She showed me a sketch of over a dozen crows all wearing different things like hats, waistcoats and glasses. One carried an umbrella in its wing, another a shopping basket.
‘They’re fantastic. But not at all like your usual designs.’
She sighed, adding a stripy tie to one of the crows. ‘Things are changing.I’mchanging. I suppose it’s inevitable that I’d need to create differently, too.’
‘You’re changing?’
Hattie carried on adding to the picture. ‘It’s impossible to relive your past without it affecting you. A past like mine, anyway. That’s half the point. I’ve spent all this time speaking to people about the need to confront painful memories before they can grow and move on from them. I’m sick of feeling like an awful hypocrite. I know I have to do this, but I also know that by the time we’re finished, nothing will seem the same.’
‘In a positive way, I hope?’
She looked at me. ‘I hope so, too.’
We drank our tea, Hattie still working on the picture, until she put down her pencil and closed the sketchbook. ‘Tomorrow, then. I’ve got a private session first thing, and I’m hoping most of the Changelings will brave it back, so let’s meet for lunch, then get back to business. For now, I need to go to bed.’
‘I did want to ask you something, quickly, if that’s okay?’
‘Go on.’ Hattie had stood, but she leant on the back of her chair, waiting for the question.
‘Agnes and Gideon keep mentioning the Riverbend book, and how I’m a historian. I’m not a good liar and find it quite stressful. Would it be okay if I mentioned to them that I’m really here to help you catalogue and decide what to do with the contents of the attic, as long as they don’t tell anyone else?’
Hattie pursed her lips.
‘I think we can trust them.’
She straightened up. ‘Sophie, can I remind you that the non-disclosure form you signed included my aunt and cousin. If anything, they’re the people I most want to keep this from. If it’s too stressful, then stop spending time with them. I don’t have to explain myself to you, and if you can’t handle it, then I’ll find someone who can.’
Oof.
I sat back, stunned by her response. As I’d already mentioned, I’d experienced first-hand how the goings on in many families were a mystery to the rest of us, and I wasn’t going to be rattled by her insistence on secrecy. However, in the week I’d spent at Riverbend, Hattie had never spoken harshly to anyone. It seemed as though I’d touched a very raw nerve, and I wondered for a moment whether Agnes was right to feel as if Hattie’s welcome wasn’t as all-encompassing as she made out.
‘Understood.’
She gave a brusque nod, then quickly left the room, Flapjack padding after her.
‘Not understood, actually,’ I told Muffin as I tidied up the mugs and rinsed out the teapot. ‘Although I’ve a feeling that by the time I’ve finished this project, things might be clearer. The bigger issue, for now, is having to keep up the pretence with Gideon.’
Muffin cocked her head, eyebrows arching. Deceit was an unknown concept to her.
‘I’m wondering if the only answer is to write the stupid book.’
* * *
Needless to say, I’d been a total wreck the summer my exuberantly warm-hearted family died on their way to visit me in Leeds.
Chris, my sister Lilly’s fiancé, had survived the impact of an eighteen-tonne lorry jack-knifing into the side of his car. He’d spent three weeks in hospital then moved back to his mum’s house in Devon. I’d visited him before he’d been discharged, but an ocean of mutual grief was the only thing we had in common, and the funeral was the last time I’d seen the man meant to be my brother-in-law.
After Chris’s dad had told me the news, I’d stumbled upstairs and started throwing random things into a bag, knowing I had to go home even though the people I needed weren’t there any more. I was trying to remember how to breathe when there was a knock on my bedroom door and an angel walked in.
I knew Ezra from Christmas parties, summer barbeques and all sorts of occasions in between. My parents had bought, sold and merged several small businesses over the years, and Ezra’s mother had grown from a trusted solicitor to close friend through all the complicated wranglings and roadblocks. With my parents having no siblings between them, at some point this friendship had morphed into family. Once his mother had retired, Ezra had taken on her clients. I’d seen him evolve from the lanky youth who’d humorously tolerated my childish adoration, through serious student, to confident young professional.
And now, there he was, standing in my scuffed bedroom doorway holding a mug of tea.
‘I need to go home.’
‘Of course.’ Ezra nodded.
One hand clutched a pair of knickers, the other pressed against my disintegrating heart. ‘I don’t know how to get there.’
