Page 74 of The Little Island Flower Stall
After buzzing at the entrance doors, they were greeted by a young woman with an impossibly perky ponytail and led down a beautifully tiled entrance hall and then through an oak panelled doorway to yet more scenic gardens at the back of the house.
‘She’s making the most of the nice evening,’ the girl said, pointing to a table and chair where an old woman was sitting silently, her eyes closed and face tipped towards the sky as if soaking up the sun. Her grey hair was long, hanging over one shoulder in a neat plait, and her arms beneath her pink cotton dress looked frail enough to snap with the force of a decent hug.
Celestine let out a gasp, and Bella’s arm shot out to steady her. For a moment, she expected her great-aunt to faint, but Celestine quickly recovered her composure.
‘Violette…’ The girl went to the table and tapped her lightly on the arm. ‘You have visitors.’
Violette opened her eyes. ‘Visitors?’
‘Yes – your friends, Celestine and Bella are here.’
She turned to look, but she didn’t show any signs of recognition. She wouldn’t know Bella, of course, but Bella’s heart lurched for poor Celestine. It must have hurt to see the blankness of Violette’s expression as she looked into the face of her old friend.
‘Hello,’ she said vaguely. Then she added something Bella didn’t recognise, though it sounded as if it might be the old Jersey French she and Celestine used to speak during the war.
Celestine replied in the same language, and then added, ‘May we sit with you?’ this time in English, perhaps switching to it for the benefit of Bella and the care assistant who’d shown them to the garden.
Violette gave the tiniest of nods. She seemed confused and began to suck on the end of her plait. The care assistant gentlytook it out of her mouth and smoothed it down. ‘There’s no need to worry,’ she said. ‘I won’t be far away.’
‘I can see you don’t remember me,’ Celestine began. ‘I suppose I’ve changed a lot.’
Violette pointed to Bella. ‘Who is she?’
‘This is my great-niece, Bella.’
‘I don’t know her.’
‘No,’ Celestine said. ‘You’ve never met her.’
‘Who are you?’
‘Don’t you recognise me?’
Bella helped Celestine into the chair across the table and then took a seat herself. She glanced at Celestine and could see how close she was to breaking down. Beneath the table, she grabbed hold of her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
‘I am your Celestine,’ she continued, her hand still clasped in Bella’s.
‘Celestine?’ Violette repeated.
‘Yes. I know we haven’t spoken for many years, but?—’
‘How are you old?’ Violette asked. ‘You’re too old to be Celestine.’
‘We’re both old.’ Celestine laughed gently as her eyes filled with tears. ‘You are still beautiful, though.’
Violette shook her head uncertainly, and then she began to cry too. ‘I don’t understand.’
Celestine rummaged in her handbag and pulled out a pack of paper handkerchiefs. She gave one to Violette and then dabbed at her own eyes with a second one. Bella was tempted to ask if there was a spare one for her because she felt as if she might start too.
But she didn’t. This was Celestine’s moment – a moment too long coming, a moment she knew meant more to Celestine than anything else. Bella couldn’t imagine how it might feel to have suffered such guilt and remorse for her accidental part inViolette’s tragedy, but she knew that it had been a great burden for far too many years, and that it seemed cruel and unnecessary for her to continue to labour under its weight.
‘What don’t you understand?’ Celestine asked gently. ‘That I am here?’
‘I don’t understand how you became old. Why is your hair white?’
Bella squeezed Celestine’s hand again. Now that they were here, she wasn’t sure it had been the right thing to do after all, and she wasn’t sure how they ought to proceed. It didn’t look as if Celestine was going to get the closure she’d been hoping for, and there was a danger she’d go home more miserable than she’d been before she’d come. But Celestine seemed calm.
‘You can’t be Celestine,’ Violette insisted. ‘She does not look like you. She has red hair and freckles.’
