‘We’re going to spend it with Violet. It’s her last Christmas. We’re going to go there. The local restaurant caters – apparently, it’s excellent. And you won’t have to lift a finger.’
‘But . . .’
‘Although they’ve said if you want to volunteer in the care home kitchen, you’re more than welcome – they can always do with the extra hands. You could probably be in charge of the others,’ said Mirren. ‘You know they need six hundred roast potatoes?’
‘NO,’ said Nora, hands to her mouth. ‘How on earth do they manage that?’
‘With a LOT of fuss and organisation, I imagine,’ said Mirren.
Nora thought about it for a long time. ‘Well,’ she said eventually. ‘Perhaps I’ll give them a call.’
‘I’ve WhatsApped you the number already,’ said Mirren. ‘They’re waiting to hear. It’s going to be great. Violet’s friend is down staying from Scotland. They’ve let her check in for a few days into an empty room. She says it’s like a holiday.’
‘Goodness,’ said Nora. ‘I thought all Violet’s friends were dead.’
‘So did she,’ said Mirren, thinking happily of the two women she’d left nattering – Violet, of all things, out of bed on the chair, chatting away nineteen to the dozen, catching up on two long lives and sharing memories of the fathers they had lost long ago; the stories they had shared.
‘A letter came for you,’ said her mother. ‘Imagine! A letter.’
Mirren went and looked at the envelope. It was beautiful; the envelope was heavy cream and it had been addressed with a fountain pen and a copperplate hand. Mirren wondered how Theo had figured out where her mother lived, then remembered she should probably turn off her Snapchat map.
She didn’t touch the letter, didn’t pick it up. She’d nearly slept with him. She’d listened to all of it, just as she had with Rob, before she’d given him all her money and he’d vanished. And then a pretty boy had come along and planned to do exactly the same thing. Ugh. No.
Chapter 31
It was – oddly, given they all had to sit under very strong lighting, and the room was incredibly warm, and everyone had to shout because everyone was deaf – one of the very best Christmases Mirren could remember. And Violet managed to sit up at the table, and although she could only take a little soup, she shared a dram of whisky with June, holding Mirren’s hand.
For June’s part, her family, most of whom lived in London, were pleasantly surprised that she had come down back to the city of her birth. In fact, among them there had been some fairly frantic WhatsApping that, given June kept forgetting things, couldn’t look after the house, and let in literally anybody who came to the door, well, perhaps it was time? And this place was pretty nice? And handy? And June, basking in the luxuriant warmth that meant only wearing two cardigans, couldn’t believe people just brought you food, and you got to chat with your best friend all day and, okay, they couldn’t promise miniature ponies all the time, but as things went, it could definitely be worse.
When Mirren got up to leave at six, to go to join some very neglected girlfriends who didn’t celebrate Christmas with their families and wanted to go and eat Chinese food, she kissed Violet on the forehead.
‘You brought me,’ said Violet, ‘such a wonderful gift. The best thing. Far, far better than ...Shepherd’s Land and hollyhocks.’
That winter was cold, but it didn’t feel so in the home. Warm and safe and with constant companionship, Violet grew thinner, and quieter, and passed gently, less than a week later, everyone there by her side, stroking her hair, holding her hand, while Mirren read from the edition Violet had once given her:
For the long nights you lay awake
And watched for my unworthy sake:
For your most comfortable hand
That led me through the uneven land:
For all the story-books you read:
For all the pains you comforted:
Mirren was there, as well as her brothers, June, and Mirren’s mother, who had been offered a job at the care home after Christmas and taken it, and was having an absolute whale of a time bossing the young staff around. To the surprise of Mirren and her brothers, Nora’s attention to detail, consistency and willingness to perform any job herself meant that the people who worked for her absolutely adored her. And it made her much, much easier to be with for Mirren too.
After the small, tender funeral, Mirren and her mother discussed packing up what was left of Violet’s small house before handing over the keys to an estate agent.
‘It’s to be put on the market and sold and split between us all,’ said Nora. ‘But I’m the executor of the will. She’s made a special bequest to you – her pearls, if you want them, plus anything you’d like from the house.’
‘I wouldn’t mind a couple of photos,’ said Mirren. ‘We could share them, yeah? Copy them out for everyone.’
Nora nodded. ‘That’s a nice idea. Can I leave the house with you? I ordered some packing crates, but there’s nothing there. She did a massive clear-out before she went to the home. Always was thoughtful.’
‘She was,’ agreed Mirren.
