“Gran?” It’s Kitty, leaning out the door. She is thin and straight backed as a rail, “Are you here?”
I stop speaking and look back at her, pretending I am scratching my face and not wiping my cheeks. My granddaughter is absolutely gorgeous. Her mother is the perfect combination of Oliver and me; tall and thin like her father with high cheekbones and dark chocolate coloured eyes, but she has my flaming red hair, and round, pale face. Kitty is an exact copy of her mother, only younger. “Yes, Kit?”
“Gran, are you OK?” She asks quietly. She comes out into the garden and leans over me, setting a mug on the stool, “I thought you might like your coffee. Were you taking to someone?”
“Talking to the winds,” I tell her, “And the whispers. I’m missing the trees.”
She sighs and puts her hand over mine as she sits, “I know you are.” Kitty pulls her chair to face me. “You’ve been looking a little down lately. How’s the ankle?”
“Itchy.” I tell her, “I’m dying.”
“You’re not dying, unless it’s from an overdose of drama,” She says this as a joke, but she does not laugh and that is a good thing since I don’t think it’s funny. She checks the incision scar on my leg, which didn’t want to heal for a time, and then changes the subject, “I was thinking about your little house in Wales.”
“Yes?” I am not going to allow myself to be hopeful that I will ever see it again. I have the correct suspicion that certain people in the family think that I’m better off not being there since my fall. That’s the dilemma that came with getting old. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself, but the children sit around and wonder when I won’t be. They watch carefully and intrude on my decisions while they call it love. And it is love, I suppose, that spawns their interference, but it puts me in a situation. If I go ballistic and throw my weight around, they’ll be in a position to say I’m not in my right mind. And if I am too patient and too passive, they will run me over like a marble pastry roller on soft dough. I always have to figure out how to play it so I win.
“Well,” She is still looking down at my leg, “Nigel went out there to have a see. He said Warren cleared the downed branches from the lot this spring and had the well repaired. That was a big job. Warren says everything is fine, but Nigel…well, you know, Nigel knows all about maintaining property because of his dad’s work. He says the front part of the cabin is in decline. He wants to take down that half and build a new one…”
I can’t help it now. Tears fill my eyes and spill over. I know Nigel is right. The original part of the cabin is well over two hundred years old and much of it is wood instead of stone. It’s more than likely in the condition he says. But still, the thought of taking down our house is breaking my heart. The history of that place is overwhelming. That house was our home.
“Gran, please don’t cry. Just listen. This was a while ago and Alexander went positively ape about it. You know how he can get. I’m sure Nigel nearly lost a limb!” She looks me in the eye and chuckles, “From what I understand when he was through shouting at Nigel, Alex rang Gryffin and shouted at him, too,” I have to smile now imagining Alexander going off on those two, but at the same time I pity them both, “When it was all done, Gryffin told Nigel not to do a thing with the cabin and reminded him that it’s not his decision. So don’t you worry. Gran, please stop crying, because I have a surprise for you.” She waits for me to take a few breaths as she gently pats my hand. When I have recovered, she speaks softly, “You know how Devon and Zachary have their rugby tournament in London this weekend?” I nod, turning my head to look up into her dark eyes, which are catching all the light from the morning sun and reflecting it back at me, “Well, I love my boys and I’m as proud of their being athletes as anyone, but I told their dad and them that I’ll not be coming to this one. I told him it’s time me and my old Gran took holiday on our own and I take her back to Wales.”
My heart is pounding, “Really?”
“Really,” She grins. Oh, how she looks just like her mother when she smiles. “I want to take you home, Gran. I’d like to see it again as well. We can check it out and see if Nigel’s right or he’s gone mad.” She stands up, “Your ankle is mended well enough. We can’t hold you hostage here forever, although I’d like it. Nigel and Warren and Natalie are there if you need them. Nat says she’ll come and stay with you if you need. You know Warren would, too. Any of us would.” She pauses, “Right. I’ve already got you packed, but I want you to go have a pee before we leave off. We’ll be taking the train to Wales and I know how you hate public toilets.” She pauses, her face suddenly serious. “Do you think you can make it to the house, though? With your leg? I rang Warren to let him know and he says the path is cleared right to the hill, but you know it’s steep.”
“I know I can,” I say. I know my old legs may not be able to make the climb up the hill, which is indeed steep, but I am sure of one thing; if I cannot, Alex will berate them until Nigel or Warren carries me. I know I will make it there somehow. I have to. I promised Oliver I would stay and protect what he no longer could.
I know Kitty is not certain that I can make it to the house, but she’s not going to say it. She’ll see to it that I do. That is the power a good grandmother has over her granddaughter who was loved as much as mine. The child will do anything for you when you’re too old to do it for yourself.
“Kit,” I smile at her, “I have never thanked you for all those holidays you chose to spend with us in the wood. Not everybody understands the magic, but you always did. Your mind is open and your heart is free. You are so much like your granddad.”
Kitty grins, “Thank you, Gran! I’d like to think I’m like him!” She pauses, “You do know how much I miss him, don’t you? I miss his jokes. I miss his stories, especially. He was the best storyteller. He’d have me laughing until I ached.”
I nod. “He was funny, wasn’t he? He and I used to laugh all the time.”
“I remember. You two were always so happy.”
“We were,” I rise, “I need to check something. Are we leaving straight away?”
“We need to leave soon, yes.”
I head into the cottage to make sure she’s packed everything I need. She has. Tucked safely away inside my train case is a small, silver locket. I remove it. My hands are so old and shaky I can barely open it, but I do, and make sure what I’ve hidden in it is there. It is; a little sliver of wood that Oliver gave to me and Alex told me to make sure I had when I came home. I shut the locket and pull the chain over my head.
An hour later the train is picking up speed, racing toward Wales. The cities and factories are fading, giving to rolling green hills dotted with sheep. My heart is soaring. Home, home! I am going home!
“I was born in Scotland,” I tell Kitty after a silence, “You know that, but do you know how I ended up in Wales?” She sets down her magazine. I have her complete attention. “I lived in Edinburgh until I was fifteen, ten years after my mother died. My father fell to bits when she did. He was more like a wet sack than a man afterward. He may have been even before, I’m not sure. He cared about my sister and me. He never lost his temper and we always had a roof over our heads and food to eat. We went to the best schools as well.” I pause, remembering him with a mixture of affection and disappointment, “My father moved us to Wales because he met a woman. She was lovely, good to Lucy, but had little to say to me. He never married her, though,” I pause again. I can’t even think of her name now or why they didn’t marry. Deciding it doesn’t matter, I continue, “Daddy wanted to go back to Scotland after their affair ended, but he stayed in Wales because of me and Oliver. He stayed because he knew he’d have to take me back murdered and in bits hidden in baskets. There was no taking me from my Oliver and he well knew it, so he stayed to look after me and keep Lucy in one school. And he only did that for a short while before he became ill and decided he wouldn’t survive. He went back to Scotland to die and lived more than thirty years.”