Читать книгу 59 Memory Lane - Celia Anderson - Страница 8

… so the opal ring’s definitely missing. I don’t know what to do, Don. Mother’s blaming each of us in turn and we’ve turned the house upside down looking for it. Nothing.

Putting down the letter in her hand for a moment, Julia gazes out of the window, past the trailing clematis that climbs over the remains of an oak tree, and the wisteria taking over the shed roof, trailing its feathery lilac fronds so low every summer that Don had to stoop under it every time he retreated there.

What possessed Don to keep all these letters, and what in heaven’s name is she meant to do with them now he’s gone? If she hadn’t finally made herself go into his den she’d have still been in blissful ignorance of the contents of the wooden chest.

She remembers the day he rediscovered the disgusting old chest. She was mystified as to why anyone would want to keep such a thing.

‘You do know that piece of junk’s riddled with woodworm?’ she said, as he dragged it across the yard from the garage. ‘I was going to put it out ready for Andy to take to the tip, or to sling on his next bonfire.’

‘Not infested any more, love,’ Don said, straightening up and rubbing his back. ‘Didn’t you see me out here yesterday with that can of stuff I found in the cupboard under the stairs? I’ve zapped the little devils. Those worms are history!’ He laughed joyfully and patted the oak chest as if it were a faithful dog.

‘But what are you going to do with it?’ Julia asked. ‘It smells disgusting.’ She wrinkled her nose at the eye-watering chemical fumes still coming from the wood.

‘It’ll cancel out the stink of my pipe tobacco then. I’m having a sort out in the den. The drawers in my desk are stuffed. I can’t even open them properly. This’ll be perfect to store everything in.’

‘Wouldn’t it be better to throw something away?’ Julia knew she was wasting her breath as she said this. Don didn’t believe in getting rid of anything unless he had absolutely no choice.

Julia’s eyes prickle again as she conjures up the smile he gave her as he struggled on towards the shed with his prize. The oak chest left deep scuff marks on the path. She can still see them if she looks closely. As he heaved it through the door, he cheered and gave her a victory salute.

If only she’d taken a photograph of that moment. Such a charmer, was that man, but somehow so innocent with it. Their granddaughter, Emily, has the same wide blue eyes and twinkly smile.

With a pang, Julia wishes Emily were here, and not working abroad. New York is much too far away. These thoughts of Don are unbearably sad to cope with on her own. How is she going to get through the rest of her days without him?

Sighing, Julia forces herself to pick up the letter again. Don kept every bit of correspondence they ever received, it seems, and never bothered to sort them into any kind of order. This one is from the younger of his two sisters, Elsie. Like most of the family, Elsie adored the Cornish village where Don and Julia made their home, and visited it regularly. Ever since Julia married Don back in the spring of 1959, when he was fresh from the air force and so handsome he could have had his pick of any girl around, her summers were spoken for. She spent them changing beds, washing sheets, planning menus and thinking up suggestions for trips so the guests might take themselves off to give her a few hours of the solitude that she craved.

She didn’t mind the visitors coming. Well, not much. Don was so hospitable she’d have felt mean to say she needed a break. Anyway, in those days they had their old caravan down the coast to escape to when the season was over. And boy, they certainly enjoyed being alone again. Julia blushes at the memories. She reads on, rubbing her tired eyes as Elsie’s voice speaks to her down the years.

Anyway, other than the crisis with the ring, my most important news is that I’ve managed to change my holiday week, and so has Kathryn. Will can’t come with us this time but he sends his love. He’s been a bit peaky lately, moping around like a dog that’s lost its bone. I wish he’d get himself a girlfriend. Mother thinks he’s just waiting for the right one to come along.

Never in a month of Sundays, thinks Julia. Don’s younger brother, Will, wasn’t remotely interested in finding a girl, and now he’s a retired priest in the wilds of County Kerry. The baby of the family, Will has an ethereal charm, but a large part of his charisma is his fun-loving impulsiveness. Moping around sounds unlike him, although he sometimes was annoyingly moody. Julia casts her mind back. The ancient ink, almost invisible in places, brings that summer vividly to mind.

Elsie and Kathryn tottered off the train as dawn broke, crumpled and sticky but wildly excited at the thought of their week in Cornwall. Julia, heavily pregnant with Felix, plastered on her best welcoming smile. Oh God, here we go again, she thought. Sometimes she felt like the owner of a rather cramped B&B instead of a woman with a new and very large extended family who all loved the seaside. The big double bed had only just been changed after her mother- and father-in-law’s visit. It was good that Don’s sisters never minded sharing a bed – it meant less laundry, and they’d only be in and out of each other’s rooms half the night if not. They never seemed to stop talking, those two. The whole family was the same. What did they find to say? Julia wonders. Did they never just simply run out of words?

She rereads the last line. What was it that was bothering Will that time? Julia vaguely remembers the youngest of the family being paler than usual on his next visit, but nothing was ever said. To be fair, Julia’s thoughts were preoccupied with her own exhaustion and how she was going to cope with a newborn when she’d never even changed a nappy before. Will was almost fragile in looks – a beautiful blond boy, with high cheekbones and such narrow hips that he always had to wear braces to stop his trousers ending up around his ankles. Kathryn and Elsie were much tougher cookies.

She drops the letter and picks up another one. Elsie again, rattling on from earlier the same year, that January so long ago. Julia just began to suspect she was having a baby around then. She was twenty-six by that time, but so ridiculously naïve that she had to ask her neighbour to reassure her that the signs she noticed weren’t the beginnings of some horrible disease. She longed for her mother, or some other homely body to run to, but her parents had decided to settle in India after her father’s retirement from the army. Don had just started his new job, and they scraped together enough cash for the deposit on 60 Memory Lane. It was a shabby place – borderline derelict in parts – but they fell in love with it. The pregnancy wasn’t expected. Neither of them had much idea about family planning.

Elsie’s letter is starting to put together a picture in Julia’s mind. She reads on.

Well, you’ll be pleased to hear that Mother has finally come around to your way of thinking, and her precious opal engagement ring is going to be passed to Julia. I expect you’re right and I hope it brings her luck, as it has for Mother and Grandma, or so they insist. I’d have loved to have it, of course I would, and so would Kathryn, but with two sisters, I guess there had to be a fair way. Even Will has had his eye on it but I don’t know who he’s planning to give it to! Still no girl on the scene.

Reading about that ring has stirred up feelings she would rather have left buried. Don, usually the least cynical of men, was very suspicious about its disappearance, just when it was about to be delivered to him for his new wife.

Ruffled, Julia shakes herself and flexes stiff shoulders. She’s been sitting still too long. It’s time for a cup of tea and maybe a piece of the fruitcake she’s made from her mother’s favourite recipe. She doesn’t bake much nowadays because she has to go by instinct. She’s had to ever since the old cookery book, handwritten and full of the neat, sloping writing Julia loved, disappeared a couple of years ago. She’s searched high and low but it’s never turned up. Good job she’s still got her marbles at eighty-five, and can remember a handful of the best recipes, although the sticky lemon cake has never turned out quite the same without the book to guide her.

The door knocker clatters, followed almost immediately by the bell ringing. Julia mutters under her breath, words her mother definitely wouldn’t have approved of. She gets to her feet and makes her way to the front door, still grumbling. It’s no good pretending she isn’t at home. The trademark knock and ring tells her that the woman out there won’t give up easily.

‘Hello, Julia,’ says Ida, as Julia opens the door. ‘I hope I’m not interrupting your tea?’

Julia forces her mouth into something resembling a smile. Ida Carnell, standing sturdily on the step, has an in-built radar for the moment when the kettle is going to be switched on and the cake tin’s about to appear.

‘No, of course not, Ida,’ she says. ‘Come in and join me for a cuppa.’

‘Oh, well, so long as I’m not being a bother.’

Ida follows Julia to the kitchen, talking all the way. Really, thinks Julia wearily, this woman is almost as bad as Elsie and Kathryn in their heyday. Granted, Ida’s a pillar of the local Methodist Church and has got a heart of … well, if not pure gold, something fairly close, but does she ever shut up?

‘… and so I didn’t think you’d mind me calling on you. It’s very important. I’ve got a favour to ask. It’s about my new plan.’

Oh, no. The last time Ida had a plan, Julia had been roped into making scones for a hundred and fifty people. Not another fund-raising tea … oh, please not? But Ida is still talking.

‘Have you heard of the Adopt-a-Granny scheme? A lot of local churches are trialling it, since we had a memo from Age UK reminding us how many old people are lonely and housebound.’

A cold feeling creeps up Julia’s spine. She’s got a hunch she won’t like this, whatever it is.

‘No? I thought you might have seen my article in the parish magazine? Anyway, I’ve made a list.’ Ida gets out a large ring-bound notepad and a pen. ‘Can I put you down for May?’

‘Why? What happened in May? It’s June already; I think last month passed me by.’

‘No, I didn’t mean that. Your neighbour, May. At number fifty-nine? Shangri-La? I’m really worried about her.’

‘You want me to adopt May? As my granny?’

Ida laughs. ‘Not exactly. She’s only about twenty years older than you, isn’t she?’

‘Twenty-five, actually,’ snaps Julia. This is ridiculous. Is the woman insane? Why would Julia need a granny? And if she did, how could May ever be a likely candidate for the job?

‘Well, age is only a number, as they say, and I know Andy’s been worried that May can’t get out of the house now. Julia, the thing that really bothered me – well, it doesn’t sound much when you say it out loud, I suppose – it’s just that when I came down to fetch my car yesterday, she was just staring out to sea.’

‘Ida, lots of people like looking at the sea. I do myself. It’s very relaxing watching the waves. That doesn’t mean she needs adopting.’

Ida frowns. ‘I knew it was going to sound silly. I don’t use my car all that often but the other day when I called to get it to go to Truro she was doing exactly the same thing. Sitting on the decking just … staring … with such a sad look on her face.’

‘I still don’t think—’

‘And then as soon as she saw me both times, she started to chat about the weather, as if she’d been dying for somebody to talk to. May’s never been one for small talk. You know that as well as I do.’

‘But …’

Ida holds up a hand. ‘Yes, yes, I know you two have got history, as they say. An even better reason for you to get together over a nice cup of tea and let bygones be bygones.’

‘You think so?’

‘I do wish you wouldn’t purse your lips like that, Julia. You remind me of my mother, and she could be quite terrifying at times. It’s for a good cause. The scheme’s going well so far.’

‘Is it really?’

‘Oh, yes. You’d be surprised how many people in the village need a bit of company, but will they ask? No, they won’t. Too proud, or something … So, the story so far is that Vera from the shop’s adopted that nice old lady from Tamerisk Avenue. You know – Marigold – the one with the mobility scooter and the smelly Pekinese that rides in the basket?’

‘But Marigold’s got six children and any number of grandchildren.’

‘And when was the last time you saw any of them in the village? They only turn up when they want to cadge money off her. She barely sees a soul from one week to the next.’

‘I don’t think—’

‘And George and Cliff have really come up trumps. They’ve taken two for me. Joyce Chippendale, the retired teacher who’s registered blind, and the old boy from the last fisherman’s cottage on the harbour?’

‘Old boy? You surely don’t mean Tom King? He’s younger than me. He must only be in his late seventies.’

‘Well, yes, but he doesn’t get out much since he retired. Being a psychiatrist all those years took all his time up so he hasn’t really got any hobbies, and he looks as if he could do with a square meal. George is going to bring them both over for lunch or dinner at their restaurant a couple of times a week.’

‘How kind.’ Julia shivers. She knows this cannot end well.

‘I want to get other villages involved if this takes off. It’s a huge problem, Julia.’

‘What is?’

‘Loneliness, dear. But listen to me being tactless; I don’t need to tell you that, do I?’

Julia gives Ida one of her special looks, the kind she used to use to quell unruly Sunday school children years ago. ‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Well, with you losing Don, and everything. You must be lonely nowadays … with your family so far away …’ Ida’s voice trails off as she finally senses Julia’s icy disapproval.

‘Missing somebody isn’t the same thing as being lonely, Ida,’ says Julia, making a valiant attempt not to punch the interfering old busybody. Violence isn’t her thing, but she’s never felt more like doing somebody a damage. The cheek of the woman! Ida’s only about sixty and she’s still got a perfectly healthy husband, even if he is a bit dull. Who is Ida to make judgements about Julia’s needs?

Ida falls silent for a moment and then rallies. ‘Yes, you’re probably right. No offence meant, and none taken, I hope?’

‘Perish the thought.’

‘Oh, good. I’m going to ask Tristram to join the scheme next. If George and Cliff are doing it, he’ll not be able to resist. The two main fish eateries round here – Cockleshell Bay and Tris’s Shellfish Shack – both giving away meals for charity? It’s a great story. I’ll get the local paper onto it as soon as it’s really up and running. But first I’m going to call a meeting for us all.’

Julia waits, holding her breath. Sure enough, here comes the blow.

‘So, anyway, I thought Andy could bring May over tomorrow? About tea time?’

The words ‘Resistance is useless’ spring to mind. Whatever Julia says, Ida will steamroller over her. She squares her shoulders. No, she mustn’t be browbeaten. Ida can’t make her invite May over to visit, can she? It’s Julia’s house and she just won’t allow it.

‘I can’t have visitors at the moment,’ she says. ‘It’s completely out of the question. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to find someone else.’

Ida leans forward and looks into Julia’s eyes earnestly. Her chins are quivering with emotion. ‘But, Julia, don’t you think it’s our duty to do what we can for one another?’

‘Well, yes, but—’

‘That’s settled then. I’ll go and see May as soon as I leave here and let her know. She’ll be thrilled to bits, I’m sure. Tomorrow it is!’

Julia opens her mouth to argue again and then decides it’s pointless.

‘Are you rushing off to see May immediately?’ she asks.

‘Not when you’ve gone to the trouble of putting the kettle on for me. And isn’t that your famous fruitcake I see there? May will enjoy a slice of that tomorrow, too.’

‘If she comes.’

‘But why wouldn’t she? I’m sure May will be delighted to get out of the house and have a lovely chat with you.’

Julia says nothing. There are one or two excellent reasons why May might avoid visiting 60 Memory Lane, but she’s not about to share them with Ida.