Page 77 of The Art of Loving You

‘Great, thanks. Where is Noah? Do you want your presents first?’

‘He’s inside. I’ll have them later, I want to crack on.’ He was uncomfortable being the centre of attention.

He stripped off his T-shirt and, as always, I automatically handed him a bottle of sun cream.

‘Yes, Mum,’ he said with a theatrical sigh, but he slathered himself in the lotion without complaint. I think he liked being looked after, and that’s what we were doing, looking after each other. A family of sorts. Over the past few weeks various tradesmen had come and gone but Liam and Noah had been my constant. Noah picked up Liam every day when he wasn’t at college and drove him over. The roof was repaired. The rooms on the first floor had been plastered. The sash windows on the second floor with the rotting frames, replaced. The woodwork elsewhere rubbed down. At every stage I had taken photos, a reminder – on the days when everything seemed too hard, for I still got days where, without Jack, everything seemed too mountainous – not to give up.

Initially I’d planned to be inside, sanding, painting, but the garden is where I’d found my peace. Working alongside Liam, sometimes talking, sometimes not, but our silence was easy, both of us working through our issues. Often, in my head I spoke to Jack as I hoed and raked the garden, carefully pulled back weeds to discover tender shoots of plants Sid or Norma might have planted, vowing to nurture them. We all needed nurturing sometimes. The pain of losing Jack would come in waves and it was during the periods of intense emotion I would drive my fork into the ground harder and harder.Several times I’d been overcome with dizziness, losing my balance. I was overdoing it, but it was cathartic. At the end of every day I texted a photo to Sid or FaceTimed him. Today he’d be seeing the house for the first time since I’d begun the renovations.

Upstairs, the radio was playing Chuck Berry’s ‘You Never Can Tell’. Noah was strutting across the room, paint tins swinging from his hands, head bopping to the beat. I could feel the smile form on my face. He must have sensed my presence because he spun round, cheeks colouring.

‘I was just tidying up before I fetch Sid.’

‘You’ve got some pretty fancy moves there, Noah.’

He put down the paint and beckoned me to him.

‘Oh no.’ I started to back away but he raced forward, taking my hand, spinning me round. ‘Noah.’ But my protest was weak, my feet already moving in time. Our steps in sync, mimicking each other’s moves, falling into the scene fromPulp Fiction, Noah working his Travolta hips and me momentarily feeling as sassy as Uma Thurman as our eyes remained fixed on each other. The track finished and Noah caught me around the waist and swung me around. I wriggled from his grasp, spell broken, no longer Uma but Libby, grief overshadowing those pure, unadulterated three minutes of fun. Noah’s face fell.

‘Go and fetch Sid,’ I said softly and he opened his mouth but then he turned away without speaking, his footsteps echoing on the wooden stairs.

I clicked the radio off.

While I waited for Noah to return with Sid I paced, a writhing mass of nerves in my stomach. I so wanted Sid to love what we’d done so far. Had we done enough? Too much? Retained the heart or stripped it away? By the time Noah pulled up outside, my hands were clammy, my knees weak.

The warmth was stifling as I hovered in the open doorway, watching Sid drink in every detail as he walked slowly towards the front door.

‘I’m glad you’re here and I can show you everything before we leave for the restaurant. I say everything but we haven’t started on the front garden yet. Or the downstairs. Perhaps I should—’

‘Perhaps you should relax, duck. I ain’t here to judge you. It’s … being back here, it feels …’

‘Strange?’

‘Like home. It feels like home, young Elizabeth. This is where my last memories of Norma are. Your last memories of Jack.’ He took my hand. I could feel the tremble in his that had nothing to do with age. ‘I ain’t one for spirits and all that but …’ He cast his gaze slowly around. ‘I can feel them here, Jack and Norma. Just like I feel them here too.’ He placed one palm over his chest and as I nodded, I placed my free hand over my own chest.

‘Let’s get inside. See what you’ve done to the place.’

It took an age for Sid to climb the stairs; when he reached the top, sweat had plastered his hair to his scalp. He hunched over the bannister, gathering his breath.

I crooked my arm and he took it and we slowly shuffled into the first room. Norma’s craft room.

Sid sank gratefully into the rocking chair by the open window, his watery eyes scanning the room, the floral pink wallpaper that was a nod to Sid and Norma’s bedroom.

‘She’d sit here, gazing out at the fields, her fingers busy, knitting, sewing, never having to look what she was doing. She’d justknow. It was the same with me; if something was wrong I wouldn’t have to say anything. She’d justknow. She was intuitive like that. Like your Jack. She’d have loved him.’

‘He’d have loved her, the way he loved you. I’m sorry you lost her, that you’ve had to live without her.’

‘But, Libby, if I weren’t living without her then she’d be living without me and I wouldn’t wish the pain of that on anyone. It’s hard, being the one left, but Norma was always at peace in this room. Fixing things. Making things. She’ll be at peace now.’

We fall into perfect quiet, broken only by the occasional squawk of a bird, a buzz of a bumble bee.

‘Are you going to use this room as accommodation for the retreat?’ he asked eventually.

‘No. I’m not sure what I’m going to do with all the rooms yet, particularly that small one off the kitchen. Remember you told me on moving-in day how you and Norma would sit in there eating her scones. But I know what this one is for. It’s for Alice when she wants to stay, Alice and her daughter.’ She’d found out the sex at the last scan.

‘A new life.’ Sid smiled. ‘Norma would like that. I like what you’ve done, Elizabeth, what you’re doing. Keep going and you’ll get there.’

‘Square by square.’ Standing behind him I squeezed his shoulder and he linked his fingers through mine.

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