Page 16 of Winter Nights at the Bay Bookshop
Nanna wiped a speck of dust from the glass before continuing. ‘The thing Jayne could control was photography but that also went to the extreme. She lived her life through a lens rather than facing reality.’
‘She told you that?’ I asked as we set off back to the lounge.
‘No. I could see it happening.’
‘Did she ever talk to you about why she pulled away from me?’
‘No. She never talked to me about anything of consequence. I always offered but she liked to work things through in her own mind. Or hide from them.’
We settled back on the sofa.
‘I do have a theory if you want to hear it,’ Nanna said.
‘Please.’
‘I think she was scared of losing you too so she detached herself.’
I shook my head. ‘She pulled away from me way before Pia died.’ Taking in Nanna’s sad expression, I was hit by the realisation. ‘She always knew we were going to lose Pia.’
Nanna sighed heavily and nodded. ‘They agreed from the start that they wanted any medical professionals to be honest and realistic so that they could be prepared for the potential worst-case scenario. Truth is, how do you really prepare for something devastating like that? Especially when she didn’t just lose Pia. She lost Ragnar and she lost you too.’
‘She didn’t have to lose me. I was only eleven at the time. It wasn’t too late to pull it back.’ I’d been so desperate for her attention that all she’d needed to do was give me one hug or say a few kind words and I’d have forgiven her for everything. Instead, she left without saying goodbye at a time when I was already feeling vulnerable from my pabbi’s abandonment.
‘I’ve always worried about Jayne,’ Nanna said, another sigh escaping from her. ‘I was especially worried when she was a child and never seemed interested in making friends. I feared she might be lonely but Norman always pointed out how happy and content our little girl was in her own company, especially when she had a camera in her hands. He said that not everyone was like me, feeling energised when surrounded by others, and he and Jayne were proof of that.
‘When Norman died and she took off travelling on her own, I worried again. I had this horrible feeling she might never return. And then she met Ragnar and everything changed. I realised that she wasn’t averse to spending time with others – she just hadn’t found anyone she wanted to spend time with because, when she did make that connection, it was all-consuming. The problem was that, when it crumbled, she reverted to the loner she’d been before. This time I don’t think it was about her preferring her own company – it was more that she couldn’t bear to be around people anymore. She travels the world photographing strangers. People dip in and out of her life and she doesn’t form attachments to any of them because, if she has no deep connections, she can’t get hurt again.’
What Nanna had just said about Mum rang true, but it didn’t bring me any comfort. That deep connection Mum had had with Pia had been cut by death, and the one with Pabbi by divorce, but what about me? I was still here, as was her own mother. Weren’t we enough? Wasn’t I enough?
We talked some more about Nanna’s observations of Mum growing up. It was interesting hearing how early she’d demonstrated strong decision-making skills and how she’d always been stubborn and fiercely independent.
‘She was a bit like someone else I know,’ Nanna said, giving me a knowing look. ‘When you were a child – and a teen too – you reminded me so much of Jayne, content in your own company, no need for friends.’
I didn’t say anything because the truth would hurt her, but she couldn’t have been more wrong about that. I’d learned to be content in my own company because I’d had to be. I’d longed for friends but it had never happened in primary school and senior school was even worse. I never felt like I fitted in thanks to a combination of my academic abilities – bright kids being an easy target for the bullies – and my half-English, half-Icelandic heritage. I occasionally blurted out something in class in Icelandic and, because my grades were excellent, most of the teachers humoured me (although I don’t think any of them actually liked me), but the other kids didn’t. If I had a pound for every time some idiot had followed me around sayinghurdy-gurdyin some bizarre sing-song impersonation of the accent I’d had back then, I wouldn’t have had to fret about my career as I’d have been loaded. To this day, I don’t know who started thehurdy-gurdybollocks. It was so stupid. The words sounded nothing like Icelandic but pointing that out didn’t do me any favours either.
Nanna’s phone began ringing and she apologised as she answered it. ‘Hi, Geraldine… Goodness, is it that time already? Can you give me ten minutes? All right, lovey, see you soon.’
‘Lunchtime?’ I asked, getting to my feet. Nanna had told me earlier that she and her friends were having Sunday lunch in the care home’s restaurant as they’d heard wonderful things about the food.
‘Yes. This morning’s flown. Will you be all right? I’m conscious our conversation today was heavier than usual.’
‘I’m fine, Nanna. It was good to get your take on things. Gives me a lot to think about. Enjoy your lunch and I’ll see you soon.’
As I went down the stairs, clutching onto the bag containing the photo album, I wondered if I was doing a disservice to Mum by thinking she didn’t care. Was it possible that she cared too much? Deep down, I knew that I’d thrown myself into my business and worked every hour God sent to stop me thinking so much about everything I’d lost and it was why the time spread out before me now scared me so much. But what if it was the same for Mum? What if she’d kept moving to flee from her pain, escape from the memories?
I exited the building and set off across the car park towards the visitors’ spaces, Nanna’s theory about Mum replaying in my head. It didn’t sound as though Mum had been lonely before she went travelling, but I wondered whether she was now. As long as she kept moving, she’d always have unfamiliar places to explore, strangers to meet, new photography objectives and therefore plenty of distractions. But if she stopped…
‘Lars?’
I did a double-take at the dark-haired woman who’d stopped beside me. ‘Danika?’
‘What are you doing here?’ she asked.
‘My nanna’s just moved in. You?’
She lifted up a glasses case. ‘Patient left these behind yesterday so I said I’d drop them back, save them the trouble.’ She glanced at the case, shaking her head. ‘No idea why I felt the need to show you these, as if you weren’t going to take my word for it.’
We smiled at each other and I felt the warmth of her friendship.
