wondered whether Bernice had confided anything about her illness to her best friend. However, now was not the time to delve into painful topics. Maybe later.
‘It’ll be so difficult this summer without Bernice’s chirpy presence whilst I mop up for the night. Remember when you were over last time, mending your broken heart after Carlos? She used to supply the tearoom with her speciality Devonshire scones and her signature lavender macaroons. Well, they’ll be off the menu this year.
‘You know, it’s becoming harder every year to keep the shop and tearooms open. There’s plenty of trade over the summer months from the weekend tourists and the guests from Brampton Manor Hotel and Spa which thankfully throws its doors open next weekend. But it’s hard physical work, and without your aunt’s support and her friendly face, I might consider taking Lucy and Jack up on their offer and emigrate to Brisbane.
‘Mrs Campbell-Wright, that’s the owner of Brampton Manor, was only saying yesterday when she was in the shop how much she wishes they didn’t have to open up their home and welcome in paying guests to make ends meet. God knows, it must cost a fortune to run that house and its splendid grounds. If she decides not to though, I think that will be my cue to move on. Fate has a way of lighting up life’s path.’
Susan raised her ample buttocks from the wooden chair and deposited her tea cup in the Belfast sink. ‘Thanks for the tea, Rosie. It’s a real shame you won’t be staying with us a little longer. Tell me, are you sleeping in the same bedroom as you did last summer?’
‘Ye…es.’ Rosie scrutinised Susan’s tired face for an explanation behind such an unusual question.
‘Maybe you could get started on boxing up your aunt’s personal things before you leave.’ Susan threw Rosie a strange look and patted her hand, still clenched around her own cup. ‘Bernice adored you, Rosie.’ She smiled, dimples appearing around her feathery lips like commas, and she quietly let herself out of the cottage that was as familiar to her as her own home.
Rosie heaved herself from the pine table and dropped her own teacup into the sink, pausing to stare out at the back garden. Despite the tangled chaos of the plants and shrubs, Bernice’s spirit still lingered amongst the marigolds and snapdragons. Rosie was grateful her aunt had enjoyed a steadfast friendship with Susan to share her life and secrets with; glad that her aunt had found comfort and joy and a sense of belonging with friends in the local community.
Emily was her own steadfast friend in this village community and, like her aunt, Rosie knew the right thing to do was to listen to her advice. She snuggled into the over-stuffed chintz sofa with an intense feeling of nostalgia for the nights she had spent curled up in that very chair bemoaning her loss of Carlos to the sympathetic audience of her aunt. Should she stay a little longer? After all, she had nothing to go chasing back to Manhattan for now.
She couldn’t settle. Why had Susan asked her which room she was sleeping in? It was a strange enquiry to make, even for someone accustomed to extracting the minutiae of people’s lives. She unfurled her long legs from the sofa and padded up the stairs.
Dusk had splayed a medley of apricot, ivory and mauve tendrils across the evening sky and the last embers of the sun melted into the horizon. She pushed open her bedroom door and switched on the light. Her eyes fell on the old oak toy box that had been such a part of her childhood. It was where her aunt had stowed her books and games, and an old porcelain doll with a wonky eye, for when she came to visit Bernice before her parents emigrated to America.
Her heart rammed against her ribcage as she approached the symbol of her early years she had spent there at Thornleigh Lodge. This was
her
wooden chest, no one else’s. Freya had been born after the family arrived in Connecticut. Nerves tingled at her
‘It’ll be so difficult this summer without Bernice’s chirpy presence whilst I mop up for the night. Remember when you were over last time, mending your broken heart after Carlos? She used to supply the tearoom with her speciality Devonshire scones and her signature lavender macaroons. Well, they’ll be off the menu this year.
‘You know, it’s becoming harder every year to keep the shop and tearooms open. There’s plenty of trade over the summer months from the weekend tourists and the guests from Brampton Manor Hotel and Spa which thankfully throws its doors open next weekend. But it’s hard physical work, and without your aunt’s support and her friendly face, I might consider taking Lucy and Jack up on their offer and emigrate to Brisbane.
‘Mrs Campbell-Wright, that’s the owner of Brampton Manor, was only saying yesterday when she was in the shop how much she wishes they didn’t have to open up their home and welcome in paying guests to make ends meet. God knows, it must cost a fortune to run that house and its splendid grounds. If she decides not to though, I think that will be my cue to move on. Fate has a way of lighting up life’s path.’
Susan raised her ample buttocks from the wooden chair and deposited her tea cup in the Belfast sink. ‘Thanks for the tea, Rosie. It’s a real shame you won’t be staying with us a little longer. Tell me, are you sleeping in the same bedroom as you did last summer?’
‘Ye…es.’ Rosie scrutinised Susan’s tired face for an explanation behind such an unusual question.
‘Maybe you could get started on boxing up your aunt’s personal things before you leave.’ Susan threw Rosie a strange look and patted her hand, still clenched around her own cup. ‘Bernice adored you, Rosie.’ She smiled, dimples appearing around her feathery lips like commas, and she quietly let herself out of the cottage that was as familiar to her as her own home.
Rosie heaved herself from the pine table and dropped her own teacup into the sink, pausing to stare out at the back garden. Despite the tangled chaos of the plants and shrubs, Bernice’s spirit still lingered amongst the marigolds and snapdragons. Rosie was grateful her aunt had enjoyed a steadfast friendship with Susan to share her life and secrets with; glad that her aunt had found comfort and joy and a sense of belonging with friends in the local community.
Emily was her own steadfast friend in this village community and, like her aunt, Rosie knew the right thing to do was to listen to her advice. She snuggled into the over-stuffed chintz sofa with an intense feeling of nostalgia for the nights she had spent curled up in that very chair bemoaning her loss of Carlos to the sympathetic audience of her aunt. Should she stay a little longer? After all, she had nothing to go chasing back to Manhattan for now.
She couldn’t settle. Why had Susan asked her which room she was sleeping in? It was a strange enquiry to make, even for someone accustomed to extracting the minutiae of people’s lives. She unfurled her long legs from the sofa and padded up the stairs.
Dusk had splayed a medley of apricot, ivory and mauve tendrils across the evening sky and the last embers of the sun melted into the horizon. She pushed open her bedroom door and switched on the light. Her eyes fell on the old oak toy box that had been such a part of her childhood. It was where her aunt had stowed her books and games, and an old porcelain doll with a wonky eye, for when she came to visit Bernice before her parents emigrated to America.
Her heart rammed against her ribcage as she approached the symbol of her early years she had spent there at Thornleigh Lodge. This was
her
wooden chest, no one else’s. Freya had been born after the family arrived in Connecticut. Nerves tingled at her
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