Chapter 2
It had been a long time since either Zack or I had visited the picturesque Suffolk village of Willowell but as I drove along the narrow road through it, I could see that I was very happily going to be able to tell my brother that it hadn’t changed all that much at all.
The pretty river still meandered its way through the heart of the village, which was reached, via the approach I took, by crossing a stone bridge which looked the same as I remembered it from the many times we had played Poohsticks there.
Lots of the houses had classic pink-washed walls and quite a few were thatched.
The majority had prolific roses and wisteria growing around the doors and windows and, with barely another car in sight, it felt like I’d stepped back in time.
This was a feeling that I’d also experienced when visiting Willowell in the past and I was delighted it remained.
Everything looked picture perfect, and I was so happy to be visiting again at last, even if it wasn’t for long and it was for a sad reason.
That said, I knew that between us, Zack and I couldn’t have settled on a better final resting place for Dad, and I also felt that he would have been very happy with our decision that I should bring him here.
We might only have spent a few weeks a year in Willowell, but each of us felt settled and at home right from the moment we crossed the bridge and set up our simple camp in an obliging farmer’s field to one side of the river just beyond the edge of the village.
Our time here had genuinely healed us all and I suppressed the urge to berate myself for leaving it so long to come back.
Following the instructions issued by the Airbnb owner, I carefully pulled through the narrow gateway set between what was now the village store and the property next to it, and parked my car in the gravelled courtyard, in front of what I recognised as the tiny cottage I’d booked for the next few days.
‘Well, I hope you won’t, Kaya,’ were the first words I heard as I walked around to the store and through the open front door, which was flanked by boxes of seasonal vegetables and buckets of fresh flowers.
‘Because it’s summer now and you know it’ll be even busier in here soon and I’m going to need your help with the cottage on changeover days, too. ’
The woman talking was wearing a pale pink apron dress and her abundant blonde hair was tied up in a scarf of the same colour. She was standing with her back to me and had the other woman, who I guessed was Kaya, not spotted me, I would have stepped outside again.
‘Customer,’ the assumed Kaya said and then quickly ducked through a door at the back.
‘Hi.’ I smiled as the other woman, who looked to be around my age, turned around. ‘I’m Tilly. I’ve booked the cottage. I hope I’m not too early?’
She immediately replaced her frown with a smile and put down a basket which was full of handmade bars of soap with dried flowers pressed in the tops.
‘Tilly, hi,’ she beamed. ‘I’m Melody, the cottage owner, and no, you’re not early at all. It’s all ready for you.’
‘Fantastic.’ I nodded.
‘Just give me two secs and I’ll grab the key.’
I walked back around to my car and lifted my small suitcase and rucksack out of the boot. I didn’t have much in the way of luggage because I was only staying a few days and then, potentially, jumping on a plane.
‘Can I give you a hand?’ Melody offered when she appeared again.
‘Thank you. If you could take the rucksack, that would be great. There’s not much in it, so it’s quite light.’
I decided to leave the box containing Dad’s ashes and Mum’s hat, among other things, in the car for the moment.
‘Here we are then,’ Melody said, opening the door and letting me in ahead of her. ‘Welcome to Rose Cottage.’
The interior looked even smaller than it had on the website, but I didn’t mind that because I was planning to be out and about every day as opposed to in it for all that long.
The ground floor was open plan with a sitting room and minuscule kitchen, featuring Cabbages and Roses classic floral pink fabrics, and I knew the bedroom and bathroom were decorated similarly because I’d seen them online.
The pretty aesthetic and pared back furniture made the most of the bijou space, and given the colour of Melody’s apron and headscarf, I guessed pink was her favourite.
‘It’s beautiful.’ I smiled as I drank in the scent of the old-fashioned roses which were arranged in a spongeware jug on the coffee table in front of the sofa.
‘Thank you.’ Melody smiled back. ‘There’s a folder full of local info and some foodie treats in the kitchen, along with milk, tea, coffee and so on.’
‘Perfect.’
‘I would offer to show you around, but I’m not sure where my sister’s disappeared to and there’s no one else in the store.’
‘It’s fine,’ I reassured her. ‘I know where you are if I need you.’
‘Okay,’ she nodded. She was almost out the door when she turned back. ‘I’m sorry if you heard us arguing when you arrived,’ she said, looking embarrassed. ‘That was absolutely not the welcome I’d envisaged giving you.’
‘I only caught the tail end of it,’ I reassured her, ‘and nothing horrendous.’
‘Okay,’ she said again, and I noticed her shoulders relax. ‘My younger sister, Kaya, has trouble staying in one place for more than five seconds together. She’s only just back from one trip abroad and already wants to book another.’
‘I have a brother like that.’ I grinned.
‘Really?’
‘Yes,’ I told her. ‘Zack. I never know where in the world he’ll be working from one day to the next. This morning for example, I thought he was in Spain, but now I’ve discovered he’s en route to Bali.’
Melody laughed at that.
‘Well, if you want to compare notes on travelling relatives, you know where to find me,’ she offered. ‘I hope you’re soon settled in here.’
‘It feels like home already,’ I said, looking around again.
‘That’s Willowell for you.’ She smiled in response and headed back to the store.
She was certainly right about that.
It didn’t take many minutes for me to unpack, and I rather restlessly whiled away the afternoon, counting down the time until I walked down to the river.
The weather was hot, but the intensity was tempered by a welcome covering of light cloud.
I could have headed out and explored the village and stocked up on more treats from the store straightaway – the scones I’d already demolished had been as light as air – but I didn’t want to undertake anything else until I’d completed the task I’d come here to do.
Curled up on the sofa, which would have been only just big enough for two, and with Dad’s ashes and Mum’s hat now on the table with the jug of roses in front of me, I looked through the photograph albums and holiday journals and lost myself in a sea of happy memories as the clock ticked on.
There were a couple of places and landmarks which featured in our photos every year but didn’t have dates attached.
The only way I could tell when they were taken was by paying attention to how much Zack and I had grown during the intervening months, and I thought it would be fun to seek out those familiar and much-loved spots and photograph them again.
I was certain Zack would appreciate making the comparisons between now and then as much as I was going to, and I wondered if he remembered how we had always said that visiting them made us feel like we were ‘walking on sunshine’.
Our holidays in Willowell had been truly halcyon in every conceivable way and those three words had become a much-loved catchphrase of ours while we were here.
‘Right,’ I said, as the afternoon began to fade into evening and I was checking the clock almost as often as I blinked, ‘I think it’s time, Dad.’
After I’d unknotted my hair, so I could wear Mum’s hat, I carefully put the wooden box into the bottom of my rucksack then, having checked the lid couldn’t work loose, I set off.
The walk out of the village was as pretty as I remembered and the drop in temperature as I ducked under the trees and switched to the footpath that ran along the side of the river was something I was accustomed to, too.
However, at that point my steps started to slow down, and my heart began to weigh heavy in my chest.
Even though I had come to Willowell with the intention of saying goodbye to Dad, it was still hard.
I’d pictured the moment it would happen – and where – multiple times, but now it came to it, now the sun was setting on the solstice, it suddenly felt like it was going to be the hardest thing in the world to achieve.
Even more difficult than when the three of us had scattered Mum’s ashes, and I guessed that was because this time I was saying goodbye to mine and Zack’s very last physical connection to them both.
The path along the river felt a little different to how I remembered it, but only because the trees that bordered it had grown. It wasn’t all that much further on before I reached the sweeping bend in the watercourse and then a few steps beyond that, I reached the spot Zack and I had settled on.
‘This is it, Dad,’ I said on an out breath as I knelt on the grass and looked at the house that was built some way back from the river on the opposite side.
It was a traditional, detached Georgian property, set in stunning gardens that rolled right down to the river, and it had its own wooden jetty and a gentle, pebbled slope into the water.
I had always adored the house and fantasised about living there and swimming in the river every day, through the summer at least.
We had spotted otters here and the occasional kingfisher too, and I thought now, as I had then, that it was the most beautiful place I had ever seen.
Willow trees dipped their leaves into the gently flowing water, and in the shallowest points further along, we’d watched cows venture in to drink and cool off, and locals gather to paddle or picnic.
‘Do you remember how I used to come and look at this place every day, Dad?’ I whispered. ‘We used to pitch our tent in that field behind me and then you’d turn me and Zack feral for the next two weeks and I’d be endlessly drawn to look at this house.’
It felt a long time since I had enjoyed that sort of heady freedom, but I was slowly starting to make my way back towards it now, or towards as much of it as I wanted.
I didn’t think I’d sacrifice a regular shower or properly brushing my teeth again, but Zack had been right about me feeling better for rediscovering the feel of fresh air on my face on a regular basis.
The light began to properly fade, and I realised that the reminiscing and harking back was all well and good, but it was unhelpfully enabling me to put the moment off. I took a deep breath, then quickly lifted the box out of my rucksack and loosened the lid.
I felt panic rise in my chest, and I didn’t think I’d be able to get any further, but then someone in the house began to play the piano or listen to a recording.
Astonishingly, they’d chosen ‘Clair de Lune’, a piece of music that Dad had loved and listened to on such a regular basis that we’d picked it as one of the pieces for his funeral.
Having received such an obvious and beautiful sign that this was the moment, I didn’t hesitate further. I lifted the lid properly off the box, then carefully leant forward and slowly let Dad’s ashes slip away. Some drifted into the river and some were carried up and away on the breeze.
By the time the music had finished, I had tears pouring unchecked down my face and Dad was gone.
Or his ashes were. As I dried my eyes, I knew he was still with me in some way, just as he had been since the day he died, but he was with Mum now, too, and there was a feeling of comfort and completion in that.
When I looked up at the house again, the doors leading out to the garden had been closed, and after taking a moment to settle my emotions, I took that as my second cue and made my slow way back to Rose Cottage where I would message my brother and let him know how beautiful parting with Dad had been.