Page 31 of Beyond Her Manner
“You trusted me with a lot yesterday, and I’m only your annoying neighbour.”
“You are the only person who doesn’t want anything from me — except my house.” Viola grinned. “You’ve told me all the ways in which I’m failing and how I should be doing this and that, but you don’t want me to do it. You want to be doing it. You don’t see me as Viola Berkley, world-renowned classical musician; you see me, Viola, who is squatting on your property. It’s refreshing. You’re refreshing.”
Gillian could feel her cheeks burning as she tried to battle against the pull of her lips. Viola chose that exact moment to look straight at her, just as her mouth gave out and creased into a smile. Typical.
Their eyes locked as Viola said, “Give me one person in this world to pass the time of day with who doesn’t want me for my body or my money.”
With her cheeks continuing to burn, a wave of heat swept over the rest of Gillian, along with a wash of guilt for her previous admiration of Viola’s beauty. Rationale kicked in as she told herself she was simply admiring her, not ogling. With their awkward silence beginning to linger, Gillian decided to move the conversation elsewhere.
“I was thinking. You could dedicate a bench to your mother.”
“Are you trying to move me off your bench by any chance?” Viola teased.
“Not at all. I know from experience that there is something therapeutic in dedicating a bench to a lost loved one. I still come here to reflect and attempt to leave my thoughts here each time.”
Viola tilted her head in question. “And that works?”
“Not exactly. Not to begin with anyway. There is no way around grief; it’s a process, and you can’t bypass any stages,” Gillian affirmed, her voice carrying the weight of experience.
The sound of sniffling drew her to look at Viola. Tears were rolling down her cheeks. A pang of guilt hit Gillian in the stomach as she watched her companion wipe her tears with the back of her hand.
“Sorry,” Viola said, taking a deep breath. “It just hits sometimes. Often when I least expect it.”
“Here,” Gillian said, passing her the handkerchief. “Keep it. I think you might need it more than me. I have plenty more.”
“Thanks,” Viola said, wiping her eyes with the handkerchief. “I just feel so alone.”
“I’m here,” Gillian said, doing her best at adopting a soothing tone, “and trust me, I’m not going anywhere.”
Viola laughed through her tears. “Is that some sort of veiled threat?”
Gillian grinned. “Perhaps.” Pointing at a small group of trees on the horizon, she added, “You see those trees over there? I planted them. Well, I instructed the gardeners to. The hedgerows in front I added to encourage more wildlife. I would have done more with the surrounding area if Jonathon hadn’t sold it all off. So much of the historic Kingsford farmland was lost to intensive agriculture, much of the South Downs too. The chalk grasslands mostly disappeared when the sheep did. There are only the rabbits left to encourage the likes of the milkwort to flourish. Humans have been impacting the landscape for centuries; we aren’t the first, and we won’t be the last.”
Spotting a bird, Gillian pointed at it. “The skylark is the most prolific bird in the South Downs, and it’s only here because the first farmers relieved the land of its beech and yew trees. It’s ground-nesting and avoids trees where it knows predators lurk. It was only by removing the trees that we gained the botanical tapestry we love and fiercely protect today. The South Downs is the oldest manmade habitat in England, you know?”
“This place really flows through your veins, doesn’t it?”
Gillian turned to find Viola looking at her with a tenderness in her eyes. A rush of something new spread through her chest, a feeling she could only describe as comfort — unexpected but welcome.
“Mmm. I’ve done what I can to protect it over the years. Instead of mowing the entire lawn, I left the edges to wildflowers and into the meadows beyond. I planted more shrubs on the borders of the garden and added climbers. Jonathon didn’t have much love for Kingsford; he saw it as a chain around his neck. He left me to style the house and garden over the years. Not that he noticed any of the changes I made.”
Her face dropped as she recalled all the times she had tried to impress Jonathon during their early days, only to give up.
“You’ve done a wonderful job with it,” Viola said. “It was the garden that drew Mum to the manor, plus her love for the area and the nature here, especially the skylarks. She grew up in the South Downs so it was always close to her heart. She said she could see herself on the patio, G & T in one hand” — her voice began to break — “taking in its beauty.”
As Viola’s tears began to flow again, Gillian’s hand twitched, hesitating as she debated whether to offer some comfort. Physical touch didn’t come naturally to her; it was a language she hadn’t practised. She folded her hands in her lap instead, opting for silence. She believed that sometimes sitting beside someone was enough.
On the rare occasions when Gillian’s emotions overwhelmed her, she cried alone, hidden away from the world. She knew how isolating that experience could be. There were so few people with whom one felt safe enough to shed tears in their company. Viola was correct about needing one person to pass the time of day with. There was always Bridget, but with her it wouldn’t pass so quietly.
In those moments of sorrow and isolation, she had longed for what she was having right now: sitting with someone in silence, feeling at peace whilst taking in the world around them, admiring the landscape together, seeing it and appreciating it in different ways.
In all the years of her marriage, she could count on one hand the number of times she and Jonathon had sat in the garden and passed the time together. Could she have had that with someone—a woman even— had she allowed herself to? Gillian felt a warm, wet tear roll down her cheek and quickly wiped it away, though this drew attention from where she least wanted it.
“Are you okay?” Viola asked, dabbing the handkerchief against her own cheeks.
“Yes. Yes, of course,” Gillian snapped as she wiped her face again to ensure all traces of her tears were gone.
“Why are you ashamed to show emotions, Gillian?” Viola asked, point-blank. “It’s not something to be embarrassed about. What’s wrong with showing that side of you to the world?”
