From a Distance (17 page)

He grinned, noticing her eyes on him. ‘What, Mum?’

‘Nothing,’ she grinned back. ‘It’s nice having you here to help. Don’t lie down again, please!’

Luca trickled a stream of water onto the seedlings and it seeped in stains across the warm earth, scenting the air with a delicate peppery aroma that reminded Luisa of her father. She could smell the terracotta pots he’d filled every spring with basil and parsley, radicchio and rocket leaves, planted outside the kitchen door in their house near the greyhound track in Yarmouth for Gina to use as she cooked. She realised she had forgotten about them entirely since he died, even though her own interest in gardening had sprung from the hours she spent with him at his allotment.

Luca had finished his row. He stood up. ‘Right, Mum, we have to do “straight” my way, and that means string.’ He set off to the shed at the end of the vegetable garden.

Luisa whipped her phone out again. A recipe for gazpacho? Her fingers hovered, then she put the phone back in her pocket. He didn’t really want to know how to make it, and if he did, she would show him some time.

Googling Kit with Dora the evening before had led to a lot of giggling and too many glasses of wine, and a discussion about whether he would make a good new date for Dora. They had been at Dora’s kitchen table, the laptop between them, screen reflecting light on to their faces. Luisa had found the website and scrolled through it. ‘It says he runs his business out of a reconstructed tin mine in Cornwall. It’s actually really nice. You know, all the fabric he makes. Look, there’s a picture of him. Taken quite a long time ago, I’d say.’

Dora refilled their glasses. ‘See where he sells it. I’d like to know what it’s like in real life.’

Luisa read from the page. ‘Working with a design archive founded by Felicity Delaware who set up Lighthouse Fabrics in 1956, the company has grown to employ over fifty people and is dedicated to the continued production of cottons, linens and velvets in the UK.’

Luisa had been impressed, Kit had won awards for his working practice and had made a success. Further googling revealed that Felicity Delaware was his mother. Dora saw a black-and-white photograph of her sitting in some sand dunes, her arms around a small boy in swimming trunks.

‘Look, must be him, the chairman. How sweet.’ Dora poured more wine into their glasses, ‘She’s glamorous. She must’ve been part of the art scene in St Ives and all that.’

‘St Ives? How funny, we went there in February, remember? Before Ellie left for India. It was lovely. Bleak, though, in winter. Wonder how she could bear it. She looks kind of fragile, don’t you think?’ Luisa enlarged the image and peered at Felicity in her patterned skirt and white shirt. Her hair was up, a scarf wound through it, and was smiling at her son sitting on a fold of her skirt, hair wet from a swim, holding a shell and a plastic spade.

Dora peered over her shoulder. ‘Fragile? No, I think she looks great fun.’

‘He looks like her,’ said Luisa. ‘I wonder how he manages running something like that? It’s quite big. I could ask him for some advice for my ice-cream business.’

‘I’m sure I’ve got stuff made from that fabric,’ Dora was on a page full of fabric swatches. ‘Lu, pass me those glasses will you, I’m always pretending I can see, but to be honest, I’m half blind. How come you don’t need glasses?’

Luisa had shrugged, ‘I probably do. I keep getting Mae to make the text on my phone bigger.’

It quacked again, and a large letter text appeared on the screen. From Kit again:

Lunch disaster: Heinz tomato with ice cubes is NOT gazpacho. Do you do recipes?

‘Luisa, where are you? I haven’t got time to sort that van of yours today, I’m afraid. Too much marking. It’ll have to wait.’

Tom’s voice over her shoulder made her jump. She wiped the mud off her hands and onto her skirt. Tom had a pair of glasses propped on his forehead, and was holding a sheaf of papers and chewing a pen. She shoved the mobile back into her bra and straightened her clothes.

She tried to keep disappointment out of her voice. ‘That’s a shame. I was secretly hoping to give it an airing at the cricket match next weekend.’

Tom hadn’t heard. ‘The good news is I think I’ve broken the back of this marking,’ he said. ‘They’ve done all right this year, must’ve pitched the questions better. Thank God.’

He rolled the papers up and put them in the pocket of his jacket. ‘What are you two up to? Am I needed?’ He took the jacket off, tossing it into the garden shed. In some compartment of her head, Luisa stored this information, knowing there would be a panic before school on Monday with Tom searching high and low for his lost marking. Every husband had his foibles, and Tom’s was chaos. It could have been so much worse, she thought. He would never have an affair, for example, or if he did, she would know immediately. Not for him a hidden phone, shredded receipts, secret texting. The sun went behind a cloud. Luisa blinked, a cuckoo, the first she’d heard, called from the wood across the road. Reality doused her, and she felt embarrassed by her silly texts. She passed Tom the hoe with a smile. ‘Weeding would be good. Luca’s supposed to be doing it, but—’ she shrugged.

‘I am doing it!’ protested Luca, stepping into the vegetable bed.

Luisa, feeling three was a crowd, stepped out, turning to Tom: ‘You know we’ve been asked to go for a drink—’

‘I should have a good case for some more excursions.’ Tom scraped the hoe across a nettle root and the fresh, damp smell pricked Luisa’s nostrils.

‘Mmm, I love the summer smells, you could eat all of them,’ she said. ‘I’m experimenting with a nettle and watercress sorbet as an intense version of a gazpacho. What d’you think, Tom?’

He was prodding the ground around the new seedlings, oblivious to the threat the hoe posed to the tiny plants. ‘Perhaps we can go to Italy next. It makes sense for the course,’ he mused.

Luisa pushed him away from her precious plants towards a flourishing patch of weeds. She hadn’t been joking when she’d told Dora no one listened. Literally none of her family ever took any notice of her. She tried again. ‘We’re going to meet our new neighbour tonight.’

Tom had bent to the hoe, jabbing the ground, slaying ragwort and thistles in a swathe as he outlined his plan. ‘We’ll investigate the Renaissance and explore your heritage, Tod.’ He touched her cheek with the back of his hand.

‘That’d be nice.’ What was the point in minding? Luisa sighed.

Tom ruffled her hair. ‘You’d come, wouldn’t you Tod? We’ll do it next Easter.’

Luisa nodded. ‘My mother will probably want to come.’

‘And me,’ said Luca.

Tom shrugged. ‘Why not? It might entertain Gina, culture-crossing and so on. Bring the family to work, or work to the family or whatever. Might be good to take her as our own personal guide.’ He walked to the end of Luisa’s row of seedlings. ‘It’s not straight you know.’

Luisa shrugged. Tom didn’t devote any time to appeasing his mother-in-law, it was a game he loved to play, a caricature situation. A light touch that was all that was needed.

‘You know Gina,’ she said. ‘She’s easy if you handle her right, you just don’t always bother. Your best hope with her is to show how much you love ice cream.’ Luisa smiled as she pulled off her gloves. ‘So, my darling,’ she said with mock severity, ‘better than planning a trip to Italy, how about you fix my ice-cream van?’ She stepped onto the path, ‘Oh, and Tom?’

Both Tom and Luca turned to look at her, a synchronised movement, a turn of the neck in tandem that showed their relationship more vividly than genetics.

‘We’re going to meet our new neighbour at the Lighthouse tonight. All of us. Don’t say I didn’t tell you.’

Tom shrugged, laughing with Luca. ‘I won’t, wouldn’t dare cross you. And I will sort that van of yours, I promise you.’

‘I’m going to call Dora. She wanted to meet him too.’

In the house, Mae was wandering around in her pyjamas.

‘Why aren’t you dressed?’ Luisa snapped. Mae had opened the fridge and was rooting around in the salad box at the bottom, her face lit an unhealthy green by the interior light.

‘You look ill, is that why you’re not up yet?’ That would be reasonable, Luisa thought.

Mae sighed, it was her usual response to comments from her mother. ‘I’m comfy, Mum. What do I need to dress for anyway? We’re not going anywhere, are we? Where’s your credit card? I need to give the number to Ellie and it’s not in your bag?’

‘You don’t need to give my number to anyone, Mae. Why does Ellie need it? Why doesn’t she ask me for it?’ Luisa rattled out the questions as she lifted a pile of straw baskets. ‘I had it yesterday when I bought the shopping.’ Mae was searching in the fridge. Not much chance of her finding it there. ‘I’d like to speak to Ellie, is she calling back?’

Mae watched her mother turn the baskets upside down. ‘I was trying to retrace your steps. I looked in the washing machine as well.’

She hitched herself up to sit on the counter, swinging her legs. Luisa could smell cigarette smoke in her hair. She decided to ignore it. Exhaustion hit her, she sat down, pressing her forehead with her palms. She couldn’t face a battle, and probably all fifteen-year-olds smoked. Not that that made it any better.

‘Mum, Ellie says I should go out and meet her in India after my exams and travel with her. She says we could go all around southern India for a couple of months. I could get some ideas for my textiles A level?’

Luisa leapt up as if she had been scalded. ‘What? Can we talk about this later? You’re fifteen years old, Mae, so it’s probably illegal for you to fly on your own that far. Of course you can’t go to India with Ellie. Just let me sort this thing out, hang on.’ She picked up her handbag and opened her wallet. ‘I bet it’s in here, it must be.’

Mae rolled her eyes and slid off the counter. ‘God, you’re so stressy, Mum. Ellie needs to book a flight. She’s going somewhere else in India. You can talk to her later.’

Luisa pulled out the card with a flourish. ‘Ah, found it!’ Why listen to children? Of course the bankcard was in her wallet all along. ‘You can tell Ellie that until I can have a chat with her I’m not happy to dish out flights all over the place, or to send you to India. And I miss her.’

Sudden tears flooded her eyes. Luisa turned to the sink and splashed her face with cold water. From behind her, Luisa felt Mae slide an arm around her waist and, without speaking, rest her cheek against her mother’s shoulder. Warmth, and Mae’s soft presence permeated her body. Luisa kissed her daughter’s hand, it smelled of oranges more than cigarettes. ‘Sorry, darling.’

‘Don’t cry, Mumma.’

Deep breathing. Hard not to feel as strung out as a washing line sometimes, but this was nice. Luisa leaned back against Mae. Her hair brushed Mae’s face, and she felt her breath on the back of her scalp. Luisa laughed shakily.

‘What’s happened to my littlest all of a sudden? You’re so grown up and thoughtful.’

Mae broke away. ‘Mum! I’m not little any more!’ She poured a glass of water and drank it, her eyes fixed on Luisa over the rim. The dip of concentration between her brows hadn’t changed. Time vanished. Mae absorbed in her world when she was a baby, a small child, a bigger girl, always with the beam of her gaze fixed, always determined. Luisa was glad it was still focused on her sometimes. Luisa blinked. Mae didn’t need to go to India. The fewer family members in India the better. Why couldn’t everyone just stay at home?

She mulled over her thoughts. A bit of guile never hurt any parenting situation. ‘Let’s think about it later,’ she said with deliberate vagueness. ‘Darling, will you help me make a cake quickly?’ It was usually best to appear to go along with all teenage plans, safe in the knowledge that for them to actually accomplish anything more arduous than getting out of bed and eating a bowl of cereal was almost impossible. True, Ellie had made it to India, but that was on a wave of action implemented by her whole academic year.

‘A cake? Hardly quick,’ Mae pouted, tossed her head, swinging her ponytail like a slingshot. She was only fifteen, she’d got lost cycling to Blythe last week because she’d been day-dreaming and turned the wrong way out of the gate at home, she was about to start a summer job making sandwiches in Nellie’s Bread Basket on Saturdays. All things considered, she was an unlikely prospect for travel to the Indian sub-continent at the moment.

‘It could be quick, we’ll do a broken biscuit with a few cherries. We’re going to see the man who’s moved into the Lighthouse, I thought it’d be friendly to take—’

Mae groaned. ‘Will there be anyone there my age?’

Luisa looked doubtful. ‘I don’t think so.’

Mae groaned again. ‘Do I have to come?’

Luisa put a wooden spoon on the table in front of Mae, and a bowl.

‘Luca’s coming. And we’ll go and see Grayson’s puppies on the way.’

Mae gave her mother a light shove as they both reached for the fridge door and the ingredients. ‘You may think you’re bribing me, but actually I’m making my own mind up,’ she said loftily.

‘Of course,’ agreed Luisa. ‘Pass me that jar will you?’

There was a festive slant to the evening as they drove along the coast to Kings Sloley. The puppies had been adored and even Tom had admitted he wouldn’t mind owning one. Cow parsley lining the verges, waving like a Jubilee crowd, and sun and sea met in a spill of halcyon gold to the horizon. ‘Mum, we didn’t call Ellie back about the ticket. Let’s Skype her later. She’s getting a tattoo done.’