Page 25 of Summer on the French Riviera
Gabby’s voice broke into her thoughts. ‘We’ve never been much of a family for photographs, not like people today, but there are some in here the two of you need to look at.’ She looked up from the album. ‘Elodie, you have first look. The important photo is one of the last ones.’ She held out the album to Elodie, open at the double page she wanted her to look at.
Still clutching the dress, hoping it would encourage more memories, Elodie stared wordlessly at the photos. At first, she didn’t recognise what or whom she was looking at. The photos, like the clothes being worn, were quite formal, poised shots, the body language was stiff, as if the people standing there couldn’t wait for this to be over. The little girl holding the woman’s hand in one of the photographs gave off an air of wanting to break free, her hand held firmly by the woman.
Elodie smothered another gasp and stared at the photo again. ‘Is this me? Wearing this dress?’
‘Yes. Being my bridesmaid when I married Todd,’ Harriet said in a matter-of-fact voice.
‘These are your wedding photographs?’ Elodie looked at her mother, shocked. ‘You didn’t get married in St Saviour’s? You don’t look like you. You don’t even look like a bride – and I definitely don’t look like a proper bridesmaid.’
‘We got married in Totnes Registry Office, Todd didn’t want a church wedding. Or a big fuss.’
‘You did though, didn’t you,’ Gabby said quietly.
Harriet nodded and sighed. ‘I’d always dreamt of being married in St Saviour’s with Dad walking me down the aisle. That was no longer possible and was the main reason I agreed to a low-key civil wedding. The date was booked and we had a month to organise things, didn’t we, Mum?’
Gabby nodded. ‘It was such a small wedding that there wasn’t much to arrange. Reception for fifteen guests, a few buttonholes and a bouquet, I made a cake and agreed to take the few photographs. We went shopping in Torquay for your outfit and a dress for Elodie.’ She gave Harriet a sad smile. ‘You knew my heart wasn’t really in it as I had a gut feeling you were marrying the wrong man.’
‘I should have listened to you,’ Harriet admitted. ‘But I thought I was doing the right thing. That you would give Elodie the happy, secure childhood that I didn’t think I could provide.’ She glanced at her mother. ‘Todd had promised me a new beginning in Australia and that I could come back regularly to see both of you. It was a year before I realised he had no intention of keeping that promise. I would never have left if I’d known that was his plan.’
‘Six hours after these photographs were taken you were catching the train to London that took you out of our lives.’ Gabby bit her bottom lip. ‘I had no way of knowing then that you would be unable to visit regularly.’ She sighed. ‘Recriminations at this late date are useless, but I wish with all my heart that you’d never married Todd.C’est la vie. It’s in the past and needs to be buried. It’s the future that matters now for the three of us.’
‘I don’t remember the occasion at all,’ Elodie said, shaking her head. ‘It wasn’t the Cinderella dress that I longed for later. Maybe if it had been, I’d have remembered it.’ Elodie gave an involuntary shiver as a memory finally fell in to her brain.
Suddenly she did remember wearing the dress. It was the day her mother had given her a big cuddle, squeezing her so hard she could barely breathe, and said she loved her and that she was to be a good girl for Gabby. Harriet had been crying so much, her tears had soaked the top of the dress before Todd had almost dragged her away. Elodie remembered too, with sudden clarity, taking the dress off that evening, throwing it across the room and shouting at Gabby.
‘I hate Mummy. I’m never ever wearing that dress again.’
Elodie closed the photo album and handed it back to Gabby, glancing at her mother as she did so. ‘I’m sorry your marriage didn’t turn out to be a happy one, but seeing those photographs changes nothing. I remember the dress now, but I still don’t remember being your bridesmaid.’ She pushed back her chair and jumped up. ‘Right, I’m going to take Lulu for a walk.’ No need to explain that she needed some time apart from Harriet to try and process this forgotten information about her childhood.
* * *
Sunday evening, the box was still out on the terrace and Gabby suggested while it was there the three of them should sort through it and throw anything away that wasn’t worth keeping. Harriet, initially reluctant in case the contents of the box caused another scene with Elodie, helped Gabby to carefully empty the contents of the box onto the table and spread them out.
Harriet smiled as she picked up a wonky pottery pot that she faintly remembered making in primary school. She’d loved the feel of the clay in her hands and had spent ages trying to get the shape exactly right. ‘Obviously I was not destined to be a potter,’ she laughed. ‘But I can’t throw it away so back in the box with it.’
Elodie leant across and picked up two or three exercise books held together with a rubber band. ‘I remember these. I was about ten. After I readTom’s Midnight Garden, I had dreams of being the next Philippa Pearce.’ She placed the books to one side with a sigh. ‘Still haven’t got around to writing a novel, though.’
‘But you are writing,’ Harriet said. ‘You’ve still got time.’
Gabby gently pulled out a cardboard folder tied with red ribbon that had wedged itself to the very bottom of the box and handed it to Harriet. ‘A few of your sketches, I think.’
Harriet’s fingers were trembling as she untied the ribbon and laid the folder flat. This was part of a college project – the one that never got handed in because she gave up long before she ever finished it. The task had been to ‘choose a painter from the twentieth century, write an essay on why you admired him or her and to do some original work in that style’. It was the reason she’d been at Dartington Hall the day she’d met Jack.
Looking at the top pen-and-ink sketch of a female fox with her two cubs was enough. Too many memories were stirring.
Before she could reach out to retie the folder, Elodie had picked up the fox sketch. ‘Oh, this is lovely. Reminds me of the paintings inThe Wind in the Willows.’
‘Yes, that was my inspiration,’ Harriet said, holding her hand out for the sketch and returning it to the folder. Quickly tying the ribbon again, she hesitated before placing the folder to one side rather than on the pile to go back into the box.
Twenty minutes later, there were two distinct stacks on the table – one for throwing away and one for returning to the box to keep. Harriet’s folder of sketches was to one side on its own.
Elodie picked up the child’s dress that had upset her earlier in the day. ‘We can throw this, can’t we? It’s got nothing but bad memories for everyone,’ and she placed it firmly in the bottom of a black rubbish bag she’d got from the kitchen before starting to throw the rest of the unwanted pile on top of it. Harriet and Gabby watched her silently but neither protested.
Gabby and Harriet repacked the box and Harriet went to close it.
‘You are keeping your sketches out?’ Gabby said.
‘Yes, they might inspire me again someday,’ Harriet answered quietly as she picked them up.
