‘I’d need to check with Hattie about our schedule,’ I stammered.
‘No problem. Just let me know.’
He placed a gentle hand on his mum’s shoulder, causing her eyes to flutter open.
‘Gideon. You’re back already. Is the historian still here?’ she asked once he’d kissed her on the cheek.
‘I’m just heading off, Agnes,’ I answered. ‘Thanks for a lovely afternoon.’
‘Wait.’ She started the arduous task of standing up. ‘I promised the dog a piece of ham.’
‘No, honestly, it’s fine. Please don’t get up.’ I tried not to wince as Agnes sank back onto the cushions.
‘I want to get up! I’m not an invalid.’
After another unsuccessful attempt, she reluctantly accepted her son’s hand, wobbling on seized-up joints as he helped her to her feet.
‘Mum? Are you all right?’
She didn’t look all right. Agnes swayed, eyes tightly closed as Gideon tried to steady her.
‘I’m just… can you…? I need to sit down.’
‘I’m just a bit dizzy,’ she breathed, following a tense couple of minutes after Gideon lowered her back onto the sofa, pressing an anxious hand to her pale cheek, his eyes assessing every twitch. ‘You pulled me up too fast.’
I fetched a glass of water and passed him a blanket from the back of a chair. ‘Funny turns’, as some of my clients called them, were something I’d witnessed often enough to prompt me to complete a first-aid course. Over the years, I’d got better at spotting the difference between something needing medical attention, like a potential mini-stroke, and what was simply too much stress or becoming overwhelmed. After a few more minutes, Agnes appeared to rally, insisting on shuffling to the bathroom, with a detour to check the dinner wasn’t drying out.
‘I’m fine,’ she snapped for the dozenth time, catching Gideon loitering by the bathroom door when she came out. ‘I’m old. I had a busy day. Drama over. Can we please eat now? Starving me won’t help.’
With one glance at the strain behind Gideon’s smile, I took plates from the open shelving unit and spooned out three portions while Agnes took a seat at the kitchen table.
‘Well, if we’re having a guest then the least you can do is open a bottle,’ she said, with a twinkle that caused Gideon’s shoulders to visibly relax a couple of inches. ‘Now, with all that nonsense, I haven’t had a chance to tell you what we’ve been up to.’
Gideon listened patiently as Agnes gave a blow-by-blow account of our trip into the village. By the time she’d finished telling him about the butcher, the ham had become a thoughtful gift from a friend rather than a backhanded insult. She also insisted that I gave Muffin not only a generous slice to take back with us, but a bowlful of hotpot, seeing as her dinner was back at the house. As soon as Agnes finished eating, she declared that she was finishing off her glass of wine with a book in bed. I cleared up while Gideon lit a fire in between pretending not to be making sure Agnes was safely settled in her downstairs bedroom, then I topped up our glasses while he checked on her again, under the pretext of bringing her medication.
‘I’m sorry,’ he sighed, collapsing onto the sofa. ‘When I asked if you’d call in, I didn’t think it would end up being the whole day.’
‘It’s fine. I didn’t have anything else to do and, like I said, we had fun. Well. Mostly.’ I braved a careful glance at him. ‘That couldn’t have been at all fun, seeing your mum like that.’
Gideon shook his head. ‘It’s kind of par for the course these days. It’s why I worry about her, being home alone so often. I’ve tried to get her to have one of those emergency wrist alarms in case she falls while I’m out. Or at least to spend more time at Hattie’s. She can sit in the sunroom by herself and not feel as if she’s bothering anyone, but Lizzie would be around to fetch her a cup of tea and check on her.’
‘She said everyone in the village treats her like a charity case. Finding the ham really upset her.’
He furrowed his brow in frustration. ‘Do you think that’s why the butcher did it?’
‘Not at all. Is there a reason why she might feel that way, though? Has she been made to feel inferior in the past?’
Gideon took a sip of wine while he considered that. ‘Dad had to give up his job when his health deteriorated. I’m pretty sure my uncle Leonard, Hattie’s father, used to send us money, long after Dad died. Mum was a medical receptionist, so we could get by, but it wasn’t Riverbend. And for some reason, we never visited. They didn’t even swap Christmas cards, let alone a phone call. Maybe Mum felt we weren’t welcome. I only knew about the money because I found a cheque when I was a teenager. There’s a lot I don’t know, and once Mum’s gone, I never will.’
‘Have you asked Hattie? She might know more about why they didn’t keep in touch.’
‘Hattie’s even more closed off about it than Mum, if that’s possible. To be honest, I was shocked when she said you were coming.’
‘If it was me, I’d have been upset that Hattie was prepared to talk to a stranger and not her own cousin.’
‘Yeah, I was a bit.’ He gave me a sideways glance. ‘Until I met the stranger.’
‘Is this what asking me on a date was about, then?’ I asked, confident enough, due to the crackle between us, that it wasn’t. ‘Trying to worm your way into my affections so I’ll blab the family secrets?’
