Chapter Three
‘So then, International Woman of Mystery,’ said Rosie, while moving the empty dishes from the table to the kitchen island. ‘Where have you been the last few times I’ve called around? You’re never in these days.’
‘I wouldn’t be mysterious if I told you, would I?
’ Grace was glad Rosie was now busily stacking the dishwasher so she didn’t have to look her in the eye.
If she had the first clue her mother was mooching around Chislehurst, avoiding being at home so Rosie didn’t worry about her, all her efforts would be in vain.
She poured the remainder of the champagne into their glasses and watched the bubbles rise and burst on the surface.
‘Seriously, though, what have you been up to?’ Rosie clearly wasn’t going to let it drop. She set the dishwasher on its cycle, then came back to the table, wiping her hands on a tea towel. She eyed Grace inquisitively.
‘I’ve taken up walking,’ said Grace, surprising herself.
‘Walking?’
Grace was oddly offended by the incredulity on Rosie’s face. She was walking, even if it was in an aimlessly wandering the streets kind of way. ‘Yes, walking.’
‘Where?’
Grace opened her arms wide. ‘We’re surrounded by ponds, commons and National Trust parkland.
I can’t believe I’ve never taken full advantage of it before.
All this open space and so close to London, who knew?
I’m making the most of the area. Love where you live and all that.
’ She was quite impressed with her speech. It sounded suitably convincing.
‘I know how beautiful it is,’ said Rosie. ‘Half of my last exhibition were photos of the moat house in Scadbury.’
‘Oh, yes. That was some of your best work,’ said Grace, glad for the opportunity to change the subject.
‘And that entire wall of pictures of the Egyptian geese from egg to adulthood was gorgeous. I wouldn’t mind a print of that one with the sunset over Prickend Pond, actually. It would look lovely in—’
‘Who do you walk with?’ Rosie interrupted, eyebrows furrowed.
‘Why do I need to walk with someone?’ Grace said, tense now her diversion had been thwarted. She was feeling increasingly indignant at her daughter’s questions, which she knew was ridiculous since she was making it up as she went along.
‘I suppose I just thought you’d be out with friends.’ The disappointment on her face hurt Grace’s heart.
‘Sweetheart, you know I’m happy in my own company.’ Happy was a bit of a stretch, especially since she couldn’t remember how happiness actually felt. She’d meant to sound reassuring, but it came out guarded. The dishwasher clunked then hummed.
‘I know, but …’
‘I’m not like your dad. I don’t need to surround myself with people.’
‘Dad didn’t surround himself with people, as well you know. He had a finite social battery and needed down time as much as anyone, but he had a healthy social life.’
She couldn’t argue with that. ‘So, you’re saying I’m unhealthy?
’ Grace was on the defensive and she didn’t really know why.
In truth she wished she was more like Frank.
If she had his easy way, his jovial, welcoming demeanour that turned strangers into friends on first meeting, maybe she wouldn’t feel like her world had shrunk to these rain-spattered glass walls.
‘No, of course not. I just think … surely you’d like some company now and again?’
Grace dropped her shoulders and assessed how honest she could be without worrying Rosie.
What she really wanted to say was, I want your dad back, and nothing on this earth will make life without him bearable.
My house is empty, my bed is cold and each day is a chasm of time without him which I have no choice but to fill.
Instead she said, ‘I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to see one or two people now and again.
’ She sipped her drink, searching her brain for a random name to keep Rosie off her back.
‘I’ll pop in and see Sharon at the florist’s, if it will make you happy. She always likes a chat.’
When Rosie breathed in deeply through her nose, Grace knew she’d said the wrong thing.
She waited for the exasperated tone she’d become accustomed to – it was the same one she’d used with Rosie when she was younger.
When had the tables turned? ‘Sharon hasn’t worked at the florist for two years,’ Rosie said.
‘Not since her boyfriend complained about the varicose veins she got from standing up all day. She’s on the tills at …
’ She looked out at the garden as if trying to remember, then gave up.
‘Oh, I can’t remember where Sharon took her varicose veins off to, but honestly, Mum, if that’s your idea of catching up with a friend, then things are more serious than I thought. ’
‘I have friends,’ said Grace, thinking of all the people she kept up with from her past on the internet.
‘I’m not suggesting you don’t, but messaging university friends on Facebook wouldn’t be enough to sustain most people.’
It was as if her daughter could read her mind. Once again her brain formulated the truth, that Frank was all the company she’d needed, and now he was gone. And that fact was a wound that would never heal. ‘I’m not most people.’
‘You can say that again.’ Rosie dropped the tea towel on the table and ran her hand over her face. ‘Sorry. I worry about you, that’s all. Human interaction is a basic need. If you’re either here or out walking on your own, then I’m not sure that’s good for your mental wellbeing. I worry—’
‘Please don’t worry about me or my mental wellbeing.
Honestly, I can’t imagine ever concerning myself with my mother’s mental wellbeing.
We all just used to get on with it.’ Grace glanced across at Jude.
He was looking down at the table. Her jaw clenched tight when she realized how that sounded.
‘I mean …’ She faltered, searching for the right words.
How could she have been so insensitive? ‘I don’t mean we should all just get on with it, not like that.
Mental health matters, obviously. And anxiety is …
your grandpa used to suffer with it, you know.
You’d never think it when he was being the life and soul of the party, but he’d lie in bed, wide awake, over-thinking everything he’d said and done. ’
‘It’s all right,’ said Jude. ‘You don’t need to—’
‘I didn’t mean that your anxiety wasn’t … isn’t real,’ Grace said. If she was perfectly honest, she thought that was what they should all be more concerned about, not this ADHD business.
‘You can stop digging. Of course Jude knows you sympathize with him, and we’re hoping the meds will help with his anxiety,’ Rosie said.
Grace didn’t see how that could possibly be the case, but she was too frightened about saying the wrong thing or appearing negative to say so.
Jude was smiling. ‘Yeah, course. Honestly Grandma, it’s all good. But Mum’s right. It’s important to spend time with other people. They reckon social interaction slows down brain disease, you know?’
Were they worried she was going doolally? Guilt washed through her as soon as the word appeared in her mind. She really should try harder to use the right terminology for going mad with loneliness. Was she allowed to say mad? Probably not.
‘I’ve got an idea,’ said Jude.
They both turned to him. ‘Go on,’ said Rosie.
He focused on Grace. ‘Just hear me out before you say anything, okay?’
She nodded, already feeling the muscles in her shoulders tighten.
‘You know how much Grandpa loved his book club?’
‘Yes, but I—’ Jude held a finger in the air to silence her. She slumped back in her seat and waited for him to finish.
‘And you know I went along with him a few times when I was at uni?’
Grace and Rosie nodded.
‘Well, they’re a nice group of people, and there’s a meeting at Books En Parade the day after tomorrow. I think you should go.’
‘I can’t go to a book group when I haven’t read the book.’ The idea was preposterous. It was also inconceivable. She’d avoided that place for ten years when Frank was alive, so she couldn’t just waltz in there now.
‘It doesn’t matter. You don’t have to.’
‘What kind of book group is it, if you don’t have to have read a novel? Isn’t that the point?’
‘Surely Grandpa told you about it?’
‘I asked if he’d had a nice time, and he always said he had.
That was about it, really.’ She didn’t add that Frank had tried to get her to join him so often when he first started the book club that she’d ended up telling him, possibly too firmly, that she’d rather he didn’t mention it again.
After that it had become a bit of a taboo between them.
She’d tried to explain to him how much it hurt her to see the old antiques shop where she used to work converted into something new, even if it was the bookshop Frank loved.
He argued that change was inevitable, and she had to adapt, but it wasn’t as simple as that.
Change was hard. She’d given years of her life to that place and when she saw the skip outside during the refurbishment it felt like her memories were being turfed out along with the fixtures and fittings.
She knew harbouring resentment towards bricks and mortar was foolish, but she couldn’t help the way she felt.
Grace glanced at the black and white wedding picture in a tarnished silver frame that hung on the kitchen wall.
In it she and Frank were walking down the steps of Islington Registry Office after their small wedding ceremony.
They were in silhouette, their faces turned to each other, light from outside catching their loving smiles.
Any group Frank set up would be inclusive and friendly, she knew that.
But even that didn’t make her want to set foot in the place. ‘I’m not much of a reader,’ she said.
‘Mother.’ Rosie’s tone told Grace she was in trouble. ‘You always read on holiday, and anyway you should push yourself out of your comfort zone. An open and flexible mind is a youthful mind.’
An image of her grey matter unfurling into a downward-facing dog appeared in Grace’s mind’s eye, but try as she might, Grace couldn’t argue that her brain was flexible while still holding a preposterous decade-long grudge against a building.
She raised her eyes to the underside of the piano and sighed. ‘I am open-minded.’
‘Then try it out. Just once. If you don’t like it, you don’t have to go again. Go on, for us? We worry about you spending so much time on your own.’
Grace was cornered and she knew it. The one thing she had wanted to avoid was Rosie and Jude worrying about her.
‘I already know it’s not going to be my kind of thing.
Maybe I could find something that’s more me.
’ She didn’t add that it seemed like a betrayal to go along when she’d refused all Frank’s invitations, even though he’d given up asking years ago.
And what would be more her? An antiques club, where everyone gathered in a warehouse and took turns to check inside wardrobes for wood worm?
‘Everyone at book club loved Grandpa,’ said Jude. ‘If nothing else, you’d get to spend time with people who knew him and cared about him.’
She hadn’t thought of it like that. Maybe it wouldn’t be a betrayal.
Perhaps it was a way to keep a part of him alive for longer, and she wanted that more than anything else in the world; even more than she wanted to avoid that treacherous building.
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Have it your way. The day after tomorrow I’ll give it a go. ’