Page 28 of The House at Hope Corner
Flora smiled inwardly at the reference to any normality over the coming days and did as she was asked, watching as Hannah spooned a little of the liquid onto the cold surface.
She waited a couple of seconds and then gently pushed her index finger into the mixture, giving a satisfied nod as she did so. ‘There now, see that? How there’s a skin formed already which wrinkles when you push it? That’s how to test when it’s done; it works the same with jam too. Of course it doesn’t always happen first time, it which case you just leave it to boil for a wee bit longer and then test again.’
‘It’s still very runny though?’
‘It will thicken as it cools,’ replied Hannah. She pulled the pan from the heat. ‘Would you like to spoon it into the jars for me? There’s a ladle in that drawer there.’
Flora nodded as Hannah removed a tray of jam jars from the top of the Aga and carried them across to the table. They had been washed in incredibly hot water and left there to dry.
It didn’t take long, and once they were done, Flora stared at the line of jars filled with the amber preserve. They glowed golden in the sunlight which slanted across the kitchen, but it was nothing compared to the unexpected glow of satisfaction that filled Flora up from the inside. She stood back, appraising the table.
‘I’m rather proud of those,’ she said.
‘And so you should be.’ Hannah wiped her hands on her apron. ‘A new skill learnt and, now you know how, there’ll be no stopping you. Look at your breadmaking – that’s come on in leaps and bounds. All it took was a little help from Caroline in the first instance, and you have mastered it already.’
Flora smiled in agreement, but then her face fell as she re-ran Hannah’s words through her head. ‘You knew I didn’t know how to make bread?’ she asked, a spark of anger igniting within her.
Hannah patted her hand. ‘Yes of course, dear, but it’s nothing to be ashamed of. It’s probably considered quite an old-fashioned skill these days, and…’ She leant in closer to Flora. ‘Don’t tell anyone, but yours is almost as good as mine!’
It was a massive compliment but Flora was suddenly furious.
‘Did Caroline tell you she’d helped me?’ she asked, trying to keep her voice even.
Hannah stopped for a moment, frowning as she tried to recall the memory. ‘Well, yes I suppose she must have done, or how else would I know?’
Hmm, thought Flora, how else indeed? She looked back at Hannah, who was surveying the table, not in the slightest bit perturbed. It was hardly the point, but at least Caroline revealing herself as Flora’s aide hadn’t made Hannah think any less of her. Nevertheless, Flora still couldn’t help thinking that Caroline might have done it on purpose.
‘There’s enough marmalade there for a couple of months with any luck,’ said Hannah. ‘Fraser can get through a whole jar in a week no problem at all, and well…’ Her eyes sought out Flora’s. ‘I guess we’ll have to see, won’t we? But anyway, they’re done now. There for when he wants them.’
Hannah looked so pleased that Flora couldn’t stay cross. ‘Which I’m sure will be soon,’ she said, pulling Hannah into a quick hug. ‘Hewillbe all right, Hannah,’ she added. ‘And you know he really is in the best possible place. They can do amazing things these days…’ She looked back at the table and smiled. ‘Why don’t I sort the washing up and then we can have a cup of tea before we go to the hospital? There’s still plenty of time.’
‘And I’d like to make some sandwiches and pack up some cake and a few other bits and pieces,’ Hannah replied. ‘Whatever else he’s doing, he won’t be eating properly, that I do know. I would imagine that the hospital food is quite dreadful.’
Flora turned away so that Hannah couldn’t see her smile. Some things never changed.
Chapter Eleven
The day they cut Fraser open and stopped his heart dawned like a bright beautiful spring morning. It was a Friday, in the very middle of February, and came after a day and a half of torrential rain. But then suddenly the skies had cleared and a fresh wind had blown in, chasing away the clouds. The temperature had risen and they had crawled wearily from their beds to feel the first tentative stirrings of the new season. It was also Valentine’s Day.
Flora had been first up, and now she stood, eyes locked on the garden beyond the window, seeking a sign that everything would be okay. The day itself must be auspicious; surely the universe wouldn’t take a husband and a father on Saint Valentine’s Day, would it?
The echo of the consultant’s words, delivered only two days ago, still rang in her head.
‘Mrs Jamieson, I’m sorry to have to tell you, but our tests showed that two of your husband’s major blood vessels which supply the heart with oxygen have become narrowed to such an extent that surgery will be required to bypass them.’
A heart bypass. Open heart surgery. That’s what Fraser was facing. And almost as soon as the information had been imparted to them, they were handed over to a bubbly and alarmingly efficient nurse coordinator, named Mandy. She swiftly provided forms and leaflets and spoke about all the things that would be happening to Fraser in terms of percentages; the percentage of people who went on to lead relatively normal lives, the percentage of people who died or had a stroke during the operation itself.
The numbers were all designed to be reassuring, but Flora found them trite and offensive; that someone could even consider that Fraser’s life be reduced to a set of statistics. These percentages were all people, for heaven’s sake; somebody’s husband, wife, son, or daughter… What Flora wanted to know was whether the surgeon would take good care of Fraser’s heart. Would he cradle it gently in the palm of his hands? Love it and care for it like Hannah did? But no one could tell her that.
They had said goodbye to Fraser at 8.32 yesterday evening, although none of them had actually used the word goodbye. It was too painful, too final, so Hannah had told him that she loved him, Ned jokingly told him not to give the surgeon a hard time, and Flora told him she would see him tomorrow. And now that day was here and she prayed that her wish would come true.
Outside the kitchen window the daffodils’ heads were waving gently in the breeze and, more than anything, Flora longed to throw open the door and run. Run as far and as fast as she could and feel the air rushing past her, feel her own blood pulsing in her veins, anything to make her feel alive instead of the stifling slow demise of responsibility and care that was settling upon her. She had sent off an email to Rowena late last night, longing to hear that she was finally beginning to put her life back together again. Anything to give Flora hope that, despite what had happened, loving Ned and moving to the farm had been the best decision she’d ever made. A cheerful response came pinging back, but even that wasn’t enough to lift her spirits. Flora felt trapped and she hated herself for it.
Heavy footfalls sounded on the floor behind her and she turned around to see Ned standing there. He was wearing his usual overalls, his feet already encased in his work boots. He came to stand beside her.
‘I’m sorry, Flora,’ he said as he bent to kiss the top of her hair. It could have been an apology for many things. Sorry that it was Valentine’s Day and he hadn’t bought her a card, let alone a dozen red roses…? Sorry that this wasn’t the life that he had promised her? But, more likely, it was an apology for not being able to wait out the agonising hours of Fraser’s operation with her, and for leaving her alone with his mother instead. There was no point in blaming him, he hardly had any choice in the matter, but that didn’t make it easier either and she still felt disappointed.
‘I’ll phone,’ she said. ‘As soon as we know anything. They said to ring at half twelve…’
