Everyone had been so kind: Sidney, Charles Love, Tai and Corinna and, especially, Bernard. Once he’d realised the extent of her unhappiness, he’d been loving, attentive and, at times, overly helpful. Bernard’s ability to execute domestic tasks was limited, and often it was less trouble for Patricia to refuse his offers. But she could accept the flowers, the embraces, the gifts of books and small tokens he thought she might appreciate. Bernard wished her to be happy, and Patricia wished she could oblige him.
She should have known, perhaps — should have anticipated such a reaction. But there was no point in berating herself. It had happened. Now, she must get through it and out the other side.
Corinna had asked whether she wanted to continue as a respite caregiver, and Patricia had given an honest answer: No. She knew she would become attached to even the most troubled child, and the prospect of suffering the same pain of loss made the whole idea out of the question. As she’d said to Bernard only a few short weeks ago, it was an experiment — and now that she’d failed, there was no need to try again.
‘That’s such a shame,’ Corinna had said. ‘Good caregivers are like gold dust. And you did so well with Reuben. His sister can hardly believe it’s the same boy.’
Corinna had paused, before adding, ‘Maree wanted me to ask you if you’d be interested in having Reuben for one or two days after school — or a weekend morning. No obligation; it’s certainly not something the team would expect, or even encourage. But if you were keen, I don’t see the harm.’
Patricia had told her that she’d think about it. It was quite a commitment, and Bernard would agree only to please her. She could not put him in that position.
He was in the kitchen now, with Charles and Tai. Tai seemed considerably happier than he had been over the past fortnight. The farmer-shaming website had been taken down, and the eco-terrorists seemed to have departed, though rumour had it that the police had arrested one at an airport, so Vic and Otto might get justice yet. No charges had been laid regarding the attack on the Wood Sprites camp, but as Tai said, you can’t win everything.
She popped her head around the kitchen door.
‘Everybody all right?’
‘Yes, yes of course,’ Bernard hastened to assure her.
‘Delicious cake, Patricia,’ said Charles. ‘Thank you.’
Yes, Patricia had much more time now for baking, gardening and reading.
‘Tai has a piece of very good news,’ said Bernard. ‘Otto Visser has hired Vic.’
‘I thought Otto was selling his property?’ said Patricia.
‘Decided against it,’ said Tai. ‘But he wants to retire, travel the world with Eduardo, and so he’s asked Vic to manage the farm in his absence. Vic can even bring some of his own stock over if he likes, there’s enough pasture. And—’
He paused for effect, and to relish the pleasure of the revelation. ‘Otto has also endowed a part of his property to the Wood Sprites, for them to set up a permanent camp, or for however long they need it. Vic will ensure it meets safety standards, and even Gene Collins has offered to help them reconstruct. Vic’s not sure if they’ll take up the offer yet, but he’s hopeful. Says he enjoys their company.’
‘That is good news,’ said Patricia, and added politely, ‘Who is Eduardo?’
Tai’s face lit up with amusement.
‘Otto’s boyfriend. The clubrooms are in quite a flap.’
Patricia shared his smile. ‘I can imagine.’
‘And in less positive tidings,’ Bernard continued, ‘Flange and Ballcock have decided to defer their Littleville sponsorship agreement until next year. Some business arrangement with China fell through and they need to cover the shortfall.’
‘Shame that couldn’t be said for the waterfront development,’ said Tai. ‘All systems still go there. Seahorses for Gabriel’s Bay.’
‘Well, who knows?’ said Charles, who could see a silver lining in a raging tempest. ‘That might add to the attraction of Littleville. Miniature horses as well.’
‘When I was eight, I ordered sea monkeys from a comic book,’ said Tai. ‘They are not as much fun as they look in the picture.’
Patricia began to close the kitchen door. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’
She could feel Bernard’s anxiety emanating, but Charles would manage that. Patricia and he had spoken and he’d given her good advice. Everyone had been so kind.
It had re-surged, that overwhelming feeling of loss and despair. As it did, randomly, cruelly. The best place for her to be was the garden, and that’s where she went. The garden was so assiduously tended these days that she was reduced to sitting and waiting for weeds to pop up, like a hawk poised over a rabbit burrow.
Sitting, however, allowed her to enter a sort of meditative state. The late winter weather had been positively balmy, and Patricia appreciated the warmth on her back, and the scents of daphne and wintersweet that wafted on the gentle breeze. The bulbs were surfacing — hyacinth, narcissus and daffodil. T.S. Eliot had described the start of spring as cruel because it gave one hopes that could only be dashed. Patricia was not so self-pitying as to believe this dark period in her life would endure. She also knew that there was no point in fighting it. It would be over when it was over, and, if she were vigilant, would never recur with the same intensity.
‘Patricia?’
A hesitant request roused her from her not unpleasant languor.
‘Sorry,’ said Sidney. ‘I can bugger off and come back later if you like?’
‘No, no,’ said Patricia. ‘I’m only daydreaming.’
Sidney joined her on the Lutyens bench. Its paint was peeling quite badly, Patricia observed. This would be a perfect time to refresh it.
‘I resent it deeply when people interrupt my reveries,’ said Sidney. ‘It always seems to happen just as I’ve got to a good bit.’
‘I was thinking about bulbs,’ Patricia admitted.
‘Yes, well, not a million miles away from my dream themes,’ said Sidney.
Patricia prompted her. ‘Did you need me for something?’
‘Oh. Gosh …’
Ever since Sidney’s pregnancy had begun to agree with her, she’d been looking, as the cliché ran, positively blooming. Now the apples of her cheeks flushed an even brighter pink, and Patricia wondered what on earth she’d come to declare.
‘It seemed such a good idea when it was all in my mind,’ Sidney said. ‘Now, I’m worried you’ll be offended.’
‘Despite my middle-class appearance,’ Patricia told her, ‘I’m actually very rarely offended. Try me.’
‘OK.’ Sidney inhaled a deep prepatory breath.
‘Patricia,’ she began, with the air of a suitor proposing marriage. ‘Would you consider being godmother to our baby?’
Goodness. That she had not anticipated. And instantly, a midge swarm of conflicting emotions rose inside her. She was flattered, terrified, thrilled, reluctant, tearful, joyful and entirely at sea as to how to respond.
‘You don’t have to answer right now,’ added Sidney, blush deepening. ‘I know it’s probably terrible timing, and maybe even a terrible idea, but—’
‘I’d be honoured to,’ said Patricia. ‘How lovely of you to ask me.’
‘Really?’
Sidney looked as if she were about to cry. Patricia knew exactly how she felt.
‘I can’t think of anything I’d like more,’ she said. ‘Although I’m not sure I’m entirely suitable to direct the “God” aspect of the role.’
‘Oh, just teach it ‘Jerusalem’ and a few of the more rousing Christmas carols.’
Sidney was smiling now, but had to reach up and wipe her eyes.
‘Here.’ Patricia reached into her skirt pocket and pulled out a handkerchief.
‘See,’ said Sidney, as she took it. ‘I knew we’d made the perfect choice.’