Chapter Eleven
Sun flowed through the sitting room window, warming the back of Grace’s scalp, as if trying to apologize for last night’s torrential downpour.
She read the final words of The List of Suspicious Things, closed it, put the book on her lap and sighed.
Then she laughed out loud. How many times had she seen Frank do exactly the same thing?
She wished she could travel back to every single one of those moments and talk to him about how each book touched him.
When he laid his head back and closed his eyes, the finished novel on his knees, did he feel the bone-deep satisfaction she did now?
Did he experience the heart-thumping peril Grace had when little Miv was in danger, or the swoop of joy at the perfect ending?
She knew the answer. Of course he did. She would give anything to hear him talk about it now.
She considered the room, allowing herself to let some of the memories she’d suppressed to seep into her mind.
She recalled how they’d chosen the cream and orange fabric for the curtains together in the fabric shop in Bromley, and the way Frank clapped his hands when she brought home the French Louis XVI cocktail table for the corner.
Letting the memories out of the locked box in her head wasn’t as painful as she’d expected.
In that moment she felt closer to him than she had in a long time.
‘Right, what’s next?’ she said out loud, trying not to notice that her voice croaked through lack of use.
The escapism of reading such an engrossing story made her hungry for more.
The Clare Mackintosh book was on the side in the kitchen, and she was keen to get to it, but when she reached the bottom of the stairs, she was drawn into Frank’s study.
The door had remained wide open since the anniversary of his death, and it was now a comfort rather than a reminder of loss.
It was directly below the sitting room and light shone in through the sash window.
The oak tree outside cast dappled shadows across the shelves of books, like fluttering fingers trying to draw her attention to the spines.
She crossed to the far wall and cast her eye along the top shelf.
There were lots of Margret Atwood novels.
She’d watched the adaptation of The Handmaid’s Tale with Rosie last year and thought she might like to read some of Atwood’s books.
The woman clearly had her head screwed on right.
Which one to choose, though? She took a step back to look at the shelves, choice paralysis making her hands drop to her sides.
There were so many. And these were just the ones in Frank’s study.
The rest of the house was full of bookcases, and she couldn’t possibly get to all of them in the time she had left on this earth.
Overwhelmed, she turned to leave the room.
Last month she barely read a thing, now she wanted to read all of the books Frank had read and feel what he felt.
But there wasn’t enough time, and she didn’t know where to start.
She’d already let him down by not joining him in reading when he was alive and now she was doing it again.
As she moved towards the door, a shard of sunlight beamed on a low shelf to her left.
Her gaze followed it to a row of books by Thomas Hardy.
She’d read Return of the Native at school and remembered being full of admiration for the unconventional, passionate character of Eustacia Vye, harbouring a secret desire to be half as unique and enigmatic herself.
In retrospect, Grace wondered if she’d view Eustacia in the same light now.
She recollected her being selfish and demanding, traits she hardly thought admirable with the benefit of age and experience.
That was an interesting thought. How much does where we are in life when we read a book affect our interpretation of it?
Teenage Grace saw Eustacia as inspirational and was willing to overlook her flaws, or at least forgive them.
She suspected that if she reread the novel now, she would see her tempestuousness as indulgent and focus on the impact her actions had on others.
How she wished she could discuss that with Frank.
He’d have been so proud she was following in his footsteps.
She went to pick out the book, but then she saw another Hardy novel, Jude the Obscure.
Her mind tripped back in time. She and Frank were standing next to Rosie who was sitting up in bed in Queen Mary’s Hospital.
She was flushed pink, her eyes bright as she looked down at the newborn baby in her arms. Paz stood at the other side of the bed, awe written all over his lovely face.
‘He’s just so beautiful,’ said Frank, gazing down at the bundle wrapped in a soft white blanket. Tears welled in his eyes. ‘I’ve never seen a bonnier baby.’
Grace agreed. She thought most babies looked like Churchill, but not her grandson.
At that moment he opened his huge brown eyes and Grace thought her heart might burst. ‘What’s his name?
’ The couple played their cards very close to their chest regarding the names they were considering.
Rosie’s argument was that everyone had an opinion during the pregnancy and didn’t mind telling you how awful your choices were, but they kept their traps shut if they learned the name after the baby was born.
No one was going to say, ‘Uriah, that’s a bloody awful name, sounds like urine, and don’t get me started on Virginia,’ when looking down at someone’s living, breathing bundle of joy.
She made a good point, although Grace sincerely hoped this beautiful baby wasn’t called Uriah.
Rosie glanced at Paz, who gave a smiling nod, then turned her attention to her father. ‘Who’s your favourite fictional character, Dad?’
Frank didn’t take his eyes off the baby. ‘You know who it is. Jude from Jude the Obscure.’ His voice wavered with emotion.
‘And why is that?’ said Rosie, stroking the black curls on the baby’s head.
Frank laughed. ‘You’ve heard it enough times. You know why.’
‘But the baby doesn’t,’ said Rosie. ‘Go on, humour me.’
Frank rolled his eyes, but his face was fixed in a shy smile. ‘Because Jude is hardworking and determined and he doesn’t let his background or societal conventions get in the way of what he’s striving for.’
‘Like you and Mum,’ said Rosie. She knew all about her parents’ working-class backgrounds, and how hard they’d both studied to get to university and to build the life they had for their family.
‘And we want this little man to have the same attributes.’ She kissed the baby’s forehead. ‘So, we’re calling him Jude.’
‘Oh, love,’ said Grace. ‘It’s perfect.’
‘We just hope he gets a better ending, a better life come to that,’ laughed Paz. ‘Naming a baby after a tragedy does seem like tempting fate.’
‘No harm will ever come to our Jude while there’s breath left in my body,’ said Frank, slashing tears off his cheeks with his big hands. ‘Welcome to the world, young Jude. I am so very, very glad you’re here.’
Holding the book in her hands, Grace was pumped through with the same love for her family she’d felt back then.
At least Frank had lived to see Jude graduate.
He’d been so incredibly proud of his grandson, who’d more than lived up to the attributes Frank admired.
She turned the book over to examine the abstract cover illustration of a river snaking through a valley leading to hills and the sun against a cobalt sky.
She went straight over to Frank’s chair and started to read.
***
Why the hell had she started reading that book?
It was harrowing. Yes, Jude was the hardworking character Frank described, but what he went through was tragic, and, oh, those poor children.
By the end Grace felt hollowed out. What the novel said about the institution of marriage was damning too.
She found herself wondering if those were secretly Frank’s views.
She gave her head a shake. Of course not.
She was looking for problems where there were none because of how the novel left her feeling.
If this was what reading was, she was right to have given it a miss.
Her phone dinged with a message. It was from Annie. In the week and a half Grace had spent reading Jude the Obscure she’d managed to avoid thinking about the fact she’d agreed to go along to the book club again.
Looking forward to seeing you on Wednesday! x
The exclamation mark and kiss at the end made Grace smile despite her dark mood.
It seemed so Annie. That thought surprised her.
How long was it since she had said something was ‘so’ someone?
Too long. Being an introvert was never a problem when Frank was alive.
When one half of a couple shone so brightly, there was no need for the other to step out from behind them if they felt safer there.
But now there was no Frank-sized shadow for her to hide in. The whole world was a shadow, and unless she searched for some light, the darkness might consume her. Even if book club wasn’t ideal, meeting Annie had brightened her days. She would go again.
Looking forward to seeing you too. X
An exclamation mark might be a step too far, but the kiss she put on the end before pressing send was real.