Sometimes it was hard for Lucy to remember what she was like before the accident. But, somehow, the weeks had gone on and she was still here, alive. Christmas had happened, apparently, although naturally it had been a write-off. Lucy’s parents had arrived at Rosemary Cottage, and Lucy had a vague recollection of a few presents and a cobbled-together dinner, and her mother cooking and cooking as the days went on – mostly pies, as it happened, as if copious quantities of pastry might save them all. But Lucy was still a mother herself, which required her to be stoic and strong – all those motherly things – so she did her best and tried not to fall to pieces in front of Marnie and Sam.
You were supposed to hold it together, just because you’d given birth. You had to comfort your children when they were inconsolable and stand there, clutching their hands because you’d decided it was best for them to go to Daddy’s cremation, to say goodbye properly with the other people who loved him. As if you were capable of making any kind of rational decision. Should they have gone? Was it too traumatising for them, even though Lucy had somehow got it together to find a young, female celebrant who had followed her request to make the ceremony a celebration of Ivan’s life?
It was beautiful – everyone had said so. Well, nearly everyone. Lucy became convinced that Ivan’s mother, Penny, had glanced at her with fury – as if she thought she were somehow to blame for the accident. Perhaps she was being hypersensitive, and of course, his parents were devastated too. Ivan had been their only child, and although they were hardly demonstrative, she knew they adored him. Back in their North London semi, his childhood bedroom had remained just as he’d left it when he’d departed for university at eighteen years old.
In contrast, Lucy had always suspected that they had never fully approved of her. Penny was a retired ward sister, while Nigel had worked as a quantity surveyor. She’d sensed that they had viewed her job in lingerie as faintly ridiculous: ‘Underwear? Really?’ Penny had remarked, paling slightly as if Lucy had explained that she was a pole dancer, and would they like to come watch her next show? Their move to Burley Bridge, and the opening of their B&B, had clearly baffled them too.
‘What d’you do all day, Lucy?’ Penny had asked one day last summer.
‘I do most of the stuff connected with the guests,’ she’d explained, her jaw set tight with the effort of remaining pleasant. She’d wanted to add, as well as looking after the children and the house and doing my floral commissions. Of course she hadn’t said that – but Christ, it was hard to be civil sometimes. It had been her in-laws’ first visit to Burley Bridge; they were obviously uncomfortable with venturing beyond the North Circular, and had apparently been appalled that Ivan had chosen to stay on in Manchester after university.
Penny dropped the phrase ‘The North’ regularly into conversation: ‘Are you sure there’s enough of a holiday market in The North, Lucy?’ And, ‘Do you think people in The North really want this kind of sophisticated breakfast menu?’ As if bread and dripping, shovelled in before they clomped off in clogs to plough the fields, was more the normal kind of fare.
‘Oh, our guests come from all over the place,’ Lucy replied cheerfully. D’you know, some of them have even encountered granola!
‘Well, I never imagined we’d see Ivan living in a place like this,’ Nigel had announced, the implication being that Lucy had bound his beloved son tightly with rope and dragged him away from the city to play at country living with her.
Of course, all of that was in the past now. Penny hadn’t looked angry, Lucy’s friends had reassured her; no one thought anything bad of her. How could they?
Because she’d been the one to come up with the scheme of buying Rosemary Cottage and running a B&B. It had been her stupid dream, and if they’d stayed in Manchester, she would still have her husband and Marnie and Sam would have their dad.
Although Penny and Nigel headed straight back to London after the service, Lucy’s mother had announced that she would stay on in Burley Bridge ‘for the time being’, to help out. Lucy’s father was sent home in the meantime to look after Tilly, their flatulent miniature schnauzer, and would return to pick up Anna when summoned.
‘I think you should all come back and stay with us,’ her mother remarked one evening, after the children had gone to bed. ‘I know you’re not up to moving, love, but we could find you somewhere eventually. And in the meantime, you could stay with us.’
‘Mum, I can’t make any decisions like that right now,’ Lucy replied.
Her mother scanned the living room. There were no flowers now, not so much as a wisp of fresh greenery, and the numerous sympathy cards had been stashed away. They had been lovely to receive, and occasionally Lucy browsed through them, but she didn’t want them all lined up on show, like Christmas cards. ‘But this house is full of memories,’ Anna remarked.
‘We’ve only been here for a year,’ Lucy reminded her, although her mother was right; Ivan’s things were everywhere, as was the evidence of his hard work in finishing off the house.
‘We just wish you were closer to us.’
‘You’re only an hour away, Mum.’
Anna pursed her lips. ‘You’re not going to do B&B anymore, are you, darling?’
‘Not at the moment,’ Lucy said firmly. ‘Of course not.’
‘I mean, ever. You can’t, can you, on your own—’
‘Mum,’ she cut in, then paused. ‘Please, can we not discuss this right now? I’m not being evasive. I just don’t know what I’m going to do.’
It was true; Lucy hadn’t even started to consider what her future might hold. It was only late January – a month since she’d lost Ivan. It seemed incomprehensible that a few weeks ago, she had been tossing crepes, whipping up berry compotes and arranging vases of lush, glossy foliage snipped from the garden. Surely it can’t have been her who’d been chatting so easily with guests as she’d brought out fresh coffee to the breakfast table?
Back then, a glowing comment in the visitors’ book would make her heart soar:
A lovely cottage, and Lucy was so welcoming!
The best breakfast we can ever remember having at a B&B.
Rosemary Cottage is our new fave in the area. We can’t wait to come back!
Well, sorry, Lucy thought bitterly whenever she reread those words – but they would have to find somewhere else to stay for the time being. These days, Lucy was barely capable of boiling an egg, and more often than not, the kitchen smelt of burnt toast and stress.
As the weeks went on, she barely ventured into the garden she’d loved so much last year. She just marched through it, head bent down, barely able to glance at the shed where Ivan and the children had whiled away so many hours together, or the wrought-iron gate he’d painted cornflower blue as a surprise, knowing it was her favourite colour. Rikke still popped in to see Lucy and the children, and brushed off Lucy’s apologies over being unable to offer her regular working hours at the moment. ‘That doesn’t matter,’ she’d said kindly. ‘I just like to see you all as friends. Please let me know if I can help.’
Meanwhile, Lucy had put a blunt message on the B&B website explaining that they would be closed until further notice. Incredibly to her, Ivan had no life insurance – she felt guilty even thinking of such things – as he’d been notoriously disorganised when it came to admin and finance, those tedious matters that had never seemed important until now. Anna had expressed surprise too, but Lucy had dismissed the matter. She certainly wasn’t prepared to have a conversation that might have shown Ivan as even slightly thoughtless or irresponsible. After all, they had arranged the mortgage together, so it had been her responsibility too. Anyway, money wasn’t an issue, Anna kept insisting; she mustn’t worry about a thing.
Gradually, Marnie and Sam started back at school – a couple of hours at first, then half-days, to ease them in gently. They seemed stunned and bewildered by what had happened, but would then amaze Lucy by playing happily together with Sam’s farm for an entire afternoon – the one they had built with Ivan in the shed, with the wooden enclosures, a farmhouse and a milking shed. It was almost as if, for the duration of a game, they were capable of forgetting what had happened. Then it would all come crashing down upon them and there’d be a squabble, and tears, and hails of tiny plastic animals flung at each other.
At night, Sam started wetting the bed again (previously, there hadn’t been any mishaps since he was three) and Marnie would wake up crying about a robber in her room, some kind of animal’s paw at her bedroom window, all kinds of nightmarish stuff. They went through phases of being shouty and demanding, then barely speaking at all; of shunning the meals she’d cooked then nagging for sweets, crisps and copious amounts of junk food. Lucy found herself doing her utmost to accommodate their whims – because how could she possibly enforce petty rules when their dad had died?
Once upon a time, she had gone to great lengths to conceal vegetables in their food. Now, if they begged for chips from the village chippie – well, they got chips. ‘It won’t do them any harm,’ Anna agreed. Lucy was grateful to her mother for just being there, happy to tackle the laundry or read bedtime stories when Lucy simply didn’t have the energy.
But having her around had its downside too.
It was now early February, and Lucy had turned forty-two, having allowed her mother to put on a small tea party to mark the occasion, even though the last thing she felt like doing was celebrating it (‘Please, love,’ Anna had cajoled her, ‘even if it’s only for the kids’). Now that was over, Lucy was starting to crave her own space. Any suggestions that Anna might like to think about going home soon were brushed off. ‘Oh, I’m quite happy here!’ she trilled, dusting and hoovering as if her life depended on it. An unstoppable force, Anna set about deep-cleaning and reorganising the kitchen without being asked, exclaiming, ‘There – that’s much better now.’ As if they had been living in squat-like conditions until Anna had arrived as a one-woman taskforce to sort things out.
There’s an awful lot of guilt around death, Lucy noticed. Guilt about sometimes not answering the door when friends came around, because she just wasn’t in the mood for coffee and chat – and guilt about really wanting her mother to go home now.
And guilt about Ivan, of course. Lucy wondered if that would ever go away.
‘There! Now you’ll be able to find things,’ Anna announced proudly one Friday evening when – once again, without prior consultation – she had pulled out everything from the linen cupboard and put it all back, according to her own, supposedly superior system.
‘Thanks, Mum,’ Lucy said flatly, blinking at the neatly ordered shelves.
‘See, I organised it in colours rather than—’
‘Yes, I can see that – it’s totally brilliant.’ Lucy felt a twinge in her jaw as her mother frowned at her.
‘I just thought it’d be easier if—’
‘Mum, it’s fine!’ Lucy snapped.
Anna stared at her, her cheeks flushing pink. ‘Don’t you think it looks better this way?’
‘I, I don’t know. I mean, yes. It looks great. I’m sorry, I just …’ I don’t give a stuff how our duvet covers and pillowcases are stored, she thought, sensing the tears welling up.
Anna blinked at her. ‘I could put everything back the way it was, if you like?’
Oh, for heaven’s sake! From then on, they stepped carefully around each other, with Anna asking permission before she did virtually anything: ‘I was going to peel some potatoes for dinner; is that okay, love?’ And: ‘Is it all right if I throw out this banana? I think it’s past its best …’
It felt to Lucy as if the cottage’s walls were closing in on her, and late that Sunday night, she sat with her mother at the fireside and explained, ‘I think we just need a bit of time alone now, Mum. Me and the kids, I mean. We’re so grateful to you for spending all this time with us, but—’
‘You mean, you want me to go home?’ Anna’s finely plucked brows shot up.
‘I don’t mean it like that,’ Lucy said quickly. ‘It’s just – we’ll have to get used to managing on our own at some point, won’t we? And Dad must be really missing you …’
‘He’s fine! He’s probably enjoying the peace.’
‘I just feel sorry for him, though, being alone. It’s been over a month, Mum.’
‘He’s not alone, is he? He has Tilly …’ Anna picked at her dark red nail polish. ‘Is this because of the linen cupboard?’
‘No – of course it’s not,’ Lucy exclaimed. ‘No, Mum. You’ve been an amazing help to us …’
‘I just think I should be with you at the moment.’
Lucy inhaled. ‘We’ll all be coming to you really soon, in the Easter holidays.’
‘Oh, I hope so,’ Anna said. ‘But that does seem like a terribly long time away …’
‘It’s only a few weeks.’ Lucy leaned over and squeezed her hand.
‘I’ll go tomorrow, then. I’ll call your dad and ask him to come.’
‘Okay, Mum.’ Lucy knew she had hurt her feelings, and she was being punished with a crashing wave of guilt.
Anna looked up at her, her grey eyes moist. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve got on your nerves, love. I was only trying to help.’