Chapter Twenty-Four
I’d told Rhys I would be visiting family that afternoon, and suddenly it felt important to turn the lie into truth.
There’d been too many flowers in the bouquet to fit in the vase, so I bundled the remainder up in their cellophane wrapper. They were tucked beneath my arm as my feet followed the familiar pathway that led to the only family I had in the world.
‘Hey, Mum,’ I said, no longer feeling self-conscious saying the words out loud as my fingertips grazed along the cool, smooth black granite headstone.
I adjusted my sunglasses more comfortably on my nose and scanned the immediate vicinity. It was a sunny Saturday afternoon, and the cemetery was much busier than usual, but I could see no distinguished-looking silver-haired gentleman among the clusters of visitors.
What I did see, however, was evidence that Henry had been there since my last visit. Discreetly positioned behind my mother’s headstone was a brand-new bright red watering can. It was a thoughtful gesture and said a lot about the man who had left it there.
The can was conveniently full of water, so after giving the peonies a generous drink, I dropped the flowers inside it and positioned it beneath the gold engraving of Mum’s name.
She’d always been house-proud, even when the homes we’d lived in hadn’t been the kind of place anyone would be proud of.
She’d made the best of even the shabbiest one-room accommodation, working endless hours of overtime until she could upgrade us to something better.
Having one of the most attractive plots in the cemetery would definitely have met with her approval. It was very her.
‘Ahh, I see you found the watering can.’
My eyes flew open behind my sunglasses. I hadn’t heard him approach, but the sun was warm and the bench had been surprisingly comfortable. It wasn’t like me to take an afternoon nap, but then a lot of things in my life weren’t like me these days.
‘Hello, Henry. It’s nice to see you again.’
‘And you, my dear,’ he said, taking a seat on what I was fast coming to think of as his end of the bench.
‘Those are very exotic,’ Henry observed, his gaze going to the flowers in the red watering can.
‘Someone sent me a bouquet, so I thought I’d share it with Mum.’
‘That’s a nice thing to do. I’m sure she would have liked that.’
It was a sweet thing to say, and even though he hadn’t known her, he was one hundred per cent on the money. Mum would have liked it.
‘Are they from an admirer?’
I think he was teasing me, but I rather liked that.
‘No, just a friend,’ I said firmly.
‘Orchids speak the language of love, you know,’ Henry said, his voice still playful.
I shook my head. ‘These ones don’t.’
My response must have sounded more abrupt than I’d intended, because my new friend looked instantly contrite. ‘I’m sorry, Ellie. I didn’t mean to offend you.’
I gave him a reassuring smile. ‘You didn’t. I don’t think anything you say could ever do that.’
For a micro-second I thought he looked troubled, but then I blinked, and his usual affable expression was back in place.
For two people who hardly knew each other, we got on remarkably well.
Henry was a good conversationalist and had a host of amusing stories about his days as a teacher, which I swapped with some about being an estate agent.
He was a really good listener, asked excellent questions about the industry and how I’d set up my own business.
He seemed genuinely fascinated by every aspect of my job and was either incredibly polite or a very good actor.
‘Your mother must have been very proud of all that you’ve achieved,’ he said, his head inclining gently towards the woman who I’d tried so hard to please yet somehow had never quite managed to do so.
‘I’m not sure. Mum wasn’t one for handing out praise.’
Henry’s brow furrowed as though I’d said something quite unexpected. But then he hadn’t known her. He’d look far less surprised if he had.
‘She gave me the drive to succeed,’ I conceded thoughtfully. ‘I just think I took things a little too far and dropped too many balls along the way.’ I glanced towards the granite headstone. ‘But I can’t blame her for that. That one’s on me.’
‘Perhaps the fault doesn’t lie with either of you,’ Henry said thoughtfully. ‘Perhaps there are other mitigating factors.’
I shook my head. ‘None that I know of.’
We chatted until the sun slipped lower in the sky and the shadows on the grass grew longer.
There hadn’t been a single awkward silence or conversational lull as we hopped seamlessly from one topic to another and I could happily have stayed talking to him for hours, but it was growing late and I got the feeling he wanted to be on his way.
‘I should go now and let you have a little alone time to chat to your mother,’ he said, getting to his feet.
‘Is that what you do when you come to visit Bee? Do you talk to her?’
‘Always.’
Something deep inside my heart stirred at the sadness in his voice.
‘You see, there’s still so much I have to say to her. So many things I want to share. I know I could talk to her anywhere – and of course I do – but there’s something special about speaking to her here. It feels more meaningful.’
‘Have you told her about meeting me?’
I had no idea what made me ask that question, or why its answer suddenly felt important.
‘It was one of the first things we spoke about after I met you.’
I liked that, and yet I had no idea why.
‘You should try talking to your mother.’
‘I will,’ I said. ‘Although I doubt if she’ll be any more forthcoming with her answers than she was when she was alive.’
I came very close to slapping a hand over my mouth, as though those words should never have been spoken.
‘There are questions you never asked her when she was alive?’
I smiled wryly. ‘Oh, I asked the questions. Many, many times. I just never got any straight answers.’
‘What were you enquiring about – if that’s not too personal a question.’
It was way too personal, but I’d been the one to unlock this normally secure vault. I had no one to blame except myself for his curiosity.
‘Mainly about my father.’
Henry’s eyes looked troubled, and I suspected he might be regretting following me down this road.
‘What did you want to know?’
‘Oh, you know, the usual kind of things. Who the hell he was? What did he do that was so terrible it made my mother send him away.’ The lump was right there in my throat, making it almost impossible to finish. ‘And why he never came back to see me. Not once. Not ever.’
The kind, compassionate expression on Henry’s face froze, as though he didn’t quite know what to do with so much honesty.
‘All she ever said was that we were better off without him.’
‘That must have been very hard to hear,’ Henry said.
I gave a shrug that failed miserably at appearing nonchalant.
‘Mum said you couldn’t miss what you never had.’
I looked towards the grave as though we were once again in the middle of the same old argument we’d had so many times during my adolescence.
‘No disrespect to your mother, but I think she was wrong,’ Henry said firmly. I turned towards him and was surprised to see the raw emotion on his face. ‘You can, most definitely, miss things you’ve never had. I certainly do.’
His words stayed with me long after he had said farewell and headed off in the direction of Bee’s resting place.
I cursed myself for having spoken without thinking.
It was obvious my words had torn open a wound in my new friend.
The absence of children in the life he shared with Bee was a cruel blow, and even though she was no longer at his side, it was easy to see that it still cut deep.