Chapter 25 #2
When he comes back, he tells me the prognosis isn’t good, that it’s likely that the damage from the heart attack is combining with her already-struggling heart.
After he brings in another chair, I get up. ‘I should leave you alone together.’
‘Don’t go on my account.’ Something in his eyes makes me want to stay. ‘I think she’d like to know you’re here.’
I sit back down again, and for the rest of the day, I stay with them. ‘I was in the garden when it happened,’ I tell him. ‘She was with Lucy. She brought out some cake for us.’
‘Thank goodness Lucy was there,’ he says. ‘It’s been my biggest fear that something would happen when she was alone.’
Since discovering she has a heart problem, it’s been mine, too. ‘How long can you stay?’ I ask.
‘As long as I need to,’ he says. His eyes meet mine. ‘Thank you. For being here. For staying with her.’
I’m silent for a moment. ‘Did she talk to you about how she felt? If she became ill?’ In a way, it isn’t my place to tell Joe, but if he doesn’t know, he should.
‘I think I can guess what you’re going to say.’ His eyes rest on Mary. ‘If her quality of life is jeopardised, she doesn’t want to be kept going, does she?’
‘That’s kind of what she said,’ I say gently. ‘And I understand. Don’t you?’
As Joe rests his head in his hands, I place a hand on his arm. I know how he feels; none of us were expecting this.
Later that evening, I leave Joe alone with Mary – reluctantly, but if Mary’s last hours are playing out, I’m guessing he may well want this time alone with the woman who raised him.
By the time I go to bed, there’s still no sign of Joe. I sleep fitfully, waking early to hear a car pull up on the drive. Getting up, I go to the window just as Joe gets out.
A hollow feeling takes me over. Pulling a sweater over my pyjamas, I go downstairs. By the time I reach the kitchen, he’s standing at the window, gazing across the garden.
Hearing me come in, he turns. He looks exhausted, his eyes red from crying. ‘She had another heart attack,’ he says quietly. ‘There wasn’t anything they could do.’
Going over to him, I hug him. ‘I’m so sorry,’ I whisper. ‘I loved her.’
‘Me too.’ His arms go around me.
We stand there in Mary’s kitchen, holding each other, the most basic kind of human comfort, until suddenly awkward, I let go. ‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ I say quietly.
He looks devastated. ‘I know she was old. But she’s been doing so well since you moved in. I didn’t expect this to happen – at least, not so soon.’
‘How old was she?’ I’ve never actually known.
‘She was ninety-one.’ Joe shakes his head. ‘She was the one person who’s been here – my whole life.’
Since meeting Joe, I’ve always known how important Mary was to him. Losing her was never going to be easy. ‘She loved you so much,’ I say gently. ‘You were lucky.’
* * *
Joe stays around for the next few days. There are formal matters to see to, Mary’s death to register. But far sooner than I’d anticipated, I’m faced with thinking about where I’m going to live next. Not that there is any rush.
‘It’s going to take a while to sort her affairs out,’ Joe tells me. Then he looks at me, hesitantly. ‘Did she mention anything about the stable to you?’
‘Yes.’ I pause. ‘Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that. It’s so generous – it feels too much.’
‘It’s what she wanted,’ he says quietly.
‘You made such a difference to her – even before you moved in here. When you took on the walled garden, she told me she loved your kids coming over and bringing life to the place. I used to feel guilty – Tara and I were living miles away and because of my work, I didn’t get here that often.
She would have loved to see more of Isla, too.
’ He shakes his head. ‘I have so many regrets.’
‘I know how that feels,’ I say quietly. ‘But Mary knew about your work. She was proud of you.’ I pause. ‘Have you thought yet what you’ll do with the house?’
‘I’ll have to sell it.’ He sighs. ‘I feel terrible. It’s become your home, too – and I know how much you’ve put into the garden.’
‘You’ve no reason to feel bad,’ I say. ‘I’ve been lucky to be here. I always knew it would come to an end one day.’ It’s what I feel – even though I’ve come to love it here.
‘It’s some consolation to know you’ll have the stable,’ he says. ‘But as for the rest of it, it’s a huge place – and I don’t really see myself living here.’ He adds more quietly, ‘Not yet, at least.’
I take that to mean that things are no better with his wife. ‘You don’t have to make any decisions straight away. Sometimes, it helps to let the dust settle.’
‘Maybe.’ His eyes meet mine. ‘I’ll always be grateful that you were here, Edie. She didn’t want to leave, and thanks to you, she didn’t have to.’
‘I loved being here. It worked for both of us,’ I remind him, as it occurs to me that right now, Joe might want some space. ‘If your family are coming to stay for the funeral, I can go and stay with Lucy for a bit.’
He looks shocked. ‘There’s really no need. I know Isla will come.’ He hesitates. ‘I’m not so sure about Tara – and if she does, I don’t imagine she’ll stay here.’
‘Are things no better between you?’ I ask.
‘Not really.’ He stares towards the window. ‘We have to sort things out, one way or another. But right now doesn’t feel like the time.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ It isn’t easy, when so many things come at once.
He goes on. ‘I have to go home for a few days. But I’ll be back as soon as I can. I need to start sorting everything out here.’
‘Give yourself a little time,’ I say gently. ‘You’ve lost one of the most important people in your life.’ I pause. ‘There was one thing I wanted to ask you.’ I hesitate again. ‘When it comes to the funeral, would you let Lucy and me do the flowers?’
* * *
After Joe leaves, it’s the first time I’ve been alone in Mary’s house and I get a sense of how she lived, of the lifetime of memories she surrounded herself with.
I study the photos she’s collected over the years, of herself as a girl then a mother, a boy I imagine must be her son.
Many more of Joe. The pieces of antique furniture, china that comes from a bygone era.
But it’s a way of remembering; we attach meaning to the things we collect.
The mementos of our children, the carefully chosen personal gifts that would mean nothing to anyone else.
I have my own small collection. But in recent years, my possessions have dwindled because if I’ve learned one thing, it’s that we never lose what’s precious to us.
Nor do we need to be reminded. We keep what matters most, in our hearts.
The day before Mary’s funeral, Lucy and I make the most glorious tribute with flowers I’ve grown and foliage we’ve cut. It’s elegant and refined, with a trace of wildness, all the characteristics that Mary loved about her garden.
It’s the first funeral I’ve been to since yours, Lexie. It’s quiet and dignified, yet unlike yours, there’s a sense that Mary’s time had come. After all, she’d told me herself that if her health failed, she didn’t want to linger.
As I thought it would, it brings back how I felt after yours. The guilt that I hadn’t prevented your death; my anger with a world that had been so cruel to you.
How powerless I’d felt.
* * *
Over the next few days, Isla stays on at the house. I discover that she feels caught in the middle of her parents; that she has Joe’s kindness.
The evening after the funeral, she confides in me. ‘I don’t know if Dad’s told you, but Mum’s leaving him.’
‘Not exactly.’ I see the sadness in her face. ‘I’m so sorry, Isla. Break ups are really hard, for everyone.’
‘It isn’t so much that.’ Her voice wavers. ‘After Mum had an affair, I was kind of expecting it. They’re such different people. It’s just that I’m worried about Dad. About him being lonely.’
My heart goes out to her. ‘He’ll be OK. When things like this happen, so much changes. And it will be difficult for a while.’ I pause. ‘But it will work out.’
‘I hope so.’ She looks so young as she sits there.
‘Talk to him,’ I say gently. ‘It helps, more than you think.’
She nods. ‘I will.’ She pauses. ‘Does he talk to you?’ Her cheeks flush slightly pink.
‘A little,’ I say carefully.
‘I’m glad.’ Isla looks wistful. ‘I’m glad you were here with Great-Grandma, too.’
Over the next few days, I try to give Joe space as he starts sorting through Mary’s desk, before moving on to cupboards and drawers.
I start to look for houses, finding a cottage in a village a few miles away.
When I go to view it, it’s smaller than it looked in the photos, but has a tiny spare room, for Harrie when she’s old enough to come and stay, and a garden that looks out across open fields.
But my idea of what I need has changed. Is still changing – while a spark has ignited inside me, a sense that there is something else, just around the corner.
I try to explain it to Lucy. ‘Do you ever get that feeling you’re coming to a turning point?’
She puts down the flowers she’s holding and frowns. ‘Are you saying you’re not sure about doing weddings any more?’
‘That isn’t what I’m saying,’ I reassure her. ‘I love doing flowers. But it’s like there’s something under my skin. I can feel it. I just can’t see it, yet.’
‘Should we be considering whether we take on more bookings?’ she asks. ‘I get it, Edie. We’ve done wedding flowers for years. Maybe it’s time for a change – for both of us.’
* * *
It’s a strange time as I imagine us winding down our flower business. But both of us need a job and for now, at least, we carry on. Meanwhile, in the background of my life, every now and then I hear from Ryan. His health is still poor – he still drinks.
‘You’ve been lucky, you know,’ I tell him. ‘You also have every reason to stop, now.’
‘As you know, it isn’t that easy,’ he says. ‘If it was, I would have done it years ago.’
‘Then get help, Ryan. It’s there if you want it.’