Chapter Twenty-Three
‘Oh Mum, she’s lovely,’ Ella smiled.
My youngest dipped her shortbread in her tea, then regarded Bess fondly. The three of us were at the Bluebell Café, having completed a mile-long loop around the woods. We were now enjoying a cuppa.
Bess was working her way through a bone-shaped biscuit. The café baked a batch every day for visiting dogs. I was reminded of the last two times I’d been here. With Dylan, of course. Momentarily distracted, I scanned the outside seating area, half-hoping to see him here with Charlie. However, there was no sign of him, and I felt a frisson of disappointment.
‘Who are you looking for?’ asked Ella.
‘No one,’ I said quickly. ‘Anyway, I’m glad you approve of Bess.’
‘She’s utterly gorgeous,’ Ella nodded. ‘How on earth did you manage to choose one dog from so many?’
‘It was tough,’ I admitted. Dylan once again popped into my head. I could see him now, touching his heart. You feel it here, he’d said. He’d been right. ‘I noticed Bess because she looked so depressed. Her owner had died.’
‘Bereavement,’ Ella acknowledged. ‘Yes, you both have that in common.’
‘Indeed,’ I said. ‘She looked like she’d given up all hope.’
‘But not anymore,’ Ella observed. ‘In fact, she looks pretty perky to me.’ My daughter’s eyes swivelled to me. ‘Like you. Is it the dog that’s put a spring in your step? Or is it something else – that you’re not sharing?’ she added.
I flushed, and hoped Ella didn’t spot it.
‘Just Bess,’ I muttered.
Fortunately, Ella didn’t further question my perkiness. In fact, what she said next, rather took the wind out of my billowing sails.
‘I don’t mind admitting, Mum, that after Dad died, you gave us all a bit of a scare.’
‘What do you mean?’ I frowned.
‘Well, obviously, Dad’s sudden departure was a terrible shock. It hit us all hard. Dad was here one minute – larger than life – then gone the next. It was awful. I think we were all a bit traumatised, one way or another. After all, it’s a harsh reminder that there’s a thin line between this world and the next.’
‘Agreed,’ I nodded.
‘But… don’t take this the wrong way…’
‘Go on,’ I huffed. I steeled myself for a lecture of some sort.
‘It’s just that… well, me, Ruby and Tim… although we found the bereavement hard… we didn’t sink.’
My frown deepened.
‘I didn’t sink,’ I protested. ‘I got on with life. I had no choice. My goodness, there was a diary full of photographic appointments for starters. I could hardly let my brides down. And, work aside, I’ve had two elderly parents keeping me on my toes. I haven’t had the luxury of being able to retreat from the world.’
‘Message received, loud and clear.’ Ella flapped a hand in a conciliatory manner. ‘Maybe I didn’t phrase my words properly. Perhaps I should have instead said you seemed to lose the plot. Just a bit,’ she added, as if those last three words softened the blow of the previous ones.
My frown was replaced with astonishment. I gaped at my daughter.
‘Lose the plot?’ I repeated. ‘In what way?’
Ella paused for a moment. Dunked her biscuit again. Looked thoughtful as she sucked up soggy shortbread. When she next spoke, her voice was soft.
‘All those framed photographs, Mum. They were everywhere. All over the sideboard. In the lounge. On the coffee table. More in the kitchen. From worktop to windowsill. Then there was the collection in your study. I counted six on your desk alone. Not forgetting your bedroom. Tim made a bet that you’d get a life-sized cardboard effigy of Dad. And the way you spoke to Dad. As if he were still there. Asking his opinion about this, that and the other. And then the way you’d pause, as if hearing him answer. It was unnerving. We were worried about, you know, your mental health.’
‘I see,’ I nodded. I wasn’t going to confess that I still spoke to Greg, albeit in my head rather than out loud. ‘So, you thought your old mum had gone bonkers.’
She popped the last of the shortbread in her mouth.
‘You’re offended,’ she said.
I shrugged.
‘Okay, maybe I was a bit… odd.’
‘Mum, you were downright weird.’
‘So are you inferring that I’m no longer weird, or just a little weird?’
‘Let’s just say that we’re happy to see you’ve decluttered the photographic display. What are you down to? One in each room?’
‘Yes,’ I lied.
I wasn’t going to mention the pics still on my dressing table. There had been a time when I’d taken one of them to bed. Hugged it for months. It was Greg and me on our wedding day. Happy. Carefree. I’d thought we’d have decades together. Celebrate our one-hundredth birthday together.
I’d only recently stopped hugging the photograph – mainly on account of rolling on it while sleeping. My torso had cracked the glass. It was a wonder I’d not cut myself.
‘We all miss Dad,’ said Ella gently.
I lowered my eyes, so she didn’t spot their sudden watery sheen.
‘Of course,’ I agreed.
‘But life goes on,’ she added. ‘And we must all move on with it.’
I blinked. Looked up sharply. Gazed at this daughter of mine. Such wise words for one still so young. Also, those words had very recently been imparted by someone else. Greg.
He’d teased me about meeting Dylan. Told me I was allowed to befriend other guys. That it was called moving on. Not that I’d tell Ella about that conversation. After all, I didn’t want my daughter thinking I was having a weird relapse.