‘Because they don’t need exposing,’ you said. ‘They’re completely different. They’re trailblazers and they’re definitely the way to go. I welcome that. But my challenge is to expose the abuse that still dominates the industry.’
‘You’ve got to admire Lexie,’ Lucy had said as we’d worked that weekend. ‘She’s bloody brave, Edie.’
‘I know she is.’ I was silent, thinking of you at home, researching your next mission. ‘I’m proud of her. But I’m worried she’s getting involved with businesses that have a lot to lose. It could turn nasty.’
‘That’s what pushes her to do what she does,’ Lucy said. ‘A lesser-driven mortal wouldn’t be able to.’ She paused. ‘These flowers are stunning.’ She was looking at the delphiniums and cornflowers I’d grown that I’d picked early this morning. The theme for the wedding was shades of blue, with delicate silver foliage. ‘Pretty wedding, isn’t it?’
Halfway through the morning, you came wandering into our workshop.
‘Hey, lovely girl,’ Lucy called out. ‘What brings you here?’
‘I needed to get away from my laptop.’ You looked at me. ‘I thought I’d come and see if you wanted a hand.’
‘Please… Here.’ I passed you some scissors. ‘This lot needs trimming and the leaves stripped off.’ I pointed to a bucket of flowers that had just come in.
‘Cool.’ After watching me and Lucy for years, working with flowers was almost second nature to you. ‘I like these colours.’
‘Your mum grew most of them,’ Lucy said proudly.
‘Good for you, Mum.’ You looked approving. ‘How is Mary these days?’
‘Getting older – like all of us,’ Lucy said. ‘But otherwise, just the same.’
‘I like her,’ you said. ‘She always used to make me and Ollie cakes when you took on the garden.’
‘I remember.’ I felt a pang of nostalgia. It seemed a lifetime ago that we first went there. You and Ollie loving the freedom you felt there, while I slowly tamed its wildness.
I watched you out of the corner of my eye, briefly lost in the flowers you were trimming, determined to try to lure you here more often. ‘You could work for us, when we have weddings to set up,’ I suggested.
‘Brilliant idea,’ Lucy said. ‘I read your piece,’ she went on. ‘Honestly, Lexie, I have nothing but admiration for you.’
‘Thanks.’ Your face changed. ‘Someone has to write about these things,’ you said. ‘I can’t sit back knowing I could be doing something.’
I wished so much, Lexie, you could sit back; just for once, let others take the strain. But such was the path you’d carved out for yourself. And I knew you well enough to know you wouldn’t have had it any other way.
Wedding season was manic that year – my mind preoccupied, the hours I was at home filled with catching up on chores, meaning I saw you only fleetingly; now and then, believing I saw a change in you, my fears allayed when you pinned on a smile, told me you’d been to the animal shelter. How they’d offered you your old job back.
‘Is that a good idea?’
‘I’m going to do a few days here and there – when I’m not writing.’ You hesitated. ‘I’m going to start looking around for a place of my own.’
‘There’s no rush. You can stay here as long as you want to,’ I told you. I knew how independent you were, but I had a need I couldn’t explain to keep you within my sights; had a fear I couldn’t shake that this world – that you were so intent on changing – was slowly but surely destroying you.
25
NOW
Dear Lexie,
Before I know it, another year has come around, one I feel carry me further from your days. Time is passing too quickly. I have a need to hold on to the grief I still feel; I’m not ready to let you go.
I take one of my walks to the churchyard, timing it when one of Mary’s friends is visiting, her frailty increasingly stopping me from going far, unless I know that someone else is there with her.
Your headstone is weathering. The realisation shocks me; for so long, it was newly etched, pristine. Stood out.
But in a hundred years, no one will remember any of us.
You said it casually; a throwaway comment. You had no ego, no inflated sense of self-importance. For you, your life was about having a purpose.
