Chapter 29 #2
Beside the hedgerow on the left-hand side of the property, there was a narrow public footpath.
I followed it around to the rear of the cottage and looked back at the house from this new angle.
The new people had put out patio furniture, and through the French doors, I could see that they were in the process of repainting the living room a deep forest green.
Aunt Lou had kept it the same shade of toast brown as long as I could remember.
It didn’t make me sad to see the house change.
Wherever Lou was now, she wasn’t in that house.
Neither was she hanging around the little Leaford graveyard where her headstone was.
I didn’t sense her in either of those places, but sometimes I thought I could feel her with me.
I’d only told Emma about it, and she’d nodded sagely and said that was to be expected.
Lou wasn’t tied to a stone or a house – but she would always be a part of me.
So why was I out here in the wet, poking around behind the cottage?
I suppose I just wanted to go back to a time when I knew for certain that someone had my back, whatever I decided.
Something I’d lost since losing her. Emma was the closest thing I had to that, but it was different with a friend.
Lou was like my second mother. Older and wiser and so kind and patient with me.
I wanted her back so badly. She’d have known exactly what to do.
I followed the footpath off into the woods, picking my way around the worst puddles of mud.
The woods out there were the site of so many of my favourite memories with Lou, from teddy-bear picnics and fairy hunts to building camps, animal watching and foraging.
We’d even camped out there a few times, though the land didn’t belong to Lou.
Just laid our sleeping bags out and watched the stars – sprinting back to the house in fits of giggles at two in the morning when it started to rain that one time.
I could see Lou in my head, the bells on her long skirt tinkling as she ran over the springy moss barefoot.
I found one of our camps in the far corner of the woods.
The area wasn’t very accessible and I had to climb a steep bank and slide down the other side to reach it.
That was probably why it hadn’t been disturbed much.
Though other people had definitely used it in the years since we’d built it.
There were a few rusty cans of beer and chunks of charred wood amongst the weeds from a long-extinguished fire.
But the camp was still standing. We’d built it like a wigwam, triangular and made of logs and branches leaning against each other.
The gaps were plugged with moss which had grown since we’d packed it in, making the whole structure green and velvety on the outside.
A bird had built a nest on top of it and white feathers were scattered over the surrounding clumps of dead bluebells.
Emma would have called them angel feathers.
I was just relieved to find part of my history with Lou still standing.
As I gathered the cans together to take away with me, as she would have done, it started to rain again.
Droplets rattled through the autumn leaves, striking the dirt heavily.
The air was thick with an approaching storm and the temperature was plummeting.
I ducked into the den itself and found that someone had left a log round in there as a seat.
Perched on it, I looked out at the rain as it lashed down through the trees.
Leaves fell with it and the undergrowth rustled with the ferocity of the rain.
It was surprisingly cosy, sitting there in the little hideout Lou and I had built together.
Mostly Lou, to be honest, as I must have only been thirteen or so when we built it.
The age was showing, some of the logs were rotting away to powder, breaking away under my nails, but those on the inside were holding up well.
I took my phone out and used the torch in the gloom.
Many, many people had decorated the inside of the camp with their initials, swear words and various graffiti marks, all carved into the logs or Sharpied on.
I had to really look for it, but I managed to find the first piece of graffiti that had graced its walls.
Lou had written our names and the year of construction in silver marker pen, her swirly handwriting standing out under a layer of other messages.
I touched the faded silver of her name and wished she was there for me to talk to.
But, even as I wished it, I realised something.
Possibly the thing that had drawn me all the way out here on a wet Sunday.
I’d been doing Lou a disservice over the past few weeks.
My aunt, who I loved so much, whose cottage had felt like home.
The woman who’d supported my dreams and shown me what it was to be good at something.
She’d given me my entire identity and yet, ever since Richard cheated on me, I’d been telling myself that ending up like Lou was the worst fate I could imagine.
Tears started to flow then. I was horrified at how I’d acted, the things I’d thought about that life in the privacy of my own head.
I hadn’t really connected them to Lou until I found myself sitting in the camp she’d built with me.
Who the hell was I to say that her life had been empty and sad without a husband or children of her own?
If anyone else had said it of her, I’d have stamped on their toes.
Aunt Lou had lived in a house so warm and full of love that it had become my escape.
She’d had so many hobbies and skills and had shared them with me, because they’d brought her so much joy.
She was never left sitting alone and sad, because she had so many friends, so many clubs and societies. Like the one where she’d met Gail.
All the memories I had of her, like building this camp, those were part of a life that hadn’t featured marriage or children of her own.
The kind of life I’d been going around thinking about as if it was the worst thing that could happen to me.
I was ashamed of myself then, looking at her curlicue writing.
Her life wasn’t the lesser of two options.
It wasn’t the absence of a man like Richard that had made it.
She had built it for herself, like this place.
Intentionally and proudly. Because it was what she wanted.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said aloud, to the dripping rain and creaking timbers. ‘I’ve been acting like a total melon, haven’t I?’
I could practically hear her laugh, and I already knew what she’d say.
Just a little. What are you doing out here in the rain? Come inside and get warmed up – tell me all about it and we’ll see what we can do.
‘What if there’s nothing to be done right this minute?’ I asked the air.
Well, then we’ll have a hot chocolate and not worry too much until tomorrow. And then we’ll see about getting things all straightened out, mmm? You’re a smart girl, you already know deep down what you need to do.
She was there with me. Not because I was in the camp or because I was near her house, but because I’d shut out all the clutter and buzz that made it hard to hear her soothing voice.
Aunt Lou was right, there was nothing I could do today.
Richard wouldn’t be back until so late that I’d already be asleep, and I wouldn’t be back at work until tomorrow.
I could take my business and my relationship by the horns tomorrow.
I knew what I wanted and it wasn’t Richard. If the options were Richard or being alone – I’d gladly take the latter. Of that I was completely certain.