I show her to a small room off the hallway and next to the dining room. ‘This will be the playroom for the girls. Somewhere separate from the living room so they have a place of their own that’s away from guests.’
She turns to me. ‘Wherearethe girls?’
I suppress a sigh. ‘School, Mum.’ I look at my watch. It’s gone two o’clock, not long before I have to pick them up. One of the main benefits of moving to a village is the little local school, which has small classes and is only a short walk away.
‘Are they enjoying it?’ she asks, and her face brightens as it always does when we talk about her granddaughters.
‘Ye-esss …’ It comes out as a hiss because the truth is that, while Evie seems to be revelling in making new friends and being the exotic new girl from London, Amelia hates it. They’ve only been going there since the new term started a few weeks ago, but Amelia constantly moans about the boys, the girls, the teachers, the building, the smell of manure, the fields of ‘depressed sheep’, the rubbish facilities. I try to take it all with a pinch of salt. It’s early days, I remind myself.
‘That’s good,’ says Mum, but she would have picked up on my tone. Nothing gets past her. She wraps the navy wool coat closer around her. ‘What’s going on with the heating? It’s extremely cold in here.’
‘Radiators still need to be fitted in some of the rooms. But our bedrooms have them. And the living room.’
‘Right. Well, you’d better show me the rest. And then we must have a cup of tea. I’m parched.’
I show her the living room. We’ve installed leather sofas and found a Welsh dresser in an antiques shop to put the TV on. I’ve added fluffy cushions to soften the look.
Mum wanders over to the open fireplace. ‘I like this.’
‘We wanted to keep it.’ I’d fallen in love with the wrought-iron Victorian fireplace when we viewed the house.
Her eyes go to the photographs on the mantelpiece. There is a picture of me on a 1970s brown-patterned sofa holding baby Natasha on my lap. I must have been about three. I usually keep it in our room, but until it’s decorated I’ve put it here. I notice a fleeting wave of emotion cross Mum’s face, but then, just as quickly, it’s gone.
I go to it and touch the silver frame, almost apologetically. ‘It won’t stay here. There’ll be nothing personal in this room,’ I say.
Mum pushes her glasses up her nose and seems to collect herself. ‘No. No, that wouldn’t be wise. This isn’t your home, remember. It’s a business.’
‘I know.’
She turns to me, her blue eyes penetrating. ‘Do you?’
I swallow. ‘Of course. But we still have to live here.’
After that there’s a weird tension between us. I show her the other five rooms on the first floor, then take her up to the attic. It has a decent-sized square landing with beams overhead. Her bedroom is a small single room next to ours and opposite the girls’.
‘When’s your furniture arriving?’ I ask.
‘I haven’t got much. Just my bedroom things. Everything else I’ve put in storage. You don’t want my old stuff cluttering the place, do you?’ She meets my gaze, and I find myself squirming.
‘Well, it’s not that. It’s just … you know … we have to be careful. Fire regulations and suchlike.’
She tuts. ‘I’m having you on, Kirsty. Goodness, have you always been so serious?’ She comes closer and peers at me through her bifocals. ‘It’s changed you, hasn’t it? All this business with Adrian.’
All this business.As though what’s happened to him – to us – is so trivial it can be dismissed.
Of course it’s changed me, I want to say.Just like losing Natasha changed youAren’t we all shaped by the events that take place during the course of our lives? As though our souls – if they exist – are made of Plasticine to be remoulded over and over again. But, as usual, I keep my mouth shut, not wanting to offend her. She’s been so kind to us, I remind myself. All of this wouldn’t be possible without her. And she’s had so much grief in her life.
It will be okay, I tell myself, as we head down to the kitchen for the tea she’s requested. It will take a bit of getting used to, us all living and working under one roof, but we can do it. I make an effort to push away any doubt.
3
Evie’s face lights up when she comes out of school to see Mum standing beside me. I’m wearing a coat over my tatty decorating clothes even though Mum had tried to insist I change. It brought back memories of being a teenager and how she used to try to feminize me, disgusted by my rock-band T-shirts and DM boots. Evie barrels into her stomach, wrapping her arms around her waist. ‘Nana!’
Mum bends over and kisses the top of Evie’s unruly hair. Thankfully, she’s much more affectionate with her granddaughters than she ever was with me.
‘Do you like my school? It’s like a castle, isn’t it?’
I watch Mum’s expression as she follows Evie’s pointing finger and I can tell she’s struggling to see the comparison in the Victorian stone building. ‘Ye-es. All those peaked roofs. Like somewhere a princess would live …’
