The next few hours are a challenge for Lucia. Torn between worry about Isaac and a strange, lost feeling when she thinks of Tommy, she tries desperately to find something to occupy both her mind and her restless body, but nothing holds her attention for long.
Finally, after tidying most of the house in a quick-fix kind of way, she decides to put some peaceful music on and tackle a job that’s been waiting for her for years. The old blanket chest in the corner of the bedroom Lu has shared with Des for so long has always been a dumping ground for anything they can’t bear to part with that’s small enough to fit in there. The wicker chest belonged to Lucia’s grandmother, who rather grandly called it her ottoman. It’s been painted many times over the years, and now is a faded apple green with a padded lid, worn in places and covered with a chintzy fabric in green and gold.
Lucia kneels beside the ottoman and puts her hand on the lid. She can almost see her grandmother folding freshly laundered and aired sheets and pillowcases to stow away in it. The old lady had been proud that this was a genuine Lloyd Loom piece of furniture.
‘You’ll take good care of this when I’m gone, won’t you m’dear?’ she’d said several times, and Lu happily agreed. There’s a chair to match and a small wicker bedside cabinet and they’re probably the most precious items in the house to Lucia. She opens the lid and stares at the jumbled contents in dismay. Has she taken on too much when she’s feeling so wobbly? But at least this will keep her occupied for hours, and then she’ll be tired enough for a long bath and something comforting to eat, like poached eggs on toast or a bacon sandwich.
The thought of food encourages her and Lucia begins to carefully take out the contents of the blanket box, layer by layer. To the background music of Classic FM, she methodically spreads everything on the bedroom floor in heaps, trying to put them roughly in categories. There are lots of Isaac’s early drawings, mostly of birds or cars, all signed with his signature flourish. Even as a small boy, he’d loved to write his own name, making eyes out of each lower case letter A, and giving them long eyelashes. The C at the end had become a half moon with a smiling face, the S was a snake and the initial letter always had a tiny bird perched on top.
Lucia smiles to herself as she remembers the chubby little boy who’d never been happier than when he had the kitchen table to himself to paint or draw. Des had hated to come home from work to a mess so she’d always tried to make everywhere look spick and span by tea time, but often this had resulted in an epic tantrum from Isaac, stopped mid flow in creating another of his masterpieces.
The next heap mainly consists of small items of clothing that she’s not been able to part with. Isaac’s first shoes, scuffed and shabby, a tiny knitted jumper which was one of Lucia’s mother’s few efforts to be a good grandma, and sundry other bits and bobs from Isaac’s childhood.
Lucia moves on to toys and books next. She’s always been fairly good and passing these on when they’re not needed anymore but one or two treasures were too precious to lose. She places the battered copy of Maeterlinck’s Bluebird on her bed so that it can be ready for when … if Reggie comes home. It’s the board book version, much shortened, and it’s held together with sticky tape now, but Reggie will like looking at the pictures. Lucia thinks about the baby, somewhere with Polly, maybe confused about what’s going on. Is he old enough to know? He’ll not mind his routine being changed after coping with all the travelling so well, but surely he’ll miss the place that must feel like home in some part of his small psyche? Anger fills her mind when Lucia thinks back to how irritated Des had been to have Polly and Reggie around the house. Well, she thinks savagely, he won’t need to worry about that now.
The last pile to be created is made up entirely of letters and postcards. When it comes to correspondence, Des is as much of a hoarder as Lucia, and some of these go back to the early days of her marriage. Sighing, Lucia decides to rationalise all this. She gets up rather creakily after having been crouched on the floor for so long, and goes into the tiny spare bedroom where she remembers storing several flat-packed boxes and some parcel tape, just in case Isaac should ever want to move out. Des had encouraged this plan, but his nagging seemed to have made Isaac dig his heels in even more.
When the boxes are constructed, Lucia piles all the toys and children’s books into one for Reggie, taking it into what she hopes will still be Polly’s room. She packs the little clothes into another, along with the dress she wore for her first date with Des. Then, biting her lip, she takes the tattered garment out again and throws it across the room into the bin. Why should she keep it? Des doesn’t want her anymore, and he hadn’t even liked the dress much. He said red wasn’t her colour.
Last of all, Isaac’s artwork goes into a third box. It can go in the loft when she’s showed it him. It can’t be thrown away. This leaves the tottering pile of letters, which Lucia bundles into a laundry basket and carries downstairs.
After a longed-for hot bath and some necessary comfort food, Lucia, snug in her dressing gown, lights a fire in the living room grate. The basket of letters is beside her as she settles down to watch the flickering flames. She gets up once more to makes sure it’s burning properly and to fetch herself a large glass of chilled white wine from the fridge. The compass is in its case by her side and she gets it out. There’s no advice needed but its presence is comforting. Then she gets started on what she knows will be an emotional journey. It’s got to be done, though. This is the first step towards her future.