Chapter 15
TIME PASSED. LYDIA SPENT ANOTHER NIGHT IN Dublin, and Brona came west again twice. Lydia said nothing to any of them about her wish to stay put in Chance House. She felt bad at not confiding in Brona, the first time she’d kept anything from her, but there was a reason she didn’t.
Brona, like her parents, wanted her back in Dublin, and she’d know exactly what to say to convince Lydia that it was the best course of action, and Lydia didn’t want to be convinced – although finding a way to stay on in Chance House continued to elude her.
She’d considered Airbnb – with so many bedrooms, she should easily make enough to live on – but then she thought about a procession of strangers up and down the stairs, wandering into the kitchen at all hours, and bound to disturb the yoga classes she would want to continue.
Without reconfiguring the space, she couldn’t think of a workable solution, and she couldn’t face more alterations.
She’d turned the idea around and thought of letting the apartment instead, and living in the big house with the baby – but she liked this idea even less.
The apartment held special memories; the thought of strangers in it was awful – and anyway, the main part of the house was far too big for just two.
She could let it long term, hand it over to another chef to run a regular restaurant from it while she and the baby remained in the apartment, but she really didn’t like the idea of living in such close proximity to a business she wasn’t involved in.
Her yoga classes would suffer too, with diners in and out in the evenings.
No different life came to mind, or not one she wanted to live. Unless something unexpected happened and the perfect solution presented itself, she had to accept that she would be packing her bags in July.
In the meantime, her sadness remained a thing she carried around.
Time had softened the ache of Damien’s loss a little – it was proving to be her friend, like Father Phil had said – making it possible for her to function, to smile, occasionally even to laugh, but she could also be ambushed without warning.
A snatch of an overheard song drifting from an open car window, one that had meant something to them; a whiff of the aftershave he’d worn; a laugh that summoned the memory of his; all of these and more could bring the shock of her loss crashing back, strong as it ever was.
Sometimes a gorgeous evening sky would be enough to reduce her to a sobbing mess, reminding her of all the sunsets they’d never share.
But along with the sadness there were times of contentment too.
Whiling away a dreamy hour on the garden seat that Marian had picked up in a charity shop and donated to the Chance House patio; sitting in the shed with the kittens, captivated by their cuteness; digging weeds from one of the flowerbeds, with Gareth testing her on plant names; lying on her mat in the studio, watching the day begin beyond the window; pedalling to a quiet beach on dry mornings to walk barefoot along the sand and wonder about the future.
She told Brendan she was having a girl, and then she told everyone else, and they were all happy for her, and she told herself she was happy too.
Father Phil still dropped by about once a week.
‘I wanted to see how this splendid garden is getting on,’ he’d say, or ‘I need help with Greta’s rhubarb tart – there’s only so much of it one person can eat.
’ Sometimes he came with no excuse, and she was always glad to see him.
He was a dear man, and she’d grown very fond of him.
‘You’ll miss it,’ he said one day. ‘This place.’
She wasn’t sure whether he meant Chance House or the area. She nearly told him what she’d told Andrew, but then thought, What’s the point?
‘It’s for the best,’ she replied, and he looked like he was going to say something else, but didn’t.
Work continued in the house. The days became longer, the air softer. Lydia had a few brief solitary dips in the sea from the little beach, wishing she could do more than just dip, and remembering Damien’s promise to teach her to swim.
In the garden, bright green leaves fluttered on trees, plants spread out, the climbing rose made its slow, steady way up the shed, new blooms appeared in flowerbeds, and the camomile lawn grew thick and lush.
Gareth was teaching Lydia how to snip tiny shoots of bindweed at soil level from the flowerbeds – ‘Try to catch it coming up, or it’ll wind around everything it meets’ – and why to leave dandelions alone in the wildflower patch, and what and how and when to deadhead for better flowering.
‘Coming on nicely,’ he remarked one day towards the end of May. ‘Taking proper shape now.’
‘It’s a credit to you,’ she told him. ‘You’ve worked a miracle here. But please let me pay you, like I’d pay any gardener.’ All he’d taken from her so far was the cost of supplies, and that only after she’d pushed.
He shook his head. ‘No payment required.’
‘Why not? You’ve done so much work here. I can’t let it go unpaid.’
He shook his head. ‘This isn’t a job for me though. Not this garden.’ He swept a gaze around. ‘I’d be lost without it. I love seeing it coming on every bit as much as you do, and I’d like to feel that I can come and potter in it and pull up a few weeds or do a bit of pinching out whenever I want.’
‘You can do all that,’ she said, ‘and still take payment.’ He gave her a sad smile then. ‘Damien was my friend,’ he said quietly, and she understood. It was his tribute, his gift. No money needed, or wanted.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘You’re creating something wonderful here. I wish . . .’ She didn’t finish it.
‘I know. I know you do. How’re the kitties today?
’ he asked, and they set the topic aside and went down to inspect the goings-on.
Since Lydia had discovered two of the kittens out of their box and racing around the shed one morning, changes had been made.
She’d got one of Brendan’s carpenters to fence off an inner section for them by the window, and to construct a little outside enclosure that they could access to play in the fresh air.
They stood and watched the rough and tumble. ‘We’ll be sorry to lose you,’ Gareth said, ‘when you head back to the big smoke.’
At least he didn’t tell her to find a different life. She hadn’t seen Andrew for a while, no reason for him to call by. They weren’t friends exactly, although she enjoyed his company too. She hoped he remembered his offer to take two kittens off her hands.
And then, one evening as she was rolling up her mat after a class, when everyone had left and she was alone in the studio, she felt the oddest little flutter inside her. Like a confined butterfly, or popping bubbles.
She straightened up. She stood stock still for several seconds but nothing else happened, and she put it down to trapped wind until the following morning – and again she experienced the same light little whirring sensation as she reached into the fridge for milk.
She placed a palm on her abdomen, and within a few seconds she felt a tiny nudge, just the smallest movement against the wall of her womb – and it came to her with a little shock.
Her baby was saying hello.
Her daughter was making her presence felt.
Her mother had said, about a week ago, that she should start to feel some movement soon, and here it was.
Wow.
She was growing a baby. She would bring a new human into the world.
It was such a huge thing to get her head around.
She would be someone’s mother. Up to this, the reality of it hadn’t really sunk in.
In just a few months she would give birth.
I have a daughter, she would say, if anyone new asked about children after that.
She wondered what kind of person her child would grow into, what tastes she would have, what talents, what dreams. She wondered how in the world she would keep her safe.
‘Hello,’ she whispered. ‘I’m Lydia. I’m your mother.’
She would not bring her up as a vegetarian: she would allow her to make her own decision about that – although she wasn’t sure she’d manage to cook meat for her. She’d have to figure that out.
She would introduce her to yoga, right from the start. She would do baby massage, and stretch and bend the tiny limbs. Imagine if she turned out to want to teach yoga too, like her mother.
She would read her stories, all the ones she’d loved in her childhood, and all the new ones that had come out since.
She would cook with her. She would introduce her to dishes that Damien had introduced her to.
She would make sure she looked after her teeth, and drank enough water.
She would teach her to be kind and thoughtful.
She hoped she would find true friends. She hoped she would love music, like Damien had. She hoped love wouldn’t break her heart – but of course it would, at least once.
Later in the day she rang her mother to tell her about the stirrings.
‘That’s wonderful, sweetheart – always great to get that reassurance. You should feel regular movement from now on, and it’ll become stronger as the baby develops. I wish you were here, so we could share this.’
‘I’ll see you soon, Mum.’
Now that they knew she was moving back in July, they’d stopped trying to manage her. She was grateful. They would be a big help in Dublin.
She rang Marian and got her voicemail because it was a school day, and left a message. ‘The baby kicked,’ she said. ‘I thought you’d like to know.’
She rang Brona, who always took calls at work. ‘Hey, that’s fantastic! I’m thrilled, very exciting. Can’t wait for you to be living here again, and I can babysit.’
‘What do you mean, babysit? You’ll be out with me. Mum and Dad will be babysitting.’
‘That’s true.’
It would be great when they lived in the same city again, and could meet up as often as they liked. One of the big positives about moving back.
She must focus on the positives, like Damien always had.