Chapter 25
TWENTY-FIVE
WREN
Wren stood in front of the Community Kitchen, steeling herself to go inside. The building was the same, but since the last time she was here, almost everything she felt about it had changed. Only a few weeks ago, the Kitchen had inspired her work, leaving her fascinated by the sense of community and the incredible women that kept it all going. She’d been writing a love story to the place. Now it felt like a tragedy. Edie was gone, and the story about her own mam had seemingly died with her, until her dad had finally told her the truth. So now the Kitchen was like hallowed ground in a way. It held the ghosts of both Edie and her mother.
She stood up straighter and walked inside. It was packed with people – the request that anyone other than close friends and family come to the wake rather than the funeral service seemed to have been a very good plan. She could see nothing but the heads and shoulders of people around her. The mood was a mix of sombre and celebratory; people were dressed appropriately in black, grey and navy, but there was a band tuning up on the raised platform she’d last seen at the anniversary party.
Wren filtered through the crowd saying hello to the odd person she was familiar with, nodding and smiling politely to those she wasn’t. She reminded herself she was partly here for work and tapped a few notes into her phone about the atmosphere. Zara was expecting a nice little article about Edie’s legacy, although how Wren could summarise that, she had no idea.
She came across Cath and Ailsa, who looked drawn and tired but were still raising a smile for everyone. A skill they’d honed over the years, no doubt, always putting others first. Wren wondered what would happen to the Kitchen now that Edie was gone – who would be in charge? Obviously, it was the wrong time to ask, so she settled for platitudes and kind words instead.
Finally, she found herself at the photo wall, where she’d once scoured the pictures for an image of her mam and come up with nothing. It was quiet there, so she stood looking at the wall, dangling her glass of warm wine in her hand. So many people. It was no wonder her mam had blended into the crowd.
So now she knew. Her mam hadn’t been a volunteer here or a friend of Edie’s. She’d been one of the people Edie had tried, and failed, to help. One of her sad stories that she didn’t like to talk about. The back of Wren’s throat felt hot, and the photographs swam in front of her eyes as she thought about how close she’d been to hearing it from Edie herself. Maybe Edie hadn’t known what to say or had been bound by some code of confidentiality, but that letter she’d received, saying Edie was ready to talk, had come just a little too late. At least it had spurred her dad on to tell her the truth though, and she supposed she had Edie to thank for that.
She reached into her handbag and pulled out the snow globe she’d bought for Edie in Italy. Snow was falling on the little lighthouse and miniature grottoes inside. The cave mouths reminded her of Nick, another person who was gone from her life. She wasn’t sure why she’d brought it with her. She’d considered leaving it here, since it was meant for Edie anyway. But who would be bothered about a random trinket brought back from Wren’s holiday? Now that Edie was gone, it was meaningless. She shook the snowflakes into a vortex one more time and slipped it back into her bag.
Wiping her eyes, she coughed away the tight feeling in her throat. Again, she reminded herself she had a job to do and forced herself to nudge through the assembled crowd, asking people to give her quotes about Edie. It grew progressively harder, as she was hemmed in on all sides, speaking to people almost nose to nose, and then the band struck up the first few chords of ‘I’ll Be There for You’ by The Rembrandts. She soldiered on, undeterred by the commotion of someone yelling a name over the music. Rudy? Ruby ? It was verging on chaos in there.
She was just typing some notes into her phone when the screen lit brighter and vibrated in her hand. A call from Libby. She answered it.
‘Wren! My waters have broken all over the shop floor. What shall I do?’
Wren’s chest spiked with adrenaline as she heard the muffled tones of Jenson in the background, complaining about the mess. This was followed by the slightly less muffled tones of Libby telling him to ‘Grow the fuck up – it’s only amniotic fluid.’
‘Lib, stay where you are,’ Wren barked down the phone. ‘I’ll be right there, and I’ll drive you to hospital.’
‘Thanks, Wren,’ she said, laughing nervously. ‘I don’t fancy getting a backer on Jenson’s penny-farthing if the contractions start.’
Wren stuffed her phone into her bag and started to shove through the crowd to the main door, but there was a group of young lads, half-cut, half-tearful, swaying arm in arm to the band. Groaning, she changed course then remembered she could try going out the back way, past the kitchen and staff toilets. That route was clearer, and before long she emerged into the cooler air of the corridor, blinking in the dim light. A door was open, half-blocking the thoroughfare, so she bustled past it, slamming it closed. A few moments later, she was in her car and driving as fast as she dared back to Cravenwick.
Wren arrived to the sight of a whey-faced Jenson, pulling hard on a menthol cigarette against the shop window. He looked like he would forever be haunted by the harrowing things he’d just witnessed. She rushed through the door to find Libby sitting on a pile of paper carrier bags on the shop sofa. She looked up bleakly, holding the edges of the sofa cushions with white knuckles.
‘I never thought I’d see the day I wanted plastic carrier bags baaaaack…’ she wailed as a wave of pain rolled over her, squeezing her eyes shut and segueing into a long moan.
‘Contractions started then?’
Libby nodded, lips pressed together, until it passed. Then, as night turns to day, her face relaxed, and she and Wren locked eyes. They both burst into nervous laughter.
‘There’s going to be an actual baby coming out of me very soon,’ snorted Libby.
‘You can’t keep the bump forever, no matter how much it suits you. But isn’t it a bit early?’
‘Two weeks.’
Wren swallowed. Was that something to worry about?
‘It’s fine. I think.’ Libby had read her mind. ‘But I’d rather do this with a smidgeon of medical assistance…’
Wren snapped to attention. ‘God. Yes. So let’s get in the car.’
‘Can you get the hospital bag?’ Libby asked as her face started to contort again.
As Wren ran up the stairs, Libby yelled in pain. In the bedroom was a zipped-up travel bag with some medical notes on top – surprisingly organised for her. Wren snatched it up then ran back downstairs. Libby staggered to the car and eased herself into the passenger seat.
‘Come on then – let’s go,’ said Wren with a smile. She was starting to feel a little excited about the impending birth. Auntie Wren. It had a ring to it. She turned the key in the ignition.
Nothing. Not even a splutter, or a whirr. She tried again. Complete silence.
Wren turned slowly to face Libby, who, despite the pain she was in, managed to look wryly amused.
‘Well, isn’t that awkward timing?’ she said before being consumed by another searing contraction.
Wren bolted from the car. ‘Fuck,’ she whispered, pulling her phone from her pocket. Were you allowed to ring an ambulance for this? Or a taxi? Did they charge extra for a clean-up fee? Jenson looked on unhelpfully. Wren made a snap decision and started scrolling for taxi numbers, and was just about to dial a number when a car pulled up to the kerb.
‘You okay, Wren?’ Alex asked, climbing out of the driver’s seat of his Audi.
Wren froze. What the hell was he doing here? But then, in her state of mild panic, she remembered the time and realised he was on his way home from an early shift. She nodded to the car, and he looked inside. Libby gave a stoic wave.
‘She’s in labour?’ he said, his eyes widening.
‘Yep. And my sodding car won’t start.’
‘Right. Well, I can take you to the hospital. Come on – let’s switch her over.’
Wren hesitated. She didn’t want to get tangled up with Alex again, not right now. But taking one look at Libby’s contorted face in her useless car, she realised it was the best option she had. A taxi could take a while to come, and an ambulance might be overkill. So she nodded and helped hoist Libby from one car to the other.
Alex took one look at the sodden paper bags that Libby tried to put on his rear passenger seat and produced a massive Sports Direct bag for life instead. Always resourceful, not to mention very protective of his fancy car, Wren thought as she slid into the other side. But she was also grateful that he’d happened to show up at just the right time.
As they sped out of Cravenwick towards Hexham General Hospital, she thought that fate was a funny thing. Alex turning up out of the blue reminded her of how Nick had been there, standing on the marina just when she’d needed him. She realised that although she needed Alex right now, it was purely practical, a favour accepted. But Nick had felt like he was written in her stars.