Page 39 of The Women at Ocean's End

For the rest of the morning, she thought long and hard about that conversation on the pier. She thought about it as she cut back brambles and briars that had taken root along the perimeter walls and, with each one she pulled, it felt as if she was somehow pulling back the weeds in her own life. It was cathartic. And the harder she worked, the clearer she felt.

‘Max Toolis said that you could be no nearer to God than in your own garden,’ Ros said gently, placing her hand across Heather’s to pull her from her work and her thoughts. ‘Still, I don’t think even God would want you to miss out on lunch, would he?’

‘No, and I’m fit to eat a horse at this point.’ It was the truth. Soon after, sitting in deckchairs at the back of the house, Heather told Constance and Ros about her conversation with Jake.

‘Jake?’ Constance looked from one to the other.

‘Surfer Dude?’ Ros clarified and then she explained to Constance about the man with the coffee van that only opened for half the year down on the pier.

‘So, I think that’s it,’ Heather said, licking her fingers of mayonnaise and melting butter now that she’d finished the last of the sandwiches Constance had made for them.

‘You’ll just keep on clearing back my garden until you find a purpose?’ Constance smiled.

‘That’s it, if you’ll let me,’ Heather said softly.

‘Let you? I should be paying you, if right was right, but…’

‘Aren’t you putting a roof over my head, feeding me like a king and, at the end of the day, I’m getting more peace of mind here than I was when I was handing over a small fortune to that life coach in London.’ Heather shook her head. She leaned back in the chair, closed her eyes against the sun, which was as high in the sky as she’d ever seen it. A little later in the year and today would be a scorcher, but as it was the temperatures were still being reasonable and the sun simply broke through enough to warm her bones but not to call halt to her work in the garden.

‘It’s almost two o’clock,’ Ros said suddenly. ‘I should be getting back to George.’ And then she was racing out the door and promising that she’d ask Finbar if she could borrow his jeep to bring Constance to her cottage to see the goat one day soon.

Ros had only been gone for five minutes when there was an almighty crash at the front of the house and Constance and Heather looked at each other wide-eyed, both knowing it couldn’t be good.

‘Come on, how bad can it be?’ It was as good as Heather could do to dampen down the worry in Constance’s eyes. She passed Constance, sidestepping her as they made their way to the source of the noise. Whatever calamity awaited them, at least she could jump out of the way more quickly than Constance.

‘Oh dear.’ It was all Constance said. Nothing, it turned out, had crashed to the ground. The noise had come from the rooftop railing: a thin steel band that ran around the semi-circular side of the house was hanging, as if someone had just unfastened a hair tie and let it loose.

‘I don’t think we should stand too close to it,’ Heather said, guiding Constance towards the front drive. From here, it was easy to see that the iron had rusted, to the point of being almost thread-like, jagged straws of it only just holding on to the remainder of the handrail above. The wall, at least, had not been damaged, but the winter winds would surely make it crash against the side of the house with such force that the plasterwork was in danger of cracking and that was the least of the damage it could wreak.

‘I suppose I’ll have to get it taken down, properly.’ Constance craned her head, to try and get a better look from this safe distance. ‘I mean, I’d never live with myself if it fell down on someone’s head.’ She was shocked, Heather could see it.

‘It mightn’t be as big a job as you think?’ Heather said, but the more she looked at the front façade of the house, the more glaring the ugly gap seemed.

‘I don’t know much about building, but I know that out here on the island, there’s no steel engineering works and that railing is going to have to either be very carefully repaired bysomeone who knows what they’re doing or completely replaced.’ Constance shook her head sadly and levelled a look at Heather that said she knew about this, there was no point trying to sugar-coat it. ‘I’ve lived on this island for a long time, Heather, I know better than most, getting raw materials out here is a job in itself. Every inch of steel would have to come by boat. Then there’s the bringing over and back of the men to do the work and we both know that any decent craftsman is rushed off their feet, they won’t want to take on a messy job like this.’

‘You don’t know that for sure,’ Heather said mulishly. ‘You really don’t…’

Again, she felt that strange tug at her heart. It was something close to love and heartbreak for this old woman who meant so much to her. She’d begun to think that their relationship had been set together when she was a small child. Constance had always made her feel loved, far more than her own mother ever did; even to a child, it had been obvious, all that love.

‘Constance, don’t be cross with me, but I have money…’ She put up her hand to stop Constance from interrupting her. ‘No, listen to me now, I mean, I have a lot of money.’

Heather had never whispered a word to anyone since four million pounds had been deposited in her accounts after the sale of their business and flat in London. Until now, there had been nothing she wanted to do with it; somehow, it hadn’t really hit home, all that money, it seemed unreal, like zeros in her bank account that were somehow removed from the reality of her life. Suddenly, she could see a way to make things right for Constance; maybe it would go some way to making her feel better too.

‘I’d be happy to get it fixed for you,’ she went on. ‘I really would, it’s the least I can do, after all, I’ve been staying here for weeks now, intruding on your kindness, and you won’t even let me…’

‘You’ve filled the fridge and every cupboard in the house with enough food to feed an army if the island was cut off for months. For goodness’ sake, Heather, don’t be silly, I can’t let you go spending your money on a house that’s falling down.’ Constance squeezed Heather’s hand. ‘Hush now. We both know it is… I mean, I mightn’t like to admit it to anyone else, but let’s be honest, the railing is only the ribbon on the cake. The whole roof needs to be replaced probably and there isn’t a window that doesn’t let in breezes from every angle in the winter.’ She smiled then. ‘I’m certainly not going to stand by and watch you throw your money into what is effectively a bottomless pit. Dotty would never forgive me and neither would you. Some day, when whatever little nest egg you have is all gone, even then Ocean’s End will continue to need work, let me tell you.’

‘You’re wrong, you know; I wouldn’t be sorry,’ Heather said, but she knew that if they were going to do anything about that railing, standing in the garden while Constance caught a draught wasn’t going to make any difference to it.

‘Sometimes, I wish we could make time stand still and you could see how truly elegant this place was once,’ Constance said dreamily. ‘Sometimes, when I close my eyes, I pretend it’s still beautiful.’

‘Of course, I remember it from when I was a child, and Constance, it’s still beautiful…’ Heather was about to reproach her when the glint of glass from the bookcases in the study caught her eye. She’d been in there, of course. Constance had every single edition of her mother’s books stored away in beautiful art deco bookcases. Floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with books translated into many languages rested gently undisturbed, probably for years before Heather arrived, behind glass doors with a rich diamond pattern marking out the cherry walnut and elm of the frames. Heather had been giddy with excitement when she’d first found them. She was solidly workingher way through reading the full collection. There were so many novels and a few unpublished plays and manuscripts that Maggie had held back for various reasons of her own.

‘Constance.’ Heather cleared her throat, but still her voice sounded a little high-pitched with excitement. ‘What if you could pay for the work yourself, would you do it then?’

‘In an ideal world? Of course, why would you even ask that?’

‘Well, I mean, you think you would, but you know, really, making the house sound and safe and secure, it would mean a lot of inconvenience. Like you said, builders over from the mainland. It would mean a lot of coming and going.’

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