Читать книгу The Bookshop of New Beginnings: Heart-warming, uplifting – a perfect feel good read! - Jen Mouat - Страница 13

Chapter Five

They ate in the dining room – not quite one of the epic dinners of family lore; not enough people seated around the table for that – but comfortingly evocative all the same. The walls were cherry red, the bay windows shrouded in net curtains that danced in the breeze, and the paisley patterned carpet was wearing thin in places. They ate Emily’s unconventional Bolognese, though for authenticity’s sake they should have been eating salad and cold cuts; with cherry tomatoes and avocado, little octagons of cucumber, folds of pink meat and shiny, quartered hard-boiled eggs. If they ever ate anything else those summer days at Bluebell Bank, Kate didn’t remember it.

Kate reached for her wine glass, watching Emily and Lena laugh over recounting one of Fergus’s famous temper tantrums. ‘Red hair,’ Lena said sagely. ‘I should know, I was a redhead myself. I once threw James’s plate of dinner at the wall when I was in a temper over something or other.’

‘You didn’t?’ Emily’s eyes widened. ‘That should go in the memory book.’ She sprang up from the table and went over to an ancient sideboard. A moment later, she returned with a pad of Post-it notes and a pen. She hastily scribbled. ‘I don’t want to forget,’ she explained, glancing up from her writing to see Kate watching her curiously.

‘Memory book?’ Kate enquired.

Emily nodded. ‘The story of Lena’s life. I’m preserving it all for her.’ And for all of us. The matter of fact way she said this, and the unspoken addendum, laid Lena’s illness before them.

Kate looked at Lena, but she was unconcerned. Lena caught the look and grinned irreverently. ‘Like downloading me onto one of those memory stick thingies. On a computer. She’s making a backup.’

Kate wasn’t sure how to deal with this candour. She hid her face in her wine glass to avoid having to reply. Emily and her grandmother had always been close and, watching them now, Kate felt the depths of their bond still. Emily seemed unfazed by the indisputable evidence of Lena’s illness; she faced the moments when Lena’s lucidity slipped with unfailing calm and gentleness, barely a crack in her composure. This was a good sign, for Emily had always been highly strung.

After dinner, carrying the glasses to the kitchen to be washed, Kate overheard Lena in the kitchen saying petulantly; ‘But who is she? Has she come to clean? I told you I don’t need a cleaner.’

‘No, she’s not the cleaner. She’s an old friend of mine, Lena. She’s Kate.’

‘Kate? Don’t be silly. Kate’s just a child.’

Kate had to return the glasses to the dining room to catch her breath, feeling dizzy and thrown off orbit. How on earth did Emily cope?

By the time they set out to Dan’s farm, Lena was back to herself again. It was a perfectly lazy summer evening, the air sweet and heavy. A last slice of sunlight spilled over the rain-damp fields, the long grass was bowed with the weight of water and soft mud sucked at Kate’s borrowed wellingtons as they walked beneath the cool shade of the trees. The woods were alive: chirruping, rustling, crunching, squelching.

‘We walk this way most evenings after dinner,’ Emily said. ‘Even if we don’t go to the farm to see Dan and Abby. It’s a good walk for Bracken and Lena knows it like the back of her hand. She’s been doing it for seventy years so I don’t worry about her losing her way.’

True, but Lena had also been handling cutlery for more than seventy years, yet earlier when she tried to set the table Kate had seen her freeze, bewildered, staring from the silverware in her hand to the empty space on the table, as if she had been asked to complete a puzzle, the key to which hovered beyond her ken, before finally dumping the whole pile in the middle in frustration. Everyone had extricated their own and it didn’t matter. Except, of course, that it did.

The path from Bluebell Bank to the farm – shaped mostly by generations of Cottons – led down through the woods at the bottom of the garden, crossed stream and stile and skirted the fields, leading eventually down the slope of the lower pasture to the farmhouse nestled in the valley in the lea of two rolling hills.

A lifetime of tramping the fields and hills of Galloway had made Lena thin and rangy and fit. She looked so strong striding out ahead of them in her manly boots, her wide-brimmed hat squashed on top of her wild, white hair, that Kate could imagine for a few moments that she was completely well. This physical wellness seemed unfair in the face of the insidious disease creeping at the corners of her mind, erasing parts of her. Kate wondered if Emily would have traded the mental disease for a physical, debilitating one, if it meant keeping Lena sharp and clever and herself? Would Lena? If she got to choose. She tried not to think about it as they walked. Lena led the way: hawk-eyed and stealthy as ever, naming the birds she spotted in the forest with mechanical ease; a woman who didn’t always remember what a fork was for could point out crossbills, goldcrests and great spotted woodpeckers without having to think about it.

Now, trailing Lena and Bracken through the cool, dappled shade of the trees, Emily walked close enough to Kate to link arms affectionately. ‘So, tell me all about your job,’ she said.

Kate pushed back her sleeves. The evening air had a strange, early summer feel to it: both warm and cool. She grinned. ‘There isn’t much to tell. I quit. I felt the commute from Wigtown would just be too much.’

Emily rewarded her attempt at humour with a smile. ‘I hardly know what you did. Advertising or something, wasn’t it?’

‘Advertising, yes. It was a good company, some big campaigns. I was a junior assistant, but I was working my way up. I was working on a campaign for a big lingerie brand before I left.’

‘You were selling knickers?’ Emily sounded gleeful.

Kate gave her a look. ‘Not knickers. Lingerie.’

‘Knickers are knickers,’ Emily said sagely. ‘However you dress them up.’

Kate punched her arm lightly. ‘Perhaps that should have been my slogan. Knickers are knickers.’ She sighed. She had certainly felt like that sometimes, when she emerged from hours of interminable meetings, wilted and disillusioned: what was it all about? Haggling over wording to make even more millions for a company that paid pennies to the workers who actually made the underwear – the last word in delicate decadence: all manner of froth and lace and ribbons and carefully constructed artifice and the illusion of beauty – sex in a designer bag. And now, here, describing it to Emily, it all seemed utterly pointless.

‘Should I be feeling guilty?’ Emily asked. ‘I mean, have you given up a potentially lucrative career as a high-powered advertising executive for me and my bookshop?’

Kate shuddered. ‘Yes, probably. But thank God for that. Oh, I don’t mean the feeling guilty part, it was entirely my decision to come. But honestly, Em, the job was so freaking boring, so futile. I’d spend my days in meetings wrangling over stuff that seemed so important at the time, surrounded by people who all acted like the world would stop turning if we didn’t get it just so … then I’d come home and wonder what it had all been about. There was no drawing involved, very little creativity. Hand it to corporate types to kill creativity stone dead. But … no, I had to leave anyway. You just gave me the impetus.’

‘Well, lingerie’s loss is my gain,’ Emily said. ‘If you start getting withdrawal, there’s a stall at the market sells knickers, I’m sure we could get you a job hawking granny pants.’

They both laughed. ‘Gee, thanks, Em, it’s good to know you’re in my corner.’

Emily smiled. ‘You know,’ she said, treading carefully now, ‘I can’t imagine you doing a job that doesn’t involve art. You were so sure, when we graduated, that you wanted to be a designer. And your stuff was good, Kate. Really good. Remember the degree show?’

Kate nodded, her smile vanishing. The degree show was the pinnacle: everything to show for all the years of hard work, the socialising sacrificed, the long days and longer nights devoted to the studio. Three years of textile design and Kate had been immersed, and nothing else had mattered. ‘It’s … hard,’ she said vaguely.

‘I’m sure.’ Emily knew about that. She’d done a job she hated – though what had possessed her to take up teacher training remained a mystery to everyone – and she knew that real passion for one’s work was hard to come by. ‘What are your plans? For after the bookshop.’ Her tone betrayed her anxiety that Kate might drift away once more.

‘I have no plans. After the end of the summer, after the bookshop … well, we’ll see.’ Kate tried to keep her tone light, as if her whole future didn’t hinge on that very conundrum. The truth was she hadn’t a clue.

They emerged from the shade of the forest and crossed the stile over a crumbling dry stone dyke, paused to look down on the farmhouse at the bottom of the slope. This field was empty, the cows having been transferred to one of the upper pastures. Emily glanced at Kate in her clumsy, borrowed boots and suddenly took off at a gleeful sprint, running with childlike enthusiasm and complete lack of grace. ‘Race you to the house,’ she yelled over her shoulder.

Kate frowned in surprise. Emily running? Challenging her. She took off in pursuit. As they tore down the hill, gathering speed, she reflected that she hadn’t run like this in years. The running machine at the gym really didn’t compare to this feeling of the breeze in her hair, earthy farm smells in her nose and her quarry firmly in her sights. Kate had once prided herself on her athletic ability – which could not exactly be said of Emily – but this wasn’t about skill, it was just running. Kate accelerated, eyes fixed on the bright red of Emily’s T-shirt, a laugh bubbling and escaping from her, stealing precious breath. She was running faster than she had in years and it felt amazing. It felt like childhood: running for running’s sake, for pure joy. She eased past Emily and slowed at the last minute for the gate, collapsing against it, breathing in strangled gasps.

Emily reached her, bent double over the gate. ‘Ow-ow-ow,’ she complained. ‘That … really … hurt. Can’t breathe.’ She flipped the hair out of her sweaty face and grinned at Kate. ‘I let you win for old times’ sake, but actually I’m pretty athletic these days.’

‘Sure you are.’ Recovering first, Kate stood up. She felt the flush of heat on her face and knew she must look a mess, but she really didn’t care.

Emily retied her ponytail and grabbed Kate’s arm. ‘I can’t wait to see my brother’s face when he sees you.

They hung on the open gate recovering their breath and waiting for Lena, gazing towards Dan and Abby’s farmhouse, which was surrounded by a scattering of low outbuildings and a tall, silver silo. Two young dogs rushed up the track to meet Lena. They were calmed by a gruff word and the briefest touch of her hand. They whined at Kate when they reached her. Dan’s dogs and Bracken sniffed their greetings to one another.

‘Daft kids,’ Lena said with a swift shake of her head when she reached them. Emily and Kate exchanged smiles.

Abby, heavily pregnant, opened the door. ‘Hi Lena, Em,’ she said, balancing the weight of her stomach with care, caressing her bump. She looked curiously at Kate. ‘Hello there.’

‘Abby, this is my friend, Kate,’ Emily said. She found her eyes drawn downwards as always, to the immense bulge of baby, and took a quick, shallow breath; it was almost impossible to look at Abby without a sharp stab of longing.

They kicked off their wellingtons on the mat and were ushered into the big kitchen, which was the focal point of the house. Lena dropped into a favoured tweed armchair immediately, propping her socked feet on a stool. Emily smiled affectionately; this used to be Lena’s farmhouse, hers and James’s. Before they built Bluebell Bank, before James died and Lena leased it out to a series of unsatisfactory tenants; before she gifted it to Dan when he was twenty-one and directionless, resisting university and all of his mother’s attempts to corral him into academia. Lena could see the way the wind was blowing even then, could see that Dan needed something to get his teeth into, and he wasn’t going to find his future in a library. Emily and Ally, perhaps. But not Dan, not Ferg either.

‘Welcome, Kate. Can I get everyone some tea or something?’ Abby seemed open and friendly, her soft, fair hair curling around her chin. Her skin was pale gold, dusted with freckles.

‘Brandy,’ Lena declared. Bracken was at her side, his big russet head resting on her knee, gazing up at her adoringly.

Abby smiled indulgently. ‘Sure. Kate?’

Before Kate could reply, a voice boomed out behind them. ‘Kate Vincent? Is that really you?’

Kate spun round to find Dan framed in the doorway; a bigger, broader Dan than she recalled, with muscles and limbs honed from hard labour, and wrinkles creasing the wind-burned skin at the corners of his eyes, and a scruff of beard across his chin. Warm, brown eyes bored into her and for a split second time stood still.

‘It’s me.’ Kate was quite breathless with joy and nerves, and Dan crossed the room in three giant strides to scoop her into a hug that lifted her off her feet.

‘Well, thank God for that; it’s about time.’ Dan put her down and stared. ‘Jesus, Kate, it’s good to see you.’ His smile was as infectious as ever: a flash of white amongst the dark, untidy beard.

Kate was embarrassed by the effusive welcome, discomfited by her reaction to him. With his pregnant wife looking on, here she was remembering things she had no right to. ‘It’s good to see you too.’ She tucked her hair behind her ears and glanced from Dan to the flagstone floor and back again, sneaking looks at him and searching his eyes for signs of intimacy, for recognition of the hurt she had wrought. It was there in spades. She looked quickly away again.

‘Kate’s come to help with the bookshop,’ Emily said, oblivious, and they all sat around the big table, except for Lena who had taken root in her armchair and was quite content, Bracken already snoozing at her side.

‘Good,’ Abby said. ‘You certainly need a hand with it.’ She smiled at Emily and reached to pat the head of the nearest sheepdog. Kate couldn’t keep from staring at Abby, marvelling at the changes these past six years had wrought. Dan’s wife. Dan’s child. And the look in Dan’s eyes saying he felt the bonds of connection still.

But Dan was no longer a boy. The creases around his eyes implied a life of laughter and smiles; he was happy and Kate was glad – of course she was. Except for the flicker of envy, the memory of his throaty laugh, so intimate, once hers alone.

Dan was staring; Kate had forgotten how forceful his gaze could be. ‘About bloody time,’ he said wonderingly. Abby laughed and chided him gently about minding his language in front of the bump – how could she not feel the tension and wonder?

Because Abby was secure, certain – in Dan, and herself.

‘I know,’ Kate said calmly, directing her reply at Abby. ‘My visit is certainly overdue.’

Dan rubbed his hands together, stood up. ‘Let’s open a bottle of something to celebrate. Jeez, Kate, I still can’t believe it. So, where did you spring from?’

‘New York.’

‘I want to know what the hell you were doing there and what brought you back, but hold that thought. I’m going to open a bottle of wine. Red?’

‘Sure.’ She nodded. Usually she didn’t drink mid-week – she was strict with herself about that – but here she felt as if all her rules had been suspended along with reality.

‘She’s my knight in shining armour, come to save my sanity and my business,’ Emily called, getting up from her seat and brushing Kate’s shoulder. ‘I’ll give you a hand, Dan.’

When Dan and Emily were on the other side of the vast kitchen getting wine, bickering amiably, Abby leaned forward and touched Kate lightly on the arm. She lowered her voice. ‘I’m glad you’ve come. Emily needs help with this venture. Things haven’t been easy for her, I suppose you know that.’

‘I’m here to help,’ Kate said, a little uneasy; she didn’t want to discuss Emily’s divorce behind her back. ‘I can’t wait for us to get started,’ she added.

Abby nodded. ‘Emily’s not the most practical person, you know. Dan’s worried she hasn’t really thought this through. It was all so sudden.’

Kate smiled. ‘I lived with her at university. I know everything there is to know about her. And she’ll be fine. She just needs help to get out the starting blocks, that’s all.’

Abby’s eyes held curiosity, but that was all. Obviously Kate had been seldom discussed.

Dan brought their wine and a cup of peppermint tea for Abby, who screwed up her face. ‘I am so sick of this stuff,’ she grumbled.

Dan sat beside Abby and rested a hand on the back of her neck, a casually affectionate gesture, but also a significant one. He took a gulp of wine. ‘We should have a family dinner,’ he said. ‘Give Ally a call and see if he can make it up, eh, Lena?’

‘At Bluebell Bank,’ Lena said, nodding vigorously and looking up at him. ‘A proper family dinner, with everyone; Austin will be home.’ Her eyes were clouded with the ghosts of her past, until the realisation of her mistake swept them away.

‘We can have it here,’ Dan said, his eyes locking onto his sister’s, holding her gaze for a moment. ‘You can all come here and then you wouldn’t have to worry about cooking, Lena.’

Lena shook her head. ‘It should be at Bluebell Bank. Silly me, of course: not Austin at all. Jonathon, and Alistair, and … what is her name?

Dan frowned and Kate remembered his stubbornness, his need for control in every situation. He was fighting Lena’s disease instead of rolling with its punches. ‘Dan.’ Em reproved him in a gentle voice. Dan’s frown deepened.

Kate intervened. ‘Actually, it really should be Bluebell Bank. It just wouldn’t be the same for me if not. I can help Lena with the meal and that way Abby doesn’t have to worry about cooking.’ She glanced at Lena. ‘Melanie,’ she supplied quietly, the name of Lena’s daughter-in-law hovering so elusively on the tip of Lena’s tongue.

Lena nodded, satisfied. ‘That’s the one.’

Abby smiled and rapped Dan smartly on the arm. ‘That would be brilliant, Kate. The more pregnant I get the more Dan seems inclined to invite people for impromptu parties.’

Dan was repentant as he leaned down to kiss her forehead, brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes; Kate had to look away from the intimacy of their joined gaze. ‘I guess I keep forgetting,’ Dan said.

‘Lucky you,’ Abby replied, rubbing the bump. They all laughed.

‘Where is Noah? I was looking forward to seeing him.’ Kate remembered a skinny little boy, a little isolated from the rest of his family by the age gap. Of all of them, he would have changed the most.

‘Out with his mates,’ Dan said scowling darkly. ‘If he comes home drunk again I swear I’ll kill him this time.’

Abby laughed, but it sounded a little forced, like this was a common thread of dissent. ‘If he does and he has any sense, he’ll sleep in the barn sooner than face you again.’

‘Hmm,’ Kate interjected with a knowing smile. ‘Underage drinking, how awful. You never did that of course.’

Dan softened. ‘All right, I know I’m an old hypocrite. I was hardly perfect. Nor were any of us. But it’s different when you’re responsible for them.’

‘Better get used to it,’ said Emily.

‘We’re having a girl and she won’t be allowed to leave the house until her twenty-first birthday. I’m planning to be a very old-fashioned father.’

‘Poor kid,’ Emily teased. She drank the last of her wine. ‘You want some help bringing the cows down for milking?’

‘That would be great. Thanks.’

As Dan and Emily steered the cows down from the pasture to the milking sheds, Kate followed at a safe distance, keeping out of the way of the great, inquisitive beasts who gazed at her as they sauntered past, flicking their tails against their haunches and swaying from side to side. She was watching Dan from a distance and marvelling again at how strange it was to be here. The cows would not be hurried, but took their time, no matter how much Dan and Em shouted and ran at them as they meandered this way and that.

Kate lingered by the gate for a few moments of peace, trying to put together all the various pieces of Bluebell Bank and its inhabitants to form a new image, trying to process the inevitable changes. The image jarred with memory. Much as she liked Abby – and she did – it was difficult to fit her into the picture.

*

Before it grew dark, they walked home with Lena across the fields, both giddy from the wine.

Home.

It actually felt like home, as Kate was afforded her first glimpse of the slate rooftops of Bluebell Bank through the canopy of trees. She had never felt this way about any other place. And no one but the Cottons had come so close to being family.