Elspeth links arms again. ‘Let’s get our coats and explore the garden,’ she says gleefully, as though she’s just announced we’re off on a cruise.
‘Just be back in time for midday,’ Aggie calls over her shoulder, like we’re two kids.
We go upstairs to fetch our coats and then I follow her through the library – marvelling again at the bookshelves: my mum, an avid reader, would have loved them – and out of the French windows. The lawn is crisp with dew and our breath steams in front of us, but Elspeth huddles against me.
‘The girls used to love playing out here,’ she says, as we stroll along the lawn. The wind whips at our hair and the hem of my coat. ‘My late husband built that tree house, God rest his soul.’
‘Do you have other children then, apart from Kathryn?’ I ask.
Immediately I sense I’ve asked the wrong question: her arm stiffens against mine and she doesn’t speak for a few seconds. Eventually, ‘No. It’s just Kathryn.’
I’m puzzled. Who was she talking about, then? What girls?
She’s still clutching my arm as we circle the garden but she’s silent now. I wait it out, not wanting to put my foot in it again. Despite myself, I can’t help but scan the garden for Lewis. There’s no sign of him now, although there is a wheelbarrow by the side gate filled with bracken.
Elspeth doesn’t begin talking again until we’re back inside the house. ‘Would you mind making me a cup of tea?’ she asks, as she settles herself into her favourite armchair in the lounge and picks up a book from the side table. The curtains are open, highlighting the views of the suspension bridge. From here I can see a young couple on the bench overlooking the Avon Gorge. They must be cold, I think. ‘And please make one for yourself. You must treat this place as your home now.’
I smile and leave the room, happy to be away from her and her silent mood, even for the briefest of moments. Maybe this isn’t the right job for me after all. But then I think of the money – it’s the best-paid job I’ll be getting any time soon. And I need it if I’m to travel. It’s the one thing I promised Mum before she died, that I’d fulfil my dream to see the world. That was her dream, too, but she never got the chance to do it. We used to sit together while she was going through chemo, on those horrible plastic armchairs while the drugs pumped into her veins, and talk about the countries we’d visit, the food we’d eat, the clothes we’d wear, the playlists we’d make. We imagined the smells of the beach – coconut sun-cream and sand – trying to distract ourselves from the stench of disinfectant in the ward. We planned our route for South East Asia: Thailand followed by Laos and Vietnam. And then, when she knew she was dying, she made me promise I’d see it all for the two of us. When I took this job I vowed to myself I’d stay just until September, not that I’ll admit to Elspeth that I see this job as temporary, a way to earn enough to fund my dream.
I swallow the golf ball in my throat. It’s going to take a bit of getting used to, this job, but it’s only my first day. I can do this.
The smell of pastry hits me as I enter the kitchen. Aggie is sitting on one of the bar stools flicking through recipes, her large frame spilling over the seat. She looks up when I come in. ‘She’ll be wanting her mid-morning cuppa,’ she says, shifting herself from the stool and going to the Aga.
‘Shall I do it?’ I ask.
‘No. You’re all right. Sit yourself down and talk to me. I know you’ve only been here a few hours but how’s your first day going?’ She has large red cheeks that remind me of shiny apples. There’s something about her that makes me feel completely at ease straight away. She’s homely. Warm. The opposite of Kathryn and Elspeth. She reminds me of Gran, my mum’s mother.
‘It’s great,’ I say, conscious that my voice is pitched too high, like it always is when I’m not being entirely truthful.
She fixes her hazel eyes on me. ‘It’ll take a bit of getting used to, I expect,’ she says kindly. ‘Having to work and live in the same place. It can be a bit … isolating.’
I bite my lip, wondering if I can be honest. ‘It’s a bit weird,’ I admit, as I slide onto one of the wooden stools. They’re high and my feet dangle like a little kid’s. Mum and I used to laugh that we felt like children, swinging our feet on such chairs. That’s the problem with being barely five foot. ‘It’s very quiet here after the care home.’ I can’t admit that I feel a little homesick. ‘And usually I’d have Saturdays off,’ I add instead. Then I blush, wondering if I’ve said too much. What if it gets back to Elspeth that I’ve been moaning already? I’m known for putting my foot in my mouth. Courtney’s always teasing me about it.
She makes a funny clicking sound with her throat. ‘Well, I hope you last longer than Jemima. She was only here three months. Shame, really, as she was a nice girl.’
‘When did she leave?’
The kettle whistles. She gets up and moves it on to another part of the hob. She bustles about with mugs and teabags, talking with her back to me. ‘Just before Christmas. It was all a bit odd. She left with no warning. Didn’t give notice or anything. I think she was a bit of a free spirit. There were rumours that she went travelling. Some say she did a runner. That she was in some sort of trouble. Not that I’m the type to gossip, mind you.’
I smile to myself. Aggie reminds me of a younger version of one of the residents at the care home, Esme. She loved a gossip.
I hope I last longer than three months. Courtney is about to move her boyfriend into our flat, so I can’t go back there if things don’t work out here. No, I tell myself. They will work out here. They have to.
‘Was there a girl before her?’
She turns to me and hands me a tray laid out with bone-china mugs and a teapot. ‘Here we go.’ I take it from her with thanks, although I’d rather stay in the kitchen talking and not have to go back up to Elspeth. ‘Ah, the lovely Matilde.’ Her face falls. ‘She was here for a few years. It was sad what happened to her.’