Page 31 of Will You Stay Another Day?
Dylan raised an eyebrow.
She exhaled. ‘I know. I just haven’t been able to face it. Em had been so excited. Me too if I’m honest. I’m more of a walk-through-the-woods-holiday kinda person, but… she was feeling down in the months before she died. I wanted to cheer her up and we both laughed at what a crazy experience going there would be.’ Why was she telling him this?
He touched the small of her back and pursed his mouth in a sympathetic manner. He didn’t say a word, but Lili and her sadness felt seen.
Which was why after sifting through bags, after retrieving a gorgeous art deco clock, piles of books and board games and a complete floral crockery set, along with an array of ornaments and old CDs, she couldn’t bring herself to say they wouldn’t see each other again. She’d have to pick up the crumble dish, anyway.
As she began to drive away, towards the junction at the end of his road, a banging resounded from the boot of her car. She stopped abruptly. Dylan’s face appeared at the driver’s window and she wound it down.
‘I almost forgot,’ he panted, out of breath. He brought up his hand and in front of his face held a large, amber-coloured horse chestnut leaf. His eyes were laughing, and she couldn’t gaze away; the sight before her was mesmerising – the leaf, of course, the leaf. That was it. He twisted it from side to side, black hair messy, him smelling of bergamot, the joke whirling in his eyes like a leaf in the wind. Gently, he placed it on her lap before running back to his house.
Grinning from ear to ear, she drove home, singing along to ‘Jump’ by Van Halen. Eventually, her mind drifted to the upcoming week at work. A typical day managing the shop involved supervising the staff, but also mucking in:
Sorting items and bagging up the surplus ones that can be sold, to pass onto other Ware & Care outlets.
Steaming and tagging clothes, putting them on rails.
Rotating stock on the shelves.
Changing the window display.
Taking out time to chat to customers, especially regulars.
Lili loved her job and was fond of everyone who worked with her. She squirmed in the car seat as she thought about her conversation with Dylan about Vegas and how some customers at the shop scrimped to save money. She needed to sort the hotel cancellation and get a refund.
As soon as she got back to the cottage, she placed the horse chestnut leaf on the coffee table, collapsed on the sofa, got out her laptop, and went online for her booking of two adjoining rooms. Lili had expected to lose out financially, 25 per cent of the overall cost perhaps. There was still a month to go, after all. It wasn’t as if she was cancelling right at the last minute. But when she clicked on cancel, the penalty seemed much bigger. The travel company’s helpline was open until six on a Sunday. She just had time and, coat still on, took out her phone, punched in the number and pressed dial. When you looked closely at the dates, the man explained, and counted the days, which Lili hadn’t, the hotel stay was just under thirty days away now. The bigger penalty was correct.
Seventy per cent of the overall cost! She and Em had only been visiting for four days but hadn’t stinted, calling the break a last hurrah before really saving hard to build a future. The rooms were deluxe, with silk gold and damask interiors, the hotel incredible with a spa and pool attendants taking bar orders as you chilled on a lounger.
The man told her to look at the small print. She didn’t mention Em’s death or try to make excuses. He was right. She should have checked the paperwork months ago.
What a waste of money, but how could she go alone, without Em? Somehow, the hotel stay had to be recycled, whether she got back what it had cost or not. Lili spent the evening racking her brains, and then it came to her.
Of course!
Harry! Dylan said his brother had always wanted to go there. He was travelling anyway. She’d lose her money but at least if he could take one of the rooms the booking wouldn’t be completely wasted.
She took out her phone and her breath hitched for a second, like it always did, seeing Em’s old phone number, once again in her Contacts list, even though it was now listed under Dylan Davis. Fingers moving quickly, Lili texted him.
20
Lili glanced at her phone. It was a quarter to two. She tipped the crumbs and bits of grated cheese left over from her sandwich into her palm and held out her hand. Bobbin flew over. The bird couldn’t have looked more festive a minute ago, perched on the branch of a holly bush. The air was crisp and she could almost smell Christmas in the air – mince pies, turkey, mulled wine. It was one month exactly to Christmas Eve. The robin puffed out its chest and pecked at the cheese.
‘It’s mature cheddar. Your favourite,’ she said.
Bobbin stopped pecking and straightened up. Its beak opened. Oh, what notes of pure joy floated into her garden – or rather staccato chirps that quick-stepped. Lili wished she could bottle the song and remove the stopper whenever she needed a lift. Bird recordings on Spotify didn’t give the same hit. Lili got up and spotted a beautiful maroon ivy leaf on the patio. Carefully, she slipped it into the back pocket of her jeans, went inside and took off her coat and shoes. She brushed her hair and turned up the heating. She hadn’t heard from Dylan since she’d texted about Harry and Vegas, apart from a thumbs up emoji and that he’d ask him. It was now Sunday again, one week later. She’d just lit the incense sticks when the roar of a motorbike sounded out the front. Lili checked the room before hurrying into the hallway as someone knocked. She opened the door.
‘Trevor, come on in.’
Trevor was a motorcyclist friend of Tommo. He lived in Portloe. The leather biker jacket had seen better days and had badges sewn across it, some bearing skulls or eagle wings. He came in and took off his boots. Lili hung up the jacket. That was unexpected – underneath he wore a conservative jumper and shirt, both looking as if they’d come from Marks & Spencer. He ran a hand through his chestnut hair that had a Morticia white streak at the front, and he carried a plastic bag into the lounge. Lili pointed to the sofa.
‘Would you like a glass of water, Trevor? We’ve got tea and scones afterwards.’
He gave a nervous cough. ‘No thanks. I’m fine. Ta for today. Tommo’s reassured me, from the start, that this… this isn’t a mickey-take. No offence but it’s took me a while to get my head around what you do here. Meeting up with you, for that chat, helped me understand. I reckoned Tommo was joking when he first mentioned it to me – funerals for objects.’
Respect was at the centre of Japanese culture, so it wasn’t as big a leap for them to honour this concept. The Brits had wonderful characteristics like politeness, stoicism… and also humour with a generous dollop of sarcasm, which meant that a knee-jerk reaction was often to laugh at the things they didn’t understand.
The doorbell rang and Lili left the room again. She opened the door. Rosie stepped in carrying a tote bag with a mental health slogan on it. She was only eighteen with a vital complexion and buoyant bobbed hairstyle – she was the granddaughter of one of the shop’s volunteers. The teenager hovered uncertainly.
