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Authors: Louise Douglas
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Mummy,’ said Jamie.
‘She’s very pretty,’ I said, and I heard the note of jealousy in my voice.
‘Mmm.’
I smiled at the child and was struck by how very small he was; too small to be motherless. I had no right to attempt to fracture his already bruised loyalties. I put the photograph back in its place.
‘Do you miss her a lot?’ I asked.
Jamie nodded. He sat up and wriggled deep into the side of the settee. He put his thumb in his mouth. The blue teddy was tucked into the crook of his elbow.
‘I wish she would come back,’ he said.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
DESPITE EVERYTHING, I settled down to sleep that first night feeling a little more normal. Nothing had been quite as I’d hoped. I’d been naïve in underestimating how difficult things had been, and still were, for Jamie and Alexander. Still, I was relieved to be away from Manchester. For the first night in ages I didn’t hold my breath waiting to hear May’s footsteps as she ritually crept to my bedroom door and listened to make sure I wasn’t crying. I no longer had to keep a perma-smile glued to my face to prove to the people who loved me that I was all right, and I didn’t have to worry about what I said. I could just be, and it was soothing. I hoped I’d be trusted to look after the house and the child without too much supervision. While Jamie was at school, I’d be on my own, and I was certain I’d be able to pull myself together if I had the time and space and didn’t have to deal with people looking at me and talking about me when they thought I wasn’t listening.
That weekend, Alexander showed me around the village. The late-summer light made everything appear strangely artificial, like a film set. The country air was soft on my face, it tasted different from city air, and I soon became accustomed to the agricultural tang of cut hay, mud and manure that suffused the whole area.
We walked down Avalon’s drive and turned left, going perhaps half a mile before we reached the new quarry junction. It seemed out of place, set, as it was, beside this quiet country road. There were traffic lights at the entrance and large double white gates protected by cameras pointing in and outwards. The whole area was surrounded by a high, spiked metal fence. The road was wide enough for load-bearing lorries to turn and exit with their heavy cargo. The entrance was guarded by a lodge and I could see the uniformed guard inside. He had his feet on the counter and was staring at a television mounted on the wall. I could not tell if he was watching a programme or monitoring security cameras.
‘This is Jamie’s inheritance,’ Alexander said. ‘Genevieve’s family owns all this, the quarry and the land behind it.’
‘Do you work for them?’
He shook his head. ‘I work for myself. Sometimes I come here to look at a piece of stone, see if it’s suitable for a particular commission. Mostly I work at the yard in Castle Cary. That’s where I’ve got my gear and where people come to see me.’
We watched as the gates swung open and a truck pulled out on to the road, its engine grinding under the weight of the stone it carried. It shed a fine white dust as it rumbled and groaned on towards the village.
‘Don’t the people who live here get fed up with the noise?’ I asked.
Alexander shrugged. ‘They’re used to it.’
We walked on into Burrington Stoke. It was not much of a place, just a few shops on either side of the road, a pub that was still hung with baskets of colourful trailing flowers and which advertised Sunday lunches and Butcombe beer, and a run-down hotel. A number of unassuming former local authority houses lined the far end of the road and some lovely old cottages and country houses were set further back.At the far end of the village, close to the memorial cross, was the entrance to a farm. Small, shaggy cows stood by the gate feeding from a bale of hay, bothered by black, buzzing flies. A lane at the side of the farm led up to the
‘She’s very pretty,’ I said, and I heard the note of jealousy in my voice.
‘Mmm.’
I smiled at the child and was struck by how very small he was; too small to be motherless. I had no right to attempt to fracture his already bruised loyalties. I put the photograph back in its place.
‘Do you miss her a lot?’ I asked.
Jamie nodded. He sat up and wriggled deep into the side of the settee. He put his thumb in his mouth. The blue teddy was tucked into the crook of his elbow.
‘I wish she would come back,’ he said.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
DESPITE EVERYTHING, I settled down to sleep that first night feeling a little more normal. Nothing had been quite as I’d hoped. I’d been naïve in underestimating how difficult things had been, and still were, for Jamie and Alexander. Still, I was relieved to be away from Manchester. For the first night in ages I didn’t hold my breath waiting to hear May’s footsteps as she ritually crept to my bedroom door and listened to make sure I wasn’t crying. I no longer had to keep a perma-smile glued to my face to prove to the people who loved me that I was all right, and I didn’t have to worry about what I said. I could just be, and it was soothing. I hoped I’d be trusted to look after the house and the child without too much supervision. While Jamie was at school, I’d be on my own, and I was certain I’d be able to pull myself together if I had the time and space and didn’t have to deal with people looking at me and talking about me when they thought I wasn’t listening.
That weekend, Alexander showed me around the village. The late-summer light made everything appear strangely artificial, like a film set. The country air was soft on my face, it tasted different from city air, and I soon became accustomed to the agricultural tang of cut hay, mud and manure that suffused the whole area.
We walked down Avalon’s drive and turned left, going perhaps half a mile before we reached the new quarry junction. It seemed out of place, set, as it was, beside this quiet country road. There were traffic lights at the entrance and large double white gates protected by cameras pointing in and outwards. The whole area was surrounded by a high, spiked metal fence. The road was wide enough for load-bearing lorries to turn and exit with their heavy cargo. The entrance was guarded by a lodge and I could see the uniformed guard inside. He had his feet on the counter and was staring at a television mounted on the wall. I could not tell if he was watching a programme or monitoring security cameras.
‘This is Jamie’s inheritance,’ Alexander said. ‘Genevieve’s family owns all this, the quarry and the land behind it.’
‘Do you work for them?’
He shook his head. ‘I work for myself. Sometimes I come here to look at a piece of stone, see if it’s suitable for a particular commission. Mostly I work at the yard in Castle Cary. That’s where I’ve got my gear and where people come to see me.’
We watched as the gates swung open and a truck pulled out on to the road, its engine grinding under the weight of the stone it carried. It shed a fine white dust as it rumbled and groaned on towards the village.
‘Don’t the people who live here get fed up with the noise?’ I asked.
Alexander shrugged. ‘They’re used to it.’
We walked on into Burrington Stoke. It was not much of a place, just a few shops on either side of the road, a pub that was still hung with baskets of colourful trailing flowers and which advertised Sunday lunches and Butcombe beer, and a run-down hotel. A number of unassuming former local authority houses lined the far end of the road and some lovely old cottages and country houses were set further back.At the far end of the village, close to the memorial cross, was the entrance to a farm. Small, shaggy cows stood by the gate feeding from a bale of hay, bothered by black, buzzing flies. A lane at the side of the farm led up to the
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