‘Home sweet home!’ I say, trying to make my voice cheerful as we bump down the dirt road that runs alongside the beach and then climbs the hill to the farmhouse.
‘The Halifaxes’ old place,’ says Lorna, surprise in her voice. ‘I didn’t realise that’s where you lived. It looks completely different.’
When Lorna has written to Jack over the years, brief Christmas cards and notes I’ve seen him read then put away in a drawer, the envelopes bore only his name and the name of the island. It was enough to find him. I forget that she mustn’t know about the farm.
‘Yes, that’s it, do you remember it then?’
‘We used to play here as children,’ she says, her voice soft and a distant look in her eye. ‘It was something of a ruin back then though. I think the Halifaxes struggled to manage it just the two of them, despite the best efforts of the other islanders to help out. It looks beautiful now.’
We pull up outside the house, the white walls glowing in the sunshine, the sheep grazing in the front field and the cows lying in the grass in the pasture at the back. Our ancient Land Rover is parked beside the farmhouse, a quadbike stationed in the mud just behind it. I can’t help but wonder how different our home looks to Lorna and Ella’s back in London.
‘Thank you,’ I reply, a sense of pride flushing through me even if really the farm looks how it does now thanks mostly to Jack. I open the car door. ‘Jack, do you want to help with the …’
But before I can finish the sentence he is gone, striding away towards the polytunnel. I know this is hard for him, but is he really going to leave me by myself? I feel like a fool left standing alone by the car. I don’t want Lorna and Ella to notice though so I force a smile and help them with their bags.
‘Let me show you my room!’ Molly says excitedly, grabbing Ella’s arm. ‘You’re sharing with me.’
The two girls disappear quickly inside, carrying Ella’s suitcase between them. Their footsteps race up the stairs and the sound of their laughter follows them into the house.
I’m left alone beside Lorna, who looks just as awkward as I suddenly feel. My confidence from earlier ebbs away. How are she and Jack ever going to resolve the issues of their past if they won’t even speak to one another, and if he is just going to disappear into the fields, turning his back as he so often does on his problems? I grew up in a household where we shouted at one another, opinions voiced at the top of our lungs, but where we confided in one another too. I don’t know how to deal with silence. It’s been one of the greatest challenges in my marriage, coping with those moments when Jack withdraws from me, disappearing to a place where I can’t follow. I look at Lorna, thinking about all the things to do with his past and this woman that my husband has never told me. A pain hits me in the chest.
‘Well, I guess it’s just us for now then,’ I say, trying to sound cheerful. ‘Once Jack’s with his vegetables he could be out till dinner time. Why don’t we have a cup of tea?’
‘OK,’ she replies hesitantly, her eyes nervous. ‘Thank you, Alice.’
And I turn and lead this anxious stranger, my husband’s brother and my daughter’s aunt, into my home.
Chapter 9
Lorna
I’m glad I thought to pack my running trainers. I added them to my suitcase at the last minute, along with a few pairs of leggings and a couple of sports bras. The soft sand is hard going and I pause for a moment, looking back at my footprints marking a trail along the beach. It’s early evening but the sun is still high in the sky. I remember the summer days here that stretch endlessly long, longer than down south in London. But in exchange for the summers you have winters where the sun rises only for a few hours, even then often obscured by heavy cloud and driving rain.
The girls have headed out to visit the puppy at Brenda’s and Alice is inside preparing dinner. She’s been so kind and welcoming, but it makes me feel uncomfortable. Surely, I don’t deserve it, and I can tell at once that she is very different from me – open and warm where I can be closed without always meaning to be. I can see exactly what drew my brother to her. She is tall and elegant and brims with cheer even though I can tell she’s nervous too despite her smiles.
I haven’t seen Jack again since we arrived, except for at a distance coming in and out of the polytunnel or striding across the fields to tend to the animals. I still can’t get over the shock of seeing him as a grown man. In my mind he’s always been frozen at fourteen, the age he was when I left. When I’ve thought of him that’s how I’ve remembered him, or sometimes as a younger child. Seeing him for the first time as I stepped off the ferry nearly broke my heart. In his silently staring face I saw everything I’ve missed and everything that’s been lost between us.
I offered to help Alice with the cooking but was secretly relieved when she refused. That’s when I suggested I might go for a run. Stretch my legs after a day of travelling. But really, I just needed to get out of the house.
A small flock of elegant wading birds gather on the shoreline. I don’t know what kind of bird exactly. I once knew all the names but not anymore. Ahead the sea stretches into the distance, broken only by the shape of a few fishing boats dotted along the horizon.
It felt so surreal to step inside the home of my brother and his family. The house has a slightly dishevelled but homely quality to it, the floors bare except for a few faded rugs thrown over chipped floorboards. At the front of the house is a large living room, the far wall entirely covered with bookshelves. On the other side is a wood-burning stove with somewhat threadbare sofas gathered around it, made cosier by piles of rugs and cushions draped and scattered on top. The walls in the house are busy with pictures and photographs, mostly of Molly at various ages. I know it shouldn’t have been a surprise but I wasn’t quite prepared for how like my brother my niece is. She has the freckles that he had as a child but which disappeared when he became a teenager, and the same grey eyes. But she has her mother’s lightness and openness, welcoming Ella as though they’ve known each other for years. I suppose theyhavegrown to know each other through all those messages they’ve sent back and forth online.
Upstairs, Alice showed me Molly’s room. I paused for longer in that room, trying to absorb every detail I could to build a picture of the girl whose childhood I’ve missed. A pinboard on one wall is covered in environmental posters displaying messages like ‘Say no to plastic’, ‘Reduce, re-use, recycle’ and ‘There is no Planet B’. Reading them, I felt a surge of guilt. In London, I’ve got used to buying a plastic water bottle on the move and although I recycle, I do it only half-heartedly. Among the posters are photographs too. Molly standing on the beach with Jack and Alice on either side, arms wrapped around her, the three of them grinning into the camera. Another image of Molly next to a girl with dark hair and green eyes who I immediately guessed must be Sarah’s daughter Olive, the resemblance was so striking. It felt like seeing my friend as a child all over again.
The room I’m staying in faces the sea. It’s small but bright, painted a soft lemon, with a comfortable-looking double bed, a wardrobe and a pine desk. On top of the desk I spotted a jug filled with wildflowers.
‘From the garden,’ Alice said.
My favourite part of the house is the kitchen. Alice and I retreated there after the tour, Ella and Molly already having raced down to the beach. It’s the kind of kitchen I’d like if we had more space. In the middle of the room there’s a long oak table, a bench along one side and a mismatched assortment of chairs on the other. Behind the table is a large black Rayburn, pots and pans strung from hooks above it. There’s a wooden drying rack suspended from a pulley system above too, covered today in an assortment of socks and T-shirts that Alice apologised for while making us tea.
I told her not to worry, of course. In fact, I think the mess made the room even more endearing, giving it a relaxed feeling. But it was exactly this feeling that made me at the same time so uncomfortable. Everywhere I looked, there were signs of my brother and his family’s life together. The socks in various sizes drying above the Rayburn. A family photograph stuck to the fridge above a shopping list and a series of scribbled notes. While Alice poured the tea, I sneaked a glance at the notes.
‘Helping at the brewery, back this afternoon. Love always, Dad x’
‘Happy birthday darling. Another year lovelier. Always, Jack x’
‘Headed out for the early ferry, didn’t want to wake you both. See you on Saturday. Love you to the moon and back. Dad x’
