Chapter 7 #2
‘He drove me to the hospital,’ said Caitlin, then continued, even though she knew she did not have to justify her movements. ‘I bumped into him in the church car park after visiting Mum, the call came through while we were talking.’
‘Your mother’s grave, you were visiting her grave, not your mum,’ said Stan.
It was a point of contention between him and his parishioners, whenever anyone claimed they had been visiting a relative, he corrected them, stating they were visiting the grave.
Caitlin found she spent a lot of time apologising to people whom Stan had upset, usually giving them a free cake in the café when they poured out their woes.
‘Are you coming home?’ she asked, quelling her irritation created by his correction of her words. She lacked the energy to have the usual pointless argument which would ensue if she commented.
‘Why?’
‘To support me,’ she replied, wondering if he really could be so insensitive.
‘But you said your father is recovering,’ he said. ‘I’m very busy here, there are a number of high-profile bishops and it could be very damaging to my future prospects if I were to leave.’
‘Your future?’ she said before she could stop herself. ‘I thought it was our future?’
‘Don’t be pedantic,’ he replied. ‘You’re upset, Caity, we’ll talk when I’m home in a few days. Love you.’
Caitlin was about to reply when she realised he had hung up.
‘How dare you?’ she said to the handset.
A recklessness filled her and her eyes went back to the word, henbane.
She knew it could be poisonous, but the plant was more well known among herbalists for its hallucinogenic properties rather than its lethal edge.
She had never seen a recipe for henbane tea in her mother’s notebooks, but turning to peruse the shelves, she wondered where, if it existed, such a recipe might be found.
On the second shelf down, in the middle, was an old school exercise book which she knew held Miranda’s early experiments with herbal teas.
It was these speciality blends that had made the café so successful.
Miranda had been a herbalist, but she had no interest in creating her own range of cosmetics or skincare products, for her, herbs were practical magic.
They were for everyday use in food and drinks, designed by nature to keep all the creatures of the planet healthy.
Miranda had spent years experimenting with a variety of plants and had begun brewing the teas for herself and her family and friends.
Word had soon spread and with Larry’s financial backing she had created a range of blends designed to help with a gamut of problems, from insomnia to a broken heart.
The café began as a hub for villagers seeking help but word of mouth caused the demand for her potent brews to grow until the café began selling Miranda’s teas online.
They supplied several other local businesses but Miranda had refused Larry’s offer to help her grow the business into a global brand.
‘I don’t want the teas to lose their integrity,’ she had explained and Larry had eventually ceased his pestering.
‘If you’d been alive in the Middle Ages, you’d have been burned as a witch,’ Lee’s mother, Suki, had once said to Miranda. ‘Your thyme and honey tea has cured my cough even though the GP’s prescribed medicines never touched it.’
The café was a hub of herbalist knowledge, too.
The decorations around the ochre-toned walls included an array of delicately painted pictures of herbs and flowers with descriptions of their healing properties written alongside them.
Large windows flooded the café with light even on cloudy days and, in Miranda’s day, plants had jostled for position on the wide windowsills.
The day her mother had died, so had the plants and Caitlin had never replaced them, instead she ordered deep cushions for the windows, turning them into extra seating in a bespoke fabric embroidered with images of the lost plants.
As Caitlin reached for the book, her front doorbell rang, and with a pang of disappointment at being halted from her purpose, she walked along her hallway to admit her brother-in-law, Alan.
‘Hello, Moon,’ he said, leaning forward to kiss her cheek, ‘how are you feeling today?’
‘Not bad,’ she replied.
‘I was worried because you haven’t replied to any of the messages on the family WhatsApp,’ he said, following her into the kitchen.
Caitlin glanced at her phone and saw forty-six messages.
‘You’ve all been very chatty,’ she said.
Alan gave her a rueful smile. ‘Shouty, rather than chatty. I’ve organised a visiting rota, as it seemed pointless for us all to go to the hospital at the same time. Much better to use our resources wisely and take an hour or so each.’
‘This is why you’re the managing director,’ said Caitlin.
‘Unfortunately, it’s upset Rachel and Pete,’ he admitted, folding his arms across his expanding middle, ‘and because I hadn’t heard from you, it occurred to me you might have thought I’d overstepped the mark too.’
‘Everything upsets Rachel and Pete,’ replied Caitlin, ‘taking offence is their super-power. I’m relieved you’ve taken charge.’
Alan boomed with laughter. ‘You always manage to make me feel better,’ he said, then with a sad sigh added, ‘I wish you could make Gilly-Bean smile.’
‘Is she very upset about Dad?’
‘Yes, she hardly slept last night,’ he said. ‘When she went downstairs, I heard her crying, but it felt the wrong moment to intrude.’
‘You did the right thing,’ said Caitlin. ‘Bean has never been good at expressing her emotions in front of people, especially those she loves. It’s as though she thinks she’s letting us down or being weak by showing she’s upset.’
‘You’re very astute,’ he said. ‘I still don’t understand what happened between you all. You were always so close.’
‘Things changed after Mum died,’ she replied, not in the mood for soul-searching.
‘Gilly-Bean.’ He murmured her name as though it were a prayer. ‘She’s very unhappy. What can I do to help her?’
‘In the short term, sit her down to watch the film Practical Magic starring Sandra Bullock and Nicole Kidman,’ said Caitlin.
‘You know Alice Hoffman’s book, which it was based on, was Mum’s favourite and she named Gilly after one of the characters, it’s where her nickname came from. Gilly loves it.’
‘Of course, I’d forgotten.’
‘Then feed her a Hawaiian pizza.’
‘Hawaiian pizza?’ Alan looked horrified.
‘Beneath her sophistication and hauteur, Gilly loves a ham and pineapple pizza.’ Caitlin grinned with affection. ‘Give her a Malibu and pineapple too and she’ll explode with joy, even if at first she does pretend to be above such things.’
‘How do I not know this?’ he asked.
Caitlin shrugged. ‘Are you telling me she’s stopped scoffing pineapple chunks out of the tin with every meal?’ she said with a smile. ‘When we were younger, she couldn’t eat without a bowl of pineapple being present.’
‘No, never,’ said Alan in astonishment.
‘Poor Gilly-Bean,’ said Caitlin. ‘She does feel a need to punish herself.’
‘For what?’
‘I don’t know,’ replied Caitlin, quickly.
‘Gilly changed when she was fifteen, she was always the one who helped Dad with the Players. The two of them were always watching musicals and quoting them to each other or singing the songs. Quite often, they’d make up new lyrics to the old tune and sing entire conversations before collapsing into laughter.
Their favourite tunes were from Seven Brides for Seven Brothers. ’
‘The 1954 film starring Howard Keel and Jane Powell?’ asked Alan.
‘Yes, it’s possibly not the most politically correct film. Did you know it was based on the tale by the Roman historian Livy of the rape of the Sabine women, where the Romans staged a mass of abduction of young women?’
‘But the film is much gentler,’ said Alan.
‘Yes, of course, it’s a romantic comedy,’ said Caitlin.
‘The scene near the end where the girls have all fallen in love with the brothers and sing about being brides-to-be was one Gilly re-enacted, singing and dancing brilliantly, a few months before she left the Players for good. She was amazing, good enough to turn professional, then one day she refused to take part again.’
The silence grew between them as they contemplated Gillian and her withdrawal from the creativity of the Players.
‘And you say pineapple will cheer her up?’ said Alan.
‘Yes, Rachel and I bought her a gold pineapple pendant and matching earrings for her sixteenth birthday, but she doesn’t wear them any more. She’s probably thrown them away,’ said Caitlin with a pang.
She remembered how hard she and Rachel had saved, catching the bus into nearby Hereford to buy the present. Even more, she remembered Gillian’s delight when she had opened it.
‘She hasn’t,’ said Alan. ‘The pendant’s in her jewellery box, but it’s broken. She was looking at it last week.’
Caitlin felt a small surge of hope.
A timer buzzed on Alan’s watch.
‘Sorry, must dash, but thank you,’ he said, hugging her. ‘You’re an absolute angel. Before I forget,’ he reached into his jacket pocket, ‘I’ve printed out the rota for you, I hope that’s all right.’
‘Of course.’
‘Now, my mission is to buy pineapple and sugary 1980s drinks,’ he said. ‘On the morrow, fair maiden.’
He bowed as Caitlin waved him off, making her giggle. Alan always made her smile.
Closing the door, she looked down at the rota.
It was a work of art, each member of the family had been colour coded and slotted into a spreadsheet.
She was turquoise and, running her finger along the column, saw she was scheduled to relieve Gillian in half an hour.
It was only as she walked down to the church to collect her car from where she had left it the previous evening she realised Alan had not included Stan.