They both laughed. ‘Not funny,’ Blake said.
‘Actually, it kind of was. Sometimes it’s as if you think we’re all still kids that you need to take care of.’
‘Hey, Abs, I want to hear all about Australia. We should plan a trip,’ Tom called out from the other room, putting an end to their conversation.
Abby winked at Blake and took both of their glasses, walking from the room and gesturing that she should follow. And so, Blake did what she always did: she picked up the enormous plate of food that could have fed a small army, despite having asked her brother to carry it, and went to sit with her siblings so she could feed them until they were full to bursting and hear all about their adventures. She could panic about her own life later.
After two hours spent hearing all about Abby’s adventure overseas, and listening to her younger siblings plan a trip forlater in the year, Blake’s evening with her family had drawn to an end. It was so nice being all together, especially since it had just been her and Tom, and sometimes Jen, for the past few months, but she was ready to tidy up and collapse into bed.
‘Dinner next Sunday?’ Abby asked, as they all stood by the door. ‘Please tell me it’s still a weekly thing?’
Blake grinned. ‘It’s still a thing. I’ll be hosting Sunday dinners for the rest of my life, unless one of you decides to take the mantle from me. Which, for the record, would be amazing.’ They all knew she was teasing—she would hate to be left without the job of cooking for everyone. It was her love language, and she imagined it always would be.
‘Lasagne,’ Tom said, dropping a kiss on the top of her head as he passed, before giving her a sweet smile that she couldn’t resist. ‘Please.’
‘Lasagne it is then,’ Blake said. ‘And if you want to talk about?—’
‘I won’t,’ he said, ducking his head as if he were a teenager about to get a sex education lesson. ‘Your cooking is all I need to make me feel better.’
She nodded. ‘Understood.’ They’d always been better at eating their feelings rather than talking about them. Food had been the glue that had held their family together when they were younger, a way of making them all feel as if their lives weren’t coming away at the seams, and it had stopped them from drifting apart when they’d grown up and gone in their different directions. No matter what they had going on in their lives, Sunday night dinner had remained a permanent fixture in their calendars. Sometimes there were boyfriends or girlfriends who joined, other times it was just the three of them, but they all protected their family dinners as if their lives depended on it, and they were always hosted by Blake.
‘Blake, you are going to do this, aren’t you?’ Abby said, giving her a big hug. ‘The whole clue discovery thing?’
She hugged her back. ‘I think at this point I’d lose my job if I didn’t. So yes, I am going to do this. And I promise to keep you updated if there are any developments.’
‘I heard you two whispering earlier,’ Tom said, leaning against the doorway with a lopsided smile on his face. ‘I like that you’re doing it, too, just so you know. Grandma would have loved it.’
‘Thank you, Tom,’ Blake said, feeling emotional all over again. ‘That means a lot, truly it does.’
‘Well, if there’s anything we can do, any way we can help with the clues or just be a sounding board for you…’ Abby held her gaze. ‘You don’t have to do everything on your own, I suppose that’s what I’m trying to say. I’d like to help you, and I know Tom would, too.’
‘Thank you. I might take you up on that offer.’ Blake was so used to working alone that it often felt like the only way, but she was starting to see that there were times when it would be helpful to have a partner in crime.
She said goodbye and leaned against the door frame as she listened to Abby and Tom talk. Part of her wished Abby had stayed; when she’d seen her arrive with all her bags straight from the airport, she’d thought the fresh sheets she’d put on one of the spare beds might actually get used for once, but it wasn’t to be. Abby had decided to return to her own flat—she’d kept her room despite travelling for so long, having sublet it while she was away—and it seemed she was eager to return to her own home.
Once Blake had finished clearing up, she turned off all the lights and went to her bedroom, flicking on her bedside lamp and drawing her blinds. She turned on the television but kept the volume on low—a habit she’d had for years that made her feel as if she wasn’t at home alone.
She’d been telling the truth when she told Abby that she hadn’t looked at her sketchbook in years; it had been so long that she wasn’t even sure exactly where it was. She went to her wardrobe and leaned into the very back, reaching past her winter coats, feeling for the edge of the cardboard box that was there somewhere. She wiggled her fingers, stretching out and eventually connecting with it, gripping as tight as she could to pull it out. One thing she’d never told Abby or her brother was that she hadn’t only saved the sketchbook that had been so precious to her as a teenager; she’d also saved the special milestones from their childhoods, too, since it was clear that no one else was going to. And so, in the box that she’d long since packed away, containing her precious sketchbook, were also paintings and her siblings’ high school photos and other memorabilia.
When her friends talked about becoming mothers one day, Blake often baulked at the thought, and not because she didn’t like children. She couldn’t wait for Abby or Tom to have kids of their own so that she could become an aunt and spoil them rotten. But she felt as if she’d already raised a family; as if she already knew what it was to become a mum and didn’t have the energy or desire to do it all over again.
Blake tugged the box all the way out and lowered herself to sit cross-legged on the ground with it, taking the lid off and immediately finding what she was looking for. She blew dust off the cover and ran her fingers over it, finding comfort in the familiarity of seeing it again. It was a soft pink colour, and she still remembered the day her grandma had given it to her.
She’d been sitting at her grandmother’s kitchen table, when she’d come over to see what Blake was working on. Usually she’d hidden her designs, but that day she’d been caught, the back of her maths book covered in sketches of dresses and skirts. Her grandma had pressed a kiss to the top of her head and not said athing, but the next time Blake had come to visit, there had been a present wrapped on the table for her, and inside had been the design book that she’d cherished every day since.
She’d only been fifteen when she first started designing, curling up in her bed at night once all her chores were done for the day, drawing until her eyes couldn’t stay open for a moment longer. But when her grandma had passed unexpectedly, effectively leaving her with no adult in her life, she’d stopped drawing. Blake had put down her pen after that, never finding a reason to pick it up again, with the exception of making Abby’s dress for her high school prom. But now, as she cracked open the cover that had remained closed for so long, she found pages of sketches of flowing dresses, silhouettes that hugged the female form, and wide-legged pants with narrow waists that had since become popular again. She’d dreamed at the time of pinning pieces of fabric, buttons and scraps of lace to her drawings, but of course there hadn’t been any spare money in their household to buy anything frivolous. And so she’d used coloured pencils and watercolours that her grandmother had given her years earlier when she’d been a much younger girl, carefully illustrating her creations and bringing them to life. She remembered at one point even making her creations from newspaper and proudly modelling them for her grandmother.
Now, designing felt like a dream that had existed in a different lifetime. But still, when she looked at those sketches, she remembered the dream she’d once had, dreams that she’d long since given up on believing in. And now here she was, looking at someone else’s design, and wondering if that too had simply been a dream from another woman in her family, someone from her past; or a design that had gone on to be made into a beautiful garment. It also reminded her how boring her own wardrobe was—the girl she’d been would be horrified to seeher capsule wardrobe. It was stylish, but it wasn’t a wardrobe filled with designer pieces or extravagant gowns.
Blake placed the book on her bedside table, leaving the box of memories on the floor, and went back out to the kitchen to retrieve the much smaller wooden box from Hope’s House, feeling the need to have it with her. Even though she had no idea what the clues meant, or how she was even connected with it, there was something familiar about it now, something that kept drawing her in and making her so deeply curious about her family’s secrets.
She returned to her bedroom and curled up on the bed, opening and unfolding the piece of paper, staring at the design for the hundredth time and trying to figure out when it might be from. She doubted it was the 1920s, because the designs from that era were more conservative and this wasn’t that. The 1930s, 1940s? Blake placed it on the bed and reached over for her book, opening it to one of her designs. The one from the box couldn’t have been more different to her own creations—not only were the styles so obviously from different eras, but also the boldness of the lines in the older drawing was intentional and flawless, exhibiting a confidence that she believed only came from experience. Whoever had penned the design was a professional, there was no doubt in her mind of that.
Blake sighed and put everything on the other side of her bed, before snuggling down under the covers. She reached out, her eyes shut as her fingers connected with the slightly rough texture of her sketchbook, letting herself remember what it had been like to be young and full of dreams. It felt childish even dwelling on the past, but it was hard not to think about what could have been. She had a great job and good friends, but there was something about acknowledging that the dreams she’d once held so close were never going to come true that still devastated her, deep down.
Tears ran down her cheeks as she struggled to push the thoughts away, trying not to slide back into the past in her mind. But tonight, for a reason she couldn’t understand, despite the fact that she’d been surrounded by family all evening, she’d never, ever felt so alone.
4
