She tries to imagine all the places they might have gone. She pictures the two of them riding an elephant decked out in ribbons and jewels, like in a book she once saw. She tries to find out more from the grey nurse and whispers to her of the jolly elephant. Thegrey nurse’s laugh is like the harsh sound of a rake being dragged over stone. She says that HE, no doubt, will be working in a great hospital, but as for HER… She does not finish the words, but ends with a pat of her twisted wool hair.
After this, she asks no more questions. She slips her hand under the pillow that once hid envelopes to be collected by a nurse with merry eyes, who had pretty, shiny hair and who smelt of freesias.
She closes her eyes. She can no longer see the flowers but she can smell them on the warm air flowing over her skin. The heat no longer troubles her but a great weight still presses down on her chest, making each breath a journey. Her younger brothers once sat on her all at once, but it wasn’t like this. She squirmed and pushed and kicked and got away. She can’t get away now. Maybe her mother and father are on top, too. And sitting on the very top of them all, she imagines a small bird singing.
A noise bounds into the garden and scatters the birdsong. It rolls across the grass towards her. The weight when it comes topples the great imaginary pile off her chest and she pictures her brothers and her father flying through the air. All that is left is the weight of her mother. And the scent of honeysuckle. She can smell great wafts of it, as though a blanket of petals has been spread over her. She imagines her mother’s worn, red hands tucking the blanket in around her and thinks of her doll. She cannot smile, although she wants to.
But she can open her eyes.
From that day on, her mother always says it is the honeysuckle that saved her. Once she has an audience, she starts, ‘Weren’t you lying there in the hospital garden, tucked up in that big bed– you were such a small thing. You looked like death itself. They swore nothing could save you and that the infection had finally won. But I leant over you with that big bunch of honeysuckle. I knew they were your favourite so I carried them for half a day to get them to you. The doctors had done their best, God bless them, but didn’t the smell of those flowers bring you back to us. It was a miracle.’
She will never tell her mother that honeysuckle is not her favourite flower.
Chapter 15
Emma
Delphiniums & Lupins
Emma’s head aches, and she wonders if she is going down with something. Or maybe it’s because there is a missed call from her mother and a message asking her to call back.
From the field above the cottage, Emma looks down over the countryside, nursing her first coffee of the day. The morning is grey and the sky hangs heavy, seeming to squash the colour out of the scene around her. There are days when the woodlands and valleys are so distinct they seem in touching distance; on others– like today– they elude her, shifting on a backwards step to avoid her touch, her gaze. She understands this. After all, she grew up with it.
She thinks of her mother and searches beyond the horizon, looking into the distance that separates them: she imagines the valleys that run down to the sea; the channel full of boats; the wide open kilometres in France; and the years that have passed since the days of her childhood. Surely all this should be enough to protect her from her mother?
She looks down on the garden and thinks of Les. He has taken to providing her with plants for her garden: delphiniums and lupins. He says the plants are damaged so will only go to waste (which she doesn’t believe) and issues clear instructions for bedding them in and how to keep them pest-free.She must ask him if there are some weeds with roots that grow so deep you can never really hope to shift them.
With relief she heads down from the field to collect her things for her day in the garden centre. She will ring her mother later. Much later.
Once in the car, her thoughts turn to Will as naturally as water flows to the gravitational pull of the earth. She thinks Will would have made a good gardener. In fact, she is sure of it. He was methodical and physically strong. She knows he would also have been fascinated (and surprised) by her interest in theTitanic. Is that why she feels so suddenly committed to it– a link back to the man she loved?
They met in London through mutual university friends when Emma was twenty-seven. Emma remembers sitting down beside Will at supper, catching the slight scent of sandalwood and thinking it an unexpected and old-fashioned fragrance. She had been feeling worn out (her PhD research had hit a problem), set up (she had thought she was just meeting her friends) and then discouraged and unattractive when she noticed Will’s thighs were so much thinner than hers. He exuded the physical wellbeing and confidence of a long-distance runner, and compounded this by saying he worked for a well-known law firm. Emma felt her insecurities surface and had sunk to meet them.
But by the end of the evening she had discovered three things: Will had been teasing her with a gentleness and skill that drew her admiration and genuine laughter; he had a voice she thought she would never tire of listening to; and in addition, she discovered she had a fondness for the scent of sandalwood.
There was also the way he looked at her. He gazed at her like he had never seen anything like her before in his life, like she was something gorgeous, magnificent. By the end of the evening, she was sitting straight on the uncomfortable kitchen chair, not caring that she was a good head taller than him.
At the time, Will had just started working as a senior associate for his law firm but what spare time he had he began to spend with her. Each time they met, she was sure his look of admiration would turn into one of bemusement– what had he been thinking? But instead it morphed into naked lust and then over time– she could no longer hide from it– into love.
Looking back on that time, she is sure her expression must have stayed the same throughout: sheer amazement. And love. She knew she loved Will the moment he made her laugh. She had just not expected him to love her back.
When she got her doctorate and then her research position, they moved together to Oxford. A newly married couple, a new city– for her, a new start. Later, when their hoped-for baby never came, they were both devastated. She rarely lets herself think about that time now; revisiting it feels like slicing into a wound that will never really heal. Once they knew for certain she couldn’t have children– and there was no doubt in the end that the biological fault lay with her– Will had been unusually quiet for days. They discussed adoption, but both felt, based on friends’ experiences, that it wasn’t a simple answer. Then Will had taken his road bike out on one of the worst days they’d had for months and cycled a 100km route over the downs.
When he got back, he made it clear that it was nobody’s fault; she, they, the two of them, were enough for him. Emma has never underestimated what that took.
By the time she reaches the Flower Cabin, the rain is hammering down. Betty and Les have taken shelter there to drink their morning coffee.
‘Tamas has been asking at the market about Bealing’s,’ Betty starts. ‘He’s not got anywhere yet, but he’s promised to keep going.’
Emma nods.
Betty turns casually towards Les. ‘Emma’s been doing some research on theTitanic. I’m sure she’d like to hear about the talk you gave the other night, Les.’
‘TheTitanic, you say?’ Les replies, on cue.
Emma doesn’t believe for one moment that this is news to Les. She steps back quickly to stop them glancing at each other behind her.
‘Yes, I’m– I’m writing a book.’
