She raced downstairs and through the house, aware of her mother calling out after her. ‘Which one did you put them in?’ she snapped. They were both down at the bottom of the garden now, having stopped at the row of wheelie bins. Anna stared, open-mouthed as Lucy flipped up one of the lids.
‘They’re not in there,’ she said, trying to grab at her daughter’s arm. Lucy shook her off and flung the next lid open.
‘They’re not in that one either.’
Lucy swung round to face her, close to tears now. She hated the way this still happened to her occasionally: the sudden loss of control, as if someone had stamped on her accelerator pedal when she’d always thought of herself as a calm and level-headed person. In her old job, when the pressure had been on, Lucy had been the one to soothe her colleagues, to help them prioritise and hang on to the belief that everything would work out okay. ‘Panicking won’t help,’ she’d often say during meetings. ‘There’s nothing that can’t be fixed here. No one’s died.’
But now the smallest thing could set her off. She had cried in frustration the other day when she’d tried to buy bread in the village and discovered that she’d left her purse at home. A few days earlier, she had kicked the garage door violently when she couldn’t get it to shut properly – which was perhaps unwise of her, considering it had smashed down on her head last year.
But this wasn’t a small thing, like a forgotten purse or temperamental garage door. To Sam, it would be enormous.
‘Mum,’ Lucy said steadily, ‘please try and remember which one you put them in.’ Someone on the road caught her eye. It was Lucy’s neighbour, Irene, strolling by. She waved over the gate and, distractedly, Lucy waved back.
‘They’re not in a bin,’ Anna murmured. ‘Come with me.’ They walked around to the side of the shed where Anna pointed towards the pile of shrub clippings. ‘I brought them out in a bag and then tipped them over there,’ Anna explained.
‘What? You just scattered them?’
‘I know what you’re like with recycling,’ her mother mumbled. ‘You don’t like things going to landfill, do you? You’re always saying that.’
Lucy scanned the pile of foliage. None of Sam’s exhibits were immediately visible; perhaps they’d slipped down through the gaps, or her mother had scattered them more widely than she’d realised. For crying out loud, she wanted to yell, what kind of idiot would throw out a child’s precious things from his bedroom?
She started to delve through the pile, scattering twigs, barely noticing that her hands were becoming scratched as she raked through the greenery.
‘I’m sorry, love.’ Her mother looked quite distraught now.
‘Are you sure this is where you threw them?’
‘I think so. Now I’m not sure. Is it really important?’
‘Of course it’s important!’
Anna touched her arm. ‘Please don’t shout. Let’s not make a huge thing of it. It was just a mistake.’
‘I’m sorry, Mum. I’m just upset.’
‘I was only trying to help.’
‘Yes, I realise that.’ Could anyone crank up the guilt more effectively than a mother, she wondered? She would rather die than make Marnie and Sam feel that way.
‘I’ll make it up to him,’ Anna added. ‘I’ll buy him a …’ She paused. ‘What’s he into these days?’
Making museums! Lucy wanted to snap, but managed to stop herself. Anna had never been terribly in touch with the children’s latest whims and obsessions. For years, she had insisted on buying dolls for Marnie even though she had never shown the slightest interest in them. Diplomatically, Lucy had tried to suggest other possible gifts, like art materials, accessories for her bike or even a gift token if she was struggling for ideas. But the dolls had kept coming – bought out of love, of course, Lucy realised that – dressed in their gauzy outfits with their pouty mouths, and Lucy hadn’t had the heart to ask her to stop. For this coming birthday, Lucy had suggested she contributed to the keyboard Marnie had asked for.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ Lucy muttered now.
‘No, really. I can get him a present,’ Anna insisted.
‘It’s fine,’ Lucy said, wishing they could rewind to the moment when her mother had arrived earlier that afternoon, and start over again. Anna was a fusspot – but Lucy knew she loved her, and she did only want to help. Maybe cleaning and tidying were the only ways Anna could think of to lend a hand.
If she had been able to think straight, Lucy would have reminded herself that, as a bereaved daughter, she probably wasn’t easy to be around these days. Her mother wasn’t to know how important those tiny finds were to Sam; she hadn’t been there when he’d found that delicate skull lying on the path in the woods. Was it from a shrew, they’d wondered? Or a vole? Sam had wrapped it in tissue and slipped it carefully into his jacket pocket.
How would she tell him it had been thrown away, and what did it matter if feathers weren’t especially hygienic when this little boy had lost his dad?
Tears blurred Lucy’s vision now as she spotted a smooth white pebble next to the clippings pile. But was it a museum exhibit or just an ordinary pebble, and would Sam even be able to tell the difference? She spied a feather, too, and tried to figure out whether it had just been lying there, or was it one that Sam had picked up on a walk? There was no sign of the skull, though, or the tiny bird bones.
‘Hi!’ Carys’s voice cut through the air.
Lucy straightened up quickly at the sight of her friend and the children – Marnie, Sam, and Carys’s children, Noah and Amber – who had wandered in through the gate.
‘Hi!’ She beamed as Bramble charged into the garden, ears flapping, and proceeded to tear around excitedly.
‘Hi, Grandma!’ Sam called out, and hurried towards her, closely followed by Marnie. It twisted Lucy’s heart to see how happy they were to see her. Carys greeted Anna – they had met several times before – and turned to Lucy.
‘They did so well at gymnastics,’ she said, ‘but the teacher said there’s going to be a lot of rehearsals before the show …’
‘What show?’ she asked distractedly.
‘Mum, I told you,’ Marnie groaned. ‘There’s a gymnastic display at the end of the holidays.’
‘Oh, yes!’ Lucy feigned recollection. ‘Yes, of course. Well, that’s great.’
Catching her eye, Carys frowned. ‘Sorry we’re a bit late. They wanted to stop off for an ice cream.’
‘Oh, that’s nice. Thanks so much for having them. We were thinking we’d like to do another sleepover soon?’
‘That’d be great.’ Carys’s gaze met Lucy’s and a look of concern crossed her face. ‘Everything okay?’
‘Er, yes …’ Lucy’s chest tightened as she tried to work out what to do. She wasn’t about to tell tales – ‘My mother threw Sam’s museum away!’ – and had no desire to establish blame. But what other explanation could she give? Perhaps she could delay Sam from going upstairs, just for long enough to give her the chance to have another hunt for his exhibits. Things would be a whole lot better if she could sneak at least some of them back onto the shelf.
Miraculously, both Marnie and Sam took their grandma’s hands and started to lead her around the garden, showing her the purple and yellow pansies they had planted themselves, and the haphazard rockery they had built in the patch of border Lucy said they could have as their own. Noah and Amber tailed after their friends, all of them chatting in a happy group with Bramble moseying along beside them. Sam was now pointing out the bird box that he and Marnie had partially constructed with their dad, and Lucy had helped them to finish without knowing how he had intended it to be, or able to find any kind of plan or diagram. It was a little wonky, but it had held together and they had painted it pea green, fixed it to the oak tree and were immensely proud of it. ‘I wish Dad could see it,’ Marnie had said.
‘You seemed a bit stressed there, when we arrived,’ Carys murmured.
Lucy grimaced and waited until Anna and the children had disappeared around the corner to where the redcurrants grew. ‘Mum’s been a bit overenthusiastic with her tidying up,’ she explained. ‘You know Sam’s museum in his room?’
Carys nodded. ‘The V&A of Burley Bridge?’
‘Yeah, well, it’s no more, I’m afraid. She decided it was a health hazard and threw it all out.’
‘Oh no!’ Carys looked aghast. ‘Where did she put it all?’
‘Down there, she thinks,’ she said, motioning towards the pile of clippings. ‘C’mon, I’ll have another quick look.’
They both strode towards the pile of clippings. However, before they had even reached it Sam had reappeared and shouted, ‘I need to pee!’ and hurtled into the house.
Lucy stared at her friend. ‘Oh, Christ.’
‘It’ll be okay,’ Carys whispered. ‘Tell him it was a mistake, and you can go out and find new things – even better things – and he’ll have an even more amazing museum.’
Lucy wanted to believe it was possible, and that she’d lost perspective and was over-reacting wildly, as often seemed to be the case these days. After all, some of the exhibits had only been bits of bark and tufts of lichen. Even with the egg and the animal skull, they were hardly talking a crisis of international proportions.
As Anna and Marnie strolled back into view, Lucy made her way towards the house. ‘I’m just going to check if Sam’s okay,’ she said quickly.
‘He’s gone to the loo,’ Marnie announced.
‘Yes, I know, love.’
Marnie frowned at her, clearly confused as they only ever used the downstairs loo when they were playing outside, and of course Sam was capable of negotiating it without help. Perhaps he’d come straight back out, Lucy tried to reassure herself as she strode towards the front door, aware of her mother, Carys and all three children staring after her.
But no. ‘Mum!’ Sam’s voice rang out from upstairs. ‘Muuum!’
‘What’s the matter, Sam?’ she called back, her heart thudding.
‘My museum’s gone!’ There was a scramble of footsteps on the landing, then he scampered downstairs and ran towards her, juddering to a halt on the front step.
‘Sam …’ She bobbed down and pulled him towards her. ‘It’s okay, love. There’s just been a slight … mistake, okay?’
‘What mistake?’ He pulled back and looked at her, his wavy brown hair mussed, his dark eyes wide and indignant.
‘Well … Grandma was tidying up your room and she didn’t realise, she didn’t mean to—’
‘What did she do?’ he barked at her.
Lucy reddened, aware how unpleasant it was to be referred to as ‘she’, but now wasn’t the time to pick him up on his manners. She straightened up and looked around at her mother for help.
‘I, um … I threw your things away, love,’ Anna murmured, quickly striding towards them. ‘I’m sorry, Sam.’
‘Why did you do that?’ He gawped at her, tears forming instantly and rolling down his lightly freckled cheeks.
‘I didn’t know they were important. I just thought they were – I don’t know – just bits you’d picked up from outside.’
‘Why did you let her?’ Sam seemed to be redirecting his anger towards his mother now. Amber and Noah gawped at her, all agog.
‘Yeah, why did you, Mum?’ Marnie growled.
‘It’s no one’s fault,’ Carys said quickly. ‘These things happen.’
‘Grandma was only trying to help,’ Lucy tried to explain. ‘She was making your room nicer for you.’
She reached for Sam’s hand but he whirled away, yelling, ‘I don’t want it nicer. I want Dad!’
‘So do I,’ Marnie cried, her face crumpling.
‘Oh, Lucy, I’m so sorry,’ Anna started.
‘It’s okay, Mum,’ Lucy muttered.
‘No, it’s not!’ Sam raged. ‘I want Dad and I want my things back. I want Grandma to go.’
‘Sam!’ Anna exclaimed. ‘I was only trying to help.’
‘Well, you weren’t helping,’ he yelled.
‘Sam, please stop this now,’ Lucy implored him, trying to pull him in for a hug, but he pushed her off and ran away from her, towards the bottom of the garden.
‘Come back, darling,’ Anna called out weakly.
He stopped suddenly and swung round to face her. ‘Go away, Grandma,’ he cried, wiping his wet face with his hands. ‘I don’t want you here anymore. Just go home.’