Chapter 17 #2
‘I have no idea,’ she said truthfully. ‘I haven’t even thought about it and besides, it’s not my decision to make – I’m here under Willow and Rowan’s continued blessing. I didn’t exactly plan to come here in the first place.’
‘But now that you have…? You don’t regret it, do you?’
Gemma’s cheeks began to burn. ‘Regret’s a harsh word, Leo…
I had no expectations coming here, but it’s beautiful and I hadn’t realised how much I missed being outside.
But beyond that? I don’t know. I have no clue what my life is right now, not really.
It’s just been me and my four walls, pretty much, for months, and there’s been no room for anything else.
’ She didn’t want to mention June’s name, not today.
‘I really don’t know where I go from here. ’
He studied her face for a moment. ‘There’s no rush,’ he said. ‘There’s time here, Gemma. That’s what I’ve learned since I arrived. Time to work things out. It’ll come.’
He smiled and turned to open the door, something which Gemma, who was now staring at his back in surprise, was very grateful for. She had no desire for him to see her face, so she followed him in, keeping her head low.
With her brain still mulling over his words, it took her a moment to process the scene in front of her.
The kitchen table, which was often covered in a random assortment of things at this time of the day, had been cleared, and place settings laid.
A posy of flowers stood in the one where she habitually sat and several plates and bowls filled the rest of the space.
In the table’s centre was a cake stand – a lovely old-fashioned thing with painted flowers and gilded edges – and on it stood the most beautiful cake, decorated with fresh cream and raspberries.
And then Willow was there, pulling Gemma into a tight hug before leading her to the table.
‘We couldn’t let the day go by ignored,’ she said. ‘Leo told us it was your special day – I hope you don’t mind. Happy birthday, Gemma.’
Gemma looked between Willow and Leo, the table and Rowan, who was leaning up against the sink, smiling broadly.
How could she possibly mind? They had gone to so much trouble and looked so happy for her.
Her nose was beginning to smart, the first sign of tears, and she blinked rapidly, picking up the flowers. She inhaled their sweet scent.
‘These are beautiful, really… Thank you so much.’ Larkspur and carnations, tiny sprays of daisies and velvety roses – all flowers which Flora would have grown in her garden. They had been a deliberate choice, of that she was certain.
‘I don’t know what to say. I really wasn’t expecting any of this.’
‘Well, you’re very naughty not to tell us,’ said Rowan. ‘Every little thing should be celebrated.’
She had no idea whether Leo would have also mentioned her mum’s birthday, and Rowan’s expression gave nothing away, but that was okay. She could celebrate for both of them.
‘Come and sit down,’ said Willow. ‘But before we eat I want to give you something.’ She reached down to the seat of her own chair. ‘This is only a very small something, but…’ She passed across a parcel wrapped in brown paper. It was soft and squidgy and Gemma had no idea what it could be.
‘I wasn’t sure whether this is something you’ve ever done…
but if it isn’t then I’d be very happy to teach you.
’ She waited while Gemma pulled on the present’s string bow, letting the paper open to reveal a ball of wool.
Spun from the softest yarn, it felt like a cloud, and was coloured the most beautiful duck-egg blue.
‘There’s enough there for a pair of socks,’ added Willow.
‘And they’re not as fiddly as most people think.
I thought starting small might be a good idea. ’
An image filled Gemma’s head – of the cosy sitting room, with the log fire burning bright, the curtains closed against a wintry night and a mug of hot chocolate steaming on the table beside them, and Gemma was incredibly touched that this might be the image inside Willow’s head, too.
That she might see the two of them sitting together months from now.
It spoke of a future which she was only now beginning to catch glimpses of.
‘I think I was about fourteen the last time I tried to knit,’ said Gemma. ‘It didn’t end well… But I’d love to learn. I have a feeling you’d be a very patient teacher.’ She held the ball of wool against her cheek. ‘Thank you. This is such a thoughtful idea.’
Rowan joined them at the table, his eyes seeking out Gemma’s, twinkling with pleasure. It wasn’t just Willow; this meant a lot to him, too. ‘Right, tuck in. I’m starving, and the sooner we eat this lot, the sooner we get to the cake.’
There was a homemade quiche, Glamorgan sausages with a spicy mustard dip which complemented their creamy leek and cheese filling perfectly, poppy-seed crackers and Stilton so strong it almost took the roof of your mouth off (which was just the way Gemma liked it).
Bowls of salad had been picked fresh from the greenhouses, and a herby loaf was still warm from the oven.
She could detect both Willow and Rowan’s hand in the making of the feast, but quite when it had happened she couldn’t fathom.
That it had, touched her beyond measure.