Normally, you’re waiting for her to come into the room. It wasn’t that she was an especially gregarious person – she wasn’t. More that you felt she and the house were linked, in a fundamental way. Without her, knowing she won’t come in, ever again, is sad and unsettling, too. I look around, touching my hand to my throbbing forehead.
In the old days, back when Summercove was a mecca for the young and bohemian, it wasn’t like this either. I look around, wondering, Are they here, any of those people, today? They’d be old, too, if they were. There are several people I don’t recognise along with my family, all the varying parts of it. Mum’s cousin Jeremy and his wife Mary Beth stand in the furthest corner, as if they’ve backed away from everyone else as far as they can and ended up there. They look tired, weary of this long, strange day. By the French windows, my mother and her brother also stand, talking intently to each other, as ever. They don’t look at each other, they never do when they talk. My mother is staring into space as Archie hisses closely into her ear, and her gaze sharpens, focusing on me. She looks me up and down, nodding as Archie talks, and holds up a hand to me, questioning. What’s going on with you?
Octavia and Julius are talking to an older man in glasses who seems vaguely familiar. Over by the buffet, their mother is collecting up empty bowls and used plates loudly, so that the china clanks together. My mother and uncle turn to her, Mum with an imperious expression on her face, but all that’s visible is Louisa’s sturdy, wide bottom, clad in its crêpey black bias-cut skirt. The Bowler Hat stands by the fireplace clutching a glass of wine, his still-handsome face a mask of polite boredom. Though he’s watching his wife he seems impervious to her, clearing away next to him, tucking her greying blonde bob, which keeps falling in her eyes, behind her ears. Again, I remember and it occurs to me that Louisa was lovely when she was younger in the photos I’ve seen. Now, she’s . . . I don’t know. I suppose your life doesn’t turn out the way you’d expected, that’s all, and I should know.
A couple comes up to say goodbye to Louisa. She raises her head from wiping the table and smiles briefly at them. They are old, around Granny’s age, and they smile back, kindly, at her. As they are leaving, the wife nudges her husband, and whispers something, pointing at my mother and Archie. I see the queer, sharp look she gives my mother, this old woman whom I’ve never seen before. I hear her voice, hissing.
‘That’s the daughter,’ she says. ‘The other daughter, dear. You remember?’
‘Oh . . .’ says the old man curiously. He stares at my mother who I know can hear them but is pretending not to. ‘Yes. The one they—’
‘Shh,’ his wife admonishes. ‘Come on, Alfred. We’re late ,’ and she practically pushes him out of the room. I watch them go, and rub my eyes.
‘Natasha, dear,’ another old lady says, handing me a glass of champagne. ‘It’s so wonderful to see you. Now, let me tell you a story about one of your necklaces. I bought it in London. A lovely silver flower on a chain, dear, do you remember that one?’
‘Yes,’ I say, nodding politely, trying not to look over her shoulder at Mum.
‘The clasp didn’t work properly. And I took it back to the shop – because, dear, I did want to support you, and I was so glad to have bought it – and do you know what they said?’
‘Oh, Jeremy,’ I hear Louisa say behind me to her brother. ‘Do you have to go already? Oh, dear.’
‘Well, let me know if they don’t give you a refund,’ I say as the old lady pauses for breath, as if I’ve listened to and understood every word she’s saying. ‘Excuse me, will you?’ I make my way over to the table, and grab some crisps. Jeremy is hugging his sister, Mary Beth is kissing the Bowler Hat.
‘Ah,’ Jeremy says, as he turns and sees me. ‘Natasha.
In the old days, back when Summercove was a mecca for the young and bohemian, it wasn’t like this either. I look around, wondering, Are they here, any of those people, today? They’d be old, too, if they were. There are several people I don’t recognise along with my family, all the varying parts of it. Mum’s cousin Jeremy and his wife Mary Beth stand in the furthest corner, as if they’ve backed away from everyone else as far as they can and ended up there. They look tired, weary of this long, strange day. By the French windows, my mother and her brother also stand, talking intently to each other, as ever. They don’t look at each other, they never do when they talk. My mother is staring into space as Archie hisses closely into her ear, and her gaze sharpens, focusing on me. She looks me up and down, nodding as Archie talks, and holds up a hand to me, questioning. What’s going on with you?
Octavia and Julius are talking to an older man in glasses who seems vaguely familiar. Over by the buffet, their mother is collecting up empty bowls and used plates loudly, so that the china clanks together. My mother and uncle turn to her, Mum with an imperious expression on her face, but all that’s visible is Louisa’s sturdy, wide bottom, clad in its crêpey black bias-cut skirt. The Bowler Hat stands by the fireplace clutching a glass of wine, his still-handsome face a mask of polite boredom. Though he’s watching his wife he seems impervious to her, clearing away next to him, tucking her greying blonde bob, which keeps falling in her eyes, behind her ears. Again, I remember and it occurs to me that Louisa was lovely when she was younger in the photos I’ve seen. Now, she’s . . . I don’t know. I suppose your life doesn’t turn out the way you’d expected, that’s all, and I should know.
A couple comes up to say goodbye to Louisa. She raises her head from wiping the table and smiles briefly at them. They are old, around Granny’s age, and they smile back, kindly, at her. As they are leaving, the wife nudges her husband, and whispers something, pointing at my mother and Archie. I see the queer, sharp look she gives my mother, this old woman whom I’ve never seen before. I hear her voice, hissing.
‘That’s the daughter,’ she says. ‘The other daughter, dear. You remember?’
‘Oh . . .’ says the old man curiously. He stares at my mother who I know can hear them but is pretending not to. ‘Yes. The one they—’
‘Shh,’ his wife admonishes. ‘Come on, Alfred. We’re late ,’ and she practically pushes him out of the room. I watch them go, and rub my eyes.
‘Natasha, dear,’ another old lady says, handing me a glass of champagne. ‘It’s so wonderful to see you. Now, let me tell you a story about one of your necklaces. I bought it in London. A lovely silver flower on a chain, dear, do you remember that one?’
‘Yes,’ I say, nodding politely, trying not to look over her shoulder at Mum.
‘The clasp didn’t work properly. And I took it back to the shop – because, dear, I did want to support you, and I was so glad to have bought it – and do you know what they said?’
‘Oh, Jeremy,’ I hear Louisa say behind me to her brother. ‘Do you have to go already? Oh, dear.’
‘Well, let me know if they don’t give you a refund,’ I say as the old lady pauses for breath, as if I’ve listened to and understood every word she’s saying. ‘Excuse me, will you?’ I make my way over to the table, and grab some crisps. Jeremy is hugging his sister, Mary Beth is kissing the Bowler Hat.
‘Ah,’ Jeremy says, as he turns and sees me. ‘Natasha.
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