The following morning Marigold crossed the courtyard to the shop. She went inside via the back door as she did every morning and turned on the lights. Rows of neatly arranged shelves lit up like a ship. She stood there a moment in the glare of electric light, uncertain of what to do next. She knew there was something she was meant to be doing, besides opening up for the day. She went to unlock the front door and tried to remember what it was. She strained her brain but nothing came. Just a blank. She was getting used to these blanks now and was gradually learning how to deal with them. The trick was to breathe, remain calm and wait for the fog to lift, which it always did, eventually.
She was distracted by an impatient rapping on the window. She blinked and focused and Eileen’s red face came into view, wrapped in a woolly hat and scarf. Her breath was misting in the cold and she was rubbing her mittens together to keep warm. Marigold unlocked the door and opened it.
‘Ooooh, it’s cold out here this morning,’ said Eileen, eagerly shuffling into the warmth.
Marigold had already been for her walk along the clifftops and had almost been knocked off them by the gale. ‘Very windy too. I think it might snow again,’ she said hopefully.
‘Wouldn’t that be lovely,’ said Eileen. ‘I love it when the village turns white.’
‘Why don’t you go and make yourself some tea in my kitchen,’ Marigold suggested. ‘Suze is in there, writing, but you won’t disturb her.’
‘That’s a good idea,’ said Eileen. ‘Would you like one?’
‘I’m fine for the moment, thank you.’ Eileen left through the back door and Marigold looked at her watch and wondered where Tasha was. Her attention was diverted by the little bell alerting her to another customer. It was the Commodore, in his three-piece tweed suit and trilby hat. The only indication that it was cold outside was the scarf around his neck and the heavy boots on his feet.
‘Good morning to you, Marigold,’ he said crisply. ‘Fine day, isn’t it?’
‘Very fine,’ said Marigold.
‘I caught a mole last night,’ he announced triumphantly.
‘How did you catch it?’ she asked.
‘Ah, that’s a very good question. First, I tried freezing them to death, but that didn’t work. They’d wised up to me, you see. Very cunning they are, these moles. Then I tried smoking them out and gassing them, but without success. I even tried Dettol and, as a last resort, shooting them from my bedroom window. But Phyllida told me off because my eyesight isn’t very good, you see, and she thought I’d shoot the dog by mistake.’ He leaned on the counter. ‘So I bought a trap. One of those traps you put down mole tunnels. Can’t think why I didn’t buy one before. I suppose I thought I could do it myself. I’ve always been a bit of a do-it-yourself man. It’s my training you see, in the Navy. Why get someone to do something for you if you can do it yourself.’
‘You bought a trap and captured a mole?’ Marigold scrunched up her nose. ‘Was it dead?’
‘As dead as a dodo,’ he replied, pleased. He went on to explain how such traps worked.
Shortly Eileen came back with her cup of tea.
‘The Commodore caught a mole, Eileen,’ said Marigold. ‘He killed it.’
‘Shame,’ said Eileen. ‘It’s not fair to kill a creature just because it’s inconvenient for you. Moles were in your garden long before you were, I suspect.’
‘Well, not those ones,’ said Marigold.
‘Their ancestors, then. I think you should try and find a humane way to trap them.’
‘Why don’t you ask Dennis,’ Marigold suggested. ‘He could make you something out of wood. I’m sure he could. Dennis can make anything.’
The Commodore scratched his chin thoughtfully. ‘That’s not a bad idea, ladies,’ he said. ‘My grandchildren would be very happy with that. They get awfully upset at the thought of me killing them.’
‘I’d keep quiet about your small success, then,’ said Eileen.
‘Now what did I come in for?’ The Commodore swept his eyes around the room. ‘Phyllida gave me specific instructions, but you’ve distracted me.’
Marigold was heartened that the Commodore was forgetful too.
‘Ah, now I recall. She wanted dishwasher salt and Dijon mustard.’
‘Let me get those for you,’ Marigold suggested, coming round from behind the counter. ‘I can’t think where Tasha is. Really, she’s very late this morning.’ She looked at her watch and sighed, thinking that if Tasha was going to be late she should at least have the decency to tell her.
The little bell sounded and Carole Porter entered. ‘Good morning,’ she said, smiling at Eileen and the Commodore. Being a brisk and efficient woman in her early forties, she didn’t linger but strode down the aisle to find what she needed.
‘Her husband John is still feuding with Pete Dickens over the size of his magnolia tree. It’s getting rather nasty,’ said Eileen in a low voice. ‘I wouldn’t put it past him to sneak into Pete’s garden in the middle of the night and poison it.’
‘Gracious, that bad, eh?’ exclaimed the Commodore.
‘John and Carole are very precious about their garden and they say the shadow of the tree is preventing plants from growing.’ Eileen grinned mischievously. ‘I think you should put your moles in there, when Dennis builds you a trap to catch them alive. That would give them something proper to worry about.’
The Commodore chuckled a little uneasily. This kind of subversive behaviour was not what he was used to and he wasn’t sure he could condone it. ‘I’ll let them out in the open countryside,’ he said as Carole marched to the counter and placed her basket on top of it expectantly. She looked around for Marigold.
‘Sorry to keep you waiting, Carole,’ said Marigold, returning with the dishwasher salt and mustard for the Commodore. ‘I don’t know where Tasha is this morning. Really, I’m sorely tried.’
Once the Commodore and Carole Porter had left the shop, she shook her head at Eileen and sighed despairingly.
‘What you need is someone you can rely on,’ said Eileen as the door opened and Cedric Weatherby and Dolly Nesbit came in together, arms linked. Dolly looked pale and fragile, but Cedric was as perky as a parakeet in a purple jacket and orange trousers.
‘Hello, Cedric. Hello, Dolly,’ said Marigold, giving Dolly a sympathetic smile. ‘Are you all right?’
‘We’re coping, aren’t we, Dolly,’ said Cedric, squeezing her hand.
‘I’m okay,’ said Dolly in a voice so small Marigold barely heard her. ‘It’s very quiet in the house without her.’
‘I bet it is,’ Eileen rejoined. ‘Time is a great healer, though,’ she added unhelpfully.
‘We’re still waiting,’ said Cedric. ‘No sign of any healing yet.’ They went down the aisle together at a slow and stately pace.
Marigold looked at her watch again. ‘Where’s Tasha? This is most unusual.’
Eileen frowned. ‘Are you sure she didn’t ask for the morning off?’
‘No, she didn’t. I’d know about it if she had.’
‘Why don’t you check that red book of yours. You’ve become very forgetful lately, Marigold.’
A patch of fog cleared in Marigold’s mind and she remembered that she hadn’t yet looked in her red book. ‘How strange. I always look in that book first thing in the morning, before opening the shop.’
She bent down and took it out from under the counter. When she saw Tasha morning off, dentist, in big letters, she blanched. She had absolutely no recollection of writing that down, none whatsoever. Nor did she remember Tasha asking her for time off. When she closed the book she noticed her hand was shaking. The cold damp fear, now a familiar foe, crawled across her skin. ‘I think I’ll have a cup of tea now,’ she said to Eileen. ‘Would you mind fetching me one?’
Daisy and Lady Sherwood stood in the barn, which was adjacent to the main house and built out of an old, weathered grain store of blackened wood. It had enormous windows, high ceilings and an oak floor, which was heated. Lady Sherwood had decorated it beautifully but simply. There were large, comfy sofas, armchairs one could fall asleep in and colourful rugs on the floor. It smelt of new wood and new furnishings. Clearly it had never been lived in.
‘I hoped that Taran would use this as a weekend or holiday home. I never thought he’d go and work in Toronto. It was going to be the perfect house for him and his family, close enough to us for company, but not too close.’ She sighed. ‘As it turns out he won’t be looking after us in our old age, or keeping us company either.’
‘It’s a great room, Lady Sherwood.’
She smiled and Daisy saw Taran in her expression. ‘Do you like it? Will it work for you, do you think?’
‘It’s perfect. Lots of light, that’s the most important thing. You’re very generous, Lady Sherwood. Are you sure I can’t pay you rent?’
‘No, it will be very nice to have someone in here, making use of it. Perhaps when your career takes off and you start making money, we can negotiate. But for now, you must enjoy it.’
Lady Sherwood showed Daisy around, pleased that she liked it. There were two downstairs bedrooms and bathrooms, a spacious kitchen and laundry room, and a master suite upstairs in the mezzanine with the most heavenly view of the countryside. It was the perfect home, Daisy thought, wishing she had the money to rent something like this so that she didn’t have to live with her family, as if she were a child again.
When Daisy returned home she was full of enthusiasm, packing her easel and artist’s bag into the back of the car in her eagerness to get started. Suze was at the kitchen table, talking on the phone, twirling a lock of hair around her fingers. Nan had returned from bridge and was in her usual place, dipping a biscuit into her tea, listening to Suze’s conversation with interest.
‘What’s it like up there then?’ Nan asked Daisy, just as she was on the point of leaving.
‘It’s really lovely,’ Daisy replied, hovering in the doorway, keen to get away.
‘I know what it’s like to have a son who chooses to live on the other side of the world.’ Nan shook her head and drew her lips into a thin line. ‘They don’t realize how much they hurt us.’
‘At least you have Mum, Nan,’ said Daisy. ‘Lady Sherwood doesn’t have any other children.’
‘But sons are special, dear,’ Nan confided tactlessly and Daisy realized then how much her grandmother took Marigold for granted.
‘I think Mum is special, looking after us all the way she does.’ Looking after you the way she does.
‘Oh, don’t get me wrong, she’s a good girl, make no mistake. But Patrick can light up a room, if he chooses to. When he said he was going to Australia, he broke my heart. Your grandfather accepted it. He was always accepting. Philosophical is the word. What Suze would call “going with the flow”. Your grandfather said that was the key to happiness. I’m sure he’s right, although I can think of other keys to happiness besides going with the flow. But Patrick really can light up a room. My room is a bit gloomy without him, but I mustn’t complain. You’ll think me very ungrateful. Ungrateful is not in my nature. Your grandfather also used to say that our children come through us but do not belong to us. He used to read The Prophet, you know, that wise book people always read at weddings and funerals. A bit clichéd, but still, the words are timeless.’ Daisy didn’t want to be rude, but she really had to go. ‘Did I ever tell you about the time Patrick . . .’ Suze hung up. Sensing her grandmother was launching into a long-winded story, she decided to cut her off before she started. ‘Nan, what’s Mum made for lunch?’
‘I don’t know, pet. She didn’t say.’
Suze got up and opened the fridge. Usually there was something in there, like a quiche or a pizza, but today there was nothing. She closed the door and caught sight of the list. It distinctly said Take cottage pie out of the freezer for lunch. ‘God! Mum is getting so forgetful!’ she complained in exasperation. ‘I’m going to tell her.’
Daisy stopped her. ‘Don’t, Suze.’
‘Someone’s got to say something. She’s got worse since Christmas.’
‘It’s not her fault.’
‘She needs to get a grip. She’s not even seventy yet. She has no excuse!’
Nan nodded in agreement. ‘If she’s going to write lists, she should at least look at them.’
‘You have legs. Go and get a pizza from the shop,’ said Daisy crossly. ‘And don’t upset her.’
Suze put her hands on her hips. ‘You’d be frustrated too if you lived here all the time.’
‘No, I wouldn’t,’ said Daisy firmly. ‘I’d like to think I’d be a little more compassionate.’
‘We’ll see about that in the summer. When Mum repeats herself for the umpteenth time.’
Daisy looked concerned. ‘You’ve noticed that too?’
‘We’ve all noticed,’ said Nan solemnly. ‘But we’re trying to be compassionate.’
‘Has Dad said anything?’
‘I’m not sure he’s noticed,’ said Suze. ‘Anyway, they’re going to go away in the spring for that weekend we gave them for Christmas. That’ll help, I’m sure. She’s just very tired, and getting older, of course.’
‘I’m nearly ninety and I never forget anything,’ said Nan.
‘Everyone’s different,’ said Daisy.
‘Marigold takes after her father. Patrick takes after me,’ said Nan. She shook her head again. ‘Patrick can light up a room. My room’s very dull these days.’ Suze and Daisy caught eyes. Marigold wasn’t the only one who was repetitive.
Daisy was checking the sitting room for anything she might have forgotten to put in the car when her eyes were drawn to her mother’s jigsaw puzzle on the table in front of the window. She wandered over to have a closer look at how she was getting on. Perhaps she’d be able to tell what the picture was going to be. She was surprised to see that she had not done very much. Marigold usually finished Dennis’s puzzles in a few days, but this one was clearly posing more of a challenge. Perhaps it was because her father hadn’t included a photograph for her to copy. Or perhaps she’d just been busy. She’d completed the outside border, but that was about it. Daisy stared at it for a long while, trying to make sense of the uneasy feeling in her gut. There was something about that forlorn puzzle that disturbed her, but she couldn’t put her finger on what it was. She decided she’d talk to her father about it. She wanted him to put her mind at rest and tell her there was nothing to worry about.
In his shed at the bottom of the garden, Dennis was working on a drinks cabinet for Carole Porter, while Mac the cat watched him from a bed of wood shavings on the floor. A drinks cabinet was just the sort of job Dennis relished. Something that started from scratch and required careful design and craftsmanship. It was going to be painted scarlet and light up like the Queen Mary with mirrors at the back and glass shelves to hold the bottles. He had been round to look at photographs of bars that Carole had seen online, and to measure up, and she had told him about John’s feud with Pete Dickens, their neighbour, about the magnolia tree. She’d even taken him into the garden to have a look at it. The branches did not extend over the wall, but it was so big that it did cut out the light, there was no doubt about that. But Dennis had not wanted to get involved. He was a peaceful man who liked a peaceful life.
Dennis liked working alone. He liked to listen to the radio and concentrate on his assignment. He stood at the work-bench, which was made up of a smooth wooden board placed on top of some old kitchen cabinets. In front of him was the toolbox he had made as an apprentice almost fifty years ago. Every apprentice made one, at least they had in his day. Inside, he kept his hand tools – a hammer knife, measuring tape, chisels, coping saw, screwdrivers – and it accompanied him on every job. He stretched his back, groaning as the ache in his muscles eased a little, then reached for the box of paracetamol which he kept near his workbench.
He was busy cutting a piece of oak with a handsaw when the telephone rang. It was the Commodore calling to tell him about his mole problem and the trap he wanted Dennis to design. Dennis loved a challenge like that. It made him think and he liked to use his brain as well as his hands. He agreed to look at the Commodore’s garden and the existing mole trap, which had killed the poor creature in the night, and make some preliminary drawings. He knew Marigold would approve of a trap that caught the animal alive, rather than killed it. He liked to please Marigold.
There was a knock on the door and Daisy walked in. ‘Sorry to disturb you, Dad.’
Dennis smiled at his daughter. ‘You’re not disturbing me. You all packed up then?’
‘Yes, I’m excited. It’s a great room.’
‘I’d have offered you my workshop but it gets very dusty in here.’
‘That’s okay. The Sherwoods’ barn is perfect, and quiet.’
He arched an eyebrow. ‘No Nan and Suze to distract you.’
‘Exactly.’ She hesitated, not knowing how to approach the subject of her mother’s increasing forgetfulness without alarming him. ‘Dad, is Mum all right? She’s a bit vague at the moment.’
Dennis’s smile faltered. ‘She’s been vague for a while now, Daisy. We’re all getting on.’
‘But Nan’s not vague.’
‘She’s just repetitive. Age affects each of us in different ways.’
‘I suppose Mum’s got a lot on her plate with Nan living at home now, and me.’
Dennis put down the saw. ‘She’s looking after all of us, and the shop and post office as well. Tasha isn’t very reliable. Mum really needs someone to share the load, but she won’t hear of it. She’s insistent that nothing change. She doesn’t want to admit that she’s slowing down. She takes herself on that walk every morning as if her life depends on it. Then there are those committee meetings she attends.’ He scratched his head. ‘But she won’t listen to me.’
‘Then she won’t listen to me either,’ said Daisy. She decided not to mention the unfinished puzzle. It seemed trivial now and was perhaps creating drama where there was none. ‘As long as you’re not worried.’
‘I’m not worried and you shouldn’t be either. You’ve been away for so long it’s hard for you to have some perspective.’ He grinned. ‘The Commodore wants me to design him a mole trap that catches them alive. It’s going to be an interesting project.’
‘Where will he put them once he’s caught them?’
‘I don’t know. I’ll leave that to him.’
Daisy nodded. ‘He’ll know what to do. He was in the Navy,’ she said, imitating his voice. They both laughed. ‘Amazing what the Navy prepares one for.’
Daisy drove up to the Sherwoods’ farm feeling calmer. Her father was right. Having lived abroad for so long it was hard for her to have any perspective. Perhaps her mother had been growing increasingly forgetful for years. How would she know, not having been around long enough to witness it?
She parked the car outside the barn and unpacked her equipment. When her easel was set up, in front of the enormous windows, she felt a surge of pleasure. She knew she would draw beautifully in this room.
Lady Sherwood brought the dogs over and Daisy started taking photographs. There was tea and coffee in the kitchen and milk in the fridge – Lady Sherwood had thought of everything. The sun came out and flooded the room with light. The view of the farm was beautiful, even in winter when the trees were bare and the ground dull green in colour and sodden. She knew she’d have to start walking soon as her parents might need the car. She didn’t want to waste precious funds on a new one, even a second-hand one. It wasn’t too far, if Sir Owen let her cut across the fields. But right now she was satisfied, and, she noticed, thinking a little less about Luca.