‘After that I’m going to kick my ball in the garden, Granny got me a net.’ In true Isaac fashion he flitted from one topic of conversation to the next with barely a pause.
‘A net?’
‘A goal,’ he said, eyes widening, hands demonstrating and no doubt flicking mess everywhere.
‘Well, that was very kind of them.’ Yet another thing she couldn’t give him – space to play outside, room to kick a ball and run about and be a kid. When his grandparents came to collect their grandson from the flat, they never hung around long and always held get-togethers at their place rather than hers, which was absolutely fine except it only reminded Addie that she and Isaac didn’t have the sort of home she wanted long term.
But beggars couldn’t be choosers, right?
She remembered his question about the Lego boat. ‘I think the Lego boat should be fine in the water,’ she told him. ‘And if it falls apart, you’ll just have to rebuild it again.’
He grinned. But then he was onto something else. ‘Are you going to the beach, Mummy?’ A little frown formed on his brow.
‘I’m still in my pyjamas but I might venture down there later, yes.’
He looked pained. ‘Will you explore the rock pools?’
She could honestly say, ‘No, I’ll save that for when you’re with me.’
‘I wish I was coming.’
‘You’ll have too much fun there with Granny and Grandad to even think about me.’
Maurie leaned into the picture with a face that suggested it was time to wrap up the call. Addie waved at the screen and blew a kiss.
She lay on her bed, looked across at the tiny vase with the pink asters Gayle had placed there. It gave her a jolt of sympathy for the aunt they never really contacted and certainly never saw. But it had worked both ways. Aunt Gayle could’ve encouraged her to stay on the island, to bake, yet she hadn’t.
Her gaze moved to take in the sky beyond the dormer window. She’d loved looking up at the vast expanse when she was little too.
Addie was eight years old when she first came to live here, clutching a pile of her birthday cards, each with a big number 8 on the front. The cards had still been up at her dad’s house, on the windowsill in the front room, where all the birthday cards went and stayed for at least a couple of weeks.
After their dad died and the girls were coaxed to pack up their things in their bedrooms with their grandparents’ help, Addie had told Susanna that she wanted to be called Addie from now on. Her dad had never called her that – it was always Adeleine – but she no longer wanted anyone else to use her full name now he’d gone. She was Addie to her friends at school, occasionally she was Addie to her big sister, so that was the name she wanted to keep.
Later that morning after they’d finished their packing, Aunt Gayle had come to get her and Susanna from Portsmouth where they’d travelled to with their grandparents. Addie didn’t know much about Anchor Island, and she hadn’t ever wanted to leave Oxford, but she’d hugged her grandparents goodbye, listened to Aunt Gayle thank them for taking such good care of the girls, and then Addie, Susanna and Aunt Gayle had boarded a ferry to Guernsey where they met another connection to the island that would be their home from then on.
Addie remembered how much she’d cried when her grandparents told them that they would be going to live with Aunt Gayle. She couldn’t understand why they couldn’t stay with them. Her grandpa said that they were old, that the girls would have a good life and so many adventures with their dad’s sister, but Addie wasn’t so sure.
‘What do you think?’ That day Aunt Gayle had stood beside Addie in the doorway of one of the two bedrooms upstairs in her cottage. Susanna had already been shown to her bedroom, next to Addie’s, and all Addie would have to do was tap on the wall separating them if she needed her sister.
‘It’s nice,’ said Addie. She looked over at the small glass vase of little pink flowers next to the bed and she wanted to go across, put her nose to them and see if they smelt real. They looked real. Susanna had had blue ones in her bedroom. She wondered if they smelt the same.
Aunt Gayle’s words galloped along with, ‘This is your bedroom. I’m downstairs. The upstairs is yours – there’s plenty of space. It’s nice and bright too.’
Addie knew what it meant when adults talked fast and seemed to be finding anything to fill the silence. It meant they were uncomfortable, awkward. Well, so was she. She wasn’t sure this was ever going to feel like a home, no matter how nice the colour of the walls or the little cluster of flowers or the view of the sky when she looked up and out of the window.
She had two windows, just like Susanna, and on the one that looked out over the Close she started to line up her birthday cards, the card from her dad closest to the bed and where she could reach it and trace her fingers over the words he’d written.
‘Let me help you, Adeleine,’ said Aunt Gayle, reaching out and taking the pile of cards. She had flour up one arm and a bit in her dark hair, even though she hadn’t even been at work. Or maybe she had before she came to meet the girls and bring them to this new life.
Susanna appeared in the doorway and came into Addie’s room. ‘I can help her do that,’ she instructed. And to Aunt Gayle she said, ‘She calls herself Addie now. Not Adeleine.’
Addie looked at the carpet.
‘Oh, right,’ said Aunt Gayle. Addie was glad she didn’t ask why.
To Addie, Susanna said, ‘Want me to help you arrange the cards the way they were before? I think I can remember.’
Addie nodded.
