Page 7 of All Wrapped Up
It was just a short leap from there to finding the account for The Cherry Tree Café. Just as I had known it would be, the grid was an absolutely gorgeous mix of cakes and makes and I hoped I could trust Lizzie to keep my secret because I would love to visit without fear of worrying that she’dshared more about me than I wanted anyone in the Fens to know.
In spite of my efforts not to worry about what Lizzie might or might not do, my sleep that night bore the brunt of my brooding and I spent much of the night tossing and turning and feeling hot and bothered as I got tangled in the sheets.
‘So, what are you up to today?’ Mum asked, when she video called rather too early the next morning. ‘Did you get the storm? You don’t look as if you’ve had much sleep.’
‘Cleaning first, then some gardening, but only if it isn’t too wet,’ I said, wishing she hadn’t alluded to the dark smudges under my eyes. ‘And the storm did land. The thunder raged for hours, but it’s feeling much cooler now, which I’m grateful for.’
I’d opened all of the cottage windows and the air blowing through and making the curtains billow was cool and fresh. I had been going to post a photograph of the spare room window with a jug of fresh flowers cut from the garden on the sill, but held back once I’d taken the shot.
I adored my online account, but currently had mixed emotions about posting so soon after Lizzie had recognised my things around the cottage. I would have to get over that, though, if I didn’t want to fall out of favour with the algorithm.
‘Your dad was watching the thunder tracker thingy,’ Mum told me. ‘He thought it looked as though you were clear of the worst of it by midnight.’
‘Well, I had an early night,’ I responded, unwilling to go into the real reason why my sleep had been disrupted, ‘and it felt like it hung around for ages once it had woken me up.’
‘Oh, I hate it when that happens,’ Mum sympathised and I had to smile, because nothing short of a shot going off was able to wake her once she’d fallen asleep.
‘So, how are you feeling?’ she asked. ‘Other than tired. Are you bored yet?’
‘It’s only been a few days,’ I reminded her, knowing she was referring to the renovation work and decorating being finished and me having less to do. ‘And there’s still plenty to get on with in the garden.’
‘Yes, but I know you, Clementine,’ she commented cannily. ‘You’re at your happiest when you’re up to your neck in brick dust and paint samples. Have you had any thoughts about moving to take another renovation project on?’
Both Mum and Dad had initially been devastated when I moved so far away but soon came to realise and appreciate the huge part the renovation had played in helping me come to terms with my grief.
As I had got to grips with the work, I had both the time and privacy to properly process my loss and I came to realise that just as I was changing the cottage, losing Callum had changed me. As the four walls accepted their new look, I accepted my grief. I didn’t deny it, or try to paper over it, I made my peace with it and it was then that I was finally able to let the wound start to heal.
‘I’m going nowhere, Mum. No more brick dust for me,’ I replied sincerely. ‘Rowan Cottage is my home now.’
‘In that case,’ she said, a frown etching her forehead, ‘what are you going to do?’
The last thing I wanted was her and Dad worrying that I was going to be twiddling my thumbs and falling to brooding.
‘It’s looking likely that I’m going to be helping out with an event in town soon,’ I fibbed, thinking of Lizzie’s visit. ‘And by the sounds of it, it’s going to be pretty full-on.’
Mum looked thrilled. ‘That sounds exciting,’ she smiled. ‘What is it?’
‘I can’t tell you the details,’ I further blagged. ‘My friend, Lizzie, has sworn me to secrecy.’
‘I don’t think I’ve heard you mention a Lizzie before,’ Mum mused.
‘You must have done,’ I tutted, digging myself an even deeper hole to later climb out of. ‘She runs a café in town, with her friend Jemma, and she called here yesterday to rope me into helping with this idea she’s had.’
The festival idea might have come from Moses, but I wasn’t about to get myself further into it and start attempting to explain that.
‘Oh well, in that case,’ Mum said happily, ‘the garden will have to wait a bit longer, won’t it?’
‘I’m sure I can manage both,’ I said confidently. ‘What have you been up to?’
‘Not much,’ she shrugged. ‘I had my hair done yesterday.’ She turned her head from side to side so I could see the impact of the half-inch trim. ‘Oh, hold on. I can hear your dad’s back from picking up his paper and he’s bound to want to say hello.’
‘Is that Clemmie?’ I heard Dad shout from the hall. ‘Don’t let her go. I’ve got something to tell her. I’ve just seen Jill and she said I could pass it on.’
Jill was Callum’s mum and aside from birthday and Christmas cards, I’d completely lost touch with her and his dad, Colin.Maintaining contact had been too painful after I’d made the decision to move away. I tried not to feel like I’d abandoned them, but I didn’t always succeed.
‘Did you hear that?’ Mum asked.
‘I did,’ I said, with a sigh as I imagined Jill and Colin still buried in their griefandstill living in the house that overlooked the river that had taken their son. ‘I hope it’s not bad news.’
