And as Gayle listened to them describe the best parts, the challenges and the fun, she knew she couldn’t ask for anything more. She’d got them here to the island, but they’d done the rest – they’d slowly allowed themselves to settle and feel comfortable, and there was no feeling quite like it.
21
SUSANNA
It was only one more day until the living funeral and Susanna was glad they were going. After their break in Guernsey and in Sark, she’d managed to put all of her troubles out of her head – no stressing about Alex, no feeling guilty about the pull she felt towards Mateo, no worrying about how she’d been as a teenager to her aunt. She’d felt a freedom like never before, but today, now they were back on Anchor Island and had a good catch up with Gayle before she disappeared off to the café, it was time to sort through the last of their dad’s things.
Addie opened up the flaps of another box and pulled out a black and white print. ‘Look, this one is Mum and Dad.’
Kneeling next to her sister, Susanna leaned closer. ‘They look really happy in that picture, don’t they?’
‘Mum had great legs.’ Addie giggled. ‘Wish I’d inherited those.’
‘Oh, come on, you did. Your legs in shorts every summer were the envy of all the girls and the delight of every boy on this island.’ Susanna took the framed photograph into her hands. Their parents looked blissfully happy, like nothing could ever come between them, as they beamed into the camera, their hands together on the handle of a knife about to cut through one of the tiers of their wedding cake. Their mother was wearing a beautiful veil held in place with a ring dotted with dainty flowers. Her dress, knee-length and flared from the waist, as well as the white heels she wore, showed off her long and slender legs.
Addie’s phone pinged and she looked at it.
‘What’s wrong?’ Judging by Addie’s face there was something.
‘It’s a text from Maurie. Jonty’s in town and he wants to see Isaac tomorrow.’
Jonty, Isaac’s absent father, had barely seen the kid since he was born. In fact, Susanna could count on the fingers of one hand how many times he’d visited Isaac. He’d even come to London and not bothered to get in touch. Addie put on a brave face, but Susanna knew her heart broke for her son when it seemed his own dad didn’t care all that much about him.
Susanna asked, ‘Do you think he’ll actually turn up this time?’ The guy had done that too, arranged to see his son and then bailed at the last minute.
‘Maurie has said she’s not telling Isaac until tomorrow in case he doesn’t.’
‘Try not to worry, eh?’ Although she knew her sister would. ‘Come on, let’s get on – it’ll take your mind off it.’ She pushed the box in front of Addie closer to her to encourage her to continue. It was better than thinking about useless Jonty.
During their holiday, Addie had had a really good time. Susanna knew she missed Isaac, but when she’d phoned him to say she’d been on a kayak he’d been so excited to hear about it, especially about his Auntie Susie’s attempt to get on when she stepped too close to the edge and fell in the water. Susanna wondered whether perhaps Isaac was so happy because his mum was smiling into the camera in a way she hadn’t done in a long time.
They pulled even more photographs of their parents from the box. Mostly they were black and white shots, and Susanna couldn’t help wondering why they’d left them here for so long. They were beautiful pictures, after all. Perhaps it had been fate’s way of giving them a pat on the back for coming back to the island at long last.
Susanna soon got bored of the box she had started to go through – it contained a load of old paperwork for the Cuppas and Treats Café. Why their dad had kept it, she had no idea. Nostalgia? Tax purposes? It would all need to go, it simply wasn’t needed any more.
Instead, she looked at the photographs Addie was going through. ‘That’s the café in Oxford.’ The photograph was of Harry and Gayle Rafferty standing out front.
‘They’re both so young,’ said Addie. ‘Look at Aunt Gayle’s hair, it’s gorgeous with all those curls.’
‘You have those same curls.’
‘So did you when you were younger.’
‘I did, until perimenopause started. Now any body or waves in my hair seem to have disappeared.’ Susanna harrumphed.
‘I’ve heard women at the office talking about what perimenopause is like,’ said Addie. ‘I’m dreading it.’
‘Some women sail through it. I don’t think I’m doing too badly, most days,’ she added with a cheeky smile.
Addie’s own smile faded. ‘Mum didn’t even get to the right age to have to face it.’
Cynthia Rafferty had died aged thirty-nine, just a year older than Addie was now. Susanna assumed Cynthia hadn’t gone through menopause, nor had she known what it was like to have her hair go grey. She hadn’t got to grow old or see her daughters turn into women. Harry Rafferty hadn’t really got to see much more, and some days Susanna wasn’t sure what she accepted easier – the car accident that snatched their mother away from them or the terminal illness that took their father. The outcomes were the same.
Susanna looked again at the picture. ‘I wonder who runs it now. I wonder if it’s even a café any more.’
‘It is.’
She started. ‘You’ve been?’
