Kitabı oku: «59 Memory Lane», sayfa 4

Chapter Seven

Ida Carnell’s lounge is the sort of room that Julia usually tries to avoid. For one thing it’s so stuffy in here, with all the windows firmly closed. Then there’s the overload of occasional tables, footstools and pouffes just waiting to be tripped over, and the heavy abundance of knick-knacks on every available surface is enough to bring on a migraine in someone who hates clutter.

It’s the first time Julia’s been to a social event of any kind since Don’s death, and she’s feeling strangely disorientated and vulnerable, as if her skin’s too thin. She’d tried to get out of it, but nobody manages to go against the flow for long when Ida has her heart set on something.

‘Here’s the last one of us. I’m so glad you could all come at such short notice, especially on a Tuesday night when some of you should really be at choir practice,’ says Ida, ushering in George Kennedy. ‘Cliff sends his apologies – he’s minding the restaurant. Have a seat, George, and I’ll get us all a drink. Coffee, tea or something stronger?’

The other members of the Adopt-a-Granny scheme glance at each other furtively. Julia can tell they all want to go for the more exciting option but nobody wants to look like a lush. She takes pity on them.

‘I’d love some white wine, Ida, if that’s not putting you out?’ she says.

There’s a collective sigh of relief, and everyone else puts in their orders quickly. Soon George and Tristram are each nursing a large gin and tonic, Dominic Featherstone, who lives in May’s old house, has lager, and Ida, Julia and Gladys Mountbatten from the garden centre are clutching huge glasses of chardonnay. Only Vera from the village shop is looking disapproving, virtuously sipping an orange juice. Ida’s a generous hostess – she’s provided top-quality Kettle Chips and little bowls of olives and nuts for her guests – and soon the atmosphere is nearly as warm as the room.

‘Right, I’ll get on with the business in hand,’ says Ida. ‘Tristram, would you mind taking the minutes?’

‘Ooh, very official,’ Vera says. ‘I thought this was just a friendly chat to see how the scheme was going, Ida?’

‘Yes, but I always like to have something in writing. It saves trouble if we forget what’s said. Agreed?’

The others all nod. Julia thinks it would take a brave person to disagree.

‘So, the first item on the agenda is to say a huge thank you to you all for letting me involve you in my project.’

‘An agenda as well? This is turning into a parish council meeting,’ sniffs Vera.

Tristram exchanges glances with Julia and grimaces; her heart gives an unexpected little flutter. He’s very handsome, in a twinkly, slightly rakish way. His beard looks newly trimmed and he’s wearing a tweed suit with a waistcoat over a collarless black shirt. He looks like a model for an upmarket country gentleman’s catalogue, but with attitude. Then she blushes, filled with shame that she’s caught herself looking admiringly at another man with her own dear chap hardly cold in his grave, as the gruesome saying goes.

‘An agenda is a fabulous idea, Ida,’ he says, smiling at their hostess reassuringly. She beams back, and Julia reflects that Tristram has been married four times and his charm is legendary. He’s also very kind, though, and she’s sure he can’t be flirting with Ida … can he? Anyway, his reply has the desired effect and the meeting bowls along quite comfortably after this.

‘And so you’ve all got your allocated grannies or grandpas,’ says Ida, after reminding them how the system will work. ‘I just want to tell you that you’re all superstars for agreeing to take part. There’s too much loneliness around us these days. When I was growing up, one granny and granddad lived two doors away and the others were only in Truro. Nowadays, families are spread all over the place. We’ll have another meeting in six weeks to see how it’s going. Are there any problems so far?’

There’s a brief silence. Then Vera clears her throat importantly. ‘There’s that pesky Peke,’ she says. ‘I hadn’t bargained for the hairs. And it yaps.’

‘Oh dear. I know Marigold’s very protective of her little dog,’ says Ida. ‘Perhaps I could have a tactful word and ask her to leave it at home when she visits you?’

Vera snorts. ‘Good luck with that one,’ she says. ‘I’ve been trying to keep it out of my shop for years. Oh, well, it’s quite decrepit now. Shouldn’t last much longer. Smelly old thing.’

There’s an appalled silence as the assembled group digests this acidic remark. Tristram in particular looks disgusted. He’s always been a dog lover, and his two are never far from his side. Having said that, he probably wouldn’t take them where he knows they’re not wanted, and it is a food shop. Ida rallies.

‘Anyway, other than that, are there any other issues we need to discuss?’

‘We’ve had our first visit from Tom King and Joyce Carpenter,’ says George, ‘and they both seemed to enjoy themselves. Actually Tom was giving Joyce the eye all through lunch.’

‘Well, that wouldn’t get him far, would it?’ says Vera. ‘The poor woman’s virtually blind.’

Julia picks up her glass and tries to stop her lips twitching. It isn’t in the least bit funny to lose your sight, after all. But then she catches Tristram’s wicked glance again and nearly chokes on her wine.

‘I’m more than happy to take Bob Farmer swimming every week,’ says Tristram, as Julia tries to recover her equilibrium. ‘He loved it this morning. He did more lengths than I did. Maybe he should adopt me instead? He’s only eighty-five, and I’ll be eighty soon.’

‘You both look super fit,’ says Gladys, ‘and it’s not about that, it’s giving him a chance to do what he’s always liked doing. He can’t drive now, and the bus is only every two hours. It doesn’t go as far as the leisure centre either.’

‘How about you, Gladys? Is it going well with Lucy?’

‘I had a great time with her. Lucy’s a poppet,’ says Gladys. ‘I fetched her over to the garden centre this morning and she helped me pot out some seedlings. She loved it. She’s had to move into a flat and she hasn’t got a garden now. She’s always welcome at Chestnuts. I’m glad of an extra pair of hands.’

‘And Julia? How are you getting on?’

Julia’s back in control now. She takes another tentative sip of her wine while she thinks how to answer. Tristram watches her. How much does he remember about what happened years ago between Julia and Charles? Even May doesn’t know the full story, as far as Julia’s aware. Maybe it has been wrong of her to let herself continue to resent May so much over the years when it was May’s husband who’d caused most of the problems, but surely the woman had known what he was like and the damage he was doing? Couldn’t she have stopped him? And then there was the incident with the spoons … She feels the pounding of her heart as tension, never far from the surface since Don’s death, threatens to swamp her.

Julia takes a few deep, calming breaths. ‘We had a good chat,’ she says, when the silence begins to feel awkward, ‘and we’ll meet up again very soon, if Andy can bring her over to me.’

‘I’ve got to say this is a fabulous idea of yours, Ida,’ says Dominic. He’s been quiet up to now. Julia hasn’t had a chance to get to know him yet. He and his wife, Cassie, haven’t lived in May’s old house for long.

‘Thank you, Dominic. I almost didn’t ask you and Cassie to join us in the project,’ says Ida, ‘because you’ve hardly had time to get your breath back since you arrived. But then I bumped into her in the shop when I was explaining the scheme to Vera and she said she’d love to be involved.’

‘Cass wanted to be here tonight instead of me, but both of our youngest twins have got colds and they like their mum around when they’re grizzly. We’ve talked to our allocated granny on the phone and we’re fetching her round tomorrow. Luckily she likes kids. Our oldest pair of lads is … loud, is the best word to describe the little monsters, I think.’

‘Who have you been paired up with, Dominic?’ Julia asks, racking her brain to think of someone in the village who fits the bill. Female, old enough to be classed as a granny, likes children … No, she can’t imagine who it could be.

‘Her name’s Angelina.’

This time it’s Tristram who spits his drink out, and there’s a general outcry as Dominic speaks.

‘Oh, no, you’re joking, aren’t you? Ida, really? Why would you do that to Dominic and his poor unsuspecting wife?’ says George, wide-eyed.

Ida has the grace to look slightly shamefaced. ‘Angelina’s lovely,’ she protests. ‘She’s just eccentric, that’s all. And she’s very lonely.’

‘Lonely? I bet she is.’ Vera’s laugh is humourless.

‘What’s the problem, guys?’ asks Dominic. ‘She sounded OK on the phone. A little … excitable maybe?’

‘That’s a good word for Angelina,’ says Gladys. ‘She has a tendency to scamper through the streets semi-naked when the muse takes her. She’s very arty. If she runs out of Bacardi when she’s in the middle of painting one of her mad seascapes she just leaves the house and runs up to the pub in whatever she happens to be wearing. Not much, usually. She likes to be unfettered when she paints.’

‘There’s no harm in her,’ says Tristram. ‘I nearly married her once.’

‘You nearly married everyone once,’ Julia says, ‘except me,’ and then regrets her outburst as everyone turns to look at her.

‘Yes, however did I miss you out?’ Tristram puts on a mystified expression. ‘Maybe you were always spoken for. But as for Angelina, you’ll have a great time with her, Dominic. She likes a laugh and she really does love children.’

He gazes into the distance as if remembering something amusing. Julia feels ruffled. What’s Angelina got to make a man like Tristram go all googly-eyed over her? She must be ninety if she’s a day. Her hair is cropped short and dyed a fearsome orange, as it’s always been since she found her first grey hair. She wears a bizarre collection of shapeless linen garments and multi-coloured scarves, when she bothers with clothes at all.

Tristram catches Julia staring at him and grins. ‘What’s the problem? I like older women, always have done. And Angelina was gorgeous in her day. Still is, come to that. As are all you ladies present.’

Vera snorts and mutters something about men who need their eyes testing. After this, Ida seems to think it’s time to draw the meeting to a close. She tops up everyone’s glass and they end by having a good old gossip. Even Vera accepts a small sherry and begins to soften.

‘Don’t be fooled, that smile’s probably just wind,’ murmurs Tristram, catching Julia watching the doyenne of the shop in amazement as she stuffs crisps into her mouth and titters at something George is saying.

‘She should be given sherry on prescription,’ says Julia. ‘It’d make the village a much happier place.’

‘Thank you so much for giving up your time tonight,’ says Ida as they all file out half an hour later, slightly flushed. ‘I can’t believe how quickly you’ve all taken this on board. Some people think Pengelly is just a little backwater at the end of the world but to me it’s so much more.’ Her cheeks are glowing. ‘And you won’t forget the farmers’ market, will you? A week on Saturday.’

‘I don’t know anything about that,’ says Dominic. ‘Should I?’

Ida pats his arm. ‘Oh, I must have forgotten to mention it when I was talking to Cassie. The market’s a monthly event, mainly on the green but with a few other stalls dotted here and there, and a bouncy castle and so on for the littlies. This time I’m having an information station right outside the pub to tell everyone about Adopt-a-Granny.’

‘Sounds great.’

‘And I’m hoping you’ll all drop by at some time during the day in case anyone wants to ask questions. You’re the experts now.’ She hiccups slightly and hugs Dominic as he leaves.

‘I think Ida’s been hitting the sherry bottle too,’ whispers Tristram to Julia. Vera wobbles on the step and catches hold of him as he speaks.

‘Do you want to come back with me for a nightcap, Tris?’ she says, wriggling her shoulders. ‘I’ve got sloe gin.’

Tristram’s look of alarm sets Julia off giggling helplessly. She walks ahead and takes deep breaths. It wouldn’t do for Vera to see her laughing. But the sherry has done its work well, and Vera yawns hugely, giving Tristram the chance to escape with an excuse of an early morning booking for ten breakfasts tomorrow.

‘I’d love to be sociable but you understand what it is to be responsible for a business, Vera. We both need to be on the ball,’ he says. ‘Gina and Vince do so much already so I can’t ask them to get up at the crack of dawn just because I’ve stupidly agreed to host the local twitchers’ annual beano, can I?’

Julia returns his grin as he says a polite good night to Vera at the shop door and offers Julia his arm to walk her home. For a few moments, the whirlpool of her mind steadies and she relaxes into the luxurious sensation of being cared for. The ever-present sadness and the spasmodic, terrifying confusion ebb, and warmth flows through her body. They walk down the lane in silence, completely in accord.

Chapter Eight

The second letter is even easier to appropriate. May is left on her own for nearly ten minutes while Julia gasses on the phone to her granddaughter. She can hear Julia babbling like a schoolgirl as she chats to Emily about what she’d like to eat when she flies in from the States.

May has no idea what she’s getting when she plunges her hand into the heap of envelopes on the table.

She pushes the letter right to the bottom of her bag as Julia ends the call and comes back in, still chuckling.

‘That girl. She never changes, thank goodness,’ Julia says, pouring May a third cup of tea without asking.

May purses her lips. She doesn’t normally have more than two cups of tea at this time of day. It’s hard enough sleeping through the night without having to get up for a widdle every hour. But Julia is passing her the dainty china cup and saucer now, and handing over a plate of shortbread.

‘Have you been baking again?’ asks May. ‘Is this your mother’s recipe? She was a grand cook, wasn’t she?’

‘She was, but I’ve somehow managed to lose her cookbook,’ says Julia, ‘so I’ve gone back to the tried and trusted Be-Ro recipes. I think she copied most of those into her own book anyway, and just pretended they were family secrets, to be honest. The lemon cake’s never been the same since, though. I can’t seem to get it right any more.’

May pretends to be searching in her bag for a hankie. The recipe book, written in Julia’s mother’s elegant copperplate, is at this moment nestling in her bedside cabinet. It was lying around in the church kitchen one day when she and Julia had both been roped into helping at a charity tea. She’s used up all the memories out of it now, and a very gluttonous sort they were too. Gave her raging indigestion. She supposes she should sneak the book back now. It’s no use to May.

‘I’d have thought you’d have made all those cakes so often you’d not need a book?’ she says.

Julia flushes. ‘Well, that’s the thing. I’m having a few … issues … with my memory. Are you ever forgetful these days, May?’

‘Of course not! Just because I’m older than you doesn’t mean I’m going barmy, does it?’ May has always believed attack is the best form of defence.

‘No, I wasn’t suggesting anything of the kind. There’s no need to be so touchy. It’s not all about you. It’s me that has the problem.’

There, it’s out. May bites her lip. ‘What sort of things are you forgetting?’ she asks.

‘All sorts. I can’t even remember where I met Don. I was awake half the night thinking about it.’

‘Oh, bereavement can do that to you,’ says May soothingly. ‘I wouldn’t worry, dear.’

‘Really? Did you find that after you lost Charles?’

There’s an awkward silence. ‘Yes, I believe I did,’ says May, eventually. ‘But everything passes. Just be patient, that’s my advice.’

May helps herself to another finger of shortbread. Julia looks slightly soothed.

‘So how’s your Emily doing?’ May says, when the tricky moment’s passed. ‘She must be past thirty by now. Any wedding plans?’

‘She’s thirty-three actually, but you know how these young ones are. They think marriage is out-dated. I don’t think Em’s even got a boyfriend.’ Julia heaves a sigh. ‘The years go by so fast, don’t they? She’s so busy with her high-flying job. The publisher she works for has got offices in London, New York, Paris and goodness knows where else now. Em’s never in one place long enough to find a husband.’

‘Like her dad. He’s still a bit of a jet-setter, isn’t he?’

‘Well, he thinks he is. I wish Felix would retire. He’s well past retirement age, for goodness’ sake. If he stopped flying around the world I might get to see him occasionally.’

She reddens, and busies herself collecting the teacups and plates. May mentally files the information away. That’s the first time Julia’s ever let slip anything to suggest she’s even slightly unhappy with her family’s neglect.

‘I’ve always had a soft spot for young Emily,’ May says. ‘She’s a sweet girl. She often used to pop in and see me when she was staying with you. Did you know that? It was when I lived up on The Level, of course.’

‘Did she?’

There’s frost in the air. May smiles to herself. Julia’s very possessive about her family, and it’s time she loosened up. ‘Oh, yes. She hasn’t seen Shangri-La yet. I hope she visits again soon.’

There’s a pause. ‘But you never felt the need to have children, did you, May?’ says Julia.

May winces and shakes her head. Julia’s fighting back. No need to mention the fact that Charles wasn’t much of a one for procreation. In fact, until she found him in a compromising position with the baker’s ‘boy’, she’d assumed it was her fault for not being attractive enough. Sex wasn’t a big deal for him even at the start of their marriage. More experienced in bed than Charles at the time – unusual for those days – May was never one to follow the rules. Even so, she didn’t mind much when the occasional fumbles stopped and she and Charles settled into a quiet life of companionship.

Things weren’t quite the same between them after that seedy incident, but at least they stopped going through the motions of pretending they wanted to sleep in the same bed. Oh, the bliss when he moved into the spare room. She largely ignored her husband’s occasional flings, and she felt he was always very discreet. May even managed to have a few brief affairs herself, which livened up her life considerably. But as for children, that’s a whole other story, and not one for Julia’s ears.

Andy knocks loudly and bursts in through the open back door at this point, breaking the unsettling train of thought. ‘You ready for home yet, May?’ he says.

‘Yes, anytime you are.’ May struggles to her feet, clutching her handbag close to her chest. She can hardly wait to get home and see what nuggets the precious envelope holds.

‘Don’t rush off. Can’t I get you a drink, Andy?’ Julia asks.

Noooo, thinks May, I want to go home. Say no, Andy.

‘It’s OK, I need to get back to Tamsin,’ he says. ‘She’s next door with Violet, and I think she’ll outstay her welcome if I don’t hurry up back. I don’t want to push my luck.’

‘You’re lucky having Vi to help out, aren’t you?’ says Julia. ‘She’s got her hands full with all her grandchildren these days. She must be a glutton for punishment, as my mother used to say.’

‘I’d have Tamsin more if you needed me to, you know that,’ says May. ‘I’m not in my dotage yet, you know.’ She sniffs. Sometimes she thinks Vi takes liberties, almost as if she and Andy are related.

May takes Andy’s arm and lets herself be escorted over the road, after thanking Julia politely for her tea. It’s been a surprisingly pleasant hour or two, even with the underlying spikiness, but she’s rather alarmed at the speed with which Julia’s memories are flowing away. She bites her lip, guilt rearing its head. Her father always told her not to take too much from one person. A few memories here and there can always be spared, was his motto. Still, May’s need is greater than Julia’s at the moment, if she’s ever to reach that magical birthday.

Tamsin hears them approaching and jumps back over the fence from Vi’s on the other side, into her own garden.

‘Bye, Vi,’ she yells. ‘Hey, that rhymes, did you see what I did there, Dad? I said, “Bye, Vi”!’

‘Very clever,’ says Andy, yawning.

‘Bye Vi, have a pie, bet you wish that you could fly,’ sings Tamsin, skipping into the house ahead of her father.

‘I can’t wait till she’s in bed tonight,’ Andy mumbles, making sure May’s safely inside her own house before he leaves her. As he gives May a quick hug, Andy’s phone begins to ring and he pauses to answer it, raising his eyebrows in apology.

The conversation is frustratingly one-sided but May knows who’s on the other end. It’s the woman she thinks of as That Candice.

‘I can’t tonight,’ mutters Andy. ‘No, Vi’s already done more than enough for me this week. I’m not prepared to ask her to sit for a whole evening. No … I know it’s been ages … Well, maybe next week … We could take the kids swimming after school. Look, I’m sorry, OK? Bye.’

He disconnects, a deep frown line between his eyes.

‘It must be hard work bringing Tamsin up on your own, love.’ May looks at Andy with her head on one side. ‘Did you never think of …?’ She stops, not wanting to offend him, and he half turns back, his mind already on Tamsin’s welfare.

‘Marrying again? It’s fine, don’t look so worried, you’re not saying anything I haven’t thought myself lately. But how could I put someone else in Allie’s place?’

‘That’s one way of looking at it.’

Andy grins at May. ‘Anyway, whatever happens, it won’t be Candice, if that’s what’s bothering you.’

‘Good. You can do better. I’d watch your step, though. That one’s got other ideas.’

He laughs. ‘Maybe. Got to go, or Tamsin will decide to run her own bath and flood the landing again. The carpet’s only just drying out from last time.’

May waves him off and sits down in her favourite easy chair, ready to unveil the new letter. This one’s from Will. May remembers him as rather an egotistical young man, beautiful but sulky. He writes:

That blasted ring, they go on and on and on about it. If I’d seen it, I’d tell them, wouldn’t I? You know I’d never take what’s yours, and I believe Julia should have it, to save arguments between the girls. Mother says it’s our family’s lucky charm, and it has to be passed down to the right person at the right time or we’ll be doomed. What a load of twaddle. Anyway, how are things with you? Have you seen anything of Charles? Has he asked after me? I might see if I can get a few sailing lessons from him next time I’m down. You could mention it, if you run into him?

May reads on, letting the delicious tingle spread from her fingers right through her body, warm and sensuous, like melted chocolate. It’s a sensory overload. Better than champagne. Better than caviar. And a lot better than sex, in most of May’s experiences, at least. Not all, but most. One exception stands out, but it’s best not to think about him.

The phone on the sideboard rings, shocking May out of her blissful reverie. She gets up unsteadily and goes over to answer it.

‘Hello, May, it’s Julia. Just checking you’re home safely.’

‘Well, of course I am,’ says May rather too sharply, irritated beyond measure at this foolishness. What could have happened to her between Julia’s house and her own, supported by Andy? Then she relents. She’s enjoyed her time across the road, and if she upsets Julia, she won’t be asked back. ‘I’m sorry, you startled me. I think I might have been nodding off.’

Julia clears her throat. ‘Well, I’m glad you’re relaxing. Erm … I don’t suppose you noticed a letter when you were over with me earlier, did you?’

‘I noticed heaps of them, dear,’ says May, chuckling. ‘Why?’

‘I seem to have lost one I was looking at earlier.’

May hears a sob, quickly stifled. ‘Are you feeling quite well, Julia?’ she asks.

‘No … no, I’m not. May, I can’t remember which letter I was reading last, or who it was from, and I can’t find it, and …’ Julia tails off, gulping for breath.

‘Now, calm down and get yourself a nice mug of hot chocolate, or something similar,’ says May. ‘I think you might have been overdoing it, delving into old times so soon after losing poor Don.’

‘Not just Don. I’m losing my mind too, May. This is the beginning of the end. What am I going to do?’

May chews on her knuckle. How should she deal with this? She seems to recall something along the same lines happening before once or twice with people from the village soon after she’d taken their mementoes, although it could have been more common than she realised, because why would the villagers bother to tell her if they’d forgotten random things about their past lives? She’d only found out by accident a couple of times over the years, three at the most. It’s as if her harvesting sometimes leaves them with gaping holes in their memories. Holes they’re never able to fill.

‘I don’t understand,’ she hedges.

‘Neither do I, May. My mind seems to have gone blank when I try to think about what I was reading. I can’t even recall who the letter was from. I wondered if you’d … you’d maybe seen me put it anywhere?’

This is a tricky situation, but not disastrous. Julia’s noticed there’s a letter missing, but she seems more jittery about her own memory than suspicious of May’s involvement. What’s the best way to handle it? It seems to May that how she tackles this problem will affect her life … and eventual death. She needs Julia to be calm and unsuspecting so that she can have access to the letters in the coming months. She’s so nearly one hundred and eleven. Come on, May, she tells herself, don’t mess this one up.

Fossil bursts through the cat flap and into the living room where May sits pondering. He leaps onto her knee and begins to knead the boniest bits of her thighs with his needle-sharp claws.

‘Ouch!’ shouts May, more loudly than she intended.

‘What’s the matter? May? Are you hurt?’

May doesn’t answer. She tucks the letter well out of sight under her chair cushion, and waits.

‘May? Have you fallen? Hang on, I’m coming over …’

The line goes dead, and May smiles. Result, as Andy might say.

Two minutes later, May hears Julia rattling the handle of the back door. There’s no need for that – it’s open. Some of the older residents of Pengelly still can’t be doing with locked doors. Never have done, hopefully never will.

‘May?’ Her neighbour comes into the room and sees her with Fossil on her knee. She clutches her chest, like a character in a bad sitcom. ‘Oh, thank goodness. I expected to find you slumped on the floor. Why did you stop talking to me?’

Irritation is creeping into Julia’s voice now, and May needs to act fast. She passes a shaking hand over her face. Oh, yes, she can ham it up too when she needs to. Those years with the village Amateur Dramatic Society weren’t wasted after all. ‘I … I … everything went black for a minute or two …’

Julia springs into action. ‘How about I make us a nice cup of tea?’ she asks, bustling into the kitchen without waiting for a reply. ‘You just sit still and get your breath back.’

Listening to the comforting clatter of cups and saucers, May breathes a sigh of relief. Julia will have ignored the serviceable mugs on their hooks. She’s got style. ‘And maybe a fig roll, dear?’ May calls. ‘They’re in the tin on the dresser. Next to the teabags.’

Julia’s soon back, and settles the tray on a low table. She pours their tea without asking if May wants her to be mum, and soon they’re sipping away as if they do this at May’s cottage every day. The first part of the mission is accomplished. Now for the next steps.

‘I’m relieved you’re feeling better. I wonder if your blood pressure needs checking?’ says Julia, frowning. ‘Sometimes if it drops suddenly, you can keel over. It happened to me once or twice when I was carrying Felix. I really thought I was going to find you flat on your back with a head wound, or something.’

‘You’ve got a very lively imagination, dear,’ says May. ‘You should write a novel.’

‘I often wish I could. I have to make do with reading them.’

‘You should have a try. You’d need one of those USPs, though.’

‘A what?’

May sighs. She’d thought Julia would be well up on publishing terms, with Emily being in the business. ‘Unique Selling Point. I heard them talking about it on the radio when they were interviewing that lady who wrote a story about the girl looking out of a train window?’

‘I haven’t read that one. What’s it called?’

May snorts. ‘Er … Girl on a Train?’ she suggests.

Julia shakes her head. ‘No, never heard of it. What could I have for a UFO then?’

‘USP, dear. I’m not sure.’

May thinks for a moment. ‘How about your letters? They’d make the perfect starting point for a book,’ she says, clapping her hands together.

‘My letters? Why would anyone want to read a story about Don’s family? I mean, they were a friendly bunch, I’ll give them that, but not very interesting.’

‘Think about it, Julia. Those letters are what you might call an archive. Who else has a treasure trove like that to draw on?’

‘I’m not sure if Don would like us to use his personal things like that. They belong to the family. They’re private.’

‘Oh, come on, dear. All the folk who wrote the letters are dead now, or pretty much, aren’t they?’

Julia flinches, and May curses herself for being tactless. She pats Julia’s hand. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. But I could help you to sort them and plan a story based around them. Andy could catalogue them properly. He might even type some of them out if you ask nicely. He does all sorts of useful clerical jobs at the garden centre – he’s very organised.’