In essence he accepted that Martha was right, that as a couple they did always think of the future and plan accordingly. They were of one mind in that respect. However, in this instance he wasn’t so sure he was fully on board with her reading of her mother’s situation. He also thought it would be a great shame for their child – hopefully theirchildren– to miss out on visits to their grandmother at Anchor House and the beautiful little harbour village of Tilsham. It would always be something for them to look forward to with idyllic days spent crabbing in the rock pools, paddling and swimming and maybe even learning to sail. But maybe he was being overly sentimental and Martha, quite sensibly, was being more of a pragmatist.
Probably this wouldn’t be on her radar so soon if two things hadn’t happened – her father’s death from a heart attack, and Covid-19. Losing his own mother to that awful virus had brought it home to Tom just how easily life could be changed, so he could understand Martha’s concern for her mother, her need to protect and do what she believed was the right thing in the absence of her father. But he doubted it would be as straightforward as she believed it would be. There was also Willow to factor in. How would she feel about parting with her childhood home?
Chapter Ten
When she and Tom arrived at Anchor House, Martha saw that Rick’s BMW was already parked on the drive, and in the space she usually used. Given what she wanted to discuss with her mother, she would have preferred, on this occasion, for Willow to come alone. As much as Martha regarded Rick as a thoroughly good influence on her sister, he wasn’t a proper member of the family yet and therefore she didn’t think he should be privy to their every conversation. Family business was family business.
Out of the car, her tote bag slung over her shoulder, inside which she had a selection of printed property details, she carried a large bouquet of peonies, one of her mother’s favourite flowers, and led the way round to the back of the house. Either side of the brick path, where Mum had placed pieces of driftwood, grape hyacinths, snowdrops and daffodils, some of them just going over, added splashes of spring colour.
On the terrace, in the shelter of the glass-covered verandah that faced the sea and stretched nearly the entire width of the house, Rick was in the process of opening a bottle of Prosecco and Willow was placing glasses on the table, which was set ready for lunch. As soon as the weather was warm enough, Mum loved to entertain on the verandah. In her inimitable way,she had made it a very welcoming place, not only with a long rectangular table that could seat ten, the top of which she had painstakingly covered with a mosaic of broken crockery and old tiles, but with old wicker chairs made more comfortable with plump cushions and colourful throws. A bougainvillea planted in an old stone urn grew at one end and ever since Mum had planted it, more than a decade ago, it had thrived in the sheltered sunny spot.
‘Hi Tom! Hi Martha!’ Willow said gaily. ‘Ooh, aren’t those flowers gorgeous? Far prettier than the roses Rick and I bought. Clever you for finding them.’
Leaving Tom to chat with Willow and Rick, Martha stepped through the open French doors to the kitchen. Her mother was standing at the sink, topping and tailing green beans.
‘Hello, Mum,’ she said, kissing her cheek. ‘You look nice. Is that a new dress? Oh, and your hair! You’ve cut your hair!’
‘No flies on you,’ her mother said, kissing her cheek in return. ‘I had it done yesterday. I felt I was in need of a change, a bit of shaking up you could say.’ She laughed. ‘Do you like it?’
‘The dress or the hair?’
‘Both, I suppose. I bought the dress in Chichester, the necklace as well. You don’t think it’s too young for me, do you? Not too short?’
‘Not at all. I … I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in that soft buttery shade of yellow before, and the chunky pearls go nicely with it. The hair’s going to take some getting used to.’
‘Well, as I said, I felt in need of a change. Are those beautiful peonies for me?’
Martha smiled. ‘Of course. Shall I put them in water?’
‘Please, and thank you for always remembering how much I love them.If you fetch that large jug over from the dresser, I’ll fill it.’
‘Is this new as well?’ asked Martha, picking up the surprisingly heavy glass jug and giving it to her mother. ‘I don’t remember seeing it before.’
‘You know me, I can’t resist a bargain. I saw it in a charity shop and thought it rather splendid and just perfect for big blowsy flowers like peonies and hydrangeas.’ She handed it back to Martha. ‘Just plonk the flowers in, I’ll arrange them properly later. You go and join the others in the garden. I’ll finish these beans, then I’ll be ready to join you all for a glass of fizz. I’m parched.’
Removing the cellophane from around the flowers, Martha thought that it wasn’t only her mother’s appearance that was different. Her voice was different too; it was brimming with vitality. In fact, her whole demeanour was vibrating with a peculiar high-spirited energy Martha couldn’t quite identify. Had her mother already enjoyed a glass or two of fizz? If so, it might work in Martha’s favour when the right moment presented itself for her to bring up the subject of selling Anchor House.
Or was it possible, she thought, as she went out to the terrace, that Naomi was way ahead of Martha? That her need to shake things up was a sign that she was already thinking of the future?
As perfectly delicious as the meal was – the garlic and rosemary-infused spring lamb was tender and slightly pink, the new potatoes glossy with butter, the green beans and caramelised baby carrots perfectly cooked,and the gravy silky smooth – Naomi was struggling to enjoy the meal.
In her head she had everything she wanted to say seamlessly worked out, but it was picking the right moment to break her news to the girls that was proving more difficult. ‘Don’t force it,’ Ellis had said, ‘just let the conversation flow and you’ll say what you need to quite naturally.’
Really it wasn’t a big deal. So what if she had met somebody? It happened all the time. Why not to her? Because, no matter their age, children were children and they simply could not conceive of a parent being anything other than a boring old parent. They weren’t meant to change or behave differently.
That much was obvious in the way Martha had reacted to her hair. When Naomi asked her hairdresser yesterday to give her hair a complete makeover, Sandy, her stylist for more than eight years, had asked her if she was sure. ‘I couldn’t be surer,’ Naomi had replied. ‘I want to be a new me.’
While the girl had set about the business of colouring and then chopping away the unwanted hair, Naomi had watched in fascination as it fell to the floor. When she left the salon with a smart smooth bob, she felt a lifting of her spirits and about twenty years younger. Her shoulder-length hair – how Colin had always liked it – was now a thing of the past. With a definite spring in her step, she went straight into a neighbouring boutique and tried on the linen dress she had seen in the window earlier. Staring at her reflection in the fitting-room mirror, turning her head to the right, then to the left, and checking how the dress looked on her, she had felt ridiculously pleased with herself.
At home, and as he said he would when he was back from visiting his mother,Ellis called in to see her. ‘Wow!’ he’d exclaimed. ‘Don’t you look amazing!’
She hadn’t needed to ask him if he meant it, she could see it in his face, and in the way he put a hand to the now exposed nape of her neck and kissed her.
As though the new dress and haircut had given her the necessary courage, she told Ellis that she had decided to tell her daughters about him.
‘I’m glad,’ he’d said. ‘I don’t want us to hide anymore. I want us to start making plans for our future. Our together future.’
‘So do I,’ she’d said happily.
