59 Memory Lane. Celia AndersonЧитать онлайн книгу.
it’s always been since she found her first grey hair. She wears a bizarre collection of shapeless linen garments and multi-coloured scarves, when she bothers with clothes at all.
Tristram catches Julia staring at him and grins. ‘What’s the problem? I like older women, always have done. And Angelina was gorgeous in her day. Still is, come to that. As are all you ladies present.’
Vera snorts and mutters something about men who need their eyes testing. After this, Ida seems to think it’s time to draw the meeting to a close. She tops up everyone’s glass and they end by having a good old gossip. Even Vera accepts a small sherry and begins to soften.
‘Don’t be fooled, that smile’s probably just wind,’ murmurs Tristram, catching Julia watching the doyenne of the shop in amazement as she stuffs crisps into her mouth and titters at something George is saying.
‘She should be given sherry on prescription,’ says Julia. ‘It’d make the village a much happier place.’
‘Thank you so much for giving up your time tonight,’ says Ida as they all file out half an hour later, slightly flushed. ‘I can’t believe how quickly you’ve all taken this on board. Some people think Pengelly is just a little backwater at the end of the world but to me it’s so much more.’ Her cheeks are glowing. ‘And you won’t forget the farmers’ market, will you? A week on Saturday.’
‘I don’t know anything about that,’ says Dominic. ‘Should I?’
Ida pats his arm. ‘Oh, I must have forgotten to mention it when I was talking to Cassie. The market’s a monthly event, mainly on the green but with a few other stalls dotted here and there, and a bouncy castle and so on for the littlies. This time I’m having an information station right outside the pub to tell everyone about Adopt-a-Granny.’
‘Sounds great.’
‘And I’m hoping you’ll all drop by at some time during the day in case anyone wants to ask questions. You’re the experts now.’ She hiccups slightly and hugs Dominic as he leaves.
‘I think Ida’s been hitting the sherry bottle too,’ whispers Tristram to Julia. Vera wobbles on the step and catches hold of him as he speaks.
‘Do you want to come back with me for a nightcap, Tris?’ she says, wriggling her shoulders. ‘I’ve got sloe gin.’
Tristram’s look of alarm sets Julia off giggling helplessly. She walks ahead and takes deep breaths. It wouldn’t do for Vera to see her laughing. But the sherry has done its work well, and Vera yawns hugely, giving Tristram the chance to escape with an excuse of an early morning booking for ten breakfasts tomorrow.
‘I’d love to be sociable but you understand what it is to be responsible for a business, Vera. We both need to be on the ball,’ he says. ‘Gina and Vince do so much already so I can’t ask them to get up at the crack of dawn just because I’ve stupidly agreed to host the local twitchers’ annual beano, can I?’
Julia returns his grin as he says a polite good night to Vera at the shop door and offers Julia his arm to walk her home. For a few moments, the whirlpool of her mind steadies and she relaxes into the luxurious sensation of being cared for. The ever-present sadness and the spasmodic, terrifying confusion ebb, and warmth flows through her body. They walk down the lane in silence, completely in accord.
The second letter is even easier to appropriate. May is left on her own for nearly ten minutes while Julia gasses on the phone to her granddaughter. She can hear Julia babbling like a schoolgirl as she chats to Emily about what she’d like to eat when she flies in from the States.
May has no idea what she’s getting when she plunges her hand into the heap of envelopes on the table.
She pushes the letter right to the bottom of her bag as Julia ends the call and comes back in, still chuckling.
‘That girl. She never changes, thank goodness,’ Julia says, pouring May a third cup of tea without asking.
May purses her lips. She doesn’t normally have more than two cups of tea at this time of day. It’s hard enough sleeping through the night without having to get up for a widdle every hour. But Julia is passing her the dainty china cup and saucer now, and handing over a plate of shortbread.
‘Have you been baking again?’ asks May. ‘Is this your mother’s recipe? She was a grand cook, wasn’t she?’
‘She was, but I’ve somehow managed to lose her cookbook,’ says Julia, ‘so I’ve gone back to the tried and trusted Be-Ro recipes. I think she copied most of those into her own book anyway, and just pretended they were family secrets, to be honest. The lemon cake’s never been the same since, though. I can’t seem to get it right any more.’
May pretends to be searching in her bag for a hankie. The recipe book, written in Julia’s mother’s elegant copperplate, is at this moment nestling in her bedside cabinet. It was lying around in the church kitchen one day when she and Julia had both been roped into helping at a charity tea. She’s used up all the memories out of it now, and a very gluttonous sort they were too. Gave her raging indigestion. She supposes she should sneak the book back now. It’s no use to May.
‘I’d have thought you’d have made all those cakes so often you’d not need a book?’ she says.
Julia flushes. ‘Well, that’s the thing. I’m having a few … issues … with my memory. Are you ever forgetful these days, May?’
‘Of course not! Just because I’m older than you doesn’t mean I’m going barmy, does it?’ May has always believed attack is the best form of defence.
‘No, I wasn’t suggesting anything of the kind. There’s no need to be so touchy. It’s not all about you. It’s me that has the problem.’
There, it’s out. May bites her lip. ‘What sort of things are you forgetting?’ she asks.
‘All sorts. I can’t even remember where I met Don. I was awake half the night thinking about it.’
‘Oh, bereavement can do that to you,’ says May soothingly. ‘I wouldn’t worry, dear.’
‘Really? Did you find that after you lost Charles?’
There’s an awkward silence. ‘Yes, I believe I did,’ says May, eventually. ‘But everything passes. Just be patient, that’s my advice.’
May helps herself to another finger of shortbread. Julia looks slightly soothed.
‘So how’s your Emily doing?’ May says, when the tricky moment’s passed. ‘She must be past thirty by now. Any wedding plans?’
‘She’s thirty-three actually, but you know how these young ones are. They think marriage is out-dated. I don’t think Em’s even got a boyfriend.’ Julia heaves a sigh. ‘The years go by so fast, don’t they? She’s so busy with her high-flying job. The publisher she works for has got offices in London, New York, Paris and goodness knows where else now. Em’s never in one place long enough to find a husband.’
‘Like her dad. He’s still a bit of a jet-setter, isn’t he?’
‘Well, he thinks he is. I wish Felix would retire. He’s well past retirement age, for goodness’ sake. If he stopped flying around the world I might get to see him occasionally.’
She reddens, and busies herself collecting the teacups and plates. May mentally files the information away. That’s the first time Julia’s ever let slip anything to suggest she’s even slightly unhappy with her family’s neglect.
‘I’ve always had a soft spot for young Emily,’ May says. ‘She’s a sweet girl. She often used to pop in and see me when she was staying with you. Did you know that? It was when I lived up on The Level, of course.’
‘Did she?’