Hopefully I’d been the only one to notice and we could forget about it, but when the guests started moving out for the buffet, I felt Regan’s and Clarke’s eyes on me. Regan placed his hand over mine.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked.
‘Of course!’ My voice sounded strained as it forced past the growing lump in my throat. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’
He squeezed my hand. ‘It won’t have been deliberate.’
‘If it was, I deserve it.’
‘No, you don’t,’ the pair of them chorused.
I looked from Regan’s eyes to Clarke’s, my own filling with tears. ‘Don’t be nice to me. It’ll tip me over the edge.’ I drew a deep breath. ‘So, how are the plans going for your side hustle?’
They’d met at art college, bonded over a shared passion for Victorian design, and now both worked for Clarke’s family’s business – Darrowby’s Auction House & Removals, known locally as just Darrowby’s. Most of their work was on the auction side of the business, undertaking house clearances, valuing items and running auctions. They loved it and had no intention of leaving but they were steadily building a side business capitalising on their artistic talents by designing Victorian-inspired textiles.
As I listened to them enthusiastically updating me on their business plans, my melancholy lifted momentarily but, when we returned from the buffet a little later, it came back. Everything had looked and smelled delicious, but I had no appetite for it and struggled to eat the few items I’d added to my plate. Looking down the table at my family chatting and laughing, I had the sensation of being on the edge of everything. There were updates on things I knew nothing about and in-jokes which made me very aware of how much of an outsider I’d become. Nobody had pushed me out. It was all on me. I hadn’t just removed myself from my family physically by moving across the country to Newcastle. I’d removed myself emotionally. If Mum not mentioning me in her speech had been deliberate, that was all on me too.
3
As soon as Dad and Georgia helped her across the room to greet her guests, I’d been worried about Mum. When I’d noticed her gripping tightly to the table during her speech, that concern had deepened, but it was how the afternoon played out that made me realise how much her mobility had deteriorated since I last visited.
Mum loved socialising and I’d long admired her ability to circulate at events, ensuring she spoke to everyone. This afternoon she’d barely left her chair, allowing guests to come to her for a catch-up, sometimes prompted by Georgia. The only time she moved was to visit the ladies’ and she’d clung to Georgia’s arm as she crossed the room then. Without Dad to support her on the other side, it was clear to me how unsteady Mum was on her feet. I’d wanted to jump up and help but I’d noticed Dad watching intently, looking poised to rush over if needed, and concluded that Mum was trying to draw as little attention as possible to her mobility issues by just having Georgia’s assistance.
I wanted to speak to my parents to find out how bad things really were, but this wasn’t the time or place. Guests might overhear and it would likely dampen Mum’s spirits on her special day. Any chance of a general catch-up with my parents was a struggle as, every time the chairs around them were vacated, someone else slipped in for a chat and I thought it would be rude to plonk myself down beside them and join in with someone else’s conversation. Not that I had the confidence to do that unless the conversation was work-based.
By 4p.m. I’d accepted that I wasn’t going to get any time with my parents and, if I wanted to find out how Mum was doing, I’d need to make another trip over to Willowdale. I’d spoken to all our relatives and several of my parents’ friends and was feeling exhausted from batting away the questions about when I was coming home. I needed to be where people weren’t so I grabbed my coat and scarf and set off on a walk through the village. With sunset imminent, the light was fading but it wouldn’t be fully dark for a while yet.
Wandering along the footpath, I passed The White Willow on the right – a café by day and bistro by evening during the peak season. I’d never been inside as it had only opened a couple of years ago but Mum and Dad were regulars. Their next-door neighbours, Aled and Kelly, owned it but as they’d only moved to the village after buying the café, I’d never met them myself. The outside lights were off, signalling that it was closed for the day, but I could see a couple of staff inside stacking chairs on the tables and cleaning the floor.
I passed houses on the left and right. Derwent Rise was five doors down from The White Willow. Warm white lantern lights strung across the front of my parents’ home and fairy lights draped around a couple of potted shrubs either side of the door made it look really inviting. My parents loved their house so much. With stunning views across Derwent Water, it was hardly surprising – if a bit morbid – that they’d both said the only way they’d ever leave their home was in a coffin.
Reaching Willowdale Marina on the left, I paused by the entrance. If I kept walking, I’d hit a few patches without footpaths. Walking on the road in the dark wearing black clothes wasn’t the best idea but I wasn’t ready to return to the Lakeside Inn just yet. The metal barrier was down so vehicles couldn’t get through but there was room to walk around it. I knew the owner and didn’t think he’d mind if I cut through and wandered down to the lakeside.
I passed the buildings and headed down a slope to the pebbly beach. Several small motor boats and sailing boats were moored to a wooden pier in front of me. There was a smaller jetty at the other end of the beach with nothing moored to it. Several kayaks were hauled up on the beach in front of metal trolleys full of kayaks and canoes. Georgia and I had learned how to paddle both types of craft when we were kids and I had so many happy memories of splashing about on the water with my sister and our friends, playing tig, racing each other and doing challenges, as well as learning the safety and skills side of things.
The biting cold wind whipped my hair across my face and took my breath away. The lake was choppy but the sound of the water slapping against the beach was both mesmerising and comforting. Closing my eyes, I breathed in several deep lungfuls of fresh air, trying to quieten the battle inside my head.
Standing here beside the lake, even in the cold and darkness, I felt a sense of belonging. I never had and never would fall out of love with the Lake District. I still thought of it as home even though I hadn’t lived here for years. I liked and appreciated Newcastle but my heart would remain forever in Willowdale with the lake, the fells, my favourite old building – Willowdale Hall – and, of course, my family who I loved and missed so much.
The positive memories of my home weren’t only from my childhood. I’d had forty-five years of happiness here until that one terrible day when my whole world fell apart, the sunshine disappeared, and the black clouds arrived. The black clouds which rained down on me, and rained, and rained, and rained. If six and a half years living somewhere else hadn’t brought the sunshine back, would it ever return? Would I be better off coming back here? Even if those dark clouds didn’t disappear, at least I’d be with my family and not out on a limb, especially now that Graeme was no longer part of my life.
I opened my eyes and looked at the dark silhouettes of trees across the lake. Was I strong enough to come back knowing that Flynn was still here?
* * *
‘I was worried you’d left.’
The picnic bench outside The White Willow creaked and shifted as Georgia stepped up onto the seat and sat down beside me on the table top a little later.
‘I thought about it,’ I admitted.
‘Nowhere to sit over the road?’ she asked, gazing in the direction of the Lakeside Inn diagonally opposite us.
‘I didn’t look. I went for a walk to the marina and decided to park myself here for a bit before returning to the party.’
‘It’s bitter out here,’ she said, zipping her coat up higher, her breath hanging in the air. ‘Aren’t you freezing?’
‘Can’t feel my extremities anymore.’
