Chapter 38
Henry
Eight Summers Ago
The bell above the door of Ynes’s floristry tinkled as they pushed their way through into the shop. Luke, who for once had woken in a communicative and happy mood, charged ahead, and scooted around the till. There was a clatter as he ran through the colourful beaded curtain covering the door to the back room – or, as Ynes liked to call it, ‘el estudio’. It was where she arranged her bouquets, repotted her plants, and took the cuttings that she would later press into Violet’s eagerly waiting hands.
Henry heard the older woman’s call of greeting and allowed himself to relax for a moment. There weren’t many people that he and Violet felt able to leave their son with, but Ynes was very near the top of the list. She genuinely enjoyed Luke’s company and wasn’t remotely fazed by his propensity to shut himself off from the world at times.
‘I like having a protégé,’ she told them. ‘And I also believe that it is good for a boy to be bossed around a little bit, eh?’
Henry had glanced at Violet then, expecting her to take offence, but she’d merely smiled and wished her friend the best of luck.
‘Pah,’ Ynes had retorted. ‘A real woman makes her own luck.’
Luckily for her – and for Henry and Violet – Luke’s early fascination with flower pressing had not waned as he grew, and now, aged eleven, he was more than content to spend a day helping out in the shop. Ynes appreciated the fastidious way he worked, how he took his time neatly lining the hanging baskets and chose the right size carnation to fill the gaps in a box. Henry admired it, too. It made a pleasant change to have a reason to celebrate his son.
‘Remind me, where it is you are going today?’ said Ynes, as she leaned over to kiss Henry on each cheek. ‘Muy guapo,’ she added, tapping a finger against his nose, and Violet rolled her eyes.
‘He’ll get a big head if you keep telling him how handsome he is.’
Ynes raised her shoulders in an exaggerated shrug.
‘It is not my fault. I can only tell you what I see.’
She was wearing a shiny pink apron over a green patterned dress, and Henry thought that if he kept staring at her long enough, a picture might start to form as it did in the Magic Eye puzzle books Luke liked so much. His son and Violet only had to squint for a few seconds to find the hidden image, but it took Henry hours. Or it had, the one and only time he’d bothered to try.
‘We’re going to a furniture warehouse,’ Violet told Ynes. ‘You know, that big one on the outskirts of Palma. One of Henry’s builder friends told him there’s a whole heap of damaged items going for cents, so we’re going to take the jeep and see what we can find. We’ll only be a few hours,’ she added hastily, and Henry thought it was probably more for Luke’s benefit than that of their laid-back childminder. Ynes, predictably, waved Violet’s assurances away with the flick of a ring-adorned hand.
‘Do not hurry,’ she said. ‘I have plenty of jobs that will keep this hombrecito busy.’
‘Bye, Luke,’ Violet called, and got only a vague mutter of reply.
She was quiet for the first part of the journey, preferring to stare in contemplative silence out of the window as the jeep chewed up the miles of sun-baked asphalt, her hand resting lightly in Henry’s lap. It was mid-July, and the sky was a cloudless blue, the earth below it cracked, and the grasses daubed beige by heat. Henry drew in a breath that tasted like baked tarmac and dust and pressed his foot down harder on the accelerator. As if stirred by the growl of the engine, Violet blinked sleepily, and turned from the view to face him.
‘He’ll be OK today, won’t he?’
Henry took her hand, squeezed it. ‘Better than OK. He’ll be happy.’
She nodded, perhaps wanting rather than allowing herself to believe him. Henry wondered why she’d asked the question at all if his answer would make no difference to her.
‘I’m really worried,’ she said, ‘about him starting secondary school.’
Henry was worried, too. It had taken the two of them, several teachers, and a determined team of support staff the best part of a year to get Luke resettled into his primary class, and now, just as they were beginning to see tentative improvement, he was facing a new and far more daunting gauntlet. Luke didn’t like change, he detested noise, and he abhorred being around new people. It was going to be the biggest challenge he – and, by extension, they – had yet to face.
‘I feel the same way as you do about it,’ Henry allowed. ‘But we have the whole summer to prepare him.’
An irritated exhalation of breath greeted this. ‘Yes, but I want him to enjoy the holidays. It’s not fair for us to put pressure on him.’
‘Life is full of pressures, though,’ Henry began, trotting out the line he had used on so many previous occasions. Having the same discussion time and time again was taking its toll on their relationship; the love they shared crumbling; a once-glorious palace that was slowly being taken by the elements of frustration, distrust, and exhaustion. Henry’s fingers began to tap the steering wheel.
‘He’s only a child,’ Violet went on insistently. ‘Our child.’
As if he didn’t know that; was not aware of the fact during every conscious moment.
‘Fine.’ Henry gave in. He always gave in. ‘I’ll not so much as say the word “school” until we’re back in the UK. I’ll pretend it doesn’t exist.’
Violet removed her hand from his lap. ‘We’re almost there,’ was all she said.
The furniture store, at least, proved to be a good distraction. Within minutes of stepping from the searing heat of the mid-morning into the cool air-conditioned interior of the warehouse, Henry felt the sourness of his mood begin to sweeten. It smelled of sawdust and varnish, horsehair, and paint, all the scents he associated with the work that had become so intrinsic. When Henry was out on a job, he was the boss. There was no second-guessing or asking for permission, there was just doing: glorious, worthy, captivating doing. Working made Henry feel as if he had a purpose.
Having left Violet examining a range of designer bed frames that they neither needed nor could afford, Henry strolled through the open doors at the back and into a lumber yard, where he quickly selected a range of planks, some broken, mismatched chairs, and a flimsy-looking bookcase. With a small amount of skill and care, he could restore them. The thought alone acted like sandpaper against the roughened edges of his soul. Henry was proud that he had yet to encounter anything he wasn’t able to fix.
Well, countered an internal voice, almost anything.
Once he’d loaded his purchases into the back of the jeep, the planks poking up through the open roof like teepee poles, Henry wandered back inside to find Violet.
There was no sign of her in the bed section, nor by the wardrobes. Distracted by a murmur of voices, Henry glanced up and saw that a swift had somehow flown inside and was darting across the high ceiling, its small body little more than a smudge as it dipped and dove around the fluorescent lights. He never saw these types of birds in England, only sparrows and pigeons, the occasional inquisitive robin. When Luke was still a toddler, Violet had taken him to feed the ducks down by the River Cam almost every day, a pastime he’d enjoyed until a swan decided to peck his ankle.
Henry squinted across the warehouse, scanning for a flash of red hair, and at last, he saw her, experiencing as he always did a lightening sensation in his chest. No matter how much he and Violet bickered, he still loved her with an intensity that had the power to move him. It was the foundation around which every other facet of their life together was built, and Henry believed in its strength. He had to.
‘Found you,’ he said, coming to a stop behind her.
Violet, to his surprise, was looking at nursery furniture. ‘Isn’t this crib gorgeous?’ she enthused, all trace of her earlier impatience gone. ‘Do you think it’s hand-carved?’
Henry crouched to examine the softly rounded bars, and the intricate floral pattern on each of the end boards.
‘I’d say that’s likely, given the price,’ he said. ‘Pinewood, too, so it’d be easy to paint.’
‘Shame we don’t need one.’ She shrugged and went to turn away, but Henry stood, taking her arm.
‘What if we did?’
Violet looked at him askance. There were dark circles under each of her eyes, her skin pale after months of tepid British spring. ‘What do you mean?’
Henry drew her towards him, his hands snaking around her waist. She had got so thin, he thought absently; he could feel the jut of her ribs through her T-shirt.
‘I mean, why don’t we buy the crib and start trying for a new somebody to use it?’
Violet went very still. ‘You want another baby?’
‘Yes.’ As he said it, Henry realised it was true. ‘I do. Don’t you?’
Violet was looking at him as if he’d just suggested a picnic on the moon.
‘It’d be great,’ he continued, albeit warily. ‘We might have a little girl this time – a mini version of you! Or another boy, a pal for Luke – it might be good for him.’
Henry knew it was shameless of him to use their existing child as a bargaining chip, but suddenly, in that moment, nothing felt more important than getting Violet onside, and the lure of life improving for Luke was a guaranteed vote winner.
‘But what about me coming back to work?’ she asked. Providing that Luke settled in at secondary school, as they hoped he would, the plan had been for Violet to pick up where she’d had no choice but to leave off, designing and curating the gardens of the houses Henry worked on.
‘You still could,’ he assured her. ‘At least for a while, then take a few years off after the baby’s born. It’s only a small hiccup,’ he added, sliding his hands up and cupping them around her face.
‘A small hiccup,’ she repeated, in a voice that promptly drove a nail through Henry’s unfailing optimism.
‘Yeah,’ he said uncertainly. ‘Wouldn’t it be worth it?’
‘Because we’ve done such a great job with child number one,’ she drawled.
He took a step back, flummoxed by her acerbity.
‘Luke isn’t the way he is because of us,’ he said quietly. ‘You know that.’
‘Do I?’ Her eyes were full of tears now – hot, and defensive. ‘I don’t know, Henry. That’s what everyone tells us, but what if they’re only saying that to be kind? What if it is something in us? What if I did something to him?’
‘Of course you didn’t.’ He moved to comfort her, but Violet shook him roughly away.
‘We can’t have another baby,’ she said flatly. ‘It’s too much of a risk.’
But we could get it right this time.
Henry didn’t let himself say it, knowing she would likely hate him if he did. He wasn’t sure if he even believed it, but he wanted to. Didn’t they deserve another chance?
Violet’s bottom lip was wobbling; he ached to comfort her, but every time he tried, she shied away. Looking up towards the ceiling in frustration, Henry saw the swift above him, still trapped in a tragic dance as it bashed furiously against the warehouse roof, looking for a way out.
‘It’s different for you,’ Violet said then, her voice small. ‘You always wanted Luke.’
He felt himself stiffen. ‘So did you.’
But Violet was shaking her head. ‘No.’ It was close to a whisper. ‘And that’s why – don’t you see?’
Henry stared at her intently. ‘See what?’
‘What if Luke is the way he is because... Because...’ Violet looked at him, stricken.
Henry felt ice in his veins. ‘Because what?’
She took a deep breath. ‘Because there was a moment when I didn’t want him at all.’