The Secret of Orchard Cottage: The feel-good number one bestseller. Alex Brown
and I want to make it nice for you. And you love all that beauty and pampering stuff.’ A short silence followed. April swallowed, hard. And then Nancy added, ‘Weell,’ she hesitated, ‘you used to before Dad died, and I know it’s hard, I really still miss him too, but he’d want us to make an effort on your birthday and you made an effort on mine, even though I bet you didn’t really feel up to it.’ She pulled herself off the bed and went in search of April’s beauty paraphernalia. She opened the top drawer of a chest. It was full of underwear. ‘Sorry,’ she said, closing it again. ‘Nail polish?’
‘No problem,’ April replied, ‘it’s in the basket on the shelf in the ensuite.’ She paused and fiddled with the belt of her dressing gown. ‘And I say that a pamper afternoon is a very lovely idea, thank you sweetheart.’
‘Great!’ Nancy chimed. ‘But I’m sensing a big but!’ She stopped moving and turned to look at April.
‘It’s just that I thought my hair looked OK! Why didn’t you tell me before we went out for lunch?’ April pretended to admonish, but knew seriously that she hadn’t really bothered with all of that since Gray went, often wondering what was the point. Of course, she always made sure her hair was brushed and that she looked presentable and had clean clothes on, that sort of thing (well … underwear at least), but she had found it hard to muster up much enthusiasm for applying make-up or painting her nails. To be honest, the last eighteen months had seen her operating as if on autopilot, going through the motions really.
‘April, your hair looks lovely. Honestly. I just thought it would be something nice to do for the rest of your birthday.’
‘Ahh, OK. Then thank you, and sorry, ignore me, I’m just being oversensitive. Come on, you grab the chocolate and champagne and I’ll sort out what we need up here,’ April chivvied, seizing the opportunity to busy herself and be in her preferred state.
‘Perfect.’ Nancy walked towards the door. ‘Ooh, before I forget – this came too. It’s addressed to “Miss W. Lovell”, no idea who that is, but it looks like a birthday card and Lovell was your surname before you married Dad so I’m guessing it’s for you.’ She pulled out a crumpled lilac envelope from the back pocket of her jeans and gave it to April. ‘Sorry for squashing it.’
‘Thank you. Ooh, it’s from Edie,’ April said, taking the envelope and recognising the old-lady spidery writing on the front.
‘Your great aunt?’
‘That’s right.’ April opened the envelope and slipped out the card, drawing in the faint, but evocatively familiar scent of her childhood summer holidays spent in the quaint little village of Tindledale with her grandfather’s sister. This was before her parents had died in a car crash shortly before her sixteenth birthday and her life had changed for ever. April, an only child, had gone to live with her mum’s parents at the other end of the country and the strong connection with her great aunt Edie faded until she was able to visit more frequently as an adult. And then her grandparents died, leaving Edie as April’s last living relative.
April wafted the card in front of her nose. ‘Ahh, lavender mingled with mothballs. Takes me right back – I used to get told off for fiddling with the mothballs hanging in the little muslin bag in the back of her wardrobe whilst playing The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe game, thinking I was on my way to Narnia.’
‘Really? I can’t imagine you getting told off for anything, April,’ Nancy grinned. ‘I always imagined you as a polite, well-behaved child … much like you are now.’
‘Trust me, I had my moments.’ April rolled her eyes before opening the card. ‘Ooops!’ She bent down to retrieve a five-pound note that had fluttered from it, while simultaneously reading.
Happy birthday Winnie
Treat yourself to a nice dinner somewhere fancy.
Lots of love
Your Edie xxx
April frowned.
‘What is it?’ Nancy asked, sounding concerned. April sighed as she realised what this meant, showing the card to Nancy. Her great aunt Edie must be getting forgetful and somewhat confused. And a fancy dinner for a fiver? Oh dear.
‘Ahh! Well, it’s nice that your aunt remembered your birthday, eh? Probably just got into a muddle with names, that’s all, no need to worry. How old is she?’ Nancy asked, folding her arms.
‘You know, I’m not sure exactly,’ April said, feeling a twinge of guilt as she racked her brains trying to recall when she had last visited her great aunt Edie or indeed sent her a birthday card. ‘I reckon she must be ninety at least.’
‘Wow! And did she come to Dad’s funeral? I don’t remember seeing her there, but then it was all such a blur …’
‘No, she wasn’t up to it – was getting over a fall, I think she said, I can’t really remember either, as it was, like you said … all a bit of a blur for me too. But I do know that I promised to—’ April stopped talking.
‘What’s the matter?’ Nancy asked gently. ‘You look like you’re about to cry. What’s up?’
‘Nothing.’ April dipped her head and busied herself with putting the card and the money back inside the envelope.
‘Something clearly is.’ Silence followed. ‘Come on, out with it,’ Nancy cajoled.
‘I feel dreadful,’ April eventually said.
‘Why?’
‘OK.’ April inhaled and let out a long breath. ‘When Great Aunt Edie wrote to apologise for not coming to Gray’s funeral, I said I’d visit her soon, and well, that was over a year and a half ago …’ April’s voice dwindled, knowing that it was eighteen months, two weeks and three days to be precise. She crossed off the days in her diary. At first, it had been a comfort, well, more of a life-raft, something to cling on to, because every day ticked off was a day closer to shedding the cocoon of numbness in favour of feeling something again – she had hoped. But now it was just a habit, because April had learnt over the months that grief really wasn’t as kind as all that. It came in peaks and troughs like a giant rollercoaster with no predictability; it was not a set process to be worked through at all, despite what people had assured her.
‘Oh April, come here.’ Nancy pulled her in for a big hug. ‘I’m sure she’ll understand – your husband had just died! I’d say that’s extenuating circumstances, wouldn’t you?’
April knew that Nancy was trying to make her feel better, but it had to be at least a couple of years since she had visited her great aunt in Tindledale. The last time had been with Gray, when he was still fairly mobile. They had driven down one sunny Saturday afternoon, stopping on the way at a quaint old black and white Tudor-framed pub with a lovely garden full of pink hollyhocks and a couple of goats in a pen for children to pet. Gray had surreptitiously fed them his salad – never having been a fan of ‘rabbit food’, as he called it. They’d had a wonderful time relaxing, and for a few precious hours it had seemed like the old days, carefree and fun, before the diagnosis changed everything.
‘I guess so. But I’ve still neglected her,’ April said.
‘Then do something about it. Go and see her.’ Nancy stepped back from April and put her hands on her hips. ‘Go on! It’ll do you good – get away from here for a few days, give yourself some space, and you know what they say, a change of scenery and all that.’ Nancy looked April in the eyes. ‘A mini break is exactly what you need.’ She nodded.
‘Hmm! Are you trying to get rid of me?’ April asked, instantly wishing she didn’t sound quite so needy. It really was unlike her, but it was something she had noticed creeping upon her more and more since Gray had died. She felt exposed, vulnerable even, and she wasn’t really sure why, preferring not to think too much about it, hoping the feeling would go away if she ignored it.
April