But he didn’t go. He waited, seemingly not appalled by the sight of a woman weeping and snotting all over the blue tits and chaffinches on the tea towel. And when Lucy finally stopped – thank God the children hadn’t witnessed her display – he beckoned her to sit back down at the table as he took the seat beside her.
‘Are you okay?’ he asked gently.
Lucy exhaled and nodded. ‘Yeah. God, I’m mortified, James. I didn’t expect that to happen.’
He looked at her, and she decided there was something incredibly kind about his dark brown eyes. She rubbed at her own, aware that they were puffy and probably bright pink. ‘I’m not sure you can plan these things,’ he added.
‘Yeah.’ He got up and filled a glass of water and handed it to her, and she sipped it gratefully. ‘It just seems so unfair sometimes,’ she murmured. ‘For Marnie and Sam especially …’ She broke off. ‘You know what that’s like, don’t you?’
‘Sorry, I don’t …’ He sat back down next to her, looking puzzled now.
‘Losing your mum, I mean,’ she said. ‘I remember you telling me.’
James cleared his throat and reddened slightly, and she regretted mentioning it. ‘Erm, yeah …’
She drank some more water and mustered a smile. ‘Anyway, enough about all this sad stuff. It’s a beautiful day. Would you like to see the garden properly? The one you trespassed in all those times?’
‘Sure,’ he said brightly. ‘I’d love to.’ So they headed outside, and as they walked she quizzed him about Spike, his work as a boat fitter and life in Liverpool.
‘Spike’s with me half of the week,’ he explained. ‘It’s worked out okay since his mum and I split – not too many dramas.’
She looked at him, intrigued now about what had gone on in his life in the interim years. ‘How old’s Spike?’ she asked.
‘He’s ten. A great kid – bit quiet, bookish, does his own thing. Likes coming on jobs with me when he’s not at school.’ James smiled fondly. ‘He’s pretty handy, actually. Knows one end of a hammer from the other.’
Lucy grinned. ‘Sounds like you’re really close.’
‘Yeah, we are, although of course I drive him mad sometimes, and he’s just reached the stage where I embarrass the hell out of him.’
Lucy chuckled. ‘Hormones kicking in?’
James nodded as they strolled down towards the shed. ‘That looks interesting. Spike would love that.’
‘The shed? Come and see it …’ Partly hidden by overhanging willows, and in the shade of the oak, it was looking rather shabby with its wonky timbers and peeling pistachio paint. She opened the creaky door and James peered in at the clutter. ‘Wow. Looks like there’s been a lot of creativity happening in here.’
Lucy nodded. ‘Ivan and the kids used it as a sort of den. They made things together – probably not a patch on your standards, but they made that …’ She pointed at the birdhouse attached to the trunk of the oak.
‘That’s impressive!’
‘But I should really deal with what’s in here sometime,’ she continued, ‘and the attic too. It’s absolutely stuffed.’
‘What with?’ James asked.
‘Oh God – all sorts. But mainly Ivan’s things. It’s where I put all his stuff that I couldn’t make a decision about. So, basically, pretty much everything.’
He nodded, clearly understanding. ‘I imagine the last thing you needed was to sort through everything, and have to make all those decisions.’
‘Yep. I just shoved it all away out of sight. All his paperwork, his work-related books, his hobby stuff – and Ivan had a lot of hobbies.’
‘What kind?’ James asked.
‘He went through quite a few,’ she said, smiling now. ‘Ivan was the kind of person to throw himself into something, and that would involve buying all the equipment, the materials, the accessories. There was the fitness phase, the gym equipment, the weights and treadmill and cycling gear, then the artistic period when he got into screen printing. Then he bought a saxophone.’
James nodded. ‘So he was an enthusiast.’
‘Yes, I guess you could say that,’ she said as they made their way back towards the house.
Back in the kitchen, Lucy poured more coffee from the pot, hoping James really hadn’t minded her having a good cry in front of him today. She hadn’t done that for months now; in fact, she couldn’t remember the last time. When someone died, it felt as if there was a specific period when you could talk all the time, and cry and be crazy and nothing sensible was expected of you. It was fine to not wash your hair – or even your face – and to look terribly shabby and forget that the children were supposed to take in old family photographs for a class project.
It was okay to be the disorganised mum who accidentally wandered out of the greengrocer’s with a bunch of bananas without paying for them.
It was even okay to snap at the children for some tiny misdemeanour and then apologise and hug them as if your lives depended on it. All of that was okay.
But then time moved along, and the bereavement cards and kindly texts gradually petered out. People stopped bringing shepherd’s pies and cakes – of course they did. They couldn’t nurture you forever; they had their own lives to get on with, and worries of their own. And it felt as though your allotted grieving period had run out, as if it were time on a parking meter, and so you decided that from now on you’d better keep your feelings to yourself.
Nearly a year and a half had passed since Ivan had died. Lucy was still a little shellshocked by her outpouring of tears today.
She glanced at James as he drained his mug. ‘Well, I guess I’d better get up to Dad’s,’ he said. ‘Thanks for the coffee. It’s been lovely seeing you.’
‘I really am sorry for getting upset,’ she said quickly.
James stood up and touched her arm fleetingly. ‘Please don’t say that. I’m glad you’ve told me all that stuff, you know? It’s important. And I was thinking just then. You know all the stuff in your shed, and in your attic that you can’t bring yourself to sort out?’
‘Yes?’
‘Erm …’ He rubbed at his sun-browned neck. ‘Would you like me to help you with it sometime?’
Lucy pulled a face. ‘Oh, it’ll be a horrible job. It’ll be filthy and messy and I’ll probably get quite emotional.’ She paused, wondering how best to put it. I’m still not sure I can bear to throw anything way, is what she meant.
‘All I mean is,’ James continued, ‘it might be useful to have a friend with you, helping you to work your way through it. You know – a bit of moral support. What d’you think?’
Lucy put down her mug on the worktop and looked at him. Instinctively, she knew she could trust him to be sensitive, and not try to make decisions for her; but still, the thought appalled her. ‘It’s lovely of you to offer,’ she said as she saw him to the front door. ‘I’ll think about it, okay?’
‘Well, you know where I am. You can call anytime.’
She nodded and smiled. ‘Thank you. I don’t mean just for that offer, although that really is kind of you. I mean, thank you for letting me—’ She broke off, sensing her cheeks flushing now, and pushed her hair back awkwardly. ‘It’s just been good to talk,’ she added quickly. ‘Next time it won’t be all about Ivan, I promise.’
He fixed her with a curious look. ‘It would’ve been strange for us not to talk about it, wouldn’t it?’
She thrust her hands into her jeans pockets. ‘I guess so, yes.’
He made his way to the front door. ‘Just drop me a text anytime you fancy a coffee. I’m still here for a day or two once a week.’
‘I’ll do that,’ Lucy said.
‘It’s been great seeing you again.’ He smiled warmly and kissed her briefly on the cheek, and then he was gone.
Lucy stood for a moment, wondering whether he was being truthful with her. She hoped he was; it would be a shame if she’d scared him off forever. Well, it was done now, she decided as she headed off to school to pick up the children. Later, once they were home, she decided it was too lovely an afternoon to cajole them into doing their homework right away. Her time with James had lifted her spirits, and she felt inspired to make the most of the glorious spring afternoon by bringing a blanket and makeshift picnic tea outside. Once they’d finished, and the children were pottering around in the early evening sun, Lucy strolled around the garden, gathering ideas for her next floral decorations. Despite everything, she still loved it here.
She’d had grand ideas for the place when they’d moved in. The garden had been the main reason she’d yearned to live here; after all, she had never been inside the cottage before that first viewing with the estate agent. Once it was theirs, she had planned to create a new border down by the shed. She’d envisaged a vegetable plot to supply salads and potatoes for the simple bistro-style evening meals she had hoped to offer to guests eventually.
Some hope of that now, she thought wryly, but she did have a seemingly unstoppable supply of fresh flowers, which she picked and carried back indoors. They hardly needed arranging at all. She just plunged them into glass jugs and vases, fluffing them out with her fingers and placing them in all the downstairs rooms. Instantly, it was as if spring had breathed new life into the cottage.
‘Mum!’ Sam yelled from the front door. ‘Can we take Bramble for a walk? Please?’
‘Oh …’ She paused, her default response being to say, ‘Not today.’ But why not, she reasoned? She called Carys, who was busy with visitors but said they were welcome to borrow their dog. So the three of them picked him up and headed off on a stroll into the hills.
Going for walks was something Lucy and the children had started doing together in recent months, even when they didn’t have a canine companion. She suspected it was unusual for children to enjoy it quite as much as Sam and Marnie did; but then, at home she was often busy with B&B guests, and this way they had her all to themselves.
Curiously, they had never got around to exploring the countryside quite as much when Ivan had still been here. He had never really embraced the idea of heading up into the hills – although he’d implied that it was the kids who were reluctant. ‘Moving to the country doesn’t mean they’ll suddenly love hoofing for miles,’ he’d teased Lucy, shortly after they’d moved in. ‘They’re city kids, remember. They’re used to having stuff all around them, loads to look at, all kinds of life going on.’
‘There’s loads going on here too,’ she had argued, but he’d been right: back then, the delights of spotting cows, sheep and even ponies had worn off after some twenty minutes, and many of their early meanderings involved a barrage of moaning and complaints of sore feet. But earlier this year Sam’s love of space exploration had made way for a keenness on nature, and he’d decided to set up a natural history museum in his bedroom, which would require exhibits (as well as an admission fee of 20p). Was this unusual for a seven-year-old boy, Lucy wondered? In some ways, he seemed young for his age – or perhaps just a little old-fashioned, not that this was a bad thing at all. She loved to see Sam collecting interesting pebbles, feathers, scraps of sheep’s wool and even the occasional tiny animal skull on their walks.
Before long he was asking to go out. Whilst the museum was very much ‘his’ project, Marnie enjoyed helping him, crying out, ‘Sam – how about this?’ when she spotted a tiny blue egg or an unusual pine cone lying on a path. It had sharpened their perception and turned their walks into treasure hunts. They were now hugely pleasurable for all three of them, and Lucy suspected the walks were doing them all good, in all kinds of ways.
As they walked, they chatted. She discovered that the children were far more likely to share their feelings as they plodded along – sometimes holding her hands, sometimes running ahead – than if she tried to sit them down for A Proper Talk at home. Today, Bramble was the focus as they strode up through the hills and the woods, returning with armfuls of foliage to add to the jugs of flowers in the house.
‘It looks lovely in here,’ Carys enthused later, when she turned up with Amber and Noah to collect their now exhausted spaniel. Much later still, when her own children were in bed, Lucy picked up her phone and noticed a text.
Great to see you today, it read. Look forward to next time and please remember my offer, James. He’d only just sent it. There was no mention of him being appalled at her tearful outburst, or the fact that she had mopped up a gallon of snot with the tea towel that now lay in the bin.
Thank you, great to see you too, Lx, she replied. While she wasn’t sure whether their friendship would rekindle properly, she couldn’t help being impressed with how he’d been with her today. Some people ran away from grief. They treated it like an unpredictable dog; it scared them, and they didn’t know how to handle it. But James had known, and a sense of warmth filled her heart now as she thought of him. And something else happened too. Somehow, as Lucy headed upstairs to bed that night, she felt a little less alone.