Chapter 48
FORTY-EIGHT
The next morning, Rita sat on the sofa in the den, the will spread out on her lap. The room was stuffy with late-summer heat and outside, bees buzzed lazily around the lavender bushes, but inside, everything was still.
The sudden sound of a voice approaching made her jump so high that Henry barked.
‘Honestly, if you frown at that paper any harder, it’ll catch fire.’
Rita’s heart leaped into her throat. ‘Bloody hell, Hilda!’
Hilda stood in the doorway, one eyebrow cocked and a pink trainer tapping lightly against the wooden floor.
‘The back door was open,’ Hilda tutted. ‘I could’ve been anyone.’
Rita let out a shaky laugh and wiped tea off her shorts with a tissue. ‘You scared the life out of me.’
‘Good. You needed a jolt.’ Hilda’s tone softened as her eyes dropped to the paper in Rita’s lap. ‘You found it, then.’
Rita paused, fingers tracing a crease in the corner of the document.
‘He left everything to me. The house. A few savings he’d hidden. Even cited that ridiculous stone gnome he stuck by the pond that I hated. He knew that would make me laugh.’ Rita’s eyes glistened.
‘Sir Cedric,’ Hilda said fondly.
‘He named his brother as executor.’ Rita smiled weakly.
With a slow shake of her head, Hilda plonked herself down on the window seat.
‘And there was a provision for one Mateo Serrano, but that’s OK. I get it. It’s a token amount but will make a difference to him. An amount to show that Teo was loved by him, despite all, I guess.’
Hilda sighed. ‘Finding Carmen and bringing her here, I thought it may help you move on, you know. My Archie was a good boy and we mothers protect, don’t we? Do what we think is best for our kids. He didn’t cheat on you, Rita. He was doing what Archie did best, trying to keep everyone happy.’
‘I realise that now.’ Rita swallowed hard, the back of her throat tight. ‘It just feels so final now. Like he’s… properly gone. And there will always be a space that won’t ever be filled and what do you do with that?’
Hilda didn’t speak for a moment. Then she covered Rita’s hand with her own.
‘You live in it. You plant something in it. You scream into it if you need to. And it’s OK to fill it. And bit by bit the space gets less, but that doesn’t mean the memory has to.’
Rita blinked rapidly, tears threatening. ‘I hate that you always say the right thing.’
Hilda gave her hand a squeeze and stood. ‘Now. Come on. Enough wallowing. Rumour has it you are having a little birthday-come-thank-your-team get-together and I’m sure it’s not organising itself.’
‘Yes, I’d better get in the Snack Shack and give Zenya a hand.’
‘Have you spoken to Thomas?’ Hilda added gently.
Rita’s voice wobbled. ‘I’ve left him a couple of messages, but I can’t get hold of him.’ With a sigh, Rita stood, folding the will and tucking it between the pages of her now dog-eared copy of Wild, the book that had nudged her toward starting the retreat.
‘Thank you, Hilda. And I mean that truly. I can’t even imagine the pain you’ve been through yourself.’ Rita paused, her voice barely steady. ‘With everything.’
Hilda gave the smallest nod, her eyes shining. She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. She knew Rita knew and that was enough. The old woman then uncharacteristically looped her arm through Rita’s. ‘But before we head outside, there’s somewhere else I think we both need to go.’
Rita looked up, instantly wary. ‘Hilda?’
‘Just keep walking.’
They crossed the hallway slowly, side by side, their footsteps soft on the wooden boards. The big lounge door was ajar, light spilling out in ribbons of warmth and colour from its huge bay window with the view of the sea.
Rita paused in the doorway. Her breath caught.
The room was just as it had been. The sofa, the chairs, the photos, the piano.
Nothing had changed and yet everything had.
This was the room where Archie used to sit in the mornings, reading the paper aloud like it was a radio broadcast. This was the room where they danced, badly, after too much wine.
The room that had held him, and her, and all the ordinary days that had quietly meant everything.
Now dusty and a bit musty, but still her favourite room in the house.
Her throat tightened. ‘I haven’t been in here since he died,’ Rita whispered.
‘Love doesn’t live in the dust, Rita. It’s in the people who stay, and the life you keep choosing.’
Rita’s tears welled, unbidden. ‘As mothers-in-law go, I’m not sure what I did to deserve you.’
Hilda smirked. ‘Oh, probably something terrible in a past life.’
Hilda walked over to the bay window, took a moment to drink in the wide coastal view, then turned to face her son’s wife. ‘And for the record, I’m OK with whomever you choose to share your heart with in this one.’
Rita’s lip wobbled. Hilda sniffed loudly, then shook herself.
‘Now stop all this maudlin nonsense. I need a cigarette.’