Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83343 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83343 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Granny looks down with an expression of disappointment.
“You don’t ever believe I’m happy at Crompton. I don’t need to leave. Everything I want and need is here.”
She shakes her head. I thought she’d be delighted I’m going on a date, which hasn’t happened in forever. “What did Vincent say when you said you wanted to go to the Golden Hare?”
“He was fine with it. Of course.”
“And if there’s a second date?” she asks. “You going to go to the tea shop?”
I roll my eyes. Of course we wouldn’t go to the tea shop. But I’m not sure where we would go and the idea needles me in my chest. “Marangon’s,” I say, talking about the Italian place in Watley.
“It closed two years ago,” Granny says.
“It did?”
She doesn’t answer, but picks up her knitting and starts again. “Basil was telling me all about a course he’s doing online. It’s live, in a virtual classroom.”
Thank goodness for the change in subject. “On Zoom?” I ask.
“Teams,” she says. “I think some of the schools did it like that during lockdown.”
“Yes, I think they did.” I resume scrolling through my phone.
“Means you don’t have to go anywhere, really.”
Something tells me we’ve not changed subject at all.
“And I was talking to Sacha, whose friend’s daughter, Aurora, did therapy online. Got to see one of the top psychologists and never left her sitting room. Apparently it was marvelous. She’d had a problem getting over an old flame. Therapy helped her tremendously.”
“Good for Aurora. Despite the fact she’s a perfect stranger to me, I’m happy for her. I really am.” My tone is sharp and defensive. I instantly regret it.
Granny’s needles continue to click clack in the silence between us.
“I’m sorry, Granny. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.”
“It’s okay. I know it’s a prickly subject.”
“It’s not really prickly. I just don’t need therapy.”
“Well if you say you don’t need it, that’s that. But it’s an option if you decide the world outside Crompton is one you want to get to know.”
“You’re acting like I never leave the grounds! I still have four shifts at the pub every week.”
Her expression is of pity, but she’s misunderstood me. I’m happy. I don’t need her pity.
“And soon I’ll be moving behind the car park in the village. I’ll be at least three miles away from Crompton.”
“If you say so, darling. But if money is an issue, I’d be happy to pay for you to have a chat with someone. You had a lot to cope with as a child and no one can judge you for the choices you made.”
“I chose to make myself happy,” I say simply. We don’t often talk about or even allude to life before my mother died. Or if we do, we focus on the happy times when I was at Crompton. But life outside the estate with my mother wasn’t often happy. It was stressful and tense. I remember coming to Crompton and being relieved to find it was the exact opposite. I used to leave notes under my pillow to the fairies, asking them to let me stay forever.
And then my mum died and I did stay.
Adult-me knows I didn’t cause my mum’s death, but for a long time I carried the guilt of thinking that by wanting to stay with Granny so much, I willed Mum dead. I know better than to wish for a life different from the one I have now—one where everything and everyone in my orbit is familiar. Or it was.
Until Vincent.
Now I want him. But he won’t stay. I have to push thoughts away of any other scenario, because he will leave.
And I will stay.
I can’t wish him here.
I won’t.
But one of the things I can take comfort from is, whether or not Vincent is here, the leaves on the trees of the estate—none of which Vincent is cutting down—will turn yellow, then orange and red in the autumn before falling. They’ll bud and grow again next spring. I might not be working at the tea shop. I might not be living on the estate, but I will be here, every day, welcoming people to Crompton and watching the trees change as the seasons pass.
My grandmother stands and moves toward the kettle. “Would you like a cup of tea?”
The question is a perfect palate cleanser. “Yes, please. I bought some green and popped it in your cupboard. The studies are saying the antioxidant benefits are incredible, plus it can protect the brain against Alzheimer’s.”
“Really?” Granny says. “I’ll give it a try. Maybe I can swap out at least one cup of my builders with green.”
Joy blooms in my heart and I stand. “That’s great. I’m so happy you’ll try it. Let me make it.”
“We can do it together, and you can tell me all about how you ended up saying yes to dinner with Vincent Cove.” She wraps her arm around my waist. “I’m sorry if I skipped over that bit.”