Page 25 of A Brambleberry Manor Christmas
She blows out her breath. ‘Honestly, me and my bloody bigmouth! Just ignore me, Jenny. I actually can’t imagine what it’s been like foryou these past twelve months, since losing Harvey. But it will get better, Ipromise.’
She rubs my arm, and I nod and try to smile, as a tumble of emotionsthreaten to overwhelm me.
That’s what it’s like. I can be fine, thinking I’m movingon, and then next moment, it’s all flooding back like a huge tidal wave, takingme under…and I’m drowning once more in the mind-numbing horror of it all…
Thinking of the future terrifies me. But so does lookingback at the past. If I could learn to just live in the present, maybe I couldput a stop to the harrowing images that plague me. But you can’t control yourthoughts, however much you might desperately want to…
‘Here,’ Flo says gently, passing me some kitchen roll.
‘Thank you.’ I blow my nose noisily.
‘Sorry to be so bloody insensitive.’
‘You weren’t. And you’re right. I should be moving on bynow.’
She takes both my arms. ‘Hey, listen, you. There’s no timelimit on grieving. You just need to work your way through it, however long thattakes. You’re doing brilliantly, Jenny. And I know you don’t want to talk aboutthat day, but I’m always here if you ever change your mind, okay?’
I nod, a huge lump in my throat, and she pulls me into ahug. Tears leak out at the feel of her comforting arms around me. It’s been along time since anyone hugged me.
I’ve never been more tempted than I am right now to just tellher everything, leaving no detail out. Flo has become such a good friend in theshort time we’ve been working together. But I’ve got to stay strong and keep itall in. Because if I were to start talking about that day, I might never beable to stop, and then Tavie would find out. And I can’t risk that…
‘Sorry,’ I mumble, pulling away. ‘I’m spoiling your lovelywhite shirt.’
‘Don’t care. Spoil away! It’s my own fault for letting thewashing pile up at home and being reduced to wearing my best clothes to cookin.’ She grins. ‘Be warned. I’ll probably be serving dinner in my evening dressand tiara tomorrow!’
I laugh. ‘Do you actually have an evening dress?’
‘No, but I like the idea of it.’
I nod, thinking of the half dozen cocktail dresses in mywardrobe that I’ll probably never wear again.
I used to get dressed up to attend charity balls withHarvey, as well as his company’s grand Christmas party, held every year in theimpossibly elegant surroundings of the Dorchester Hotel. To be truthful, Idreaded every one of those very formal occasions, chatting to Harvey’scolleagues in the company and doing my best to sound like I fitted in. I justwanted to do Harvey proud. But there were far too many cringy moments whenthey’d be talking about share prices and volatile markets, and I’d be noddingmy head practically off my neck, trying to look as if I understood it all. ButI did it because I loved him…
The dresses Harvey bought me are so gorgeous and it’s such awaste. I suppose I should give them to a charity shop or sell them on eBay andgive the funds to a heart charity. It’s just that I don’t want to upset Tavie.She’s so sharp. She never seems to miss a thing. And if she knew I was tryingto get rid of reminders of her dad, she could easily blow her top – like shedid the time she found me putting Harvey’s suits into a black bin bag, ready totake to the charity shop. I’d spent three months trying to ignore them, but onemorning I woke up and realised I finally had the strength to let them go.
My heart clenches, remembering Tavie’s fierce reaction.
‘You’re already getting rid of his clothes? How can you besoheartless?’ Blue eyes flashing angrily, she grabbed the navy jacket Iwas holding and pressed it to her. Watching her trying to breathe in anylingering memory of her dad made my heart ache for her. Then she threw thejacket down on the bed. ‘But hey, what do I matter? Why should you think abouthowI’mfeeling? It’s all about you, isn’t it?Youdecide who cango to the funeral.Youdecide we should throw away his clothes. But hewasmy dad,Jenny! He was the most wonderful, perfect dad in the wholeworld and I hate the way you’re being so practical about everything. Are youevensadthat he’s gone?’
I stared at her in horror. ‘Of course I’m sad, Tavie. I’mdevastated.I’m just trying to be practical.’ I paused. ‘We can…keep your dad’s clothes inthe wardrobe for a bit longer – if that’s what you’d like to do?’
‘No. Get rid of them. That’s what you want to do, isn’t it?’And she stomped out.
I sank down on the bed before my legs gave way. It was nouse going after her when she was this angry. I’d talk to her later when she’dcalmed down a little. But right then, my heart felt as heavy as a lump ofgranite in my chest…
Now, I take a deep breath and force myself to concentrate ontonight’s dinner.
A little later, I’m finishing the dessert when Melaniebounds into the kitchen. Her cheeks are flushed from her walk in the snow with Noah,and she’s still wearing her coat and scarf.
‘Hi, there.’ She beams at us. ‘You look terribly busy. Doyou mind if I make a cuppa? It’s freezing outside.’
‘Of course not.’ I flick on the kettle. ‘It’s just boiled.’
She assembles a mug, teabag and spoon. Then she examines thedessert. ‘That looks yummy.’ She smiles. ‘And whatever’s in the oven smells absolutelyamazing.’
‘It’s a Spanish lamb dish.’
‘Mm. Lovely. Ooh, what was in that bowl? Was it cake mix? Iused to love licking the bowl when Mum was baking.’
