59 Memory Lane

The second letter is even easier to appropriate. May is left on her own for nearly ten minutes while Julia gasses on the phone to her granddaughter. She can hear Julia babbling like a schoolgirl as she chats to Emily about what she’d like to eat when she flies in from the States.

May has no idea what she’s getting when she plunges her hand into the heap of envelopes on the table.

She pushes the letter right to the bottom of her bag as Julia ends the call and comes back in, still chuckling.

‘That girl. She never changes, thank goodness,’ Julia says, pouring May a third cup of tea without asking.

May purses her lips. She doesn’t normally have more than two cups of tea at this time of day. It’s hard enough sleeping through the night without having to get up for a widdle every hour. But Julia is passing her the dainty china cup and saucer now, and handing over a plate of shortbread.

‘Have you been baking again?’ asks May. ‘Is this your mother’s recipe? She was a grand cook, wasn’t she?’

‘She was, but I’ve somehow managed to lose her cookbook,’ says Julia, ‘so I’ve gone back to the tried and trusted Be-Ro recipes. I think she copied most of those into her own book anyway, and just pretended they were family secrets, to be honest. The lemon cake’s never been the same since, though. I can’t seem to get it right any more.’

May pretends to be searching in her bag for a hankie. The recipe book, written in Julia’s mother’s elegant copperplate, is at this moment nestling in her bedside cabinet. It was lying around in the church kitchen one day when she and Julia had both been roped into helping at a charity tea. She’s used up all the memories out of it now, and a very gluttonous sort they were too. Gave her raging indigestion. She supposes she should sneak the book back now. It’s no use to May.

‘I’d have thought you’d have made all those cakes so often you’d not need a book?’ she says.

Julia flushes. ‘Well, that’s the thing. I’m having a few … issues … with my memory. Are you ever forgetful these days, May?’

‘Of course not! Just because I’m older than you doesn’t mean I’m going barmy, does it?’ May has always believed attack is the best form of defence.

‘No, I wasn’t suggesting anything of the kind. There’s no need to be so touchy. It’s not all about you. It’s me that has the problem.’

There, it’s out. May bites her lip. ‘What sort of things are you forgetting?’ she asks.

‘All sorts. I can’t even remember where I met Don. I was awake half the night thinking about it.’

‘Oh, bereavement can do that to you,’ says May soothingly. ‘I wouldn’t worry, dear.’

‘Really? Did you find that after you lost Charles?’

There’s an awkward silence. ‘Yes, I believe I did,’ says May, eventually. ‘But everything passes. Just be patient, that’s my advice.’

May helps herself to another finger of shortbread. Julia looks slightly soothed.

‘So how’s your Emily doing?’ May says, when the tricky moment’s passed. ‘She must be past thirty by now. Any wedding plans?’

‘She’s thirty-three actually, but you know how these young ones are. They think marriage is out-dated. I don’t think Em’s even got a boyfriend.’ Julia heaves a sigh. ‘The years go by so fast, don’t they? She’s so busy with her high-flying job. The publisher she works for has got offices in London, New York, Paris and goodness knows where else now. Em’s never in one place long enough to find a husband.’

‘Like her dad. He’s still a bit of a jet-setter, isn’t he?’

‘Well, he thinks he is. I wish Felix would retire. He’s well past retirement age, for goodness’ sake. If he stopped flying around the world I might get to see him occasionally.’

She reddens, and busies herself collecting the teacups and plates. May mentally files the information away. That’s the first time Julia’s ever let slip anything to suggest she’s even slightly unhappy with her family’s neglect.

‘I’ve always had a soft spot for young Emily,’ May says. ‘She’s a sweet girl. She often used to pop in and see me when she was staying with you. Did you know that? It was when I lived up on The Level, of course.’

‘Did she?’

There’s frost in the air. May smiles to herself. Julia’s very possessive about her family, and it’s time she loosened up. ‘Oh, yes. She hasn’t seen Shangri-La yet. I hope she visits again soon.’

There’s a pause. ‘But you never felt the need to have children, did you, May?’ says Julia.

May winces and shakes her head. Julia’s fighting back. No need to mention the fact that Charles wasn’t much of a one for procreation. In fact, until she found him in a compromising position with the baker’s ‘boy’, she’d assumed it was her fault for not being attractive enough. Sex wasn’t a big deal for him even at the start of their marriage. More experienced in bed than Charles at the time – unusual for those days – May was never one to follow the rules. Even so, she didn’t mind much when the occasional fumbles stopped and she and Charles settled into a quiet life of companionship.

Things weren’t quite the same between them after that seedy incident, but at least they stopped going through the motions of pretending they wanted to sleep in the same bed. Oh, the bliss when he moved into the spare room. She largely ignored her husband’s occasional flings, and she felt he was always very discreet. May even managed to have a few brief affairs herself, which livened up her life considerably. But as for children, that’s a whole other story, and not one for Julia’s ears.

Andy knocks loudly and bursts in through the open back door at this point, breaking the unsettling train of thought. ‘You ready for home yet, May?’ he says.

‘Yes, anytime you are.’ May struggles to her feet, clutching her handbag close to her chest. She can hardly wait to get home and see what nuggets the precious envelope holds.

‘Don’t rush off. Can’t I get you a drink, Andy?’ Julia asks.

Noooo, thinks May, I want to go home. Say no, Andy.

‘It’s OK, I need to get back to Tamsin,’ he says. ‘She’s next door with Violet, and I think she’ll outstay her welcome if I don’t hurry up back. I don’t want to push my luck.’

‘You’re lucky having Vi to help out, aren’t you?’ says Julia. ‘She’s got her hands full with all her grandchildren these days. She must be a glutton for punishment, as my mother used to say.’

‘I’d have Tamsin more if you needed me to, you know that,’ says May. ‘I’m not in my dotage yet, you know.’ She sniffs. Sometimes she thinks Vi takes liberties, almost as if she and Andy are related.

May takes Andy’s arm and lets herself be escorted over the road, after thanking Julia politely for her tea. It’s been a surprisingly pleasant hour or two, even with the underlying spikiness, but she’s rather alarmed at the speed with which Julia’s memories are flowing away. She bites her lip, guilt rearing its head. Her father always told her not to take too much from one person. A few memories here and there can always be spared, was his motto. Still, May’s need is greater than Julia’s at the moment, if she’s ever to reach that magical birthday.

Tamsin hears them approaching and jumps back over the fence from Vi’s on the other side, into her own garden.

‘Bye, Vi,’ she yells. ‘Hey, that rhymes, did you see what I did there, Dad? I said, “Bye, Vi”!’

‘Very clever,’ says Andy, yawning.

‘Bye Vi, have a pie, bet you wish that you could fly,’ sings Tamsin, skipping into the house ahead of her father.

‘I can’t wait till she’s in bed tonight,’ Andy mumbles, making sure May’s safely inside her own house before he leaves her. As he gives May a quick hug, Andy’s phone begins to ring and he pauses to answer it, raising his eyebrows in apology.

The conversation is frustratingly one-sided but May knows who’s on the other end. It’s the woman she thinks of as That Candice.

‘I can’t tonight,’ mutters Andy. ‘No, Vi’s already done more than enough for me this week. I’m not prepared to ask her to sit for a whole evening. No … I know it’s been ages … Well, maybe next week … We could take the kids swimming after school. Look, I’m sorry, OK? Bye.’

He disconnects, a deep frown line between his eyes.

‘It must be hard work bringing Tamsin up on your own, love.’ May looks at Andy with her head on one side. ‘Did you never think of …?’ She stops, not wanting to offend him, and he half turns back, his mind already on Tamsin’s welfare.

‘Marrying again? It’s fine, don’t look so worried, you’re not saying anything I haven’t thought myself lately. But how could I put someone else in Allie’s place?’

‘That’s one way of looking at it.’

Andy grins at May. ‘Anyway, whatever happens, it won’t be Candice, if that’s what’s bothering you.’

‘Good. You can do better. I’d watch your step, though. That one’s got other ideas.’

He laughs. ‘Maybe. Got to go, or Tamsin will decide to run her own bath and flood the landing again. The carpet’s only just drying out from last time.’

May waves him off and sits down in her favourite easy chair, ready to unveil the new letter. This one’s from Will. May remembers him as rather an egotistical young man, beautiful but sulky. He writes:

That blasted ring, they go on and on and on about it. If I’d seen it, I’d tell them, wouldn’t I? You know I’d never take what’s yours, and I believe Julia should have it, to save arguments between the girls. Mother says it’s our family’s lucky charm, and it has to be passed down to the right person at the right time or we’ll be doomed. What a load of twaddle. Anyway, how are things with you? Have you seen anything of Charles? Has he asked after me? I might see if I can get a few sailing lessons from him next time I’m down. You could mention it, if you run into him?

May reads on, letting the delicious tingle spread from her fingers right through her body, warm and sensuous, like melted chocolate. It’s a sensory overload. Better than champagne. Better than caviar. And a lot better than sex, in most of May’s experiences, at least. Not all, but most. One exception stands out, but it’s best not to think about him.

The phone on the sideboard rings, shocking May out of her blissful reverie. She gets up unsteadily and goes over to answer it.

‘Hello, May, it’s Julia. Just checking you’re home safely.’

‘Well, of course I am,’ says May rather too sharply, irritated beyond measure at this foolishness. What could have happened to her between Julia’s house and her own, supported by Andy? Then she relents. She’s enjoyed her time across the road, and if she upsets Julia, she won’t be asked back. ‘I’m sorry, you startled me. I think I might have been nodding off.’

Julia clears her throat. ‘Well, I’m glad you’re relaxing. Erm … I don’t suppose you noticed a letter when you were over with me earlier, did you?’

‘I noticed heaps of them, dear,’ says May, chuckling. ‘Why?’

‘I seem to have lost one I was looking at earlier.’

May hears a sob, quickly stifled. ‘Are you feeling quite well, Julia?’ she asks.

‘No … no, I’m not. May, I can’t remember which letter I was reading last, or who it was from, and I can’t find it, and …’ Julia tails off, gulping for breath.

‘Now, calm down and get yourself a nice mug of hot chocolate, or something similar,’ says May. ‘I think you might have been overdoing it, delving into old times so soon after losing poor Don.’

‘Not just Don. I’m losing my mind too, May. This is the beginning of the end. What am I going to do?’

May chews on her knuckle. How should she deal with this? She seems to recall something along the same lines happening before once or twice with people from the village soon after she’d taken their mementoes, although it could have been more common than she realised, because why would the villagers bother to tell her if they’d forgotten random things about their past lives? She’d only found out by accident a couple of times over the years, three at the most. It’s as if her harvesting sometimes leaves them with gaping holes in their memories. Holes they’re never able to fill.

‘I don’t understand,’ she hedges.

‘Neither do I, May. My mind seems to have gone blank when I try to think about what I was reading. I can’t even recall who the letter was from. I wondered if you’d … you’d maybe seen me put it anywhere?’

This is a tricky situation, but not disastrous. Julia’s noticed there’s a letter missing, but she seems more jittery about her own memory than suspicious of May’s involvement. What’s the best way to handle it? It seems to May that how she tackles this problem will affect her life … and eventual death. She needs Julia to be calm and unsuspecting so that she can have access to the letters in the coming months. She’s so nearly one hundred and eleven. Come on, May, she tells herself, don’t mess this one up.

Fossil bursts through the cat flap and into the living room where May sits pondering. He leaps onto her knee and begins to knead the boniest bits of her thighs with his needle-sharp claws.

‘Ouch!’ shouts May, more loudly than she intended.

‘What’s the matter? May? Are you hurt?’

May doesn’t answer. She tucks the letter well out of sight under her chair cushion, and waits.

‘May? Have you fallen? Hang on, I’m coming over …’

The line goes dead, and May smiles. Result, as Andy might say.

Two minutes later, May hears Julia rattling the handle of the back door. There’s no need for that – it’s open. Some of the older residents of Pengelly still can’t be doing with locked doors. Never have done, hopefully never will.

‘May?’ Her neighbour comes into the room and sees her with Fossil on her knee. She clutches her chest, like a character in a bad sitcom. ‘Oh, thank goodness. I expected to find you slumped on the floor. Why did you stop talking to me?’

Irritation is creeping into Julia’s voice now, and May needs to act fast. She passes a shaking hand over her face. Oh, yes, she can ham it up too when she needs to. Those years with the village Amateur Dramatic Society weren’t wasted after all. ‘I … I … everything went black for a minute or two …’

Julia springs into action. ‘How about I make us a nice cup of tea?’ she asks, bustling into the kitchen without waiting for a reply. ‘You just sit still and get your breath back.’

Listening to the comforting clatter of cups and saucers, May breathes a sigh of relief. Julia will have ignored the serviceable mugs on their hooks. She’s got style. ‘And maybe a fig roll, dear?’ May calls. ‘They’re in the tin on the dresser. Next to the teabags.’

Julia’s soon back, and settles the tray on a low table. She pours their tea without asking if May wants her to be mum, and soon they’re sipping away as if they do this at May’s cottage every day. The first part of the mission is accomplished. Now for the next steps.

‘I’m relieved you’re feeling better. I wonder if your blood pressure needs checking?’ says Julia, frowning. ‘Sometimes if it drops suddenly, you can keel over. It happened to me once or twice when I was carrying Felix. I really thought I was going to find you flat on your back with a head wound, or something.’

‘You’ve got a very lively imagination, dear,’ says May. ‘You should write a novel.’

‘I often wish I could. I have to make do with reading them.’

‘You should have a try. You’d need one of those USPs, though.’

‘A what?’

May sighs. She’d thought Julia would be well up on publishing terms, with Emily being in the business. ‘Unique Selling Point. I heard them talking about it on the radio when they were interviewing that lady who wrote a story about the girl looking out of a train window?’

‘I haven’t read that one. What’s it called?’

May snorts. ‘Er … Girl on a Train?’ she suggests.

Julia shakes her head. ‘No, never heard of it. What could I have for a UFO then?’

‘USP, dear. I’m not sure.’

May thinks for a moment. ‘How about your letters? They’d make the perfect starting point for a book,’ she says, clapping her hands together.

‘My letters? Why would anyone want to read a story about Don’s family? I mean, they were a friendly bunch, I’ll give them that, but not very interesting.’

‘Think about it, Julia. Those letters are what you might call an archive. Who else has a treasure trove like that to draw on?’

‘I’m not sure if Don would like us to use his personal things like that. They belong to the family. They’re private.’

‘Oh, come on, dear. All the folk who wrote the letters are dead now, or pretty much, aren’t they?’

Julia flinches, and May curses herself for being tactless. She pats Julia’s hand. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. But I could help you to sort them and plan a story based around them. Andy could catalogue them properly. He might even type some of them out if you ask nicely. He does all sorts of useful clerical jobs at the garden centre – he’s very organised.’

‘Do you really think so? Andy’s already read quite a few of them. He seems fascinated.’

‘I do. It’d be a joint effort. We could make a start straight away. They need sorting, don’t they? You and Andy could come here to do it and Tamsin could play outside where we can all see her. It’d be fun.’

Julia’s looking interested now. ‘I wonder …’ she says.

Chapter Nine

Emily sits at her desk on the fifteenth floor reading Andy’s latest email and quietly panicking. It’s a huge relief that Colin has been encouraging about her trip to England, when she explains the reason behind it. His own elderly uncle is beginning to have memory problems too, wandering around in the night in his dressing gown and slippers.

‘Just do it, Em,’ he says, when she’s poured out her worries. ‘But if you could clear your desk and sort those last few meetings this week, I’d be eternally grateful. Family first, though, always. Never forget that. And the West Country in June will be heaven. I’m deeply envious, darling.’

Emily hugs him and thanks her lucky stars for an understanding boss. She knows Devon-born Colin isn’t like most New York City high flyers, with his taste for Scrabble, loud pullovers and flamboyant socks. He often claims to be pining for all things British, and never fails to have a tray of Earl Grey and Fortnum & Mason biscuits served on the dot of half-past three every day, whomever he happens to be with in the office.

The email is giving Emily a cold feeling in her heart, although it starts well.

‘Hi Emily,’ Andy writes.

I thought I’d fill you in on what’s been happening. I expect your gran’s told you about the huge stack of letters she’s found? Well, May (you remember her, of course you do, what am I talking about, you’ll have known her for years) has just suggested that I help catalogue them all. The letters are fantastic – they go right back to the fifties. And – get this – your gran wants to write a book based on them. I’ve got to say I don’t reckon she’s up to it at the moment but it’d be a bad idea to put her off at this stage. Anything that brings her out of herself a bit’s got to be good. We can always rethink later.

Anyway, looking forward to seeing you to talk about Julia and how she’s been – I’ve got a sitter for my little girl, Tamsin, because although she’d love to meet you, she doesn’t miss a trick and would be sure to report back to May and Julia on what we discussed, probably word for word! Not that we’ll be whispering secrets or anything, but I thought I could take you out for dinner, maybe? There’s a great little seafood place along the coast, and Monday is their quiet night. Cockleshell Bay – have you been there? It’s run by a lovely couple of guys, George and Cliff.

I’ll be in touch when you’re here. The formidable gang of two has already started sifting through the letters but that needed to be done anyway, so if you think I’m interfering and want me to mind my own business, I will. Julia’s been muttering about family secrets, but I’m not sure what it’s all about. Maybe she’s filled you in already? I hate to tell you this but I’m getting more and more worried about her. I’m glad you’ll soon be here. Yesterday I found her in tears because she couldn’t remember Don’s sisters’ names and she’d forgotten whether she’d had breakfast or not. Am I wrong to encourage the crazy book idea?

See you soon, sorry to flap – I want to help but I don’t know what to do for the best any more.

Andy

Emily rubs her eyes and yawns. If only she could transport herself to Pengelly right now, without the effort of getting through a mammoth workload, flying to England and driving all the way to Cornwall on a hot afternoon. To be sitting on the beach, listening to the sound of the waves and looking forward to scones and clotted cream for tea would be perfect.

Her incoming email alert pings and Emily’s stomach lurches. Max hasn’t been in touch again since her last text. She kind of hopes he’ll just leave her alone now, but her bruised pride would like him to protest more at the sudden end to their affair. The message is only Colin, though, checking she’s not forgotten yet another meeting this afternoon. Deep joy. Roll on Pengelly, and the smell of salt water and tar instead of over-sanitised office air, lightly scented with artificial citrus tones. The sooner the better.

Chapter Ten

It’s an ugly phrase, but May’s mother would have described her as being ‘as happy as a pig in muck’ these last couple of days. She and Julia seem to have called a truce (although whatever old annoyance was ruffling Julia will have to be tackled at some point, May supposes) and made a proper plan to join forces in their quest to make it easier for Andy to catalogue the letters. May is still smarting at the way Julia seems to think that family life and motherhood are solely her own territory, but if May doesn’t want to dig up the past in a big way, she’s going to have to take it on the chin.

May’s done a bit of gentle probing over the last day or two and now she knows for sure that Charles is the root of whatever is bugging Julia, but further than that she can’t fathom, as yet. What can he possibly have done to make Julia so antagonistic, even after all these years and, whatever it was, why does Julia blame May for it? Charles was a law unto himself. May was never able to influence him.

The next day, as they’ve planned, Julia turns up with the first batch of letters in a shopping basket. She proceeds to potter back and forth all morning bringing more, while May makes endless pots of tea and provides chocolate digestives and fig rolls every now and again.

‘This is the last lot,’ Julia gasps, as she puts the basket down on the dining table with a thump. ‘I thought I was never going to get to the end of them.’

May sits back, deeply content. With the letters here, she has no need to worry about where her next memory fix is coming from, and she’s got the prospect of a companion every day, if she wants one. The idea of Julia as a friend is growing on her, and now she’s wondering why she’s let the other woman get away with being so snooty over the years. Somehow, she has to get past this ancient burning resentment.

‘Julia, can I ask you something?’ she says.

‘Fire away.’

‘Even before the incident with the soup spoons, you didn’t seem to like me much. I’ve been wondering what I did to annoy you?’

Julia’s cheeks are pink as she meets May’s gaze. ‘Well, I wouldn’t say I didn’t like you … and I probably jumped to the wrong conclusion about those old spoons.’

‘Come on, dear, spill the beans. I won’t be offended. You’ve given me the cold shoulder for years. I just want to know why, that’s all. Because you’re not the sort of person to be stand-offish for no reason, I know that now.’

There’s a long silence, but May can be patient when she needs to be. Eventually Julia clears her throat. ‘I suppose it all goes back to Charles.’

‘I thought as much.’

‘But really, I don’t see why we have to drag bad memories up after all this time. Can’t we just draw a veil over it?’