The Memory Garden (46 page)

‘Dad seems quite at home here,’ Mel whispered to Chrissie as they took the dirty plates down to the kitchen and gathered up the fruit salad and ice cream for pudding.

‘He does seem more relaxed than he used to, doesn’t he?’ Chrissie agreed.

‘It’s really been since Mum . . .’ Mel didn’t finish. Perhaps he was expanding into the gap that Maureen had left.

‘I was thinking the same,’ put in Chrissie quickly. ‘Rory and Freddy have hardly seen him, you know, and there he was before lunch, getting down on the floor with Rory’s train track. I don’t recall him ever doing that with Will.’

‘Don’t you?’ Mel said. ‘You can remember him when he was still at home with us. I can’t, you see. I only really remember when we visited him. And he was with Stella instead of Mum. It was dreadfully confusing.’

‘And Mum kept crying all the time.’

‘I don’t remember that, either. But when I try to, I feel this horrible heavy sense of sadness. All locked away inside, I suppose.’

‘I wonder if that’s what it was, back in August,’ Chrissie said suddenly, staring at her sister.

‘You mean the thing with Patrick triggering off memory?’

Chrissie shrugged. ‘Could have been, couldn’t it?’

‘Because I thought Patrick was rejecting me, like Dad? Oh, come off it, Chrissie, that’s a bit too neat.’

But was it? Did her sister have a point? Mel thought back to that last nightmare night at Merryn. There had been her own distress, yes. But also her dreams . . . the atmosphere in the cottage. That was someone else’s memory she had tapped into.
Pearl’s
. And if that was really what had happened, surely tapping into her own memories would be easy.

‘Do you feel all right now, Mel?’ asked Chrissie, standing, bowl of fruit salad in hand, turning anxious eyes on her. ‘Not too sad or anything?’

‘No, especially not since the flowers arrived. Did you know they were coming?’

‘No, I didn’t, honestly,’ said Chrissie, smiling. ‘Well, he rang to check the address, I hoped he’d send you something. Have you spoken to him? Why don’t you give him a ring?’

‘I might later,’ Mel said, offhand.

Chrissie took the hint. ‘Oh well, it’s up to you.’

After the dessert was cleared away, Mel slipped upstairs to Rob and Chrissie’s bedroom and rang the number for Merryn Hall. She listened to his voice on the phone. It didn’t sound like him – formal, polite, lifeless – and this put her off leaving a message. She considered ringing his mobile but network coverage was patchy and, if she did get through, she imagined him answering from the midst of a group of friends, or at lunch with his mother sitting there, a cold observer, and lost courage. Anyway, Rob was calling her down for coffee.

‘We thought we’d try the crib service at the church,’ said Chrissie as they sat in the living room. ‘It’s at five and I’ll be sorted out by then. Some friends of ours go and they say the new woman vicar’s very good.’

‘We’ll come, won’t we, darling?’ said Stella, patting her husband’s hand.

‘Of course._ber of Maureen and I used to take you three when you were little,’ he said to Chrissie and Mel, ‘but perhaps you don’t remember. Mel tried to take one of the crib lambs home one year.’ He winked at her.

‘I do remember,’ they said simultaneously, Mel surprised by the sudden flash of recovered memory.

‘My granny died,’ Rory told Stella solemnly, coming to place his hand on her lap. ‘She was very sick and then she died.’

‘I know, darling. It’s so sad, isn’t it?’ said Stella, brushing back Rory’s hair.

‘Are you a granny, too?’ he asked.

‘I can be your granny if you like, darling. And Freddy’s.’ She waved at Freddy, who sat squarely on the floor, legs splayed out in front, rolling toy cars onto a transporter. ‘You can call me Granny Stella or just Stella.’

Rory nodded and looked satisfied. ‘I’ll call you Stella,’ he said. ‘But you’ll be like my granny.’

Stella gazed into his eyes as though she’d fallen in love.

Mel and Rob and her father took the boys down to the swings and slides at the local park, whilst Stella helped Chrissie with the beds.

‘Are you sure?’ Mel asked them.

‘Oh goodness yes, you go and have a chat with your father,’ said Stella. A suspicion grew on Mel that this ‘chat’ was not unplanned.

‘It’s all dads out here, isn’t it?’ Mel said laughing as they reached the fenced play area, which was heaving with small children. ‘We can guess what the mums are all doing on Christmas Eve.’

Men slouched smoking on benches, talked into mobiles or tiredly pushed tinies on the swings.

They don’t talk to each other like the women do, she thought.

Whilst Rob patiently stood beneath Rory who was scaling the heights of the climbing frame, Mel grabbed a free baby swing and slotted Freddy into it. Her father started to push him gently, as though frightened the child might fall out.

‘More,’ bellowed Freddy and Grandad tried a little harder.

‘Didn’t do much of this when you were young,’ he said to Mel. ‘I like being a grandad.’

‘Do you see much of Will’s kids?’ Mel asked. Will only lived twenty miles away from him and Stella, in Birmingham.

‘We try to. Now that I’m retired it’s a bit easier. And with your mother gone . . .’ He gave Freddy’s swing a harder shove than he intended.

‘Wheee,’ shouted Freddy, shooting up into the air. ‘More, more.’

‘Well, it just seems more important somehow. They’re nice kids, all of them, and Stella’s chuffed that they like her. I think she should have had some of her own, you know.’

‘She’ll be an excellent grandmother,’ said Mel.

‘Down, down,’ commanded Freddy. ‘S’ide.’ Her father grabbed the swing before Freddy could clamber out into mid-air, then helped him to the ground and safely over to one of the little slides. There Mel stood behind Freddy as he climbed the half-dozen steps on hands and feet, monkey fashion.

‘Have you taken my advice yet?’ her father said, his blue eyes fierce upon her.

‘What advice?’ said Mel to buy time.

‘That young man Chrissie told me about.’

‘Patrick, you mean.’

‘That’s the one.’

‘Dad, it’s all right, you know. I’m not a little girl any more, I can make my own decisions. There’s plenty of time.’

‘Time is what there’s not, Mel. Remember what I said. If you love him, don’t look for faults. None of us is perfect and he might slip away.’

‘I won’t let him, Dad, I promise,’ she said, squeezing his shoulder. ‘Not this time.’

And they both rushed forward to rescue Freddy, who had fallen off the bottom of the slide with a bump. ‘ ’Gain,’ he said stolidly, looking up at them with satisfaction.

They’re all conspiring, Mel concluded, as they sat in a pew halfway down the Victorian church, which was filling up rapidly with children, parents and old people. For some reason they have all decided, my family, that Patrick is the right person for me. Yet my father has never even met him.

‘He must have caught the vibes from you,’ said Chrissie, with a smug expression when Mel recounted the conversation she had had with their father. ‘Yes, of course he’s asked me about Patrick, but nothing I could say would make him seem the right person for you. It’s just what we see, how happy the thought of him seems to make you, that’s all.’

‘Different from how I was about Jake?’ sighed Mel.

‘Very,’ said Chrissie. ‘You never seemed truly yourself around Jake. You were always watching him, you know, never relaxed.’

‘I don’t remember that.’

‘Well, I do.’

The organ started up, playing softly ‘Away in a Manger’, as parents removed toddlers from buggies, peeled off children’s coats, craned to see whether anything was starting to happen. It wasn’t. Mel glanced to her left. Rob was shushing Freddy on the seat next to him and on Freddy’s left Rory was slouched kicking the kneeler hanging on the hook in front of him. Next to Rory Chrissie chatted to her father and at the far end of the pew Stella was kneeling, her face in her hands, praying.

Perhaps I should, too, thought Mel, though she hadn’t ever had the habit of it. She knelt on her tapestry cushion and closed her eyes, her mind blank.
What should I say?
There was nothing in her mind at all and so she sat listening to the music and the murmur of voices around her and finally a wordless rush of peace and thankfulness seemed to flow through her.
Oh, let me do the right thing
, came the words in her head, though what did that mean –
right?
Right for me , I suppose, she sighed, pushing herself back up onto the pew.
It was a short and simple service, the words of the old carols, which Mel had sung every year of her life at one Christmas celebration or another , suddenly fresh and resonant in a way they hadn’t been for years and years , as though they spoke directly to her, and she listened intently to the older Sunday School children reading passages from the Christmas story.
When the Vicar asked for volunteers to carry the wooden nativity figures and to place them in the stable, Rory’s hand shot up instantly and he was one of the first to be chosen . Chrissie went to help him lift the ox and to arrange it to one side of Mary and the crib. He skipped back up the aisle with a huge grin on his face.
The final carol, unusually, was not ‘O Come All Ye Faithful’ or ‘Hark the Herald Angels’, but ‘It Came Upon the Midnight Clear’, about the strife-riven world stopping in its tracks to listen to the song of the angels, ‘Peace on the earth, good will to men’, and looking forward to the time ‘when peace shall over all the earth its ancient splendours fling.’
And then the service was over and the lights went up and the church, full of strangers who for this short moment at Christmas became neighbours, were catching one another’s eye and wishing each other Happy Christmas, and children were dancing around in excitement at the thought of Baby Jesus and stockings and Father Christmas.
‘Well,’ said Stella, as they emerged into the cold evening, ‘I thought that was simply lovely.’ And it was.

Whilst Chrissie and Stella were laying out tea, Mel slipped upstairs once more to use her phone. Patrick was still out, but this time she left a stilted message of thanks for the flowers. Then she called up his mobile number and stared at the printed number on the display until the backlighting faded, before pressing Call. It rang and rang, then switched over to Voicemail. Rather than leave a duplicate message she rang off.
Perhaps she should ring his parents. But she rehearsed the likely prickly conversation that would ensue if his mother answered and decided against it.
Finally, on an impulse, she called up the number for Carrie’s hotel. Matt answered on the second ring.
‘Mel!’
‘Matt, hi. Is this a bad time? Are you madly busy?’
‘Not too busy to talk to you. Thanks for the card, by the way. Sorry, we’ve been a bit behind with cards this year.’
‘Oh, don’t worry. Just didn’t want you to think I’d forgotten you. Matt – oh, it’s so good to hear your voice. How are you all?’
‘Good, very good.’

‘Your mother?’
‘Not bad. She’s going back into hospital after Christmas for a bypass op. We’re trying to stop her bossing us about in the kitchen. She’s sitting in the lounge at the moment, chatting to guests. We’re pretty full this year as we advertised a special lunch.’
‘That’s wonderful. How’s Irina?’
‘Oh, she’s somewhere around. She’s really great. She’ll be pleased to hear you’ve called. When are you coming to see us?’
‘I’d love to quite soon. Actually, I have been trying to get Patrick. Do you happen to know where he is?’
‘I certainly do. Up a mountain in Austria.’
‘Oh, of course, he’s skiing.’
‘With an old school chum, he said. Flying back next Thursday. He’s coming over to dinner New Year’s Eve. What about you? Where are you spending Christmas?’
‘I’m with my sister’s family. My father and stepmother are here, too.’
‘Well, have a good time, won’t you? Look, Mel . . .’
‘Mmm?’ Mel was thinking furiously.
‘You will come to see us, won’t you?’
‘Yes. In fact, listen Matt, I’ve had an idea, if you don’t think it too daft.’ And she explained her plan.

It was the best Christmas she’d had for years, she thought , as she lay in bed at the end of the following day. All right , so Rory had roused everybody with a shriek of delight at 3 a.m., and Freddy had cried and not gone back to sleep. And the turkey took longer to cook than Chrissie had calculated and the kids’ jelly didn’t set, and somebody else gave Rob the book she’d got for him – but in the end, what did it all matter? Her father was there , more contented than she had ever known him. And Patrick had sent her flowers and a note with all his love. And she was going to see him . . . soon.
When her father and Stella said goodnight to the family at the end of Christmas Day and her father hugged her and said how much they had enjoyed the day, she hugged him back and he murmured in her ear, ‘My little Melanie. Always my little Melanie.’

‘Hello? Patrick?’

‘Yes, hello?’

‘It’s me.’

‘Mel!’

‘Yes!’

‘Mel, this is fantastic. How are you? How was Christmas?’

‘Fine, I’m just fine. Christmas was wonderful.’

‘I found your message. Only got back this morning. I’ve been in Austria, skiing, with my friend Tom and his wife.’

‘Matt told me. How was it?’

‘Terrific. Masses of snow.’

‘Thank you again for the flowers. They were simply beautiful.’

‘I’d been thinking of something to send you, especially after I got your card. I couldn’t believe it when I saw them coming up so early. Must be global warming or something. There are dozens of them.’

‘I know.’

‘You do?’

‘I’ve been looking at them.’

‘
What?
’

‘I’m here in Lamorna, Patrick. Just a bit up the hill, in fact. I couldn’t get a signal down where you are.’

‘Mel! Where? Wait! I’m coming.’ The sound of a dropped phone.

Mel laughed and started to walk back down the lane to Merryn.

She had driven down to Lamorna the day before, setting off in chill darkness at five to avoid the traffic, taking it easy with several stops, reaching Carrie’s hotel just as twilight was starting to fall. They had rushed out into the reception area to greet her, Matt taking her case with one hand, pulling her into a hug with the other, Irina grabbing her next by the lapels of her coat with a shriek and kissing her on both cheeks, Lana hovering in the doorway to the bar, chewing a strand of hair and shyly waving hello.