Page 19 of A Brambleberry Manor Christmas
‘Sunnybrook.’
‘Oh, yes. In Surrey? Were you heading back there?’
He took his coffee and pastry to the table nearest thecounter. ‘Actually, I was on my way to the Goodwood Festival of Speed, wouldyou believe?’ He grinned. ‘But with a nail through my tyre, I’m definitely on ago-slow now.’ He shrugged. ‘No spare tyre.’
‘That’s pretty ironic,’ I agreed.
‘I suppose it has its compensations.’
‘Oh?’
‘Well, I wouldn’t have met you, would I?’
I felt myself blush. ‘I suppose not.’
‘I’m Harvey, by the way. Harvey Gold.’
He got up and we shook hands. ‘Jenny. Jenny Wilkes.’
When his phone rang and it was the mechanic saying he’darrived with a tyre, I thought Harvey Gold would say goodbye and that would bethe last I saw of him.
But to my surprise, he came back into the bakery twentyminutes later.
‘It’s you again,’ I said, my heart lifting.
‘It is.’ He grinned. ‘I’ll try a chocolate pastry this time,please.’
We clicked, Harvey and I. We had a similar sense of humourand we never seemed to run out of things to talk about. I liked his smile andhis confidence, and he made it clear the first time he took me out for dinnerthat he liked me, too. I used to wonder what he saw in me, though. He was abanker, very driven in his career and I was certain he could have had his pickof women. I suppose I was flattered that he chose me.
He wasn’t perfect. He could be moody and selfish, and onthose days, I’d decide that enough was enough. But then we’d have a day wherewe laughed from the moment we got up to the time we fell into bed, and on thosedays, I’d forgive him anything. It was a roller coaster with Harvey, but it wascertainly never boring. And he had one shining asset in his favour that made mestick around, even when the going got tough: his wonderful daughter, Tavie, whowas eleven when he first introduced me to her.
By the time I moved in with them, she’d turned twelve and Iworried that she might resent me…that she might feel I was trying to take hermum’s place…or that she had to share her dad with me, after five years of itbeing just the two of them.
But she seemed pleased. And over the years, the bond betweenus deepened.
I felt angry at the careless way Vivian treated her daughter…oftencancelling their one day together at the last minute, for some reason or other(usually to do with Danny or little Megan). But I never criticised Vivian infront of Tavie. I just mopped up the tears and baked her favourite chocolate cookies,and told her that her mum was very busy but that didn’t mean she didn’t loveTavie very much…
But then her dad died and everything seemed to changeovernight.
Bereavement does terrible things to people. When I lostHarvey, I was at first completely numb with shock. Then disbelief set in. Ikept expecting him to walk through the door in the evening, calling out that hewas home. Next came the angry stage. And then the eventual acceptance and theliving like a nun, knowing life was never going to be the same again.
The worst thing was having to tell Tavie that her dad haddied. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, and at first, she wouldn’taccept it. She shut herself away in her room, refusing to eat, and throwing meoff whenever I tried to put an arm around her to comfort her. My heart achedfor her but I was powerless to help.
When, after a few days, she finally came out of her room,she was loud and accusing. It was my fault, she told me. I was there when hewas carried into the ambulance, so why hadn’t I been able to save him? Imustn’t have tried hard enough.
Her reaction, when I said she couldn’t go to the funeral,was heart-breaking.
‘He was mydad!’ she screeched. ‘You weren’t evenrelated to him butyou’re allowed to go? How is that fair?’ Her eyesflashed with despair and it took every ounce of strength and resolve to standmy ground. ‘You want him all to yourself! That’s it, isn’t it? Well, I hate youfor that, and I will never, ever forgive you.’
She tore out of the room and slammed the door with suchferocity, a picture fell off the wall.
I sat there, staring at the smashed glass. It was a photo ofthe three of us at the local fair, in happier times: Harvey and me laughinginto the camera, twelve-year-old Tavie standing in front, smiling and leaningback against me, evidence of her chocolate ice-cream cone all round her mouth.
A feeling of fear and dread settled in my abdomen. Tavie’swords chilled me. They kept reverberating in my head. I had a very good reasonfor not wanting Tavie to go anywhere near that funeral. But she couldn’t knowwhy, which meant I had to face her bitterness and anger head-on, with no way ofexplaining my actions. I knew with certainty that she never would forgive me,and I couldn’t blame her.
Her anguish seems as raw now as it was a year ago when Harveydied.
I’m haunted by the idea that she resents that I’m stillaround, while her darling dad has gone forever…
