Chapter 16
NOW
Dear Lexie,
After winter’s slumber, it’s that time of year again, when the landscape starts coming to life.
I see it in the lengthening daylight hours, in the wild daffodils carpeting the woodlands.
As I plant more bulbs in Mary’s garden, I imagine you crouched down next to me, studying one of the bulbs before planting it, seemingly amazed at the potential for life it held.
Nature’s incredible, Mum. Not just the bulbs, but the way the trees sleep through the winter months, yet somehow know exactly when to stir into life again.
Remember when you had a passion for planting things? From hyacinth bulbs to acorns to avocado stones, watching as roots developed, then a shoot appeared. You marvelled how each of them held as yet untapped potential. But this perpetual, beautiful cycle of life is how it is for us, too.
After a few days, when I’ve heard nothing from Mary, I start to think I probably won’t.
But Lucy was right. I am under pressure, not just financially, but emotionally.
It’s the right time for me to move, wherever that is to, and keen to move things along at home, I arrange some valuations from estate agents.
There is no longer any question in my mind about if I’ll move.
It’s become a matter of when, my mind already cutting ties to the past as I pack up your old room into cardboard boxes.
You weren’t precious about ‘stuff’, as you called it.
You valued books, photos, music, memories.
I empty the drawer of your old notebooks, take down your photos, pick up your beloved Eeyore, packing them carefully.
All of them will come with me, either to Mary’s or wherever else I end up.
Dealing with your clothes isn’t so easy. Each item brings back an image of you – the faded jeans and baggy hoodies you used to wear to the animal shelter that were exchanged for figure-hugging tops when you went out with your friends.
Folding each item, I pile them on the bed, then sit down amidst them, picking up a comfy old sweater you loved, feeling its softness under my fingers before holding it to my face.
As I breathe in, the faintest trace of your scent comes to me, as fleetingly I imagine you here with me, suddenly missing you, desperately, viscerally.
They’re just clothes, I tell myself, swallowing the lump in my throat. They hold no meaning without you. Getting up, I pile them into bags to take to a charity shop, before hesitating, I remove the old sweater and put it in the box with Eeyore.
* * *
‘It’s amazing how much stuff there is,’ I tell Lucy the next day. ‘I’ve only done a couple of rooms… I didn’t realise I was such a hoarder.’
‘You’re not that bad,’ she says. ‘What will you do? When the house sells? I’m sure it will – it’s in such a great location.’
‘I’ve been looking.’ I take in her expression of surprise. ‘There’s a small terraced house on the way out of town, down a close, overlooking the sea.’
‘Sounds expensive,’ Lucy says. ‘Lovely, though.’
‘It’s both,’ I admit. ‘But if I’m doing this, it has to be to somewhere I think I’ll love.’
‘Still nothing from Mary?’ Lucy asks.
‘No. I’m guessing her grandson probably talked her out of the idea.’ I imagine her house selling, my cutting garden ripped up, as someone else puts their stamp on the place. But I was only ever a guardian; it was never mine.
‘Maybe it wasn’t to be,’ Lucy says. ‘Listen, if your house sells quickly and you need a bolthole, you know you’re welcome to stay with me.’ She breaks off. ‘Does Ollie know your plans?’
‘Not yet. I wanted to be sure before I spoke to him. I’m going to pop in on my way home tonight.’
* * *
This evening, when I get to Ollie and Jenna’s house, as I reach the back door, I can hear Harrie’s high-pitched wailing. Wondering if I should come back another time, I turn to go back to my car, but then the back door opens.
‘Mum?’ Ollie looks flustered as he stands there. ‘Sorry, it’s Harrie. She won’t stop crying.’
‘It sounds as though you have your hands full,’ I say hesitantly. ‘I can come back another time.’
‘Now is fine. I know Jenna would love to see you.’
As I go inside, Harrie’s crying seems to step up a notch. ‘I remember you doing the same. I used to put you in the car and take you for a drive. It worked every time.’
‘Really? Maybe I’ll try it.’
They both look shattered. But I remember how it feels when your baby cries and won’t stop.
Ten minutes later, as Ollie drives away with Harrie in her car seat in an attempt to quiet her, Jenna lets out a sigh.
‘The house is a mess, but there never seems to be any time. I had no idea how exhausting motherhood could be.’ She puts the kettle on. ‘Tea?’
‘Please.’ I sit down at their kitchen table. ‘Your house is always homely. And this is the tough bit. It gets much easier.’
‘You mean demanding in different ways.’ She smiles. ‘I’m looking forward to all of it, Edie. It’s just that I feel so helpless when Harrie won’t stop crying.’
‘We’re hardwired to respond to it.’ There’s something about a baby’s cry. ‘I don’t think there’s any getting around that.’
‘No.’ She brings over a couple of mugs and sits down. ‘All I think about is babies at the moment. Please tell me. How are you?’
‘Well…’ I tell her about my plans and what triggered the idea. ‘I hadn’t thought about it until recently, but moving now seems to make sense.’
‘It’s a great idea. You won’t get any argument from Ollie,’ Jenna says. ‘He always says the house reminds him of Ryan.’
‘He does?’ I look at her. ‘I suppose it isn’t surprising.’ How could it not?
‘It reminds him of Lexie, too, of course,’ she says quietly. ‘Can I ask you something? Only… does he talk to you about her?’
‘No.’ Her question takes me by surprise. ‘What makes you ask?’
‘Now and then, we talk about her. I think he feels guilty.’
‘Ollie does?’ I say incredulously. ‘He has no reason to.’
‘He feels he should have been able to do something,’ Jenna says. ‘He knew Lexie had a drinking problem and…’
I interrupt her. ‘There was an incident – just the one. But Lexie didn’t drink – not in a way that was a problem.’
Jenna looks taken aback. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say anything controversial. I thought you knew about it.’
‘There’s been some misunderstanding here,’ I say quickly. ‘Lexie liked a drink. But she didn’t have a problem,’ I say again. ‘If Ollie thought she did, he was mistaken.’
Jenna’s eyes widen. ‘I’m sure you’re right,’ she says cautiously. Then she glances towards the window. ‘I think I can hear the car.’ She gets up and goes to the back door. ‘I’ll just go and see if Ollie needs some help with Harrie.’
Going outside, she leaves me alone, going over what she said, still confused. I’ve no idea why Ollie told her you had a problem, when you didn’t, did you, Lexie?
The door opens again and they come back in, Jenna cradling a sleeping Harrie. ‘I’m going to put her to bed,’ she whispers.
‘I’d better go,’ I say quietly. ‘Thank you for the tea.’ I can talk to Ollie about the house another time.
Ollie walks with me out to my car. ‘Sorry about that,’ he says. ‘It’s surprising how someone so small can entirely take over your life.’
‘We can talk another time.’ I kiss him on the cheek. ‘I came over to tell you I’m putting the house on the market. There are lots of reasons, but it feels like the right thing to do.’
‘I’m sure it is,’ Ollie says. ‘A fresh start will be good, Mum.’
‘I think so too.’ I look at him for a moment. ‘You won’t miss it, will you?’
He shakes his head. ‘The place always reminds me of how Dad was.’
‘I wish you’d told me before,’ I say gently. ‘I thought once he’d moved out and I’d done it up, it would be different.’
‘It isn’t just Dad.’ Ollie hesitates. ‘I suppose it’s Lexie, too. Sometimes it’s like she’s going to come downstairs, or walk in sounding off about something…’ As he hunches his shoulders, it’s like he’s a teenager again as he stands there.
I look at him, wondering whether to bring up what Jenna just said about you.
But Ollie’s distracted. ‘I should go and check Harrie’s OK,’ Ollie says. ‘Night, Mum.’
‘Night, Olls.’ Getting into my car, I glance in the rear-view mirror at him standing there watching as I drive away.
Did I miss something, Lexie? Something I didn’t want to see?
Or maybe we’re all slightly blind when it suits us; when the truth is too painful.
When it’s easier to tell ourselves a different story.
I did so much of that when you and Ollie were young.
Told you so many stories, skated around a truth I didn’t want to admit.
If Dad’s sick, why doesn’t he see a doctor? I remember you asking. Then, What kind of person doesn’t want to get well?
You thought it was a waste of a life not to want to help yourself.
I tried to explain that in Ryan’s mind, there wasn’t anything wrong.
That even if he managed to admit it to himself, he’d feel weak if he went to talk to anyone about it.
Whichever way you sliced it and diced it, it was just too hard for him.
You summed it up:
In other words, he doesn’t want anything to change. It’s OK for him to go on as he is, ruining all of our lives.
You could be brutal. I remember trying to explain to you that some people are comfortable in their discomfort; change presents difficult questions about what comes next; casts the past in turmoil.
None of us want to acknowledge the years we’ve wasted, when life could have been so much more fulfilling.
It sounds like an excuse. Dad doesn’t want to change. End of.
But I don’t think he knew how to be someone who didn’t drink. Still doesn’t know. The conversation left me questioning myself, too. How our marriage had come to this. Why I let it go on, far too long; that maybe I was change-averse, too.
* * *
Daily, I remind myself to search for moments of joy, however fleeting.
Find them as I watch the sun rise. In the earliest spring flowers; one of Harrie’s toothless smiles.
On the way to work the next morning, I stop off at my cutting garden at Mary’s.
Since I was last here, the first tulips have grown up in tight buds that will open into shades of pink and terracotta.
Picking them, I gather bunches of narcissi and daffodils, then cut twigs on which tiny buds are forming, pausing to glance briefly up towards Mary’s house.
But the curtains are closed, the house in darkness.
‘These are glorious, Edie,’ Lucy says when I take the flowers into the workshop.
‘Our first tulips,’ I say proudly. ‘Only a few. But give it a couple of weeks and there will be hundreds.’ I imagine them in neat rows of lemon yellow and blackcurrant sorbet; pillar-box red. It’s always fascinated me, the way a bulb can contain the potential for life.
‘Did you see Mary?’ she asks.
‘No. The house looked closed up – almost as though she’s gone away.’ I frown slightly. ‘I hope she’s OK.’
‘It’s a pity you can’t find out,’ Lucy says.
‘I’ll call in on my way home,’ I say.
‘Good idea,’ Lucy says. ‘See if you can get an idea of how she feels about you moving in.’ She pauses. ‘Did you talk to Ollie last night?’
‘I tried. They were a bit preoccupied with Harrie,’ I say. ‘Though Jenna said something odd.’
‘She did?’ Lucy looks surprised.
I put down my scissors. ‘She said that Ollie felt guilty – that he’d known Lexie had a drinking problem. He should have been able to help her.’
Lucy frowns. ‘Did you know about this?’
‘He’s never mentioned it to me. There was the one New Year’s Eve when she came home drunk, but it was a one off – at least…’ I break off as the door opens and a man walks in.
Then as he comes closer, I forget what I was saying, as suddenly I realise I recognise him.