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Pieces of You.. Ella Harper
Читать онлайн.Название Pieces of You.
Год выпуска 0
isbn 9780007581115
Автор произведения Ella Harper
Жанр Современная зарубежная литература
Издательство HarperCollins
And now Lucy was properly involved in the business. It irked her that Lucy moaned about the lack of a credit card machine, as did Lucy’s desire for order and symmetry with everything. ‘Getting with the programme,’ Luke jokingly called it and although he took a gentler, more persuasive line, he obviously agreed with Lucy.
The truth was, Patricia didn’t trust modern technology. You always knew where you were with cash and cheques; that was what Bernard used to say and he was spot on. But she was doing her best to embrace new ideas – like those flannel flower baskets Lucy had shown her some months back. It had taken her a little time to see them as a viable prospect, but she was in her fifties; she liked to mull an idea over before she could get her head around it.
If only Bernard were still here; he’d know what to do about all these … Patricia faltered. If only Bernard was still here. Not just to listen to her reservations about the state-of-the-art business ideas she was struggling to understand, but to stop this awful loneliness.
Patricia rubbed a hand over her eyes. She felt faintly foolish. Funeral flowers always did this to her. Despite the length of time Bernard had been gone, she missed him. Every single day. She would wake up each morning and, as she’d read in some of those women’s magazines where they always went on about deceased partners, there would be seconds of blissful, sleepy forgetfulness. Then the haze would clear and she would remember. He was gone. And the anguish would consume her. And she would miss the smell of him, the sound of his laughter and, most of all, the easy history they shared.
They had been a cliché of sorts: childhood sweethearts, married young, devoted to one another. Their lives had lacked notable drama or incident and that was just the way they had liked it. Bernard had worked as a GP in their local surgery, with just the right blend of kindly firmness. He had been well-liked in the community and she had been happy to bring up their three children and be a traditional housewife. When the children were older, Bernard had inherited a sum of money after the death of his parents and, knowing how much she loved flowers, he had bought an empty shop space for her. Patricia had taken a floristry course, even though taking such a step had filled her with anxiety, and Hartes & Flowers had been born. It had been the single most romantic thing Bernard had ever done for her. She thought of him each time she opened and closed the shop. Each time she trailed her fingers along the cream, distressed-effect counter he had chosen.
What made it so difficult was that Bernard had dropped dead one day. Just like that. No warning, no prior symptoms, no goodbye. Just … dead. In a flash, in a heartbeat. Or not, as the case may be. The doctors said Bernard had had an undiagnosed heart condition, that his condition had made him the equivalent of a ticking time bomb. Patricia detested this expression; it made Bernard sound like some sort of sinister terrorist threat. Apparently, it was quite common for people in the medical profession to miss their own health problems – they couldn’t see what was under their own noses.
Thank goodness for Luke, Patricia reflected. Quite simply, he had been the lynchpin of the family since Bernard had died. He shouldn’t have been, but he had stepped up admirably when Ade couldn’t. Just for a nanosecond, Patricia’s heart ached at the thought of her eldest son. But she steeled herself and put that feeling right back in the box it belonged in. Ade was gone and he wasn’t coming back.
But Luke. Luke had gritted his teeth and got on with it. Barely twenty-one and probably ill-prepared for the responsibility of supporting his mother and younger sister through their grief, Luke had knuckled down and coped. It had been Luke’s idea to send Nell to a therapist when all of her problems had started, and thank God they had. Thank God.
Patricia placed the wreath carefully in the fridge in the back office and paused, her hand on the cool, metal door. Her life seemed to be on hold at the moment, had been for some time, in fact. She always seemed to be waiting.
As Patricia drifted back into the shop to tidy up, she noticed a harassed-looking woman wielding a futuristic-looking pushchair with a baby in it. A stroppy toddler tugged at her hand, whining loudly, neither of them noticing when he dropped his cuddly Buzz Lightyear toy.
Patricia dashed outside and picked it up. ‘You dropped this, sweetie.’
The boy took it sulkily, saying nothing as his sticky fingers closed around the green and white figure. The mother turned, frowning. ‘Say thank you,’ she reminded her son, tiredly.
‘Thank you,’ the boy mumbled.
Patricia smiled. ‘You’re welcome. Lovely evening, isn’t it?’
The mother half-smiled. ‘Will be when these two are down for their sleep,’ she replied. ‘Come on, Josh. Let’s go. Say bye to the nice lady …’
Patricia leant against the doorframe and watched them. After Bernard had died, she had hoped and prayed for a distraction. A baby-shaped one, not a new man in her life. A baby she could smother with all the pent-up love she could feel swirling inside, the love that had nowhere else to go. But it hadn’t happened. She had tried to find out what was going on, of course; Luke was her son but he had seemed reluctant to elaborate. Patricia felt helpless. Of course, it hurt a little that Luke didn’t seem to want to confide in her. Thinking about it, that had pretty much stopped when Bernard had died. Patricia guessed they had all been affected in different ways by his absence, but it was a shame, because Luke had always been so open.
Patricia gathered up her bag and locked the shop door. The fact of the matter was, she had this prickle of resentment she didn’t know what to do with, and laying it at her daughter-in-law’s door for not giving her a grandchild gave the feeling a more comfortable home. It was unfair, of course it was. And it might not be accurate. But with Nell in her early twenties and far too focused on her fashion degree to think about kids, Luke and Lucy were Patricia’s best bet.
Patricia pushed all thoughts of a baby to one side. She was being selfish and that wasn’t fair. She needed to keep busy – she needed a few projects of her own to focus on. Patricia glanced back at the shop window. The pots really were beautiful. Perhaps she could do a course, making pots and dishes and things she could use when she baked. Yes, a course of some kind. That would keep her busy.
‘It’s ridiculously hot,’ Dee said, fanning her pink face with Dan’s worn straw hat. ‘It’s September; it shouldn’t be this hot. I was hoping for sunny with a light breeze. God, this is what the bloody menopause is going to be like, isn’t it? Mood swings, hot flushes and vaginal dryness. Bloody hell.’
I glanced at her in amusement. We hadn’t even hit our forties yet. Besides, Dee had a cheek moaning about the heat. I was absolutely roasting in a loose-fitting purple maxi dress with one of those elongated cardigans over the top. Paranoia about someone spotting my tiny bump was to blame for my sweaty hairline, but honestly, I was about to melt.
Hearing my mobile beeping, I groped in my handbag.
‘Who’s that?’ Dee jammed Dan’s hat on her head, squashing what I knew to be an expensive blow dry. She looked ravishing in it, as she did in everything she wore. ‘Not Luke cancelling, I hope. Frankie’s got her heart set on playing swingball with him all afternoon.’
‘He wouldn’t miss it for the world. No, he’s just going to be a bit late.’ I took out my sunglasses. Perhaps I could slip off my cardigan when everyone had downed a few of Dan’s pungent sangrias.
‘I suppose, now that Luke’s a senior paramedic, he can’t always just dash out of the door, even for Frankie,’ Dee drawled. ‘Why can’t I have a hero for a husband instead of a gallery owner? It doesn’t sound half as sexy. Art … saving lives. There’s no comparison.’