Page 21 of Autumn at the Willow River Guesthouse
Their entire relationship had taken place in London. Steve had met her parents just once, when they had visited London last year, but had otherwise shown no interest in visiting her hometown or learning about her background. She had existed only as London Lily, whereas, now that she thought about it, he had barely been more than Soho Steve. His parents were from Norfolk … or was it Suffolk? His dad was a farmer, or a miner, perhaps. Lily could no longer remember. Caught up in big city living, Lily realised their relationship had built itself with none of the foundations her dad claimed were so important. Now, as she opened the letter, she felt like she was shaking up a box of old bones and preparing to dump them out all over the floor.
Dear Lily, it began, in a floral script which so reminded Lily of a wedding catalogue that it was like receiving an arrow to the heart.
I’m guessing that you don’t want to talk to me right now. That’s understandable. I made a few minor errors of judgement and now I’m suffering. Believe me, I’m suffering. I haven’t painted a thing in two weeks. Not a thing. Can you imagine that? When I used to be so prolific? Honestly, your reaction to what was really just a misunderstanding cut a hole out of my soul and I doubt I’ll ever fully recover. I’ve heard people say that they suffer for their art, but to this degree? I doubt it.
Anyway, I wanted to tell you that I still love you and forgive you for your overreaction. I realise I wasn’t being fair in allowing you to fund my creative endeavours, but we did agree at the beginning of our relationship that we would support each other, didn’t we? I was always there when you needed a shoulder to cry on, wasn’t I? Don’t try to say I wasn’t there for you. I always was. And you used to be there for me. All it took was a little overreaction and a mistake and you’ve put my entire career in jeopardy. Shocking, isn’t it? However, I do forgive you.
I still love you, Lily. Don’t forget all those wonderful times we had together. Remember that time we sat by Tower Bridge and watched the sun go down? Or that time we had that picnic in Regent’s Park when that goose stole our tuna sandwiches? Or that boat trip we took up the Thames last July? Come on, Lily, we had some great times together, and we could have more.
I’ve not quite got to the point where I’ll be stalking you, haha), but you owe me an explanation. I’ve talked to some investors about covering the studio costs, so don’t worry too much about that.
But my poor, poor broken heart, that should be your priority.
You don’t have to write back to me, but I would at least appreciate a liked post or a brief emoji comment somewhere, just to acknowledge that you’ve seen this letter.
Yours, with all my heart,
Steve xxx
* * *
She had to put a hand over her mouth to stop herself from screaming out loud. He had never been one for words; Steve’s skill was with his hands, she remembered with no little fondness. However, despite the endearing awkwardness of his letter, a minor error of judgement had closed the door on their relationship for good.
It wasn’t that he had subtly blamed her for ruining his career.
It wasn’t that he had suggested she should start paying his rent, nor that he had accused her of overreacting to the presence of another woman in his studio.
It was that she had never, not once, set foot on a Thames riverboat.
She remembered sitting by Tower Bridge: it had been delightful, because some firework display had been going on in a park south of the river, lighting up the night sky, and she remembered the goose in Regent’s Park, because shortly before it made off with a tuna sandwich, it had looked pretty keen on taking her nose. One day, she might look back on those days with something like nostalgia.
But she had never even liked the big old river that flowed through London. Willow River was plenty big enough for her liking, and she wasn’t even a fan of crossing over the bridges in London. Something about the way the water swirled around the bridge supports, like a giant fluid beast, ready to swallow someone up.
Had he even suggested a river cruise, he would have needed to convince her, and she felt certain she would remember her reluctance had it come to a discussion. But she would most certainly have said no, and in the unlikely event she had said yes, she would have remembered every second of the trip, likely through a fear of an imminent death.
Whoever he had shared an intimate evening with on a Thames riverboat, it most certainly hadn’t been her.
12
Fresh Resolve
‘We’re pleased to see you made it back,’ Uncle Gus said, planting massive hands clad in comical pink gloves on his overlarge hips. ‘We did wonder, but you’ve clearly got your mother’s gumption. The good news is that a member of the group cancelled, so we’re down to eighteen eggs.’
‘And the bad?’
‘Did I say there was bad?’
Lily cocked her head. ‘There always is. Whenever someone says, “The good news” it always means there’s bad news coming. So, what is it?’
Uncle Gus rolled his eyes and sighed. ‘Well, if you must have it, your aunt got out of bed the wrong side this morning and banged her knee on the bedside table, right on the corner. She’s able to hobble about and fulfill most of her duties, but I’m afraid cycling is out. So you’re on Victoria Borton duty again, I’m afraid.’
‘That was one of my conditions about coming back.’
Uncle Gus spread his hands. ‘Oh, Lillian, dear. Be a team player. You’re family, after all. And can you really see me on a bike?’
‘What about Dave, the kid you’ve got cutting the grass?’
‘The student?’ Uncle Gus shook his head. ‘He’s cross-eyed. He’d end up in the river. And plus, he only comes in at eleven o’clock.’
