Page 23 of Clara's Secret Garden
‘Not enjoying it?’
‘It’s okay. But I’m thinking of taking a gap year.’
He told me he’d always wanted to go to New Zealand and amate of his was trying to persuade him to go travelling. He was sorely tempted,he said, despite pressure from his parents who wanted the best for him and wereworried that if he interrupted his studies, he’d end up failing to complete hisdegree.
I could see their point, but there was a certain light inRory’s eyes when he talked about New Zealand that made me think he should justdo it. And I told him so – even though the thought of him being so far away fora whole year was giving me a strange hollow feeling inside.
He asked about my course and I told him about my job, and itwas so lovely to see him again. And over the following six months or so, whileRory was finishing his first year at uni, we often found ourselves on the samebus home.
Away from school, it was easier to chat about anything andeverything, and we did. I learned all about his desire to live in the countryonce he’d returned from his travels and qualified as a solicitor. And I toldhim all about the dance studio I planned to open one day. Rory was going outwith a girl called Grace and I managed to look interested when he talked abouther. I told myself I was well over my crush on him. It was good just beingfriends.
When he left for New Zealand, I missed our chats on the busa lot, but I was pleased for him. I heard through the grapevine that he likedthe country so much, he ended up staying for two years, before returning hometo continue his studies.
I bumped into Rory on Sunnybrook High Street, a few monthsafter he got back, and we talked for ages. He and Grace had decided to break upwhen he went away, but now that he’d returned, it seemed they were getting backtogether.
I was going through a hard time. Dad was ill and my life wasin chaos. Rory suggested we go for a drink sometime for a proper catch-up, butthe weeks and months passed and we never did.
But now, Rory’s back in my life. And I’m realising myfeelings for him haven’t changed. I’ve had a few brief relationships in theyears since leaving school, but nothing serious.
And now, I’m wondering why.
Have I been waiting all this time for Rory to return?
CHAPTEREIGHT
At home later, I cook dinner for Lois and Bertie –Irene was already out with Damien when we got back – then I leave them arguingover what film to watch, and I drive to the hospital to see Gran.
My heart is in my mouth as I walk the white corridor maze toher ward.
The last few times I’ve been in, she’s been asleep and Ihaven’t been able to talk to her. She’s very poorly and hooked up to tubeswhich I find so distressing. But I just keep telling myself that old cliché:she’s in the right place.
Gran is seventy-six, average height, but there’s nothingelse ‘average’ about her.
When Paula Bowes walks into a room, people notice her,whether it’s because of her generous, throaty laugh, her stunning silvery whitehair which she’s worn in a flattering, face-framing bob for years, or her wayof making every single person she talks to feel important. Gran loves herstatement earrings (the bigger and bolder the better) and her shades of purple.(She wears pretty lilacs, mauves and pale lavenders in summer; rich plums andmaroons and velvety purples in the winter months.) She does the difficultcrossword every day ‘to exercise the old grey matter’ and if she has a choice,she’ll always walk rather than taking the car. She once got lost on a solo hikein the Welsh mountains (the fog came down quickly) but instead of calling themountain rescue team in a panic, she phoned to tell Dad she’d decided to staythe night, then calmly bedded down under a rocky shelf and drove back the nextday with nothing more than a bit of an ache in her back. Dad assumed she’dstayed in a hotel overnight, and we were both gobsmacked to discover, a fewweeks later, that she’d spent the night on the mountain! She wasn’t evenintending to tell us – it was dropped into conversation as a by-the-by. Thishappened last year. Gran was seventy-five.
I know I’m biased, but I think she’s absolutely bloodyamazing.
And once again, sitting by her bed as she sleeps, it hits mewith such force, I can barely breathe.
She might never get better.
This woman, who was my strength when Dad died, and whohelped bring me up from being a little kid without a mum, is at a perilouscrossroads in her life. If she doesn’t gain in strength, she won’t be able tohave the operation on her heart that she so desperately needs.
I rummage in my bag for a paper hanky, my throat cloggedwith emotion.
It’s so very hard to reconcile the strong, cheerful, independentwoman I know so well with the gaunt-faced, diminished figure lying here in thishospital bed...
*****
At last, I get up to leave Gran’s bedside.
I write another upbeat note to replace the one I leftyesterday –did she read it?– and I leave it on her bedside table,along with some slices of courgette cake in a Tupperware box.
She needs to sleep so she can get her strength back and heal,I tell myself as I drive away from the hospital. It’s all good.
But that still doesn’t stop the frightened tears from slippingdown, stinging my cheeks...
CHAPTERNINE
