A Family of His Own. Liz FieldingЧитать онлайн книгу.
‘Well, don’t smile, then. I know it was pathetic of me. I just can’t bear to see anything suffering.’ She stopped, turned away to take down a couple of mugs. She knew she didn’t have to explain. Amy never needed explanations. She just seemed to know. ‘Anyway,’ she said, ‘I’ll drop a note through the letterbox tomorrow when I go and fix the gate. Just to explain.’
‘About cutting back the brambles to save the peach tree?’
‘About nicking the blackberries. For a good cause.’
‘There’s no one at home to care and ghosts don’t need explanations, Kay.’
Startled, she turned to look at her visitor. ‘Ghosts?’
‘You didn’t feel it? The garden always feels haunted to me whenever I walk past.’
‘No. It wasn’t creepy, just…sad.’
‘Maybe that’s what I meant.’
Kay didn’t think so. She hadn’t felt any ghosts there, but Amy was well known locally for her slightly fey qualities, her ability to feel more than most people could see.
‘A For Sale board went up on Friday. Did you know?’ she said, determined to change the subject. She hadn’t felt anything beyond sadness, yet even now her skin was goosing. And she had to go back there to fix the gate.
‘I heard it was on the market. Such a pity.’
‘Did you know the people who lived there?’
‘The Ravenscars? Not well. We’d met at village events, of course—the fête, a fundraiser for the hall, that sort of thing—but I was busy with the children. I had Mark that year and I was still establishing the business. They were younger, hadn’t been married more than a year or two and were still more interested in each other than anyone else. They came to the harvest supper, though. I remember Sara Ravenscar was thrilled at the way the whole village comes together for that. She’d have approved of you having the blackberries.’ Then, ‘Her death was such a tragedy.’
‘I heard she died from tetanus poisoning. Is that true?’
‘Well there were complications, but can you believe it in this day and age! Apparently her parents didn’t believe in any kind of vaccination and, like most enthusiastic gardeners, she couldn’t keep a pair of gloves on.’ Then, ‘After she died Dominic went overseas. I heard he was working on some kind of aid programme.’
‘I’m surprised he didn’t sell the house, or let it. Rather than let it stand empty. Whoever buys it will need to put in a lot of work and not just in the garden. The paintwork is in a very poor state.’
‘Maybe he couldn’t bear to let it go so soon. Then I suppose coming back seemed even worse so he shut it out. Now he’s like a needle stuck in an old gramophone record, unable to move on.’
Kay gave a little shiver, as if a goose had walked over her grave. ‘Well, he’s put it on the market now. That’s movement of a sort.’
‘Maybe. I hope so.’
‘Yes, well, I’ll take the wheelbarrow and clear up the stuff I chopped down when I fix the gate. Maybe I should approach the agents and see if they want the garden properly tidied up. I’ve rather let my own business slide while Polly has been off school for the summer.’
Amy looked as if she was about to say something, but when she hesitated and Kay raised her brows she just said, ‘Bearing in mind what happened to Sara Ravenscar, make sure you wear gloves. Have you put something on those scratches?’
‘Tea-tree oil.’ She glanced at her hand where the sharp thorns had caught her when one of the brambles had whipped back suddenly. ‘The minute I got home. And my shots are up-to-date.’
‘Good.’ Then, as a pyjama-clad Polly hurtled into the room, Amy turned to scoop her up into her arms. ‘Hey, sweetheart! Just the girl I wanted to see. Can your mummy spare you tomorrow?’
Polly, who knew when a treat was being offered, still hesitated. ‘Tomorrow?’
‘All day. We’re taking the boys to the sea and Mark really, really wants you to come too.’
Her eyes went round. ‘Oh, wicked!’ Then, ‘But I’ve promised to help Mummy make the pies…’
‘I think I can manage,’ Kay assured her, trying hard to ignore the stab of annoyance that Amy had left her with no real choice. ‘If Amy can,’ she added. ‘Are you quite sure you can cope?’
‘Absolutely. Four children works better than three. Jake can do adventurous things with George and James and I get to have fun rootling around the rock pools with the little ones.’
And the unspoken message that she needed to let Polly go sometimes, that being quite so protective was not good for either of them, came across loud and clear.
‘Well, in that case, how can I resist? I hope you all have a lovely day.’
‘Did you see how many blackberries we picked, Amy?’ Polly demanded, snapping the tension that stretched between them. ‘And I made a purple daisy chain, too.’
‘Purple? You’re kidding me!’
‘No, honestly! Come and see…’ She wriggled free and, grabbing Amy’s hand, tugged her towards the stairs.
‘I’ll be right back.’
‘I won’t hold my breath,’ Kay responded, flipping the off switch on the kettle. ‘Just don’t let her sandbag you into telling her another story. You’ve got children of your own to put to bed.’
‘Yes, but they’re all boys. They don’t do fairies. Or daisy chains. Besides, Jake’s on bathroom-and-story duty tonight and I have no intention of returning until he’s mopped up the mess.’
Dom forced himself to heat up a can of soup, eat some bread. Tasting nothing, but going through the motions of living as he had done every day for the last six years. Yet for the first time in as long as he could remember, he was aware of his heart beating.
Afterwards he walked through the house, touching the things that lay undisturbed on Sara’s dressing table, coated with the thin layer of dust that had settled since the cleaners’ last visit. Opening the cupboards where her clothes still hung, lifting the soft material of a dress he remembered her wearing, rubbing it against his cheek.
Her scent lingered and he breathed it in.
How stupid he’d been. She was here. All the time he’d been running, Sara had been here, waiting for him.
Downstairs he unlocked the French windows and opened them wide. He didn’t venture beyond the paved area where they’d sat together on sunny evenings with a glass of wine, half-afraid he’d disturb her presence as she lingered in the garden. Half hoping that she’d walk out of the gathering dusk to join him.
But the garden remained still and silent. Even this late in the summer the heat clung to the walls, filling the air with the scent of late roses, and for a while he sat there, every cell focused on the wilderness that had once been a garden, hoping for one more glimpse of her before it grew too dark to see.
Then the sound of childish laughter floated towards him and instead of cutting him to the quick as it usually did, a poignant reminder of everything he’d lost, he found himself leaning towards it, straining to hear more. Holding his breath. Not moving while the sky darkened to the deepest blue and the first stars began to appear.
He didn’t move until it was quite dark and nothing was visible within the deep shadows of the walled garden.
CHAPTER TWO
“There has fallen a splendid tear
From the passion-flower at the gate.
She is coming, my dove, my dear;
She is