt even worse for Izzy. Without the photographs to hold she paced the room, driven by a restless energy.
Flora had never seen so much emotion contained in such a small package. How did it all fit? She wondered how the girl kept it inside and then remembered she’d done exactly the same thing herself. Their situation was different, but she suspected the feelings were pretty much the same, all of them driven by insecurity and a knowledge that so many things in life were beyond your control.
But this small thing wasn’t.
Flora smiled. “If you’re sure it’s all right with you, I’d like to eat here, thank you.”
Izzy stopped pacing. Her shoulders and hands relaxed. Flora caught a glimpse of what she might have been like before life piled weight on her tensions.
She walked to the door. “I’ll bring you something. And if you need anything else, let me know.”
Alone, Flora sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, in the place where Izzy had sat only a few moments before.
She wasn’t a psychologist, but she suspected that her appearance on the scene had pushed the older girl right to the edge.
Should she talk to Jack about Izzy? Tell him what she’d observed?
Feeling out of her depth, she stood up and opened her two suitcases.
Trying to ignore the six photos of Becca—did she dare put them in the drawer?—she unpacked her things, hung them up and pulled out the small framed photograph of her mother that she always kept by her bed.
She placed it in front of the photos of Becca. It was good to have a friendly face in the room, and seeing her mother reminded her that you didn’t have to run a marathon or row the Atlantic to live a worthwhile life. Small deeds counted, too. And right now her one small deed was not to make things worse for Izzy.
On impulse she added Molly’s picture, leaning it against two photos of Becca. Every time she looked at that fox she felt more cheerful.
Molly had wanted her to have it. Molly had wanted her to frame it. And that was what she’d done.
Her attempt to personalize the room lifted her spirits. Feeling better, she walked into the bathroom. There was a freestanding tub and what seemed like acres of marble.
Flora picked up one of the bottles and read the label. All she knew about the brand was that it was expensive. She imagined Becca ordering it for her guests. Nothing but the best, she might have said to Jack, and he would have gone along with it because no one would dispute Becca’s taste.
Her guests had probably never wanted to leave.
On impulse she locked the door and filled the tub. She felt grubby after clearing her apartment. Maybe a soak in Becca’s scented oils would put her in a better mood. It would certainly make her look better. She was pretty sure Becca had never eaten her dinner smelling of damp.
She soaked for a while, then washed and dried her hair and changed into a dry pair of jeans and a pretty top she’d dyed herself at home.
When she opened the door there was a tray on the table by the window. On it was a bowl of soup and a warm bread roll.
Flora was just settling down to eat her lonely dinner when the door burst open and Jack strode into the room.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes. Of course.” Her breathing wasn’t something she usually noticed, but each time she saw Jack she became aware of the unsteady, uneven in and out. Looking at him sometimes made her feel dizzy. She found herself studying every part of him, from the angle of his jaw to the slope of his cheekbones to try to work out what it was that made him special.
He pulled her to her feet. “Are you really upset? Why didn’t you tell me instead of hiding up here on your own?”
“I’m not hiding—and I’m not upset. I mean, it hasn’t been the best day of my life, but I’m fine. I’ll find somewhere else, or maybe the landlord will fix it—”
“You are not going back to that place.” His arms tightened round her, providing the security she’d just lost. “You’re staying here until we find a better option. A much better option.”
“It isn’t fair on your kids for me to move in like this. It’s unsettling.”
“You’re a friend. I want my kids to grow up knowing we should help our friends.” He eased her away from him. “You’ve been alone for most of your life, Flora. But that’s not the case anymore. You have us now.”
She felt warm inside. Cocooned. Supported. His arms felt like a sanctuary.
“How is Molly?”
“Sorting through her things to find something that will help you feel at home. Don’t be surprised if you find your bed full of soft toys next time you open the door. I assumed you were going to unpack your things and come and join us.”
“I had a soak in the tub.”
“Good. But that doesn’t explain why you insisted on eating in your room.”
Was that how Izzy had presented it?
This conversation was like walking barefoot over broken glass.
“I don’t want to intrude on your time with your girls.”
“We’re really happy to have you here. I know you’ve had a tough day. I can understand why you’d want to hide away, but I don’t think it’s a good idea. You need to get to know the girls. I want that.” He stroked her curls away from her face.
“I thought, maybe—” How could she put this? “I know you eat together every day at six. It’s family time, and I respect that.”
“What are you talking about?” He let his hand drop. “I’m rarely home by six. Izzy and Molly usually eat together and I join them when I can. Mealtimes are rarely fluid or routine in this house.”
“Oh.”
“Also—” He rubbed his fingers over his forehead. “This is a little awkward, but we have a rule that no one eats in their rooms. If we’re eating, we eat at the table. We talk. And I understand that today is an exception and that you’re upset, but is there any way you could eat downstairs with us? I can’t have one rule for the girls and another for you. I hope you understand.”
“I understand.” She understood all of it, including the fact that Izzy seemed determined to drive a wedge between her and Jack.
She couldn’t tell him, of course. That was out of the question.
Jack scooped up the tray and walked to the door.
“Let’s go. The girls are waiting. And tonight, when the girls are in bed, you and I are sharing a bottle of wine on the terrace.”
Flora had visions of taking a sip and collapsing on the terrace, poisoned.
Trying to calm her imagination, Flora followed him down the stairs and into the kitchen where the girls were already seated.
As soon as Flora walked into the room, Izzy put her spoon down. “Is there something wrong with your food?”
“Flora is eating at the table with us.” Jack unloaded the tray that Izzy had carefully laid.
“We’re not allowed to eat in our rooms,” Molly said and Flora gave her an apologetic look.
“I know.”
“Why did you want to eat in your room? Don’t you like us?”
Flora felt Izzy’s tension and knew she had to find a way to pro
tect Izzy, while at the same time not offending Molly and not flagging to Jack that there was an issue. She had no idea how to handle the situation. When it came to the intricacies of family life, she was a beginner. “I was feeling a little tired, but I’m better now.”
Izzy fiddled with her bread. “Flora has been through a trauma. If she wants the privacy and comfort of her own space, then she should have it. Eating at the table is a family rule, and Flora isn’t family.”
Flora took the punch without flinching, but Jack cast a thoughtful look at his daughter.
“She’s a friend. We help our friends.”
Flora picked up her spoon. Her appetite had gone, but she didn’t want to draw more attention to herself by not eating.
Jack changed the subject. “I had an email from Aunt Clare this morning.” He reached across and pulled Molly’s bowl closer to her. “She wanted to know if we’re going to stay with her in Lake Lodge this summer. Funny that she should reach out now, because I’ve been thinking about it myself and wondering what we should do.”
Izzy sat up a little straighter. There was a spark of excitement in her eyes. “What did you tell her?” Her tone suggested mild interest, but Flora could tell that his answer was important.
“I told her we’d talk about it and get back to her. A vacation would be good for us. We haven’t been away since—” he paused “—since last summer.”
There was silence round the table.
Izzy put her spoon down. “It was the week before Mom died.”
“Yes.” Jack took a mouthful of his own soup and then glanced at his other daughter. “Molly? What do you think? Do you want to go to Lake Lodge this summer like we usually do?”
