Billy and Me (26 page)

‘Why didn’t she tell me as soon as she found out, though?’

‘Because she knew that you wouldn’t leave her.’

That’s true. There would be absolutely no way that I’d have gone swanning off on a whim if I’d known.
Seeing as the whole thing turned into such a mess, with hindsight, I’d have preferred it if she’d told me and made me stay.

‘There’s one thing I really don’t understand though, Mum … when she eventually got too weak to run the shop, where did everyone think she’d gone? She just disappeared. Didn’t anyone think that was strange?’

‘She left a note on the window saying she was taking a break – which, because she’d been running the shop alone, seemed plausible. Everyone thought she’d gone to Australia to see Peter.’

‘Without telling anyone?’

Mum doesn’t say anything, but looks regretful at not having questioned it at the time.

‘So, instead of soaking up the sun in the company of her loved ones, like people thought, she was only a few miles away, dying alone.’

‘Sophie, she could’ve told people but she chose not to. It’s obviously what she wanted and –’

She stops speaking as the phone in front of us starts to chirp. Patting my knee as she stands up, Mum goes and answers it.

‘Hello? Oh!’

I watch as a frown appears on her face and she starts to smooth back tiny wisps of her hair with her free hand before fiddling with the frames of her glasses. She is clearly feeling uncomfortable. It doesn’t take me long to realize it’s Billy, who has decided to call the house phone now that I’ve switch off my mobile. I can faintly hear his voice as he asks if he can speak to me.

I shake my head at Mum profusely.

‘No, no, no! I don’t want to speak to him!’ I whisper to Mum as she places her hand over the mouthpiece so that he can’t hear me.

‘Soph, I really think you should listen to what he has to say. He really –’

‘No, Mum! I don’t care.’

She sighs deeply and holds the phone to her chest.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes. I’ve got nothing to say to him.’

She looks up at my face sadly, before turning away from me.

‘I’m so sorry, love,’ she says politely down the phone. ‘I’m afraid she doesn’t want to talk. I know you do, love …’

I run up the stairs and go back to the safe haven of my room, wanting to get away.

The next day, I receive an envelope in the post, with my name and address written in Billy’s handwriting. I think about not opening it and just burning it straight away or shredding it, but curiosity gets the better of me.

I open it to find a black and white photograph of Billy, Molly, Mum and me, taken in Hyde Park on the picnic blanket the day they’d come to visit late last summer. We’re all huddled closely together, as Billy stretches out his arm to take the photo, allowing our faces to fit in the frame. Billy has one eyebrow raised and is flashing his teeth, looking incredibly cheeky. Next to him, Molly is debuting her short crop and has the tips of her fingers combed through the front of her hair, leaning on her hand slightly, which covers her right eye. I’d never noticed before, but she looks pained in some way. Exhausted. But perhaps someone else could look at the image and say she looks happy and peaceful, quietly content. It might be that looking at the image with hindsight is leading me to read too much into it. I know she was happy on that day; I was there, I saw her laughing and making jokes as usual. How were we to know she was keeping such a devastating secret from us all?

I think back to our chat that day, where Molly had
talked about grabbing opportunities and not letting life pass me by like they had her. At the time, I thought she was talking about my job in Coffee Matters. I thought she was trying to get me to quit so that I didn’t waste my life in a thankless job when I could be enjoying life. In reality, though, was she hinting about the end of her life? How self-obsessed of me not to even question that something might have been wrong with her.

In the picture, I’m sat in between Molly and Mum, with my arms around them both, squeezing them into my body. My eyes are closed tightly, all screwed up, and I have a stupidly massive grin on my face. Mum has been caught laughing, showing the glow that surrounded her that day and has done ever since. It’s a beautiful photo, which has captured a blissfully perfect moment.

There’s no note included in the envelope, but on the back Billy has written:

There is no happiness like that of being loved by your fellow creatures, and feeling that your presence is an addition to their comfort
.

I know the quote straight away. It’s from Charlotte Bronte’s
Jane Eyre
, my favourite book, taken from the moment Jane returns to Thornfield Hall after spending a month nursing her despicable aunt. Does this mean Billy has taken the time to read it after admitting to never having read a book in his life on our first date? Surely not. I doubt he’d find time in his busy schedule to do something as dull as reading …

Although, as for his choice of quote – it couldn’t be more fitting to the picture.

I sit on my bed for hours, looking at the photo, taking in every single detail, making sure that I don’t miss a thing and feeling the warmth that bounces from it.

I’m surprised when another envelope from Billy arrives the following day, this time containing a photo of the two of us, taken in a pigeon-free Trafalgar Square, on the day he’d first driven me to London to see where he lived. Once we’d got over the excitement of possibly moving in together, Billy had decided to take me to the square to prove that he wasn’t lying about the no-feeding thing. I was very disgruntled when we arrived to find he had been telling the truth, but Billy grabbed hold of me and dragged us both to one of the lion statues where we decided to snap a series of silly photographs. We took it in turns to scramble our way on top of it or to stand beside it as we pulled ridiculous faces – pretending the bronze lion was about to eat us. It was stupid and fun and caused us to laugh raucously.

This picture is one of the calmer of the bunch, one that we asked a passer-by to take of us, when we were poised between the lion’s paws. I’m sat looking at the camera smiling sweetly, with a hand placed on Billy’s thigh, while he is sat with an arm around my waist and his forehead resting on my head, looking at me. There’s something enchanting in the way Billy gazes at me, as though nothing else in the world matters.

Turning the picture around, I find another
Jane Eyre
quote on the back:

I have for the first time found what I can truly love – I have found you. You are my sympathy – my better self – my good angel. I am bound to you with a strong attachment. I think you good, gifted, lovely: a fervent, a solemn passion is conceived in my heart; it leans to you, draws you to my centre and spring of life, wraps my existence about you, and, kindling in pure, powerful flame, fuses you and me in one
.

Black. That is all I see looking in the mirror on the day of Molly’s funeral. Black, black, black. Black dress, black shoes, black tights, black coat and a black ribbon holding my hair in the plaited style Molly loved.

But it’s not just my clothes that ooze the darkness. It’s everything. I can see the blackness under my eyes from the lack of sleep and the general doom that surrounds my existence.

‘Are you ready, love?’ my mum asks, as she knocks on my door.

‘Yeah,’ I say, fiddling with my coat buckle as I try to do it up. ‘I don’t think I can face seeing everyone, Mum. I want to say my goodbyes but –’ I stop, choking on my own words.

‘It’s OK, darling,’ she says, walking in as she takes the buckle from my hand and fastens it up for me, holding my hand in hers once she’s finished.

Not only will the whole village be out in force today at the church, but they’ll also be gathering at Tea-on-the-Hill for Molly’s wake, something Peter and Molly’s friends at the WI have grouped together to organize. All I had to do was give them my permission to use it now that I’m its new owner. It’s a lovely idea, and one that Molly would have loved, but I don’t think I’ll be
able to cope with being in the shop yet without Molly’s presence.

‘It’s too much, Mum.’

‘I know,’ Mum says, as she pulls me in for a hug. ‘Why don’t we go to the church and wait until everyone is seated and busy before going in? Hey? We can sneak out before the end if you like?’

I nod. Going unnoticed is exactly what I want to do today.

We sit at the back of the church and are the first people to catch a glimpse of Molly’s coffin as it is carried in. The sight is heartbreaking.

Suddenly, the realization that this is all very real hits me.

Molly is in there.

She’s gone.

I’m never going to see her again.

The service goes by in a blur as questions and thoughts fill my brain. Why Molly? Why now? She’d given so much to everyone she’d ever met … how could such a slow and painful death happen to someone like her?

It’s not long before Mum is leaning into me, saying we should leave if we want to get out before being stopped.

I nod and allow her to guide me out of the wooden doors of the church.

We walk home in silence – both absorbed in our own thoughts.

When we get home we notice Colin in the garden, bending over a firepit lighting some wood. Unsure what he is doing, we both go out to him.

‘Colin?’ calls Mum.

‘Oh!’ he says, startled. ‘I thought you’d be a bit longer.’

‘What are you doing?’ Mum asks, gesturing towards the fire.

‘I, erm …’ He turns to the fire and then back at us sheepishly. ‘When my wife Pauline died I wasn’t too sure what the best way was for my kids to be able to say goodbye. I wanted them to be able to express what they felt, but thought going to her funeral would be too hard on them.’ He stops and picks up a stick, poking the burning wood, making the flames dance wildly. ‘So I lit a fire in the garden and we all sat round and spoke about their mum. Talked about all the little things that made her the wonderful woman she was. I wanted them to remember the good times. We ended up writing these letters to her, which we read out and then threw onto the fire – the smoke taking the words up to her in heaven. I … I thought we could do that for Molly.’

What a remarkable man, I think, as I take in this thoughtful gesture.

‘That’s lovely, Colin,’ says Mum.

‘I mean, we don’t have to read them out if you don’t want to,’ says Colin, looking at me. ‘I don’t want any of us to feel uncomfortable. I just thought it would be nice to send up our thoughts.’

‘Thank you,’ I say.

‘Let’s get out of these clothes first, shall we? Get into something more comfortable,’ says Mum, as she starts to walk towards the back door.

I smile at Colin and then follow Mum inside.

My dearest Molly,

I wake up and I think of you.

I see a teacup and I think of you.

I see a cake and I think of you.

I see a flower and I think of you.

I taste a scone and I think of you.

I see a smile and I think of you.

I hear a laugh and I think of you.

I feel a hug and I think of you.

I go to sleep and I think of you.

I will never forget you, Molly, for you are part of everything around me – every object, every thought, every feeling, everything I do – EVERYTHING.

I hope that one day I am able to touch the lives of others in the way that you have touched mine. You turned my life around and put the sunshine back into my world.

I will love you forever.

Your girl Sophie. Xxx

Almost two weeks have passed since Molly’s death and the shop has remained closed during that time while I try to recover from the loss of two important people in my life in close succession, pondering on how to move forward.

The photos are still arriving daily from Billy, still with a simple quote written on the back, nothing more. It seems he has been making his way through some of the classics that I’d mentioned to him when we were together.
Wuthering Heights, Sense and Sensibility
and
Jude the Obscure
are just a few of the books he’s been quoting. I still can’t imagine him finding the time to sit down and read them, or having the concentration to do so, but something tells me he must be.

The latest offerings bear quotes from
Pride and Prejudice
, making them even more poignant as they bring back memories of when we first met and used to run through his scenes together in the shop.

I know I probably shouldn’t open them, I should probably dispose of them straight away, but the happiness that fills my heart, especially if the photos are of moments with Molly and Mum, cause me to indulge. I haven’t even found it in myself to throw them away once I’ve devoured them. I can’t. Instead I’ve been
keeping them in a box under my bed, in order of when they arrived. Every time I pull the pile out and look at them I see the visible love they display and feel a warm comfort. Momentarily my heartache is eased.

Needless to say, I’ve never written back, so I justify opening them by telling myself that Billy will keep sending them regardless, blind to whether I’m looking at them or not.

Despite their not seeing me, the support from the community has been unwavering. Quite a few of the customers from the shop have left meals, cards and flowers with Mum at the library, checking to see how I am and sending me their best wishes. I’m touched by their kindness, yet dubious as to whether I deserve it. Thankfully, none of them have tried to stop by the house, choosing instead to give their offerings to Mum whilst still giving me the space I need at this complicated and messy time … although I’m hardly using the time productively. I’ve been trying to do all I can to keep my mind occupied so that I don’t have to think too much about the past or future – but I can’t concentrate. Thoughts keep finding a way of flooding in, no matter what I try doing.

Several days after Molly’s funeral I’m sitting in the kitchen, quietly immersed in the impossipuzzle Colin brought round for Mum all those months ago, identical pieces of orange surrounding and infuriating me. I’m about to swipe the whole lot on to the floor in frustration when a knock at the door stops me.

Peter is on the doorstep, rhythmically tapping his legs impatiently as he waits.

‘Peter, hi!’

‘Hello, Sophie! How are you?’

‘Getting there, I think, although I’m not too sure where “there” is exactly yet.’

‘I know the feeling,’ he replies, with a glum smile.

‘Do you want to come in for a tea or coffee?’

‘Actually, I can’t – I’m on the way to the airport,’ he says, gesturing to the taxi which has its motor humming behind him. ‘It’s time to head back home at last.’

‘Oh, I see.’

‘I just wanted to drop these round. I know you probably still have your set of keys, but these were Mum’s,’ he says, handing them to me, along with a brown envelope. ‘There’s some more legal jargon in there, too, but I think everything’s sorted now. It’s all yours,’ he adds.

‘Wow … thank you,’ I say, looking down at the keys in my hand.

‘Any idea on when you’re going to reopen it?’

I look at him wearily, pulling my bottom lip through my teeth as I decide on the best way to answer – I don’t want him to think Molly made the wrong decision in passing it on to me, that I won’t honour her wishes.

‘Soon, I think.’

‘Good. Mum would want that. It’s been lovely to meet you at last, even in these crappy conditions. Bye, Sophie,’ he says, leaning towards me and giving me an awkward side hug with a few light pats on the back.

‘Thank you, Peter. Have a safe trip.’

He pivots to leave, but turns back to me straight away.

‘Mum always said to me it’s a place that heals hearts. Don’t leave it too long.’

I watch as he jumps into the taxi and it pulls away.

I look down at the keys in my hand and cup my fingers around them.

Hours have passed since Peter called round. The sky outside has faded to black, bringing with it a new sense of calm, despite the owls hooting from their nests.

It’s now one in the morning. For the last couple of hours I’ve been sitting on my bed, staring at the keys on my bedside table, wondering what to do and knowing that I can’t continue to hide from everyone for much longer – I reacted in that way after Dad’s death, locked myself away and didn’t speak to anyone. It didn’t help. Instead, it ended up prolonging the agony. I know this time round that I won’t be able to move forward if I act in that way again; this time I have to give myself the time to grieve, but know when to pick myself back up again.

Impulsively, I throw on a pink hoodie and grey jogging bottoms, snatch up the keys, head downstairs and chuck on my boots. I make my way out into the cold night air and briskly head for Tea-on-the-Hill, walking through the alleyway and on to the empty High Street. With fire pumping through my body the journey whizzes by, making it feel as though I’m outside the shop within seconds.

The wind is knocked out of me when I spot the messages and drawings stuck to the windows and door, and bunches of flowers left underneath by people paying their respects. I notice they’re not just from the customers, but from other people in the village, whom Molly had made an impact on, too. They’re wonderful messages of love and thanks, showing how much Molly meant to everyone within the community.

Once I’ve read them all and absorbed their warmth, I put the key in the lock and let myself in. I don’t switch on the light; instead, I close the door behind me and simply pull up a chair and sit in the darkness.

I instantly feel the love oozing from all around me as I remember how much devotion and joy was poured into the place every day, and not just by Molly and me, but by all the elderly women, mums and schoolgirls who chose it as the place to visit as they mulled over their lives. The thought makes me realize that it’s not just me that has experienced a loss – everyone has. I’ve been selfish to think otherwise.

Molly had told Peter that this place heals hearts. Well, I know it does. So for that reason I know it can’t stay closed for much longer; people need it in their lives. Now more than ever.

I once had a dream that I’d run my own teashop and that I’d fill it with little gift ideas, flowers and books; it’s the dream I told Billy about on our first date in the woods. But like so many of my dreams, something else came along for me to push it aside and change my focus. I was wrong to let that happen again after years
of secretly saving and planning. Maybe this time it’s not too late to turn my dream into a reality.

I sit in the dark for hours, smiling at the memories of the woman and the place that brought me back to life and wondering how I can repay them both.

I leave as the sun starts to rise, walking home unnoticed.

Even though I stayed in London for months, I never once dipped into my savings – and that’s not because I let Billy pay for everything, not at all; it’s because I was frugal and kept an eye on my outgoings. Knowing, when shopping, what was a necessity for me to have and what was a pointless splurge. That means I still have a hefty sum of money to put into the business. Even though, thanks to Molly, I no longer need the money to purchase a shop of my own, I still need the money to make changes to Tea-on-the-Hill and put my stamp on it.

Sitting on the sofa the following day with a notepad and sketchbook, I think up little gift ideas, some that I could make and others that I could perhaps source locally: things like candles, little signs, cards, plaques with inspirational quotes on, and wooden photo frames. My mind churns out ideas with excitement, feeling inspired by the future for the first time in months.

I’m still on the sofa hours later, mapping out some of my home-made gift ideas, when Mum walks in and sits next to me, having a good nose at what has motivated me suddenly.

‘What are they?’ she asks.

‘Just little ideas …’

‘They look pretty.’

She sits and watches me as I continue to sketch.

Right now I’m thinking of different wall hangings, like plaques or chalkboards. I was thinking that a chalkboard in the shape of a big star or heart would be quite pretty as a gift – it could work for a woman of any age; for a young girl it could be something to doodle on or write their crush’s name on a million times, and for an older person it could be a place, more pleasing to the eye, where they could write up their shopping list or important notes to themselves.

‘I’m thinking of what to do with Molly’s,’ I tell Mum after a few minutes, keeping my eyes on the pad in front of me.

‘That’s good, love. What have you been thinking?’

‘I still want it to feel like hers. I think it would be awful to take away the things everyone loved about the place. But I also want to introduce a few new things. Like little home-made gifts.’

‘Are you planning on making them all yourself?’

‘Most of them. Or is that being a little too hopeful?’ I ask, doubting the idea.

‘I don’t think so.’

‘I guess I’ll just have to wait and see how they sell first and take it from there.’

‘When were you thinking of reopening?’

‘I’m not sure yet, but I thought I could spend a bit of time making bits before then. It might be a good thing
to focus on. Although, God knows how I’ll turn what I’m drawing into an actual thing.’

‘You should ask Colin to help.’

‘Colin?’ I ask, screwing up my face in confusion. What could he know about making delicate home-made gifts?

‘Well, he used to be a carpenter, love. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind doing some bits for you … or teaching you how to make them yourself?’

A huge smile spreads across my face as I pull Mum into me, giving her a big kiss on the cheek, thrilled there’s a way my plans might actually become a reality.