The next day Daisy telephoned at dawn to tell them that she had managed to get a flight out of Milan late that morning and would be home by nightfall, sending Suze into a spin. ‘She’s not sharing my bedroom!’ she declared, only to be told by her mother that she’d have to because there were no spare rooms in the house now that Nan had come to live with them. ‘It’s not fair!’ Suze had cried, tossing her mane and flashing her blue eyes. ‘Where am I going to put all my clothes? Can’t she sleep on the sofa? I mean, it’s temporary, isn’t it? She’ll be back with Luca by the end of the week. It’s ridiculous me having to move all my stuff, just because she decides to come home. It’s perfectly comfortable on the sofa. Can’t she sleep there!’ She had stormed up the stairs and slammed her bedroom door.
Marigold had gone out to feed the birds. It had stopped snowing during the night and now the sky was flat and white, the snow flat and white below it, waiting for the sun to rise and turn it into diamonds. Marigold unhooked the feeder from the tree and looked for the robin to appear, which it did, on the roof of Dennis’s shed. ‘Suze has always been selfish,’ she told it as she carefully poured the seed. ‘I suppose I’m to blame. I’ve worked hard all my life, as has Dennis, so that we can provide for our children and give them an easier time than we had. But in so doing we’ve made it too easy for her.’ The robin’s little head jerked from side to side as if it was trying to understand her. ‘Life is complicated for us humans. I think it’s easier being a bird.’ She hooked the feeder back on the branch. ‘At least Daisy is coming back. I can’t help being excited about that, although I’m sad she’s broken up with Luca. I’ve hated her living abroad. I can only admit that to you. I’ve hated her living so far from home.’
When Marigold returned to the kitchen Nan was sitting in her usual place at the kitchen table. ‘Daisy’s going to set the cat among the pigeons,’ she predicted, pursing her lips. ‘This house is too small for all of us.’
‘It’s too small for Suze. It’s fine for the rest of us,’ Marigold corrected her.
‘Are you going to let her live with you for ever? She’s twenty-five years old. Time to move out and make her own way in life, I would have thought. When I was her age—’
‘You were married with two teenage children, well, almost,’ Marigold interrupted. ‘It’s different nowadays. Life is harder.’
‘Life has always been hard and it always will be. Life is what you make of it, that’s what your father always said and he knew a thing or two about that.’
‘I must open the shop,’ said Marigold, edging towards the door.
‘Suze should help you out in there, instead of doing all that silly stuff she does on her telephone. It would do her good to do some proper work.’
‘I don’t need an extra pair of hands,’ said Marigold. ‘I have Tasha.’
‘Tasha.’ Nan sniffed. ‘I don’t call that an extra pair of hands.
I call that a headache.’
‘She works hard.’
‘When she’s here.’
‘She’s here most of the time.’
‘Most is not the word I would use, but then you’re a people-pleaser, Marigold, you always have been. Well, off you go then. I’ll hold the fort in here, cheer Suze up with a few tales of the deprivation I suffered as a child.’
Marigold laughed. ‘Oh, she’ll love you for that.’
Nan smiled back. ‘The young don’t know how lucky they are.’ Then when Marigold was halfway out the door, she called after her, ‘Be a dear and bring me some digestive biscuits when you have a moment, the chocolate ones. I like to dip them in my tea.’
Marigold had owned the village shop for over thirty years. It had been convenient for her when the children were little because the house was separated from the shop by a small, cobbled courtyard, so it was easy to dash back and forth. The buildings were pretty white cottages with small windows and grey slate roofs, and the gardens at the back, although not very large, gave onto rolling fields. Fields that belonged to the wealthy landowner Sir Owen Sherwood, so there was no danger of them being developed to expand the village. There was always talk of the need for more houses, but that land prevented them from being built there, in Dennis and Marigold’s view. The farm was so big, with woodland and fields, that the whole eastern side of the village was protected from developers, while the western side was protected by the sea. It was an idyllic place to live. The only complaint, if Marigold had one, which she didn’t like to admit to because it went against her nature to moan, was that the big supermarket, built in the 1980s a few miles outside the village, had stolen much of her business. Still, she took care to stock essential items as well as gifts, and the post office, of course, was useful to the locals. She made a decent living. So did Dennis. They were comfortable and happy.
Tasha was already in the shop when Marigold appeared. A single mother with two children under ten and the unfortunate disposition of being a little delicate, Tasha was not someone who could be relied upon. Her children were often sick, too, or she needed to stay home for an electrician or a delivery, or she was overtired and run-down and required the odd day at home to rest. Marigold was indulgent. She didn’t like confrontation and she didn’t like hard feelings. And she reasoned that, although Tasha wasn’t very dependable, she was a nice, smiley presence to have around the shop, and that counted for a lot. The customers liked her because she was polite and charming, and when she was there, she did the job well. The devil you know is better than the devil you don’t, Marigold figured.
‘Good morning.’ Tasha’s cheerful voice lifted Marigold’s spirits.
‘You’re here,’ said Marigold, pleasantly surprised.
‘Well, I was wondering if I could leave a little early today. Milly’s in a play and I promised I’d help with the make-up.’
Marigold could hardly deny her that. ‘Of course you can. What play is it?’ And Tasha told her about it as she began a stocktake of the shelves. ‘Did you remember to order baked beans, Marigold?’ she asked. ‘We’re totally out of them and they’re very popular.’
‘Baked beans? Are you sure?’
‘Yes, I asked you last week. Remember?’
Marigold didn’t remember. She couldn’t even recall having had the conversation. ‘How odd. I’ll do it right away.’
At nine Eileen Utley came in. She bought some milk, then spent the next hour chatting to the locals, who filed in one after the other to buy a newspaper, a pint of milk or to post a parcel. Eileen enjoyed watching the bustle of village life. It made her feel part of the place, rather than on the periphery, which was what staying at home with the telly did.
The shop was quite busy when Lady Sherwood came in. Elegant in a loden coat and matching green hat, she smiled at Marigold. Although the two women were of similar age, Lady Sherwood looked a decade younger. Her skin was smooth, her make-up carefully applied and her shoulder-length blonde hair had no sign of grey. It was obvious to Marigold that she had it dyed, but it appeared natural nonetheless. Marigold wondered whether her effortless glamour was due to her being Canadian. She imagined women from that part of the world were naturally glamorous, like film stars. Marigold had never crossed the Atlantic and Lady Sherwood’s Canadian accent gave her a thrilling sense of the exotic.
‘Good morning, Marigold,’ said Lady Sherwood agreeably. However, as friendly as her manner was she still succeeded in maintaining a certain distance, due to their very different stations in life, she the wife of a squire and Marigold the wife of a carpenter. Though, as Nan liked to point out, ‘There was once a simple carpenter . . .’
‘Good morning, Lady Sherwood,’ said Marigold from behind the counter. ‘What can I get you?’
‘Are you making Christmas puddings again this year?’
‘Yes, I am. Would you like one?’
‘Yes, I’d like two, please. My son’s coming over from Toronto and we’re going to be a lot of people. They went down very well last year.’
‘Oh good. I’m happy to hear that.’ Marigold pictured the
Sherwoods’ grand dining room filled with elegant people eating her Christmas puddings and felt a rush of pride.
‘And I’d like a couple of books of first-class stamps while I’m here. Thank you.’
Marigold gave her the stamps and carefully wrote the Christmas pudding order in her red notebook. She noticed Lady Sherwood’s fine leather gloves and the gracious way she moved her hands and thought her the most stylish woman she’d ever met. When Lady Sherwood departed, leaving a lingering smell of expensive perfume, Eileen leaned on the counter and lowered her voice. ‘As you know, I’m not one to gossip, but I’ve heard that father and son don’t get along at all,’ she said. ‘That’s why the lad went to live in Canada.’
Marigold put the red book beneath the counter. ‘Oh dear, that’s sad. There’s nothing as important as family,’ she said, her heart warming once more at the thought of seeing Daisy. She’d be on her way to the airport, she suspected.
‘I don’t know what will happen to the estate when Sir Owen pops off,’ Eileen continued. ‘I gather Taran makes a lot of money in Canada.’
‘If Sir Owen lives as long as you, Eileen, Taran won’t inherit for another fifty years!’
‘He’s the only child. It will be his duty to come back and run the estate. Sir Owen’s a man who understands the countryside, like his father, Hector, did. Now he was a good and decent person and let my father live in one of his cottages rent free when he lost his job and took months to find a new one. I don’t think Taran is like them. I think he’s one of those banking people who only think about making money.’
‘How do you come to that conclusion, Eileen?’
‘Sylvia’s not a gossip, but she lets the odd thing slip out,’ said Eileen, referring to the Sherwoods’ housekeeper, a good-natured, slow-moving fifty-year-old who had worked for the family for over a decade. ‘When Sir Owen pops off there’ll be trouble.’ And she licked her bottom lip at the thought of such excitement.
Marigold tried to get on with serving people while Eileen shared the village gossip. She had something to say about everyone who came into the shop. John Porter was squabbling with his neighbour Pete Dickens over a magnolia tree which had grown too big, and Mary Hanson’s St Bernard had killed Dolly Nesbit’s cat, causing Dolly to drop into a dead faint in the middle of the green. ‘She’s still in bed recovering,’ said Eileen. ‘Mary has offered to find her a new cat but Dolly says her Precious is irreplaceable. If you ask me that dog should be put down. No one should have a dog the size of a horse running loose about the village.’ Jean Miller, who had recently been widowed, was struggling to cope with living on her own. ‘Poor dear. I can tell her that you get used to it after a while and there’s always the TV for company. I love Bake Off, especially, and Strictly Come Dancing, but there are all sorts of things to watch these days. That nice Cedric Weatherby, you know, the one who’s just moved into Gloria’s old house, made her a cake and took it round. It had enough brandy in it to put her out for a week!’ Then there was the Commodore, who lived in a much-admired Georgian house with his wife Phyllida, and had resorted to shooting moles from his bedroom window. ‘He tried gassing them with a pipe attached to his car exhaust but that backfired and he nearly gassed himself,’ said Eileen gleefully. ‘He says they’re a plague, putting mud hills all over his lawn, but since reading Beatrix Potter as a child I’ve always been rather partial to the furry little friends.’
At midday Nan wandered in, complaining of the cold. ‘It’s Siberian!’ she said as she hurried through the door, bringing snow in on her shoes. ‘Ah, lovely and warm in here.’ She waited for Marigold to finish serving and then reminded her about the digestive biscuits.
‘Oh, I’m sorry, Mum. I forgot. Eileen’s been distracting me,’ she said.
‘Our Daisy’s coming home today,’ said Nan with a smile. ‘Suze is none too happy about it. They’re going to have to share a room.’
‘She’s home a bit early for Christmas, isn’t she?’ said Eileen.
Before Marigold could make something up, Nan had told the biggest gossip in the village about Daisy and Luca’s split.
‘I’m sure they’ll kiss and make up,’ said Marigold, struggling to do some damage control.
But Nan shook her head. ‘I think over means over, Marigold,’ she said. ‘You don’t break up after six years and then get back together. Mark my words, it’s done.’
Suze came into the shop in the early afternoon with a bag of parcels to post. In order to keep buying clothes and make-up she had to sell things she no longer wanted. She had a site online for selling second-hand things and was making a small business out of it, although not one that would ever be in profit. She was still furious about her sister coming home and hadn’t moved anything out of her bedroom to accommodate her. ‘Like I said, she can sleep on the sofa,’ she repeated. Marigold was relieved that Eileen had eventually gone home so she didn’t pick up on the impending feud.
‘It’s between you and Daisy. I’m not getting involved,’ said Marigold. ‘Although I think a little kindness would not go amiss, considering.’
‘Who chucked who?’ asked Suze.
‘I don’t know. She didn’t say. She just said they want different things.’
Suze grinned. ‘Luca doesn’t want to get married and Daisy does.’ Then she added provocatively, ‘Marriage is so old-fashioned.’
‘I’m glad your grandmother isn’t around to hear that,’ said Marigold.
‘Oh, I’ll happily tell her to her face. Times are different now.’ With that, she flicked her hair and skipped out of the shop, leaving her mother to weigh and pay the postage for all her packages.
Tasha had left. The place was quiet. Marigold looked outside. Night came early now. She sat on the stool behind the counter and took a deep breath. She felt tired. It must be the weather, she thought, those dark mornings and dark evenings sap one’s energy. The sun hadn’t come out at all today, so although the snow remained there were no diamonds to sparkle and glitter. The roads were icy. She thought of her mother declaring that she’d slip and break her neck today and hoped she had done the sensible thing and spent most of the day indoors.
When she locked up at closing time she saw Suze’s parcels still waiting to be posted. She frowned and stared at them as if seeing them for the first time. She was sure she had sent them off. But no, there they were, and they hadn’t even been stamped. Marigold felt a strange prickling sensation creep across her skin. It took a while for her to recognize what it was, but when she did, the realization that she was afraid made the prickling sensation even more intense. She felt fear, deep and cold and unmistakable: something was wrong. She’d left her handbag in church the day before and now she had forgotten to post Suze’s parcels. Marigold was not a vague person. Quite the opposite. She was someone who could be relied upon to organize things efficiently. Her entire life she had defined herself by her sharp and lucid memory. Manning the shop and the post office, with all the demands that that entailed, required her mind to be quick and her powers of recollection razor-sharp. They hadn’t, until now, let her down.
Marigold stepped out into the dark and locked the door behind her. Then she walked carefully across the icy courtyard towards the house, feeling strangely unsteady. The lights inside were golden and she could see her mother and Suze through the window, sitting at the kitchen table. The packet of digestive biscuits was open beside her mother. Her spirits sank as she remembered she had forgotten those too. I really am losing my marbles, she thought to herself despondently. She resolved to exercise her mind as Eileen had suggested.
When she went through the back door, Nan was halfway through a story and Suze was hovering in the doorway, trying to escape. Marigold glanced out of the window. The lights in Dennis’s shed were still on, blazing through the darkness. He’d been in there all day. She knew he was making her Christmas present and wondered what the picture would be. The thought of it made her smile and she began to feel brighter. She was tired and, as much as she didn’t want to admit it, she was getting older. It was perfectly normal to forget things at her age. She’d just have to make more of an effort to remember.
At seven the front door burst open and Daisy fell into the hallway, all tousled brown hair and big puffy coat, dragging a large suitcase behind her. Marigold dropped the wooden spoon she was using to stir the sauce and rushed to embrace her.
‘Darling, what a surprise! You should have called. Dad would have picked you up at the station.’
‘I got a cab,’ said Daisy.
‘You look exhausted!’ Marigold exclaimed, maternal instincts kicking in fiercely at the sight of her daughter’s waxen face. ‘Come in out of the cold at once.’
Dennis, who had just shut up his shed, smiled broadly. ‘Let me take that,’ he said, relieving Daisy of her suitcase. ‘What have you got in here? The Crown jewels?’
‘My life,’ Daisy replied, smiling weakly. She wrapped her arms around her father and began to cry.
‘You’re home now, pet,’ he said, patting her back. ‘Where you belong.’
‘We’ll look after you, love,’ rejoined her mother, taking in her daughter’s unkempt hair and the purple shadows beneath her eyes that were bloodshot and full of pain. She longed to run her a hot bath and give her a good meal to restore her back to health.
Suze appeared at the bottom of the stairs with a sheepish look. ‘Hi,’ she said, without making a move to approach her. ‘Sorry about Luca.’
‘Thanks,’ Daisy replied, but her attention was diverted by Nan, making her way down the hall towards her.
‘You’re too good for him,’ she said, hugging her grand-daughter. ‘Italian men can’t be trusted. We need to find you a nice Englishman.’
Daisy laughed in spite of her heavy heart. ‘I don’t think I want anyone right now, Nan.’
‘Of course you don’t,’ said Dennis.
‘What you need is a nice cup of tea,’ said Marigold.
‘You’ll be back together by the end of the week,’ said Suze, fervently hoping that they would.
Daisy lifted her chin. ‘I don’t want him back,’ she replied crisply. ‘It’s over. I’m home.’ She looked at her mother and smiled wanly. ‘Now, where’s that tea?’