'I'm not throwing it away,' Annie insisted.
'Good,' Fern said, not wanting to add any more. She knew exactly what happened when you poked into the hornet's nest of other people's disagreements. You got stung.
'Who'd have thought . . .' Fern began, on a fresh track, 'that I'd be going to Dinah's tenth wedding anniversary party while you and your big sister carry on in your forties like a pair of teenagers?'
'I am not in my forties!' Annie retorted.
'Won't be long,' Fern reminded her.
'Yes it will! Anyway, what's up with Nic?'
'Haven't you heard? She's pregnant.'
'No! That's not carrying on like a teenager! Well, I suppose it is where you grew up.'
'Annie!' Fern sniffed.
'Nic's pregnant! Well, that's nice. She and Rick make a great couple.'
'She's forty-one,' Fern said, 'I can't believe she wants to go through all that again – babies, broken nights, toddler tantrums.'
'I know,' Annie agreed, but she felt a pang at the thought of it. She'd absolutely howled when Owen had left nursery school because the days of toddlers and beakers and chubby little faces overcome with delight to see '
Mummy!
' were so finally over.
'I'll see you next Saturday then. We're meeting at the Parkes Hotel for dinner, which sounds nice,' Fern added.
'I think it's a bit more than dinner,' Annie warned her. 'We're being told it's a family dinner, but that's just to keep Dinah in the dark. It's a big party.'
'Oh how nice. But . . . organized by Bryan?' Fern asked a little doubtfully.
'Don't worry, secret helpers are involved.'
'Do you know more than you're letting on?'
'Mum, even Dinah knows more than she's letting on.'
'You take care . . .' Fern added. 'You can always phone me.'
'Hilda is OK though?' Annie thought she'd better ask.
'Yes, she's at home, walking with a stick. You managed not to do her any harm in Italy, thank God. One of those home helps pops in every day to check on her.'
'Ah well, that's coming to us all,' Annie added.
'Oh aren't you full of cheer!'
One forty-minute conversation with her big sister Nic later and Annie was still miles away from completing the cupboard clearout.
'I'm huge!' Nic had complained. 'I'm fourteen weeks pregnant and I'm the size of a bus. I can't believe I'm going to go through the whole turning into a hippopotamus thing again!'
'Babes! It's brilliant!' Annie had scolded her. 'And everyone does fantastic maternity clothes now, so spend the money! You'll wear all that stuff for at least a year. No one I've ever met has stopped wearing their maternity clothes until at least five months after the birth.'
Once the phone call was over, Annie looked at the untidy heaps she'd made on the bed and the bedroom floor and realized she'd bitten off far more than she wanted to chew tonight.
She lifted up the telephone receiver again to check if any messages had been left while she was speaking to Nic. Nothing. In her handbag, her mobile was reporting the same news. Nothing. Not a voicemail, not a text, not a beep. He hadn't tried to phone, and that was that. For a long minute, Annie toyed with the idea of phoning him but then decided she had tried enough yesterday. He knew where she was. He knew she wanted to talk to him. It was up to Ed to make the next move now.
She would have to start putting these clothes back. Leave the organizing of the Annie Valentine autumn/ winter collection to another quiet evening . . . well, looked like there were going to be a few of those coming up.
It was when she approached the empty rail with the first armful of clothes to hang back up again that Annie caught sight of the Box. It was down there, at the bottom of the wardrobe, partially hidden by two handbags and a box of shoes.
But tonight there was no ignoring it. It wasn't that she didn't know it was in there; she did know, somewhere at the back of her mind. It was just some time now since she'd thought about it or looked at anything inside it.
Once she'd hung up the clothes she was carrying, she bent down, lifted away the handbags and the shoes and then gently took hold of the box and pulled it forwards. It was large, the size of three shoeboxes together side by side, but it wasn't heavy.
Once it had been slid out onto the floor, Annie wasn't sure what to do with it. She didn't know if she wanted to lift the lid or not. It had been a while. She could picture almost every item inside quite exactly . . . but there was always, every time she looked, something unexpected that still managed to take her by surprise and bring her to her knees.
And then the box was open: she'd grabbed the lid and moved it away quickly, before she could think about it too long.
With a little gasp of pain, she caught sight of her wedding photo, staring up at her. She took it in her hands and brought it up close to study it. Look how pretty she was then! And how deliriously happy. Her hair was all piled up with ivy leaves and tiny snow roses pushed between the tresses. And that wonderful gold dress. So beautiful, so elegant . . . and to think she'd bought it second-hand from a theatre costume sale, then just made some alterations herself . . . then had to make a few more because she was three months pregnant with Owen.
Just look at that lovely man she was cuddled up against. They were cheek to cheek, laughing and flushed with happiness. They'd broken off kissing for this photo . . . she could remember that.
He was so handsome! With his quiff of dark hair, deepblue eyes and movie star jawline. Looking at this lovely photo, she thought how lucky they were not to have been able to see into the future. How would they have been able to smile at the camera like this, so broadly and proudly and with such wild optimism, if somehow they'd known that in just six years' time Roddy would be dead?
It was a blessing to have loved him for every day she'd had him without the slightest shadow, the slightest hint of how quickly it was all to come to an end. That was what she told herself, because four years on, she had made some kind of peace.
She had finally come through the rage, the furious injustice, the helpless and hopeless denial and all the other tormenting emotions which had stalked her after that terrible day.
Annie set the photo aside and now saw the blue and gold box with their wedding rings inside. Annie had only put hers in here, alongside his, a year ago when she'd moved in with Ed, because finally it had felt as if it was time to move on, to no longer be a widow in mourning.
And now she was burrowing amongst watches with well-worn straps and a half-emptied bottle of aftershave and photos and photos and more photos. She caught a glimpse of Roddy with baby Lana on his knee and had to avert her eyes quickly.
It was down here . . . now she had her hands on the thing she suddenly desperately wanted. The slightly scratchy Shetland wool jumper. The one with wool unravelling at the cuffs and suede elbow patches, the one with a neckline pulled wide with over-use. The one magical item which when she had it pulled over her face and breathed in and felt its scratch across her face, was the only thing which could just for a fleeting second or two bring a big strong bear hug from Roddy right back.
Annie pulled the arms of the jumper around her shoulders and covered her face with the chest. Here in this warm and private woolly place, she let go of the hard, tight feeling which had been building at the back of her throat all evening and let herself cry.
Losing Roddy had been absorbed. It had become part of who she was. Some days it made her feel stronger than anyone else because the worst had already happened. Some days it made her feel helplessly weak because she knew that the worst did happen. And could happen again. That was her now: flapping about between invincible bravery and total terror.
'Mum?'
It wasn't until Annie felt the hand on her shoulder that she realized someone else was in the room with her. She'd been sobbing so hard into the jumper that she hadn't been able to hear anyone approaching.
'Oh . . . hello,' Annie managed, reluctant to take the jumper away from her face because she suspected she'd covered it in snot and tears and anyway, she always hated her children to see her like this.
'Mum, are you OK?' Lana asked gently, although it was obvious that Annie really was not. Seeing the open box, the wedding photo and her mother kneeling on the floor weeping into an old jumper, Lana's next whispered question was, 'Are you crying about Daddy?'
Although at first this made Annie cry even harder, pressing the wool tightly against her eyes, she finally managed to say, 'No babes, I'm crying about Ed.'
Lana crouched down and comfortingly began to rub her mother's back, but she knew better than to say anything else immediately.
'I mean, I miss your daddy,' Annie spluttered out, still with the jumper over her face. 'He'd love to have seen how well you and Owen are doing and how pretty you are . . . we all miss Daddy – ' Annie stretched out an arm and pulled her daughter in close – 'but I'm really upset about Ed.' She struggled to contain the fresh sobs desperate to break out at the mention of his name.
'You're going to be OK aren't you . . . you two?' Lana asked.
'I hope so,' Annie said, swallowing down her tears and finally pulling the wet jumper away from her face. 'Bet I look a fright,' she told Lana as she used the jumper to wipe under her eyes and her nose.
'You're fine,' Lana replied and squeezed her mum's shoulders.
'Well . . .' Annie smiled weakly at her daughter, 'that's the easy bit over. I thought it would last a bit longer than this, but there we go.'
'What d'you mean?'
'Me and Ed,' Annie went on, 'the nice easy bit at the start when everything is totally lovey-dovey and happy. That bit is over, I think.'
Lana passed her a tissue and Annie blew her nose before telling her daughter, 'Oh baby, relationships are really, really hard work. That's why so many people don't have a very good one.
'I was with your daddy for fourteen years,' Annie reminded her. 'You learn a lot about how love works in fourteen years . . . but Ed, he has no idea. He's being a big baby sulking at his sister's instead of coming home and talking to me. What on earth does he think he's going to change with his sulk? Does he think I'm going to rush over there and say, "Darling you were totally right, have it all your own way, run back into my arms"? We have to work this out, hammer it out, together. I should have told him what I was doing,' she admitted more to herself than to her daughter, 'I just didn't want to have the big showdown until I knew a bit better what I was going to do . . . I knew it was coming. I just tried to stall.' Annie reached for another tissue.
'Mum, why don't you just go round to Hannah's and talk to him?' Lana asked, 'I don't mind being here on my own for a bit, just go and see him.'
'I will, babes,' Annie said finally, 'but not tonight. It's too late and I'm too tired . . . and I'm just too upset.'
Annie gave her face another hearty wipe and then had to ask Lana, with all the kindness Lana had just shown her, 'How are you? Are you having a horrible time?'
'I spoke to Andrei tonight,' Lana said calmly, 'he's really sorry and wants me to forget about what happened. He says it was nothing . . . a mistake . . .'
Annie clenched her teeth shut to make sure that no murmur of disapproval should escape.
'So, I'm just thinking about that. I need to be sure. I need to be able to trust him,' Lana added.
She sounded so grown up, Annie thought all of a sudden, and with a fierce pang of pride.