Second Thyme Around (31 page)

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Authors: Katie Fforde

Tags: #Fiction, #Contemporary Women

BOOK: Second Thyme Around
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‘Very appropriate. Did she have a favourite recording you’d like to use? Or, if you like, there’s a member of the choir with a lovely soprano voice, who did the
Messiah
with another choir last year. I’m sure she’d be thrilled to do it.’
‘That would be lovely. I’m not keen on recorded music in church. What about hymns? Let’s not have, “Eternal Father …”’
The vicar left Perdita with the task of writing an essay on Kitty, and worse, of finding someone to read it. Should she find someone of Kitty’s generation to do it? Or should she ask Lucas, who would be audible in church, would be unlikely to break down in tears, and of whom Kitty was very, very fond?
‘I don’t suppose you’d do it, Thomas?’ she asked him at supper.
He shook his head. ‘Ask Lucas. He’s the obvious choice.’ ‘I know, but he’s doing the food. I don’t want to pile too much on him.’
‘He’ll be supervising the food, love, not making each vol-au-vent by hand. I’m sure he’ll be well chuffed to be asked.’
Perdita shook her head. ‘I’ll think about it.’ She took a sip of the wine which Thomas insisted she drank. ‘I think I’ll move out of Kitty’s room now, and into somewhere smaller. Then we could put a couple in her room. We’re bound to have to put lots of people up.’
‘Would you put your parents in there?’
The thought of her parents in among Kitty’s plethora of books, chests of drawers and unusable dressing-table sets almost made her laugh. There was not a square inch spare in any of the many drawers, and her mother liked to unpack. ‘No. I thought I’d put them in my house.’
‘But aren’t Janey and William living there?’
‘Oh my God! I’d completely forgotten! And I can’t face having my parents here.’
‘Well, don’t worry. Give Janey a ring and tell her. I’m sure it won’t be a problem for them to move back home for a week or so.’
‘Do you think so? It seems a bit mean, somehow.’
‘You’re not charging them rent, are you? Give them a ring.’
Janey was just as understanding as Thomas said she would be. ‘Of
course
I understand, Perdita! And I’ll make sure we leave the place absolutely gleaming. No condom wrappers on the floor, or anything.’
Perdita was chuckling as she put the phone down.
‘Janey promises she’ll leave everything tidy, but I will go and check.’
‘You could just let your parents cope with things as they are,’ said Thomas. ‘If they’re always going on these adventure holidays, living in tents, they should be able to cope with a bit of dust.’
Perdita shook her head. ‘If I don’t appear to be in control of everything, my mother will just take over.’
Thomas frowned. ‘Well, in her absence, I’ll tell you it’s time for bed. I’ll clear up. No arguing. You’re paying for a carer, just be cared for! OK?’
 
 
Perdita felt impossibly tired. She fell into Kitty’s bed upstairs, in spite of her intention to make herself a space somewhere else. She could do that tomorrow. Tomorrow she could sort out how many beds she could provide, for how many people. Now, she just needed to sleep.
She fell asleep the moment she put out the light, and woke again four hours later. She lay, listening to the World Service until six, when she got up, left a note to Thomas, and went to her poly-tunnels.
Over the next few days, Perdita divided her life into two halves. In the early mornings, when she woke, she went to work, switching on the fluorescent tube and the anglepoise lamp and staying among her seed trays, sacks of compost, and jars of seed until nine. When she’d sorted out the day’s deliveries for William, she went back to the house and organised furniture, telephoned people, received condolences and burrowed in the airing cupboard, searching for sheets and pillowcases and duvet covers.
Between them, she and Thomas cleared Kitty’s mahogany kitchen table for the first time in years. Off came the seed catalogues, the newspapers, the correspondence, the shopping lists, the gardening hints cut out of magazines and newspapers, and the obituaries and death notices of her friends and acquaintances. Most of it Thomas threw away.
‘Keep it clear at least until after the funeral,’ said Thomas, lovingly rubbing the table with polish. ‘We’ll need somewhere to give people meals.’
Perdita nodded. ‘Kitty’s cleaner will be delighted. She’s been polishing it in sections for years, and Kitty always just put the junk back on it. Now it can be admired properly.’
‘So, don’t open the post anywhere near it,’ said Thomas firmly, ‘otherwise the junk mail will just creep back.’
Perdita went to Kitty’s desk, found her address book and her Christmas card list and looked at them. There were a lot of names. Starting with people she actually knew, she rang the Ledham-Golds first.
Whoever answered the phone, either Mrs Ledham-Gold or her sister was silent for a moment or two, and then swallowed.
‘Well, I am sorry. It’s hard to believe that anyone with so much strength of character and vitality could die, but I suppose she was very old.’
‘Eighty-seven. And her vitality had faded a lot lately.’
There was another silence, and then the almost audible indication of someone ‘pulling themselves together’. ‘So, how are you coping, Perdita, dear?’
‘All right. I’m very busy, of course. I expect it’ll hit me when the funeral is over.’
‘Yes. One is sort of borne up by busyness at first. I remember that when my dear husband died.’
It must be the sister, then, thought Perdita, after a moment’s panic that somehow Mr Ledham-Gold had died, and she hadn’t known about it.
‘But Kitty wouldn’t have wanted to go on if she was bedridden. We talked about death, you know, when she was here at Christmas, and the only thing she minded about dying was leaving you. She worried about you, you know. Didn’t want you to be alone for the rest of your life. Highly unlikely, or course, pretty girl like you.’
‘Mmm.’ It was difficult to answer this without sounding conceited.
‘There’s nothing we can do to help you, is there? One of the worst jobs is telling people.’
‘I know. It’s people who aren’t in the address book, but that I don’t know knew her I’m worrying about.’
‘You’re putting notices in the papers?’
‘Of course, but not everyone reads them.’
‘And people hate not knowing. So you’re going to ring everyone up?’
‘Or write. I haven’t got telephone numbers for everyone.’
‘It’ll take you for ever. I dare say Kitty’s been saying that everyone’s dropping off the perch for years, but you’ll be surprised how many people are left. All those old friends had children, after all.’
Perdita wondered where this was leading to.
‘Why don’t you pop the address book in the post, and let us go through it? We’ll know lots of the people, after all.’
‘And I might have to explain who I am to some of them,’ agreed Perdita, her heart lightening at this generous offer.
‘Exactly. You must have so much to do. Let us take this chore off your hands.’
‘Well, that’s really kind. I’ll post the stuff to you, or deliver it, or something.’
‘Excellent. Now, what about flowers?’
Perdita hadn’t thought about it until now, but she knew immediately. ‘Home-grown flowers only, please. Kitty would have hated people wasting their money on shop-bought flowers, and she’d die if anyone gave her a wreath. Oh. Sorry.’
‘Don’t worry, my dear, these sort of puns come out all the time. You mustn’t worry about them. So, home-grown flowers only.’
‘Yes, nothing formal or expensive.’
‘Fine. It’ll be sad making up a bouquet for dear Kitty now she’s dead, but you know, the thought of her as a bedridden vegetable is even more sad.’
In the end Thomas volunteered to take the address book
and the Christmas card list over to the Ledham-Golds.
‘It’ll be a nice little run out for me,’ he said. ‘And give you a chance to have a good cry on your own.’
‘I’ve got a million things to do, Thomas. If I want to cry, I’ll have to do it while I work.’
 
On Friday evening, the day before her parents were due to arrive, Perdita went across to her own house to sort out her bedroom for them. In spite of Thomas telling her it was fine to leave it to Janey, she had to make sure for herself that everything was in order. It would be the first time she’d been upstairs in her own home since Kitty’s death.
Her kitchen, which she’d been using to soak and sort her pea plants, and for all the chores which required water, looked empty and strange. Janey had removed all traces of her and William’s domestic bliss.
The sitting room was also unnaturally empty, and she dumped her armful of clean bed linen on the back of a chair. She was rummaging in the cupboard under the stairs for a duster and some polish when the back door opened. She jumped as Lucas appeared.
‘Sorry, did I give you a fright?’
‘Yes you did! What on earth are you doing here?’
He didn’t answer immediately. ‘I just came to pick up my sleeping bag.’
It seemed insufficient excuse. ‘Is that all? You don’t need it, do you?’
‘Not really. Actually I came to make sure Janey and William had left the place reasonably tidy. Janey told me your parents were going to stay here.’
Perdita relaxed. ‘How kind. I was on the same errand.’
‘I was coming to see you afterwards. How are you?’
Perdita was becoming accustomed to this question. It was always followed by the sort of peering look which at normal times would be considered rude. ‘I’m fine. I just wanted to put clean sheets on the bed and stuff. Janey said
she’d do it, but I have only one set of things, so I brought some things from Kitty’s.’
‘How do you usually manage?’
‘Oh, I choose a fine day and wash them and dry them and put them straight back on the bed.’ She made a face. ‘Don’t tell my mother; she’d be horrified.’
‘Don’t worry, I don’t expect she’ll ask me. I never was her favourite person, was I?’
‘You’re still not.’
He was silent for a moment. ‘Do you want a hand with the bed?’
‘Probably.’ Oddly, Perdita was in no hurry to rush upstairs and prepare her room for her parents. She knew when they came Kitty’s death would become much more real. And they would never be able to accept that Lucas was now a friend and ally, not a wicked adventurer. She and Lucas had worked hard to get over their old relationship, and to develop a different one; having to explain how much had changed to her parents would be depressing. She didn’t want to hear their recriminations, to be reminded of the pain he had put her through.
She sighed and picked up the bedding. ‘Come on. It might be a dreadful mess up there.’ She bit her lip. ‘I never checked it before you had it. Was it OK?’
‘I don’t know. I never went upstairs. I just slept down here, on a camping mat. I thought you’d have known that.’
‘You must have been dreadfully uncomfortable! Why didn’t you stay at Grantly Manor?’
‘Because I’d already told them I didn’t want a room, then there was nothing left for me. But I was fine, really.’
‘And I never even knew. I’m sorry. I’ve been so preoccupied lately.’
He smiled ruefully, biting his lip. ‘There was me, going to so much trouble to be sensitive, not to intrude on your space, and you didn’t even notice.’
She smiled back. ‘And there was me, making such a fuss
when Kitty offered you this house, and I wasn’t even aware of you being here.’
There was a moment’s silence. All their quarrels suddenly seemed childish. I expect I’ve joined the grown-ups now, she thought. ‘Come on. Let’s get this done.’
Before Kitty’s death, she would have felt awkward, going into her bedroom with Lucas. Now she felt perfectly matter of fact about him catching the opposite side of the sheet and lowering it onto the bed.
‘Lucas, I wonder if I could ask you a favour?’
‘Anything. I’m yours to command, Perdita.’
She smiled. ‘No, you’re not. I know I’ve asked you about the food—’
‘Yes, and it’s all in hand. What else do you want me for?’
‘This is for Kitty, really.’
‘What is?’
‘The vicar suggested I wrote about her, so that people who didn’t know her when she was young would know something of her. I couldn’t possibly read it myself. I was wondering if you would.’
‘Shouldn’t you ask someone like your father?’
Perdita shook her head as she stuffed a pillow into a clean case. ‘He and Kitty never really got on. I think it should be someone who knew her well, and who loved her.’ There was a tiny pause. ‘Also, someone who Kitty loved.’
Lucas didn’t answer immediately. He pulled off the duvet cover and started to put on the new one.
‘You’re making a complete horlicks of that, Lucas.’
‘I know.’
‘Shall I do it?’
‘No. I don’t want to be defeated.’
She watched him struggle. It wasn’t the end of the world if he didn’t read what she wrote, when she finally wrote it. The doctor would probably do it, if she asked him, but she really wanted Lucas. ‘So, will you read that thing about Kitty, or not?’
Lucas emerged from inside the cover of the duvet. ‘If you want me to.’
‘I said, it’s not for me, it’s for Kitty.’
‘But do you want me to read it, Perdita?’
There was a moment’s silence in which something intangible and unspecific hung. Perdita wanted to tell him that yes, she did want him to. But for the first time she felt her throat clog with tears and she couldn’t speak. Instead, she nodded, and put her hand on his wrist. ‘Mmm.’
He put his hand on top of hers but still hesitated. ‘Then I’m flattered to be asked. After all, although Kitty was fond of me, I don’t expect I’m your favourite person any more than I am your parents’.’
Perdita cleared her throat. ‘Oh, I expect you are. In a way. Now tuck in your side of the sheet, and I’ll sort out towels. And I’ll have to empty at least one drawer. My mother thinks it’s slutty to live out of suitcases, which is weird, considering how much travelling they do.’
Later, when Lucas had walked her back through the garden, and shared a nightcap with her and Thomas in the kitchen, Perdita wondered if Lucas had noticed what she’d said about him being her favourite person. She hadn’t meant to say anything like that. With luck, he’d put it down to Kitty’s death, and not think too much about it.
She snuggled down into her bed and tried to sleep. Hot milk and whisky had become a habit since Kitty had died, but tonight they didn’t work. She began to fret. Why had she said that to Lucas? It wasn’t even true! Oh, she’d acknowledged she wanted his body. What red-blooded, sexually deprived female wouldn’t? Especially when she knew perfectly well what that body could do in conjunction with hers. But her favourite person? Kitty was her favourite person, and her being dead didn’t stop that. But was Lucas favourite in a different way?
Finding these thoughts were waking her up rather than sending her to sleep, Perdita concentrated on trying to
remember the words of the hymns she had chosen on Kitty’s behalf. And when she’d done that, she started mentally writing Lucas’s speech.
 
Perdita was a little light-headed when her parents arrived at lunchtime the following day. After her usual chores, she’d spent the morning emptying drawers in her bedroom for her mother and pushing her horticultural activities to one end of the kitchen so her parents would have room to make themselves breakfast. When she’d done that, she’d made a start on the speech. She was still working on the second sentence when she heard their taxi arrive.

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