‘No. I stopped walking up the fells maybe a decade back. Going up was fine but the descent was too much for my knees, even with poles. Stephen and a couple of his friends had decided to do a final hike up several of the smaller fells that summer and Walla Crag was the last one.’ She sighed heavily. ‘Really was the last. I’m so grateful he wasn’t alone and that it was quick. He’d told his friends he was feeling a little lightheaded partway down so they stopped for a drink and he said he was going to close his eyes for five minutes. He never opened them again.’
‘Oh, Paulette. I don’t know what to say.’
She turned to me with a gentle smile but there were tears in her eyes. ‘You don’t need to say anything. We’re not here forever and nobody knows when our time will be up. I could spend my remaining days being angry at losing two husbands but, instead, I focus on how fortunate I was to be blessed with true love not once but twice, bringing me my children and grandchildren.’
‘Would you be interested in meeting someone else?’
‘If you’d asked me that question at any point last year, I’d have said a resounding no but, lately, I have been wondering whether lightning could strike three times. I miss having that special someone in my life. I don’t think anyone’s too old but I agree that itisprobably a bit harder to meet someone later in life. Harder but not impossible. For me, the hardest part is what goes on up here…’ She tapped her head, ‘and in here…’ She placed her hand over her heart. ‘We might think we’re ready but it’s not easy letting someone new in after the love of your life has gone, especially after so many years together.’
I had a question circling round my mind, desperate to be voiced and, if I asked it, there’d be no going back. This would be the moment I told Paulette everything. But I’d previously told myself that it was time and that she or Milly were the ones I’d tell first when the right opportunity presented itself. Could there be a better moment than now?
I took a deep breath, trying to still my nerves. ‘What happens if they weren’t the love of your life?’
Paulette’s brow creased. ‘Are you talking about Cliff?’
I lowered my eyes, my stomach in knots, knowing I’d cranked the handle too many times and the Jack-in-the-box was poised to spring whether I wanted it to or not.
‘You’ve always talked so warmly about Cliff,’ Paulette said after I nodded.
‘Because that’s how I felt. Hewasa wonderful man – my best friend – but…’ I whipped my hat off my head, suddenly feeling very hot.
‘You can tell me,’ Paulette said, her voice gentle and reassuring.
I studied her face and had the strongest feeling that I could trust her completely. There was only one person who knew the truth about Cliff and me and I’d never imagined I’d open up to anyone else but, ever since I’d joined Cake & Craft Club, my life had moved in a new and exciting direction. If I was going to continue that momentum, I was going to have to be honest about the past. I needed to in order to move on and, truth be told, I didn’t want to keep it inside anymore. I wanted that Jack-in-the-box to have its freedom.
23
THIRTY-NINE YEARS AGO
The ninth anniversary of Mum’s death fell on a Sunday and I wondered if I was the only one who’d even registered the date. I’d risen early to make Dad a cooked breakfast as usual, which he’d eaten in silence before pulling on his work boots and heading out. As the door slammed shut, I sank into the seat he’d vacated, pushed his plate aside and lowered my head into my arms.
Even though Dad was out and Marianne was in her bedroom, I could feel the heavy atmosphere of despair closing in on me. If it hadn’t been for Cliff, it might have pulled me under. His friendship had been the only brightness in an otherwise dreary and monotonous existence. His home next door had become my retreat. We talked, played Scrabble or cards, watched television or read books in companionable silence. But all that was about to change. Cliff had secured a new job working for a kitchen fitter in Keswick and it made no sense for him to commute from our hamlet every day so he’d sold the cottage and bought a terraced house near Keswick town centre. The sale and purchase were set for completion next week. I was dreading it and wished I could leave home too, but I didn’t have the financial means and I feared I never would.
I’d turned twenty-one in January and was feeling more trapped than ever. My job didn’t pay well enough for me to leave home, especially when Dad insisted on me handing over half my wages to cover my keep. By the time I’d paid my bus fare to work from the nearest village (which I had to cycle to and from) and covered an occasional trip to the cinema with Cliff, I had very little left so there was no way I was ever going to manage to save enough for a rental deposit. I didn’t need anything flashy – a small bedsit would be better than here – but I couldn’t see a way of it happening.
‘Wish you were still here, Mum,’ I muttered before reluctantly pushing my chair back and clearing the table.
Dad never talked about Mum. He barely talked full stop. He was an advocate ofreal men don’t crybut I knew he did it in private. I’d shed enough tears of my own to recognise the redness of his eyes, the haunted expression, the hunch of his shoulders.
We had a roast with all the trimmings every Sunday lunchtime and Dad insisted on us sitting down as a family to eat. The whole thing was a joke as there was no conversation – just the scrape of cutlery and the occasional request for someone to pass the salt or gravy. On today’s menu was roast lamb and I’d already prepared the meat and vegetables. I usually put the oven on while I was peeling the potatoes but my thoughts of my final months with Mum had distracted me and it was only when I opened the oven door to insert the roasting tin that I realised I’d forgotten. Cursing under my breath, I closed the door and switched the oven on but the wait for it to get up to heat made me feel restless. The door between the kitchen and dining room was open and the piano enticed me. Playing a couple of Mum’s favourite pieces would soon pass the time.
* * *
I was so lost in Beethoven’s ‘Moonlight Sonata’ that I didn’t even hear the kitchen door opening and closing.
‘What the hell’s going on?’ Dad’s voice was loud and gruff as he burst into the dining room. I stopped playing and stared at him in horror. Why was he back? It couldn’t possibly be lunchtime.
‘Why’s the lamb on the side?’ he demanded.
‘I erm… I lost track of time. It’s Mum’s anniversary and I was playing her favourites.’
My fingers were still poised over the piano keys as Dad strode across the room.
‘Why? She’s not here to hear them, is she?’
That was harsh. ‘I know, but I still wanted to…’ I gulped. My brain told me to stop talking and make a dash for the kitchen to cobble some lunch together and have the lamb for tea instead, but my fingers sought out the keys and, in a moment of insanity, I played the chorus of Simon & Garfunkel’s ‘Bridge Over Troubled Water’.
‘Are you taking the piss?’ Dad yelled.
