But as we turn up Summer Street, I suddenly feel an imperceptible shift in the atmosphere in the car. It’s as if Scarlett’s breathing has deepened from her shallow, anxious breathing before. I knew that feeling. Just being close to home calms me.
‘Oh, darling,’ Mum says as she hugs Scarlett. ‘I’m so glad you’re here. I need you, it will be so lovely to have your help. Eddie has been so tricky with his wrist and he wants the cast offnow, and poor Bridget is getting upset each time he roars, which she never used to do. I don’t like leaving Dad on his own so much, so I really need help with all three of them. Can you do it?’
‘Of course,’ says Scarlett.
It’s like a miracle: the first time since Jack left that she is like herself.
‘I’ve been hopeless,’ Scarlett apologises. ‘What with Jack—’
‘Oh, that’ll sort itself out,’ says Mum, still holding Scarlett. ‘Jack adores you. You adore him. You’ll get through. We’ll talk about it properly later when you’re in the mood. Dr Phillips might have a few ideas to get you through it too, but for now, I need you, darling.’
Scarlett actually smiles as they walk, arm in arm, into the house.
‘Has Eddie been an absolute nightmare?’
‘Worse than ever,’ says my mother, holding Scarlett tightly. ‘First, he’s decided that he needs to get married again and wants to join a dating site. He keeps trying to download Tinder on my phone. Tinder! I’ve had to change all my passwords. I’ve never heard of a broken bone affecting a person that way. Normally, they get a bit depressed.’
Scarlett laughs.
I realise again that my mother really is the wisest person on the planet. If she’d just grabbed Scarlett and said, ‘I am here to fix you,’ Scarlett might have fallen into pieces on the floor, shattered like a precious piece of glass. But no. My mother had said,we need you. And a sliver of Scarlett’s self esteem had been returned to her.
Food, I think, instinctively: I’ll cook up some meals. If Mum is taking care of four people, she won’t be able to cook. Even though I’ve cooked meals recently, four people and a multitude of carers go through meals very quickly in this house. And cooking makes me calm, even cooking by rote like making soups and shepherd’s pies.
In the kitchen, I can hear all sorts of chat coming from the house: Bridget giggling with delight as she realises Scarlett is here for a visit; Eddie explaining how Tinder is just what he needs and could she help him because she’s young and there’s some wiping or swiping involved, and how would you go about that? Adverts in the newspaper are very old fashioned, Eddie goes on, causing a certain amount of mirth.
No, says Eddie, no Good Sense of Humour or ‘mature lady’ nonsense – he wants photos.
And from Dad, nothing.
It is what it is, says Mildred.
Have you got a magic eight ball in there and are using it, I ask her?
Just saying.
I open the fridge and have a look inside. There’s the makings of all sorts of different dinners inside and some lamb: Granddad Eddie adores it, hence the shepherd’s pies.
Right: a lamb casserole just to ring the changes, I think. No fat, some rosemary from the herbs in Mum’s garden, if it’s not totally overgrown. I think briefly about prunes. Eddie will complain if he gets too many prunes in absolutely everything. I take the lamb out so that it can get up to room temperature and open the kitchen door to go out to the remnants of the kitchen garden. There are all sorts of herbs: the feathery light dill, fat mint taking over the place, a giant bush of parsley, sage hidden by an encroaching weed, and some lacklustre chives, looking like every tender stalk needs its own bamboo cane.
I head towards the big, woody rosemary bush and realise that I know enough about herbs to know that it has to be trimmed back in winter. Rosemary bushes turn to wood without help, like humans, I think.
I pull off a handful, strip the leaves and smell them, glorying in the aromatic scent that sends me to a Greek island holiday with Dan and Lexi when she was small, when we rented a tiny apartment in a little village and where goats wandered in the fields nearby as we strolled down to the beach, walking up to us and staring with their strange yet beautiful eyes. The Greek lamb served with yogurt floods my senses, and I can almost smell the sun on the whitewashed little houses, feel Lexi patting my belly, where Liam lies, the calmest baby ever, sparing me even morning sickness.
I breathe deeply, images and scents rippling through my brain. There’s bound to be some wild garlic here too with its ripe, powerful smell. It would be wonderful if Scarlett ate a filling stew but I know she’s barely been eating; so eggs, I think.
An omelette with a hint of cheddar in it, and some wild rocket. A Greek salad, with good feta and those rich tomatoes that taste as if you are in Greece.
Holding on to the herbs, I wander around the garden. Mum never has time for it anymore. But she still keeps a hat and her old secateurs on a string outside the door, just in case.
Flowers, I decide, taking the secateurs and stalking around for something blooming. The roses were suffering with black spot but one bush, an old climbing French damask rose, is untouched and even though it needs severe pruning, the flowers are plentiful.
Granny Bridget loves them, I think, determined to get plenty for the kitchen table, for Bridget, for Mum and for Scarlett. It’s wildly prickly though, thorns all over it.
‘In order to get the joy of the scent you have to put up with those terrible little thorns,’ my mother used to say years ago.
True, sighs Mildred.
I stop cutting for a moment.
