A laugh slipped from Rita’s mouth before she could stop it.
‘I’m serious.’ Hilda’s fading blue eyes managed a twinkle. ‘People don’t need meditation and green smoothies. They need distraction. Booze. Sex. A good old-fashioned stroll, a right good chinwag, or even better, some proper sleep and time away from their phones. None of thislet’s-feel-our-feelingsrubbish.’
Rita took a deep breath as she poured herself a glass of water. ‘I hear you, but that isn’t going to pay the bills, so whether you approve or not, the Seahaven Bay Retreat is happening. I’m going to get the barn cleared, yurts erected on the High Meadow and people are going to pay good money to come here and feel their feelings.’ Rita was buoyant. ‘I’ve realised it’s so much easier to create a simple website now compared to when I studied for my marketing diploma.’
‘This is the same woman who can’t even walk into her big lounge as it brings back too many memories, doing all this, is it?’
‘That’s cruel and it’s very different.’ Rita steadied herself.
Hilda sniffed. ‘Well, as long as they don’t do any nonsense near me, I don’t care what they do.’
‘You’ll hardly notice, I promise.’
Hilda put another cigarette in her mouth.
Rita raised a finger. ‘And what did Archie used to say to you about smoking in the annexe?’
The old lady flicked her lighter. ‘He said I’llburn the place down but it’s that or the grim reaper personally wrestling the cigarette from my lips, so I’ll take my chances.’ Rita rolled her eyes. Hilda then struck like a cobra. ‘So, where’s the money coming from for all this, then?’
Rita’s subconscious did what it shouldn’t have. ‘If Archie hadn’t racked up so much debt, it would be coming from our savings.’
‘But you sold the contents of the cow shed including the cows and our one and only tractor to Hawthorn Acre.’
‘Yes. I didn’t want the bailiffs knocking. I never admitted to anyone but Archie that I’m allergic to them, and I have to live.’
‘I still can’t believe you allowed the bollocking Jenkens to benefit, though.’
‘Hilda! I told you many times. I wasn’t thinking straight. I was desperate.’
‘No wonder your Thom was furious too… he was so close to Archie, that boy of yours.’
Rita thought back to how her firstborn, by three minutes, had mirrored Hilda’s outrage, all because she’d acted without asking him first.
‘And as for being too proud to ask your old mother-in-law for help.’ A tutting Hilda Jory shook her head.
Rita looked at Hilda and decided enough was enough. ‘Hilda, please tell me what happened between the Jorys and the Jenkens.’
Hilda’s lips pursed. ‘It’s passed; it’s gone now.’ Rita could see pain etched across the old woman’s face. ‘I could have helped you. We’d have managed. But no, instead you lay dear old Stan off, and sell out to the Jenkens on a whim. I can’t believe he’s working forthemnow, and I doubt you’ll find anyone half as good. He was practically family, Rita.’ Rita knew that was the truth; the loyal handyperson had been Archie’s sidekick and confidant for many years. But survival mode with a sprinkling of anger took over.
‘I was hurt. Not thinking straight. How dare your son leave us so early and in such a bad financial way! We hadn’t even writtena will.’ Rita’s voice tightened. ‘We have two children; we should have written a will.’
‘Ah, there she blows. No wonder I’ve never seen you shed a tear with all that anger inside of you.’
‘That’s unfair. I loved him so much. You know that.’
Hilda’s breath hitched. ‘We all did, but it takes two to tango, dear. So, maybe that anger and blame needs to be directed at yourself.’
Rita harrumphed. She had kicked herself for not having had an open and honest discussion about this eventuality. But they were still young. Archie had been just fifty-five when it had happened. Death had seemed a lifetime away. All she did know, gleaned after one drink-fuelled evening together in the Winking Pilchard, was that Archie wanted to be buried in the Seahaven Bay churchyard, and that he was to be carried in to ‘Life is a Rollercoaster’by Ronan Keating, which had certainly caused a few strange looks from the congregation.
Hilda Jory emptied her glass, replacing it on the side table with a loud clonk. ‘And re this will that wasn’t ever written. Maybe you need to look a little harder. Or you could always get aproperjob to get you out of the mire.’
Rita swallowed down her anger.
Hilda picked up her paper to continue studying the obituary page. ‘Ooh good, there’s a funeral at St Margaret’s next week. Maybe you could drop me into town for it.’
‘You know the bus is easier for that side of town,’ Rita replied through gritted teeth, still not understanding the old girl’s fascination with death.
‘Oh and… how about adding to the marketing nonsense that I’m sure you’ll be spurting,where the sea meets your soul?’
