My friends and neighbours turn to me now, their faces downcast. I know I should give them some kind of reassurance. Instead, I shake my head sadly.
‘You heard what the councillor said. We can’t force anyone to come and work here. I think it’s over.’
Right now, I can’t manage optimism. I’m heartbroken.
Chapter 47
Lorna
In the week since we’ve been back, Ella has been quiet, staying mostly in her room. In the evenings she talks on the phone to her cousin, the long conversations a stark contrast to her near silence during the day. I keep hoping that Ruby and Farah might turn up at the flat to visit. But they never do. My daughter is lonely, I know. And my heart aches for her. If I’m honest with myself, it’s not just her who feels alone.
I manage to persuade Ella out one afternoon; we head to the V&A together and on to a bakery Ella has been wanting to visit all year. But I find that I’m irritated by the crowds in the museum, by the dust that coats my eyes on the tube, by the heat of the city after our time away on the windswept island. I try not to let it show though. How is Ella ever going to adjust to being back if I don’t seem to want to be here either?
I buy us both an overpriced cupcake at the bakery.
‘Thanks, Mum.’
She’s smiling and I know she’s trying to look enthusiastic. But I can also tell that her heart isn’t in it. On the way home, we sit side by side on the rattling tube. Sweat drips down my back and my legs stick to the synthetic seat. I close my eyes and picture leaping into a cold sea. I send a message to Alice, telling her I’m thinking about our swims together. We haven’t spoken in person since I’ve been back but have been messaging frequently, as I have with Sarah too. But I sense that Alice is pulling back from me somehow; some days she takes a long time to reply and her responses are often short.
Suddenly, it is time to say goodbye again, this time to Cheryl, Mike and Frankie. Ella and I walk to their flat to wave them off in their rented van, the rest of their belongings already having headed north in a bigger lorry.
‘I’m going to miss you so much,’ I say to Cheryl as we hug, her gold hoop earrings catching in my hair. She smells of bubblegum and coffee and familiarity. ‘But I’ll call you, OK? And hope the journey goes well.’
She kisses me firmly on the cheek and I picture the bright red mark that she must have left there.
‘And come and visit soon?’ she calls as she climbs into the van, Frankie waving from his booster seat beside her.
Ella and I watch the van disappear around the corner and then we are left alone in front of my friend’s former home. It’s a home I know well, but looking up at it now it looks strangely unfamiliar. Without my friend in it, it is just a flat like any other on this street. My friend has gone and I sense the city around me shifting too, altered by her absence. It feels instantly less familiar, instantly duller. With Cheryl gone, what do I honestly have left here? A job I dislike and a tiny flat where I can hear the neighbours every day and every night through the thin partitions that slice through our lives. But what else? What else is there to fill my life in, to colour it between the stark black edges?
Eventually I turn away from the flat, linking my arm through Ella’s.
‘Come on. Let’s go home.’
But even as I say it, it feels all wrong. I say it, and my heart sinks.
The week passes, like time does even when you don’t particularly care if it races or crawls. I’m woken on Friday by a knock. Bleary-eyed, I open the door to the flat to see the postman with two parcels, one large and one small. I sign my name in a daze. As the postman turns away I notice his jacket is slick with rain. The heat has finally broken in the city, thank god. I take a deep breath of cool air, the first deep breath I feel I’ve taken since returning home, and shut the door, carrying the parcels back to my room.
I open the curtains and welcome the view of the rain. Droplets slide down the panes and the tarmac below is black with water. I push the window open a crack to breathe in the smell of the summer rain. Propping myself up against my pillows, I pull the parcels onto my lap. I’ll open the smallest one first. Inside is a folded letter and another bulky envelope.
Dear Lorna,
It was so nice to get to know you when you came to visit. I’m sorry that parts of your visit were far from happy. I know it can’t have been easy to come back at all and I admire your bravery, even though I know that you beat yourself up for not coming sooner. You were always welcome, just like you are still always welcome. But I understand that it had to be in your own time, on your own terms.
Thank you also for our paintings – Molly’s is hanging on her bedroom wall and I’ve chosen a spot in the kitchen for mine. It’s beautiful, thank you. Jack was very pleased with his gift too (it made him cry, although don’t tell him I told you that!).
I hope your journey back was OK and that the sun is shining down there in London. I hope these will remind you of some of the happier times during your stay – it was certainly a day we islanders will always remember.
With love from your friend,
Alice xx
I tear open the envelope and a glossy stack of photographs slips out into my hands. On the top of the pile is an image of Ella, blowing out the candles on her birthday cake on the beach. Her cheeks are puffed out, her eyes bright with the glow of the candles. I’m sitting next to her, watching Ella with a wide smile, my eyes trained on my daughter’s face. My darling daughter. With my thumb, I stroke the cheeks of the photograph her.
The rest of the photos show different moments from that day. Molly and Ella doing perfect cartwheels side by side on the beach, their feet bare, sand kicked up at their ankles, Ella’s curls wild as she spins upside down. Another taken a moment later as the two girls return to the ground and explode into laughter. I look closely at my daughter’s face captured in the photograph: its open, unselfconscious expression, a look of pure joy on her face. Another image shows all the tables set up on the beach, the mismatched chairs arranged beside them and the bunting that Alice and I made together flapping in the wind. There’s an image of Sarah, Alice and me chatting together around a bonfire, and another of a crowd dancing. I spot Ben and Sarah, Jean and Christopher, Molly, Ella and Olive, and there in the corner of the frame, me and Mallachy. I’m smiling, my hair falling slightly in front of my face, his hands around my waist. There’s another of Molly, Olive and Ella that Alice must have asked them to pose for at some point during the day. And finally, there’s the image that I do remember Alice taking, of everyone gathered around the tables, ready to tuck into their food. Some raise glasses, others are captured with forks aloft or hands paused in mid-air. Most people are smiling, but baby Harry is captured as he begins to cry, Tess holding him and pulling a silly face in an attempt to make him laugh. Rex is sitting on the sand looking up at the food with envy, as are several other of the island dogs. I spot a bottle of whisky next to Morag, whose mouth is open as though she is mid-conversation. And right in the middle of the photograph are me and Ella: two mainlanders welcomed into the island community. It’s a picture of an island and its islanders, of asummer afternoon, of happiness, of busy, noisy, messy life. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen such a nice photograph.
And then I look up. I’m alone in my bedroom, rain falling on the city outside the window, a city that may hold millions of people but that feels right now as though it is completely empty. It’s a city I’ve lived in for years, but a place where I’ve never made a network of friends or found a sense of really belonging. I can see now that it’s my own fault – I built walls around myself in an attempt to protect myself and my daughter. Maybe those walls kept some pain out but they also shut out joy. This is the place and the life Ichose, but this summer has shown me how small my life here has been. How small my entire life has become.
I put the pictures and Alice’s letters aside. The next parcel is bigger.
