Chapter Twenty-six #2
“Then you know that the grief can hit you without warning. And that you can’t stop it.
” He gulps more coffee, his throat working as if he’s trying to swallow a pint of liquid all at once.
“Sometimes, it hits like a freight train and flattens you. When that happens, there’s nothing anyone can say or do to make it better. You just have to wait for it to pass.”
He's talking in general terms, but I’m very aware of how personal this is for him. He doesn’t even seem to notice he’s drinking my coffee.
“Grief isn’t a problem to fix.” He finishes the last of the coffee and puts the mug down. “It’s a process we have to go through. If she cries, then let her. She needs to work her way in and out of it by herself.”
“Will she?” I ask.
He waves to Meredith as she passes near our table, and she nods to show she’s clocked him.
“Ashe wanted to come here, which means she wants to get better. We just have to give her room to do that.” He pauses, looking through the tall windows at the group on the terrace. “For most of them, this is a Hail Mary. They don’t know if it’ll work but they’ve tried everything else.”
He says this as if talking to himself, but it tells me a lot about why this course matters to him so much.
He might pretend it’s about his funding – and I’m sure he’s sunk a lot of money into this first test group – but what keeps him up at night is the worry that he might disappoint desperate people who’ve come to him for help.
Osian, I’m beginning to see, has a compulsion to help.
The boy who had once held the broken stem of a camellia snow flurry and responded to my tears by asking me out. He’s always been like this.
Meredith comes over with his lunch which he must have ordered earlier. A long baguette filled with ham, cheese and salad.
“I’ve also drunk Evie’s coffee; can you please give her a fresh cup?” he says, before taking a bite of his baguette.
“So,” I say, going back to business. “What do you suggest I say when Ashe or anyone else is upset?”
He finishes chewing, swallows, then answers.
“Nothing. That’s what you say. Nothing. Don’t rush in trying to offer the right words.
Saying helpful things only forces the grieving person to think about you, to find polite things to say when all they want is to be allowed to cry.
Just act like it’s normal and carry on with whatever you’re doing. ”
After lunch we go back to work. I seek out the two men and ask them to come with me. As it happens, Ashe is chatting with Isaias, so all three are following me down the steps by the blue wall when I run into Llewellyn.
“I was looking for you.” I stop to talk to him. “Can I have a little of your time tonight to prepare slides for the presentation Saturday night at the partners’ meeting?”
His eyes are on Ashe, who still looks a bit fragile. We’re all standing on the steps and she’s on the step below him, which makes the normally slight Llewellyn seem like a tall and imposing stranger.
“You haven’t met the Perllan group, have you?” I introduce all three even though Ashe’s eyes are a bit wide with anxiety. But Llewellyn shakes hands in his usual considerate and humble way, which seems to put her at ease.
“I run the Digital Hub, so if you need to use the computers, you’re all welcome. Just pop in whenever you need.” He smiles easily.
Then, turning to me, he says, “You don’t need to worry about this Saturday. Alex has asked to swap with you. He and the professor have something they want to show us.”
“So I don’t have to do a presentation?”
“Not this week. You can do yours at the next partners’ meeting. In two or three weeks.”
Good news; the best. If we hadn’t been standing on old crumbling slate steps, I’d be doing a happy dance. Alex and the professor, God bless them, have given me much-needed breathing space.
Time I intend to put to great use.
“So,” I say to the three Perllans with me. “How would you feel about working on the yellow and orange fan garden? We can make something really amazing there.”
All three faces look back at me with various degrees of hope. Not a lot in the case of Schaefer, but it’s definitely there.
“Orange is my favourite colour,” Ashe says, and there are two spots of colour in her cheeks, which had been very pale before.
“Fan gardens?” Llewellyn asks. He’s still here behind us; I thought he’d gone back inside. “Is that like fans as in groupies, or fans as in propellers?” he asks.
This time I laugh out loud. “You’ll have to wait for the presentation. By then, my three helpers will have made a small miracle.”
They too look intrigued. But I only smile widely.
There are a few flowering plants that grow very fast and I intend to use them in the orange-yellow fan.
Since it happens to be next to the pond, it’s the perfect choice.
Because I’ve decided to plant gorse around the pond.
If Osian wanted me to give these Perllans hope, nothing brings as much joy as the transformation from brown soil into something that looks – and smells – like gorse.
As I jump the last three steps and head toward the pond, I fully believe Osian’s worries are all about this. I have no reason to suspect a deeper and more troubling trigger.