Second Thyme Around (29 page)
When they were alone Kitty said, ‘That side of the family were always frightfully common.’
Perdita drew breath to tell Kitty that being common wasn’t their only fault, but then she saw that Kitty had fallen asleep.
Something told Perdita that Kitty was dead even before she opened her eyes. She had not got Perdita up in the night at all, and unlike with many of the dying, Kitty’s breathing had not become laboured. But it might have been the silence which woke Perdita. She wriggled out of her sleeping bag to check the time. It was a quarter past five in the morning.
When she saw Kitty she was quite sure. Although she felt for a pulse, and then fetched a hand mirror to make sure that no breath was coming from between Kitty’s lips, it was unnecessary. Kitty just wasn’t there any more.
Perdita waited to cry, to feel a rush of tragic emotion, but none came. She felt perfectly calm, and relieved for Kitty. From her point of view, being totally dead was better than being mostly dead, full of drips and tubes and medicine which would keep her alive, but not well, for another few weeks. Perdita and Kitty had discussed this, if not often, enough times for Perdita to be sure of her feelings.
It was also wonderful that she’d been spared the transfer to a home, and all that that entailed. If Kitty had been less unwell, there would have been a lot about a home which she would have enjoyed – grumbling about the other residents, rebelling against the staff and disobeying the rules would have delighted her. But latterly, she had been too ill for rebellion and petty gossip.
It was lovely that Kitty had seen the television programme. She had thoroughly enjoyed watching Perdita
and Lucas setting sparks off each other, noticing every time the show had been cut to avoid offending the viewers with violence and bad language.
and Lucas setting sparks off each other, noticing every time the show had been cut to avoid offending the viewers with violence and bad language.
And now she was dead.
Perdita sat on the chair where she had sat to feed Kitty, to read to her, to gossip with her, and silently, to pray for her. Now she wanted to enjoy these moments of quiet before the rest of the world discovered that Kitty had died.
Perdita had been dreading Kitty dying, both consciously and subconsciously, for years. Now it had happened and she was alone in the world. She had her parents, of course, and they would support her and be kind to her, provided she was willing to go and live in whatever part of the world they finally settled, but Kitty had always been here, constant, static, reliable. This was where Perdita’s life was. She wouldn’t move away – unless the land she used for Bonyhayes Salads was taken from her.
Still perfectly calm, Perdita wondered which aspect of Kitty she would miss most: the supportive sage, advisor and comforter, or the witty, interesting friend. Instantly, she decided it was her friendship that would leave the biggest gap. Now Kitty was actually dead, Perdita would probably become fully adult and independent. But who could she share jokes with, make cutting little remarks to, remarks she would be ashamed to let anyone else hear? Now she would have to depend on books for gardening advice, and do without knowing the scandals caused by the great-grandparents of the latest It girl. None of it was important, really, but it was the sort of detail which added colour to life.
Lucas came into her mind, probably put there by Kitty, whose spirit seemed to hover around, trying not to interfere, but doing it anyway. That was an area where Perdita was bound to disappoint Kitty. Her romantic old heart, heavily disguised by a crust of cynicism, had wanted them to put aside their differences, fall in love and
get married. That would be nice for Lucas, whom Kitty loved and respected, because he had a fine mind and had been very kind to her, Kitty. And it would solve the problem about who was to look after Perdita now that Kitty was gone. Not, she would no doubt hasten to add, that Perdita needed anyone to look after her precisely, but everyone needed someone to keep them warm in bed at night. But Lucas had broken Perdita’s heart once, and once was enough, thank you very much.
get married. That would be nice for Lucas, whom Kitty loved and respected, because he had a fine mind and had been very kind to her, Kitty. And it would solve the problem about who was to look after Perdita now that Kitty was gone. Not, she would no doubt hasten to add, that Perdita needed anyone to look after her precisely, but everyone needed someone to keep them warm in bed at night. But Lucas had broken Perdita’s heart once, and once was enough, thank you very much.
It was true that Lucas was infinitely warmer and more cuddly than her lettuces, but in the same way that a tiger was – by being a hot-blooded mammal – furry in places. But Kitty wouldn’t want Perdita driving to Longleat and flinging her arms round the neck of the nearest half-ton of fur and fang, and to Perdita, loving Lucas was just as potentially fatal.
Besides, Lucas had spent most of his spare time in the house looking after Kitty. Now she was gone, he would turn his attention back to his restaurant, his Michelin Star, and possibly, a television series, with another, more biddable, co-star.
Perdita found herself smiling wryly, longing to point out the irony of the situation to Kitty. Lucas had hated Kitty when he and Perdita were married, calling her ‘that old witch’. And Kitty had hated Lucas when he had behaved so appallingly to Perdita, and in the years since had referred to him in a manner which was even less complimentary. But they had come to love each other, and he would miss Kitty nearly as much as she would herself.
She wondered if she should warn him about the photograph that Roger hinted he would sell to the tabloids but decided against it. It was probably just an empty threat, Lucas was quite big enough to look after himself if he got doorstepped – in fact, he’d probably enjoy the ruckus.
Perdita sat with Kitty until six o’clock, when Thomas
came in. ‘Morning,’ he said in a low voice. ‘How’s the patient? Oh.’ He, too, saw the absence of life. He looked anxiously at Perdita, who felt oddly detached and calm, faintly irritated with Kitty for not being there to share the moment, but otherwise tranquil. ‘I’ll make us a cuppa. Have you been up long?’
came in. ‘Morning,’ he said in a low voice. ‘How’s the patient? Oh.’ He, too, saw the absence of life. He looked anxiously at Perdita, who felt oddly detached and calm, faintly irritated with Kitty for not being there to share the moment, but otherwise tranquil. ‘I’ll make us a cuppa. Have you been up long?’
Perdita shook her head. She didn’t feel in the least like crying but she didn’t trust her voice. Thomas, to her enormous gratitude, seemed to understand. ‘Back in a tick.’
Perdita sighed. She would have to ring her parents, and they would come flying back, her mother trying hard to take over. She felt ambivalent about both parents. It would be nice to have someone to comfort her, to call her ‘darling’, and ‘my little Perdi-werdi’ for about five minutes. Then they would fill the house with funeral etiquette, they would panic about the amount of books and furniture to sort out, and try to get Perdita to call in a house-clearance firm, all before poor Kitty was buried.
Should she tell them about Roger, too, and how the house-clearance might yet turn out to be his responsibility? Her mother would be overcome with remorse; she was bound to feel responsible for losing her daughter what might be a massive inheritance. Perdita shuddered, knowing she couldn’t face her mother’s self-recriminations, not now.
It’s not, she told herself, nearly out loud to make it more convincing, that I don’t love Mum and Dad, because I do, very dearly. But this had been Kitty’s space, and her own, and she didn’t want them moving in on it, tidying Kitty’s personality away.
She should try to arrange to visit them for a holiday, after everything was sorted out, so she could let herself be spoilt and bullied and generally looked after. But getting away would be no easier now than before. She still had a business to run, plants to tend and harvest and sell.
When her parents came, she would have to combine her usual role of dependent and dippy daughter with that of businesswoman, head of the household and decision maker. The split required in her personality would probably be as stressful for them as for her. Perhaps she should just abandon her daughter role, and carry on here as usual.
And then there was Lucas. She’d never persuade Lucas, even if she dared to ask him, to behave as if he was not an intimate of the household. When her mother saw this was the case, she would descend into paroxysms of maternal anxiety.
Luckily for Lucas, Perdita’s mother was unlikely to say anything to him about the unsuitability of his presence, but Perdita would not be spared. Lecture on lecture would be muttered out of the corner of her mouth while they counted teacups and bemoaned the fact that half the saucers didn’t match.
For a moment, Perdita contemplated having the funeral tea at the local pub. They’d put on a ‘good spread’ and it would save so much upheaval. But she knew she couldn’t. Kitty was such a sociable person and her house was so important to her. It would have to be held here, where she had enjoyed giving parties, in the summer, when the guests could spill out of the French windows into the garden.
The funeral feast would have to be lavish and delicious, and probably, now it was September, and the weather less reliable, would have to take place in the drawing room, which would have to look like a drawing room, and not like the bedroom of an invalid. Perdita looked about her, seeing the room as a room for the first time in ages. There were signs of Kitty’s illness everywhere. There was the lift for getting her in and out of bed, there were the grab rails on the wall, there was the hospital bed itself, high, narrow and efficient, top and bottom easily raised or lowered.
There was no way she could block up the door through to the shower room, replace the alcove and all Kitty’s china collection. But she and Thomas could shift the furniture, perhaps put a china cupboard in front of the door, and make it look like a room Kitty would be proud of. She hadn’t liked her drawing room becoming ‘a side ward’, as she had said scathingly. They could bring back the blue sofa, and make the room beautiful again.
Lucas drifted into Perdita’s thoughts again. She remembered that cold spring afternoon when she’d been searching the neighbourhood for someone to help with Kitty. Lucas had appeared. She closed her eyes. She had known then that life would never be the same again. Kitty’s death was another watershed, one which would be far more definitive, one which would affect her life for ever.
Lucas still in her mind, it occurred to her to ask him to arrange the food for the funeral. He would understand the need for celebratory canapes, elegant little
bouchées
along with more substantial quiches and samosas, things for those who’d travelled far to pay their last respects to Kitty. She’d ask him to do that, she could pay the hotel, and she would be spared endless discussions with her mother about the suitability of serving champagne at a funeral, or whether smoked salmon was really necessary. She’d let her mother make a fruit cake. She was very good at those, and it would give her something to do.
bouchées
along with more substantial quiches and samosas, things for those who’d travelled far to pay their last respects to Kitty. She’d ask him to do that, she could pay the hotel, and she would be spared endless discussions with her mother about the suitability of serving champagne at a funeral, or whether smoked salmon was really necessary. She’d let her mother make a fruit cake. She was very good at those, and it would give her something to do.
Perdita got up and stretched. She seemed to have been sitting a long time. She went to the window, looking out across the lawn, newly cut by Thomas, and dew-spangled. The garden looked lovely, although Perdita always felt a little sad when summer began to turn to autumn. She never quite knew why this should be; as she always told Kitty, it wasn’t as if she minded winter. It was just the turn of the year which made her melancholy, while summer optimistically clung on as if perhaps this year the
swallows wouldn’t desert, the leaves wouldn’t turn, and the roses would flower all winter. The tiny purple and white cyclamen, which Kitty and Perdita both loved, were a sign that summer was over. The first appearance of the little mauve and white lanterns always caused Perdita’s heart to sink a little.
swallows wouldn’t desert, the leaves wouldn’t turn, and the roses would flower all winter. The tiny purple and white cyclamen, which Kitty and Perdita both loved, were a sign that summer was over. The first appearance of the little mauve and white lanterns always caused Perdita’s heart to sink a little.
Thomas came in with tea and shortbread biscuits. Kitty always had a shortbread with her early morning tea and it seemed right that Thomas and Perdita should have them now.
‘You’ll have to start ringing people. The doctor, and then your parents.’ He was quite firm about this, as if he knew she would have preferred to get the arrangements underway before telling them. ‘If they’re halfway across the world, it’ll take them a few days to get here. You will have got it all sorted before they arrive.’
She nodded. ‘I’ll make a list.’
‘And Roger. Otherwise he’ll turn up as usual. Talk about an ambulance chaser!’
‘He didn’t bother Kitty, did he? He didn’t make her last days miserable?’
Thomas shook his head. ‘Oh no. She made him read Anthony Trollope to her. Tiny print, lines really close together. She used to doze off.’ He chuckled. ‘I felt quite sorry for him, struggling with the long words.’
Perdita chuckled gently. ‘OK, I’ll ring him.’ She shook her head as she reached for a pad and pen from Kitty’s bedside table. ‘Now, who else should I write down? Doctor, undertaker, newspapers for an announcement—’
‘Lucas,’ he interrupted firmly. ‘You must tell Lucas immediately. He loved Kitty. You can’t let him hear it from anyone else.’
Perdita sighed. ‘You’re right.’ She reached for the bedside phone. ‘I’ll ring him now.’
Thomas raised an eyebrow. ‘Or you could wait until eight o’clock. There’s no point in waking him with the
news. Unless you want him to rush round and comfort you immediately.’ He paused. ‘He will come round, you know.’
news. Unless you want him to rush round and comfort you immediately.’ He paused. ‘He will come round, you know.’
‘I’d lost track of time. I thought it was later. I don’t need him to comfort me.’
On the dot of eight, Perdita rang Lucas. She didn’t need to say anything. The moment he heard her voice he knew what had happened. ‘Are you all right? I’ll be there as soon as I’ve got some clothes on.’
Still Perdita couldn’t cry.
By the time Lucas got there, the doctor and the undertaker had been telephoned. While it had seemed macabre at the time, Perdita was now grateful that one of Kitty’s friends, recently widowed, had recommended an undertaker. ‘You don’t want to be going through the Yellow Pages at a time like that,’ she had said. ‘Believe me, I know. But they were very good and efficient and – sensitive.’
Lucas stood on the back doorstep, with his arms half opened, ready to receive a sobbing Perdita. Only Perdita wasn’t sobbing, didn’t want to start, and felt that being hugged might release a lot of emotion she didn’t have time to indulge in.
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