Unknown

he next morning, burdened with an armful of flowers, Jeanne picked her way through the graves at St Saviours Church. It was completely still and peaceful. The church was quite high up, providing far-reaching views over the fields to the sea. Jeanne sighed as she trod carefully past ancient stones, thinking what an idyllic place to be buried, the quintessence of ‘Rest In Peace’.

Some of the more recent graves displayed splashes of colour from fresh flowers while others bore the dying sticks of blooms brought weeks or even months ago. Jeanne vowed that while she was on the island she would bring fresh flowers weekly. The sight of the dried-up, colourless skeletons was so depressing.

It took a while for her to find her parents’ grave with its beautifully polished black granite headstone standing proudly and protectively at the head. The grave had been unmarked when she had left the island in such a hurry fifteen years before. Reading the gold-lettered inscription brought tears to her eyes.

In Loving Memory

Owen Le Page

1946–1990

A much loved Son and Father

And His Beloved Wife

Janet Le Page

1947–1990

A Much loved Mother

Died tragically together at sea

Forever in Our Hearts

God Bless

Blowing her nose and wiping her eyes, Jeanne found memories of her parents crowding into her mind, evoking their happy times as a family. Images floated in: of the three of them when she was a little girl, together on the beach, building sandcastles or splashing in the sea; fishing with her father from his boat as she got older, triumphantly reeling in a sea bass; her mother waving goodbye at the gate as she started her first day at the grammar school, proud of her new oversized uniform; her parents beaming with pride as she collected a prize that last school year. There was so much that her parents had missed since then and Jeanne felt an urgent need to share everything with them.

‘I’m back, Mum and Dad. I don’t know for how long. There’s so much to tell you! I managed to get good grades in my GCSEs and I went on to study A levels at the Sixth Form College near Aunt Kate. I…I couldn’t stay here after . . .and Kate offered to have me. Looking back now, Mum, I realise how brave it was for her to take me on. I was a pretty stroppy, unhappy teenager who’d just lost her beloved parents.’

Jeanne stopped to take a deep breath as she recalled that most unhappy of times. Her decision to leave had distressed her gran, for which she was sorry. But she couldn’t see beyond her own pain, which she now realised had been selfish of her. The need to escape the scene of so much grief and horror had been too strong. Kate, her mother’s older sister, had never married and was a recently retired English teacher, still living in the Midlands town of their birth. Initially they had been an unlikely pairing. But after the first few decidedly edgy months, they had settled down into a mutually supportive friendship.

‘So,’ Jeanne continued, ‘we got on really well and Kate encouraged me to go to university. I read English, gaining an upper second. After graduation I went into journalism. Then a few years later I met Andy.’ A lump formed in her throat and tears pricked at her eyes as she forced herself to go on.

‘We…lived together for a while…but we broke up recently, so I’ve come back. I’m at Gran’s cottage and have to decide what to do next.’

Jeanne sat on the grassy mound as she talked. The desire to feel close to her parents was so overwhelming that it was like a power surge – she had to make a connection of some kind.

‘I…I’d like to ask you both to help me make the right decision. I think I’ll cope better if I know you’re there, watching over me.’

Her face softened and her shoulders dropped as she had the intense feeling that her parents were standing either side of her, holding her in a warm, loving embrace.

Quickly brushing away the remaining tears, Jeanne unwrapped the flowers and filled the inset vases with yellow freesias and pink roses. Then she moved off to find her grandparents’ grave, which bore a weathered grey granite headstone with a black lettered inscription. The last few lines recording Gran’s death looked so much brighter. Kneeling on the grass she offered a quick prayer for them both.

‘Oh, Gran, I’m so sorry I wasn’t here when you died. Please forgive me. And thank you for the cottage. I’ll do my best to look after it, especially the garden. Honest.’

Jeanne couldn’t suppress a sheepish grin at the possibility of central heating going in to the cottage and decided not to mention it to Gran. The phrase ‘turning in her grave’ came to mind – might disturb Granpa, she thought.

Feeling a bit brighter, she filled the holder with the cheerful flowers and stood up to leave. She felt so much closer to her parents and grandparents that she began to think that it was right for her to be back. Everyone wanted to feel they belonged somewhere, she thought, as she went back to the car. This small island held her history and that of her father’s family. Her maternal grandparents had died before she was born so this family was all she had really known, apart from Kate. They seemed to be calling her back to her birthplace. If this was so, then surely she would be able to renovate the cottage and live there? However, the thought of living on her own in the cottage conjured up all her fears. As she pointed the car in the direction of home she knew that there were still many ghosts to be laid.

Jeanne had been distraught the previous evening when the horror of her miscarriage had engulfed her yet again. Molly had come in with the tea and had held her tightly while she had poured out her story. Her friend had been great. Jeanne knew she needed to let it all out. With Molly’s arms like a soothing blanket around her, it had not been difficult. Painful, yes. Of course. She had so wanted that baby! And coming so soon after losing her gran and then Andy…

Her hands gripped the steering wheel even harder. Come on, girl, get a grip! It’s been awful, yes, but you must move on. What was it that Molly had said this morning?

‘You have to let go, of both Andy and the baby, Jeanne. Of course, you’re still grieving and that’s natural but it’s important to focus on the present. So you can heal.’

‘I’ll try,’ Jeanne sighed. ‘At least I’ve got the cottage to focus on and if I do go ahead with the building work, I’ll probably not have any time to think at all.’ She paused. ‘Could getting involved in major building work be considered therapeutic, do you think?’

Molly laughed. ‘People usually need therapy after they’ve had the builders in, so I wouldn’t think so! Still, you’re right in seeing it as something to focus on, instead of the past.’

It was late morning when Jeanne arrived at Le Petit Chêne. The sun skittered about behind soft, white clouds. Promising to be another warm, spring day Jeanne itched to be out in the garden or on the beach but she had other priorities.

As she carried her case inside, it struck her – this is it! This is the first house I’ve owned – this is mine!

Buoyed by the thought, she banked up the fires and unpacked her case upstairs, laying claim to the bedroom with her few personal possessions. After putting the kettle on for her daily caffeine hit she hunted out some vases, filling them with the remaining flowers and placed them in the kitchen, sitting room and bedroom. She smiled. Much more homely. As she sipped her coffee she wrote her “To Do” list, a habit which had helped her to stay organised throughout her adult life.

Phone calls headed her list and she was relieved to hear the familiar dialling tone as she lifted up the handset. It was time to phone Kate.

‘Cleo’s been wondering where you are. She slinks into your room and lies on a sweater you left on the bed. It’s looking more like mohair by the day,’ Kate chuckled.

‘I miss Cleo too. I might get my own cat eventually so that I’ll have someone to talk to and cuddle. Should have smuggled her over with me.’ She paused. ‘Kate, I might be longer than I’d thought. Will it be a problem to leave my things with you for a few more months?’

‘No, of course not. You must do what you have to do, my dear. I’ve always thought of Guernsey as your true home. What are your plans now?’

She replaced the phone, picturing Kate in her book-lined sitting room doing the same. A kind, quiet woman, Kate had come out of her shell in the role of surrogate mother. She later admitted to Jeanne that she had been happiest when she had lived with her.

When Jeanne and Andy had broken up after the loss of the baby she had fled to Kate for succour and healing, staying until she had felt strong enough to go back to Guernsey. Kate had been adamant that she should not put it off any longer.

‘You must go, Jeanne. You owe it to your family to finalise your gran’s affairs. I think it would be good for you to pick up the old threads again. If you do decide to settle there you can always build me an auntie wing!’

They had both laughed as they knew that nothing would entice Kate away from her beloved home and friends. She was an active member of so many groups and clubs that there would be a riot if she tried to leave.

It was now lunchtime and sitting at the old table, cosy by the range, Jeanne savoured the first proper meal in her cottage. As she finished her salad, the kitchen was suddenly suffused with the smell of baking. Jeanne felt the hairs on the nape of her neck stand on end. Closing her eyes, she saw her grandmother, be-floured and aproned, beaming her big warm smile.

‘Thanks, Gran,’ Jeanne whispered. The aroma receded, to be replaced by the tang of the sea floating through the window. This fresh smell induced her to go for a brisk walk on the beach.

That evening Jeanne prepared a simple stir fry to the background of Robbie Williams. Without a TV the evenings could have been lonely, but the new micro stereo she had bought at the Bridge would keep her company.

She read little of the latest Maeve Binchy before she started yawning. She went upstairs, smiling as her eyes took in the cosier bedroom. The flowers and bright new bed linen gave it a warmth lacking just days earlier. Jeanne switched off the heater and climbed into bed. Would Guernsey be able to offer her the healing she so badly needed? She had loved it once. Perhaps the spark was still there. She hoped so. Turning over she was asleep within minutes.

But her sleep was not dreamless. She dreamt she was a child again playing hide and seek with her parents, becoming frantic when she couldn’t find them. Suddenly they appeared, laughing and reaching out to her. With relief she threw herself into their arms, feeling safe once more.