‘What are you suggesting…’
With a wicked look in his eye he recited words from a scene in her parents’ garden, many moons before. ‘Well, you must get a lunch hour. What say I pick you up tomorrow? Would that suit? And they say it’s going to be a bit of a scorcher so maybe after we’ve eaten, we could head to my room. I’ll order us a bottle of something cold and fizzy and we can sit on the balcony and chat, or whatever you want. How does that sound?’
Robin heard the catch in her throat but managed to answer, remembering her young self, Sandra Dee, standing in the forecourt of his hotel. And even if she didn’t sound bold then, this time, she did. ‘I think that would be lovely.’
* * *
Robin’s bottom was numb from sitting chatting to Arty who’d called her back the second he’d collected his shopping. She really needed to get inside and make supper so as much as it pained her, brought the conversation to a close.
‘Listen, you. I need to get off. Willow might be hungry, and I’ve been gone a while, so I’ll call you tomorrow and check you’re behaving.’
‘I will have you know I always behave unless I’m with you and I’m getting thoroughly peeved because being good is utter torture.’
This made Robin smile, knowing exactly what it was like, yet it also reaffirmed their feelings for one another. ‘Yes, my love, it is. But it will soon be over, and I expect you on the first flight out the minute they say it’s safe.’
‘I promise I will be at the front of the queue for a ticket but before you go, how is Willow? You didn’t say.’
Arty had grown to adore Willow, becoming the best uncle, present and correct at all her milestones. He was her ardent supporter who, despite his thoughts on the church, was furious with Edmund for swaying her from her vocation. And through all of what followed, ‘the trouble’ with Cris and the carnage of tragedy, not once had he begrudged his niece and nephew for the hold they had on Robin.
There had been the briefest of opportunities once they’d flown the nest but she was a mother first and foremost, and then a grandmother who wanted to be hands on, not far away. And now she was Willow’s carer, determined and devoted, going nowhere fast.
‘We’ve had a few good days actually. I ordered more angel books, as she calls them. She still pores over the photo album and sometimes she sleeps with… Robin couldn’t bear to say it so moved on. But at least she’s not had one of her episodes for a while.’
Willow rode the waves of her depression and when she was up, had discovered the power of angels and believed every word in the books she bought online.
‘That’s good… and when I come over I’ll bring her some knick-knacks from the shrine. A girl can never have enough holy water and rosary beads.’ Arty loved to tease Willow and she’d always taken it in good part, countering his quips by darting over and making the sign of the cross on his head and demanding in the most dramatic voice that Satan left his body. How Robin yearned for her child to be like that once more.
‘Yes, she will, now, bugger off and sleep well. I really do have to go.’
Once they said their goodbyes, Robin stood, wincing at her bruised bottom and creaky knees and after dusting off her skirt, headed down the uneven path to the vicarage. As she passed the door of the church she paused and laid her hand on the door, closed her eyes, and made a silent prayer.
‘Hello, it’s me. The fallen one. Just dropping by to say I’m sorry, again, for being a big disappointment and to remind you that even though I’m in your bad books, not to take it out on Willow and if you can, amongst all the other stuff you’ve got going on, do you think you might give her a break, because she’s a good girl, the best. That’s it. And don’t forget, let’s keep this between us. Don’t want anyone knowing I still care. I always will.’
CHAPTERNINETEEN
GINA
The solar lightsdotted around the perimeter of the garden gently lit the rockery and alpines that nestled between Gina’s tasteful water features, and the not so tasteful colourful gnomes the children insisted on.
Above, in the blackened skies that shrouded the village in darkness, stars pinged into life, diamonds poking through a swathe of velvet. By her side lay Jimmy, arms behind his head, eyes closed and a smile on his face and when she looked at him, the only thought Gina had was,He’s beautiful.
Behind them, Max and Mimi were sleeping in the tent, an online purchase that had thrilled them, and her other big kid, too. The excitement when the sleeping bags and camping stove arrived was off the scale and the second the four-man tent was erected, Max and Mimi took up residence. When Babs related the story about Bridie’s gazebos it had given Gina the idea to create a makeshift campsite in her own back garden.
They’d had umpteen nights under the stars and the only thing that prevented them from bending to their children’s iron-will and living the outdoor life permanently was Jimmy’s bad back and his ‘husbandly requirements’ that weren’t being met inside his sleeping bag.
Gina had given him a gentle slap for that, but his comment made her so damn happy because he still wanted her. Any niggles that popped into her head about being a stop-gap, or him making do were barred entry.
Not that she would tell a soul, for fear of sounding crass and uncaring but the Morgan family lockdown had been idyllic, an escape from the horrors of the world. If she had to use one word, Gina would choosecemented, because that’s how she felt her marriage was in that moment in time.
They’d found their groove, a routine that wasn’t the norm but had become it, a way of existing together as a family in harmony against the odds. Staying safe, staying sane, staying together.
And in his usual ingenious way, Jimmy had added a string to Gina’s bow when he suggested she expand her online consultancy by setting up a Facebook page with ideas for upcycling bits and bobs around the home.
People were bored out of their heads and looking for something to do and it was her thing, saving the planet. Her special cupboard for recycled plastic was Jimmy’s favourite tease because Ginahatedwaste of any kind so not only was she the ‘Leftover Queen’ she was also his ‘Takeaway Carton Princess.’
Her reluctance to waste food came from a childhood of doing without and making damn sure you scraped your plate when a meal was put in front of you, just in case. The rest was borne from watching telly with Willow, where David Attenborough scared the crap out of anyone who cared about the world and all the species that inhabited it.
Gina had mulled Jimmy’s suggestion over for a day or two. Lack of confidence was mostly to blame for her initial dallying, and then an attack of paranoia and too much reading between the lines.
