Hidden Cottage (44 page)
The two boys instantly stood to attention and offered up smiles of breathless angelic compliance.
‘That’s more like it,’ Muriel said in the sudden hush. She dug around in her bag and pulled out two bags of chocolate buttons. She held them aloft. ‘These are yours, but only if you stand very still and let Mia take some pictures of you. Heaven only knows why, but your mother wants a keepsake of this nightmarish episode.’
They obediently turned to face Mia. Ready with the camera, she hurriedly took as many photographs as she could before they grew bored. She then gave them permission to relax so she could capture their true spirited nature. ‘Wave your hands in the air,’ she instructed, ‘and pull the daftest face you can manage, but keep looking into the camera. That’s great. Well done!’
‘Well done for being a couple of monkeys?’ Muriel roared. ‘They can do that in their sleep!’ Despite the admonishment, she smiled fondly at the boys and handed over the promised treats.
The two boys fully occupied now, Mia showed Georgina the pictures she’d taken. ‘Will they do?’ she asked.
‘They’re brilliant. Thank you so much. Not just for the photos, but for making their costumes. You’re a star.’
‘It was nothing. Really. And they’re the stars, not me. Or rather they will be when they get on the stage; everyone will love them.’
‘A couple of real showstoppers,’ Muriel said. ‘Heaven help us all!’
They turned to look at Luke and Edmund who, dressed as mini versions of Jedward – outrageous hair-on-end blonde wigs, skinny-legged black trousers and black jackets embellished with gold and silver stars – were now sitting on the floor lining up chocolate buttons on their legs and eating them one by one.
‘While they’re quiet, let’s have a look at the magazine you’re in, Mia. Are you pleased with how the article came out?’
Putting her camera down, Mia turned to the shelf behind her. She passed the magazine to Georgina. ‘Page twenty-one,’ she said, but made no further comment on it. She had received the magazine in the post that morning but had barely glanced at it; it was too painful a reminder – the day when the photographer and journalist from the magazine had come here was the day Daisy died. ‘I’ll put the kettle on, shall I?’
Georgina looked up from the magazine. ‘I’d love to stay,’ she said, ‘but I need to get the boys to Olney for a haircut.’
‘Don’t forget Stephen’s Halloween party,’ Luke called over.
‘What are they going as?’ Mia asked.
‘The same as last year: vampires. I’ve bought them some new blood-tipped fangs and resurrected the black capes you made for them last year.’
‘Nothing as scary as Jedward, then,’ Muriel said with a wink. ‘What time are you due at the hairdresser?’
Georgina looked at her watch and her eyes widened. ‘Oh Lord, it’s later than I thought. Quick, boys, out of those clothes – we need to get going.’
After Georgina and the boys had left in a whirlwind of frenzied activity, Muriel said, ‘If there’s still tea on offer, I wouldn’t say no.’
‘Of course,’ Mia said. Although she would have preferred to be on her own now. She was exhausted. She still found the slightest task took all her energy and powers of concentration. ‘Shall we go over to the house?’ she said.
‘No, here’s fine. I promise I won’t keep you long. I can see that you’re shattered.’
Grateful for Muriel’s honesty, Mia went through to the minuscule kitchenette and filled the kettle. Plugging it in, she suspected Muriel had something on her mind that she wanted to discuss. It was probably something to do with the talent show. More than likely Muriel now considered sufficient time had passed and was about to press-gang Mia into helping on the night. She had, after all, helped in all the previous years. Not only that, but because she’d put together the Jedward outfits for Luke and Edmund – adapting two pairs of trousers and black school blazers from a jumble sale and sourcing a couple of wigs from an online joke shop – Muriel would take this as a positive sign that she was coping and moving on. All she was really doing was taking one day at a time. Nothing more. There was no other option.
The tea made, she took the two mugs through to Muriel. ‘Is this about the talent show?’ she asked.
Muriel shook her head. ‘No. Have you and Jeff thought of seeing a grief counsellor?’
Taken aback, Mia took a moment to reply. Finally she said, ‘Do you honestly think Jeff would do that?’
‘He saw a counsellor once before when Daisy was ill, didn’t he?’
‘He had a positive reason to do it then, to help Daisy get better. And he only went once and disregarded more or less everything that was said.’
‘Have you discussed seeing a counsellor with him?’
‘Oh, Muriel, we hardly talk. The few occasions we actually sit in the same room together, talking is the last thing he wants to do. Or indeed what I want to do.’
Muriel tutted and shook her head sadly. ‘That won’t do.’ Her voice was surprisingly gentle.
‘You’re probably right, but as for Jeff, he’s unreachable.’
They sipped their tea in silence.
Looking up from her mug, Muriel said, ‘Why did you think I wanted to talk to you about the talent show?’
‘I thought perhaps you’d considered sufficient time had passed for me to pull myself together and help.’
‘Would you like to help?’
‘Maybe,’ she said carefully, ‘but I’d hate to commit to something and then not be able to do it.’
Muriel nodded. ‘I understand. But what if I put you down to help with refreshments, like last year? That wouldn’t be too taxing, would it?’
Mia smiled tiredly. ‘All right, I’ll do it.’
‘Good girl. Everyone will be so glad to have you back in the fold. I know it’s selfish of people, but often the only way they can handle another person’s grief is to see some visible sign of them getting over it.’
‘I know.’
Her tea finished now, Muriel said, ‘Well, this won’t get the baby bathed; I need to get home. Oh, by the way, I saw Owen this morning. I told him I was seeing you this afternoon and he sent his regards.’
Mia took Muriel’s empty mug along with her own through to the kitchenette. ‘How is he?’ she asked casually, her back to Muriel.
‘He’s well. But we must do all we can to keep him here.’
Mia turned. ‘Why? Is he thinking of leaving?’
‘I get the impression that the novelty of living here might be wearing off. He doesn’t seem to have the same enthusiasm as he did earlier in the summer. Oh, I nearly forgot, tell me quickly the latest news from Maine. How’s Jensen getting on with his future in-laws?’
While Tattie, Madison and Barb were visiting an old family friend, Jensen was giving Tom a hand raking up leaves in the garden.
‘I reckon I’ll be doing this from now until December,’ Tom said, looking at the dense circle of trees that surrounded them. ‘And I know what you’re thinking, son – why not put it off until then and do the job in one go? I did that once before and you should have seen the mess those leaves made of the grass.’ He laughed. ‘I never heard the last of it from Barb. She’s a woman who likes things just so. You might have noticed that.’
Jensen nodded in a non-committal sort of way. He certainly had noticed that Barb, just as Tattie had warned him, was a neat freak, but he wasn’t about to criticize his future mother-in-law behind her back. Instead he said, ‘Madison’s pretty particular about her things as well; she never has anything out of place in her bedroom at home.’
Tom chuckled. ‘We sure know who she gets that from. But she’s a great kid. Bright as a dime. A terrible worrier, though. I’m told she gets that from me, but I never think of myself as a worrier, more a man who likes to know where he stands. How about you, JC? Are you a worrier?’
‘I have my moments.’
‘How about now? Any worries about getting married? I’m sure I’d have a few doubts if I were in your shoes, it’s not for every young man to take on a ready-made family.’
Here was the frank openness Jensen found so refreshing in the Morrow family. There was no beating about the bush for Tom and Barb; they got straight to the heart of the matter. When he’d emailed Eliza saying they could teach their family a thing or two, he hadn’t been exaggerating. ‘No doubts at all,’ Jensen said. ‘I’ve never felt more sure about anything.’
Resting his hands on the handle of the rake and seeming to contemplate his answer, Tom nodded gravely. ‘I hope you’ll forgive me if you think I’m speaking out of turn,’ he said slowly, ‘but I believe this is something that needs to be said.’
Jensen tensed, fearing that perhaps this moment had been carefully engineered in Tattie’s absence for her father to say exactly what he thought of her choice of husband. Giving the other man his full attention, he thought how different he was from his own father. They were about the same age – late fifties – but that was the only similarity. To say Tom was an imposing figure was a massive understatement. He looked like he could pick Jensen up with one hand and hold him above his head without breaking sweat. He was a giant of a man, built of solid muscle and with a buzz cut that shouted ex-military. Which wasn’t the case. He’d spent all his working life as a high school maths teacher – who wouldn’t knuckle down to their algebra with him at the front of the classroom? Barb joked – and coaching high-school football. He’d retired early last year for no other reason than he wanted to spend more time with his wife. ‘To keep an eye on me, more like it,’ Barb further joked.
‘I want you to know that Barb and I are very happy to welcome you into our family,’ he went on in his surprisingly quiet voice for one so big. ‘I was concerned initially about losing our daughter to someone living so far away from us, but we both think you’re a fine young man and we couldn’t be happier that you and Tattie are getting married. Our only regret is that we won’t see more of you all.’
Jensen didn’t know how to respond to Tom’s unexpected speech. But the man hadn’t finished.
‘Tattie says you’re not close to your father,’ he continued, ‘that you have a difficult relationship with each other, bad history, she says. Is there no way you can resolve matters? As one gets older, one realizes just how short life can be.’
His throat tight, Jensen said, ‘Actually, after the death of my youngest sister, that is something I’ve recently come to appreciate.’
Tom shook his head. ‘Of course,’ he said, clearly embarrassed, his brow creased. ‘I’m sorry. That was clumsy of me. I’m sorry if I have spoken out of turn, but that’s what we do in our family: we speak plainly and honestly and where praise is due, we give it wholeheartedly. And you deserve a lot of praise, son.’
‘You haven’t spoken out of turn,’ Jensen said, ‘far from it. What’s more, I think you’re right; I should try to make some sort of peace with my father. I’d like to do it for Madison’s sake, but I don’t have a clue how to go about it.’
Tom nodded thoughtfully. ‘Where there’s a will there’s usually a way,’ he said.
Yes, thought Jensen. But was his will strong enough to put the weight of history he had with his father behind him?
Mia lay in bed wide awake.
She had been dreaming that it was early in the morning, a beautiful autumnal misty morning, and she had been in the churchyard next door, laying fresh flowers on Daisy’s grave. Then hearing music, she had followed its siren-like call to its source, taking the path to The Hidden Cottage. Emerging from the bluebell wood, the music grew louder and ever more compelling. She knew that it was Owen playing the piano and as she skirted the lake and drew nearer to the house she became worried that he would see her. But her desire to listen to the music and to be soothed by it made her want to stay and so she sat on the wooden jetty, her back to the house.
Looking out over the lake, its glassy surface so still and smooth that the sky and surrounding trees were perfectly mirrored in it, the music filled her senses and from nowhere she felt Daisy’s presence. Not physically, but in her heart. It filled her with peace and was such an exquisite emotion, tears ran down her cheeks and she cried openly and freely, her head tipped back. With time seeming to stand still, she slowly became aware that the music had stopped and she felt hands, warm and sure, on her shoulders. Welcoming the touch, she turned to see Owen.
That was when she woke up and found that her face was wet with real tears.
With last night’s dream still lingering like a soothing aura around her, and as if it was meant to be, Mia bumped into Owen the next morning.
She was in Olney to pay some cheques into the bank, and with that errand done, she moved further along the main street to the dry cleaner’s. It was there, as she pushed open the door to step inside to collect Jeff’s suit, that she came face to face with Owen on his way out. He looked as startled as she felt, but was the first to compose himself.
‘How are you?’ he asked.
‘Oh, you know, muddling along. You?’
‘Much the same.’
The awkward exchange ground to a halt. They both looked away, he to the right, she to the left. When their eyes met again, he said, ‘I don’t suppose you’d . . .’ His words trailed off.
‘What don’t you suppose?’
‘That you’d have a coffee with me?’
He was amazed that she’d said yes and as he carried their tray of cappuccinos through the crowded café to where she was waiting for him at the only available table, he felt nervous. He sat down, slid her coffee towards her, dispensed with the tray and with a sense of foreboding took a mental deep breath, preparing himself for something he really didn’t want to hear.
‘I dreamt of you last night,’ she said softly.
‘Really?’ Right, well, that certainly wasn’t what he was expecting. ‘I hope it wasn’t a bad dream,’ he said lightly.
She picked up the spoon from her saucer, dipped it into the froth of her coffee and stirred it slowly as if not wanting to disturb its surface. ‘It was a good dream,’ she said. ‘But it wasn’t just about you; it was mostly about Daisy. I woke up crying from it. And yet . . . and I can’t explain why, but it wasn’t a sad dream.’ She stopped moving the spoon and looked straight at him. ‘I’m sorry I ignored you the other day in the car. That was very rude of me.’
