Page 20 of Putting Down Roots

Dinner turns out to be some fresh pasta, a pot of spicy tomato sauce, and garlic flat bread, easily heated and very delicious. More importantly, she brought a bottle of wine. I’ve had very little alcohol since I’ve been here. I’ve been getting grocery deliveries—still having no transport to the village, and not feeling up to walking it—but I haven’t bought alcohol. In truth, I know I should stay off it.

There have been times, in the past, when I’ve become dangerously close to being dependent on it. Usually, I run out before I get too far down that road, and anxiety prevents me from getting more. When I’m feeling alright, I can resist the temptation to buy it, so I find it easier to not have stronger stuff in the house. I’d found an old bottle of whisky in one ofthe cupboards in the dining room when I arrived, which I drank within a few days. I know Aunt Frances kept wine in the cellar, but that’s the one place I haven’t been yet—and don’t want to go.

The cellar. The last time I ever saw my father. When he found out that I was coming here to Larchdown instead of going home for the holidays. When he found out that my mother had intervened and asked Aunt Frances to help. It was the only time my mother ever stood between my father and what he did to me. Sometimes I hated that she didn’t protect me more. But I know she had her own problems, and I don’t think her help would have changed much—not for me at least. For her it might have been much worse.

Aunt Frances was out when my father arrived. I hid in the cellar, but he found me. I think the shouting must have alerted her to where we were. She found us when she came back. She said that she was applying for guardianship, and he had better sign it or she would tell the world what he’d done. It was Aunt Frances who’d held me for hours and hours until I stopped crying. I never saw either of my parents again. It was a few months later that I heard they were both dead, but Aunt Frances never told me how they had died, and it was years before I learned the truth—that my father had shot my mother, and then himself. At the time, I felt relieved that he would never be able to affect me again, but he’s been affecting me all my life. It is patterns that are formed as children that shape our future. So, the cellar still holds ghosts I don’t want to face.

“So gardening, eh?”I know Anna is teasing, but she’s also fishing for information.

“I have.” I pull up the arms of the long-sleeved t-shirt I’d put on after my shower, to show her my slightly tanned arms and the beginnings of some muscles. She looks suitably impressed.

“It looks like country life is suiting you.”

I shrug as casually as I can and take a sip of wine. “Maybe it is.”

Anna just gives me an assessing look. She’s too sharp sometimes. I decide a change of topic is needed.

“How’s London?” It sounds oblique, but she knows I mean our circle of friends, the social scene, her work.

She proceeds to tell me all the gossip and goings on—well, almost all—she neatly doesn’t say anything about Claude, which I thank her for. His influence has no effect on me anymore, but I love that she wants to protect me from that.

“There’s another reason I came to see you,” she announces out of the blue.

“Oh, yes?”

“I’ve been offered a job—on a film production.”

“That’s great!” I know this has been a dream of hers for a while.

“It’s in the States.”

I only hesitate for a second. “That’s big time, huh? Congratulations! You deserve it.”

“I wanted to see if you’d be okay, you know, without me to look after you?”

“I’ll be fine,” I huff good naturedly. Anna assesses me for a minute.

“You do look well Lu. I have to admit, I wasn’t expecting it.”

“I am fine. Honestly, you go to America. I’m pleased for you.” There was a time that I wouldn’t have been fine and would probably have gone with her—if she had gone at all, that is.

“Thank you, that’s a weight off my mind.” She looks relieved.

“Sorry to be a burden.” This is an old speech pattern between us, and is said with the freedom only old friends can have with each other.

“Love you, millstone.”

“Love you too, witch.” I get up to wash the dishes, while Anna fills her glass with wine again and wanders off to explore the house.

‘Um, Luca?’Anna is calling me from somewhere in the house. I dry my hands and follow her call.

“Where are you?”

“In here.”

“In here” turns out to be the study.Damn, I thought I’d locked that door.I stand in the doorway.

Anna is gesturing to the pictures stuck on the wall and laid across the surfaces. Pictures I’ve sketched of the garden. But she isn’t looking at the pictures of the garden, she’s looking at the pictures of Jackson—there are a lot of them. I sketched him in the garden, working and doing jobs, sitting with his coffee, or in the kitchen. Also head shots, with a range of expressions. I’ve done most of them from memory, but I think I have every aspect of his gorgeous face etched into my brain. Of course, he doesn’tknow I’ve drawn them. No one has known until Anna stumbled in.

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