Chapter Nine
Having opened the wine and poured herself and Gino a glass, Ava realised she couldn’t keep putting the inevitable off.
Gino had come round, as a friend, to help her.
Not sorting a single box would mean she had wasted his afternoon off.
It would also mean she would have to suffer the wrath of Mary.
Leading Gino up the narrow twisting staircase, Ava felt tension wrap itself around her chest like a thick rubber band.
You can do this. What she hadn’t confessed to Mary was that she had tried to sort her mum’s things a few times.
But whenever she tried she felt engulfed by waves of sadness and fear at having to face her feelings.
Putting it off seemed the logical solution.
Before opening the door, Ava turned to Gino. ‘Are you sure you’re up for this?’
‘Of course, I’m here to help and—’
Ava pushed open the bedroom door.
‘Wow!’ Gino’s eyes boggled at the site of the boxes, stacks of paper and clothes in the room.
‘Bit of a hoarder was she?’ He shook his head.
Ava giggled, releasing some of the tension in her chest as she exhaled. ‘No. This is my fault. I put everything in here, like this. It was . . . easier.’
‘A kind of open the door and throw it in strategy?’
‘Something like that.’ Ava looked at Gino, embarrassed at her only strategy having been denial.
‘You really don’t have to . . . I mean .
. . this, it’s my fault.’ Ava gestured to the room and the chaos within it, but as she spoke the last word, her voice wobbled.
She felt tears well in her eyes and feared she was going to cry — in front of Gino, for goodness’ sake.
Holding her gaze, Gino offered a reassuring smile. ‘I know I don’t have to. But I want to help. Mary sent me because she wants to help. But you’re right. This is too much.’
‘I’m sorry, I—’
‘Ogni viaggio inizia con un singolo passo.’
Ava stared at Gino. She had no idea what he’d said, but she always appreciated the way in which he could switch easily from English to Italian formed with a perfect accent, at least to her ear.
‘Every journey starts with a single step. My nonna used to say that to me.’ Gino flicked his long dark fringe from his eyes.
‘That’s lovely.’ Ava thought how lucky Gino was to have the support of his large family around him as he was growing up. Though his mum was English and his family had lived in England for many years, his dad had ensured they retained and respected elements of his Italian roots.
‘Hmm, she said it when she wanted me to go and do something — get something from the shops, clean my room, collect my sister from school. She had a way of making things sound grander than they were.’
‘Oh.’
‘But in this instance her words make sense. There’s too much to tackle here all at once. You should face it a box at a time.’
‘I suppose.’ Ava looked at the room and felt unexpectedly grateful that Gino was there.
‘How about if I bring a box downstairs and you start with that? While you see what’s inside, I’ll stack the other boxes to one side and make piles of the clothes and other bits. When you can get in the room properly you’ll find it easier to face.’
‘I can’t leave you to sort all—’
‘I won’t be sorting through it as such. I’ll just be making it more manageable, putting it in piles ready for you.’
‘Are you sure?’ Ava knew it made sense. For Gino to sort the items into manageable piles would be akin to what she did at the shop; it was just a process. He had no emotional attachment, either negative or positive, to the things in the room. For her almost every item held a memory.
‘Of course.’
‘OK. But I can’t expect you to carry boxes up and down stairs. I’ll sort them in my room. It will be easier that way.’
‘I am more than capable of carrying boxes up and down the stairs.’
‘I know you are.’ Ava’s eyes flicked to Gino’s biceps and her cheeks flushed for fear that he had seen her.
The twitch at the corner of his mouth suggested he was very aware of her checking out his muscles.
Ava coughed. ‘Right, well, I’ll get my room ready.
’ As she walked into her bedroom she wondered why she had made such a crazy suggestion.
Bring the boxes in here, Gino. Come into my room.
See my cute-woodland-animal-print duvet cover!
Oh my goodness, I’ve got my cute-woodland-animal-print duvet cover on my bed!
Ava cringed. All of her duvet covers were animal related, purchased by her mum back before she had a choice.
Why have I not thought to change them? She hurriedly threw a blanket over her bed, and looked around the room.
It really wasn’t befitting a woman beyond her mid-twenties.
Ava grabbed an armful of soft toys from the chair in the corner and threw them into her wardrobe.
As she scanned the room, for what else she might need to move, Gino knocked on the door.
‘So here’s the first box.’
Catching sight of the ears of Raspberry Rabbit — a favourite teddy when she was little — sticking out of her wardrobe door, Ava decided she couldn’t face having Gino in her bedroom, and met him at the door. ‘If it’s OK with you, downstairs might be more appropriate.’
‘Not a problem!’ Gino turned and led the way downstairs.
Ava picked up her wine that she’d brought up with her, shut her bedroom door and followed.
At her suggestion, Gino placed the box on the large oak kitchen table.
He placed his hand on her shoulder, checking she was OK before leaving her to it.
Ava took a drink, welcoming the alcohol as it spread through her, numbing her nerves.
Opening the box she saw and remembered its contents: evidence of her mum’s success stories; polaroid photographs of animals she’d saved and released, newspaper clippings and scribbled notes.
Ava remembered that this is what kept her mum going on the tough days — the days when the rescue was a challenge or the rehabilitation impossible.
On the outside Ava’s mum had appeared a pragmatic woman, someone who took everything in her stride, driven by her mission.
But, looking at it all now, Ava remembered moments, albeit that they were fleeting, when her mum had revealed her vulnerable side; the part of herself that she couldn’t and wouldn’t let get in the way of her achieving her goals.
Flicking through the images and clippings, Ava wondered what she should do with them all. She took a breath. Think objectively.
When Gino appeared with the next box, Ava looked at him apologetically, having not emptied or made any decisions about the contents of the box she was sorting.
‘Woah. Your mum was a legend.’ Gino gestured to the newspaper clippings.
‘She was. But what do I do with it all now?’
‘Does the charity have a website, or social media pages?’
‘They have a web page, just a contact page really.’
‘A lot of that looks like it was reported back when news was shared on paper rather than the Internet. So why not upload it? Spread the word about the work of All Critters Great and Small beyond Dapplebury.’
Ava looked at the box. There was a wealth of information within its depths. Perhaps ordering and cataloguing it all online would make sense. ‘It would be good PR that’s for sure.’
‘There could be publicity to gain from launching a new website and social media presence, and if nothing else it would provide a record for prosperity for . . . your children.’
My children? Ava wondered if she would ever have children.
There was no man on the scene she could imagine spending the rest of her life with, so children seemed an unlikely prospect.
Should she have them though then their grandmother’s work, All Critters Great and Small and all that it stood for, was their heritage — no grand estate like the Bramlington’s for the Flynns.
‘I like that idea. Thanks Gino.’ Ava smiled.
‘That’s why I’m here.’
Marking the box so she’d know its contents, Ava put it to one side; it’s purpose clear in her mind.
She would take it to Critters’ Lodge and speak to the volunteers to see if anybody had a technical background they could put to use.
While it was a long shot, experience had taught her that volunteers came from all walks of life and had a wealth of skills that they were generally only too happy to put to good use.
Having discovered several wildlife figurines in the next box, Ava marked it to be valued. The shop next door to the charity shop was an antique dealership; the elderly gentleman that ran it frequently valued items for her she couldn’t assess via Ebay and other online avenues.
‘Difficult to buy for was she?’ Gino gestured to the box of ornaments.
‘I guess. She was never really into possessions.’
‘So people went with what they knew. My cousin made the mistake of telling my Mama he likes Marmite. Birthday, Christmas, any excuse she gets him a Marmite gift.’
‘At least he can eat it.’ Ava lifted the box of animal figurines to the floor.
‘No, she got him a cushion, a mug, a key ring — all in the shape of a Marmite jar. I told her if he loved it, she was going to make him hate it!’
Ava laughed, realising what type of gift Gino was referring to, and thinking of the similar items that helped fill the homeware shelf of the shop.
Having Gino for company really was making the task more manageable in more ways than one and for that she was grateful.
‘I’m so pleased you’re here, Gino. Really. Thanks for your help.’
‘Happy to.’ Gino got the bottle of wine and replenished their glasses.
When he returned, Ava looked at him hopefully. ‘Two boxes down. Can we stop now?’
Laughing, Gino pulled his phone from his pocket before scrolling through his messages and holding the screen up to Ava. On it was a message from Mary: Don’t let Ava give in too easily. I’ve seen that room!
‘Ha, what is she like?’ Ava sipped her wine.
‘A good friend.’ Gino smiled. ‘The room is looking a lot better. I’ve put clothes on the bed. Boxes against the wall, oh but I found an album in the bottom of the wardrobe. I think you should see it.’
‘What’s in it?’ Ava imagined more animal rescue pictures.
‘I only had a brief look but I’d say pictures of you. Unless you know some other child with freckles and wild red hair.’ Gino emphasised his point by motioning wild ringlets from his head.
Ava laughed. ‘Hmm, there’s only one of me.’
‘I’ll get it.’ Gino thudded up the stairs, returning just moments later with a spiral bound photo album. ‘I’ll leave you to look at it.’ He smiled, before going back upstairs.
Ava looked at the album, recognising it as one she had looked at many times, growing up.
Opening the brown cover, revealed a yellow edged page, centred on it was a picture of her as a baby, wrapped in her mum’s embrace, while her dad looked at them, the love evident in his eyes.
Ava smiled at the sight of the red hair and curls she had inherited.
It was one of only a few pictures of her with her dad; a tragic car accident having taken him from them when she was barely a toddler.
Her hand shaking, Ava turned the pages, careful not to dislodge the photographs as the plastic sheets came away from the once self-adhesive pages.
Before her, was a pictorial record of her childhood.
She was a freckle-faced, beaming girl, with unruly hair, often pictured outside: at the beach, in the woods, at Critters’ Lodge, and climbing trees.
She looked happy — her grin mischievous and her eyes, alive and eager.
Ava wondered when she had begun to carry the angst she had felt so keenly in her teenage years.
As she turned to the final page, a note secreted in the back, that she had never seen before, caused tears to well in her eyes and the air to escape her, as the sentiment of her mum’s words struck her.