Catherine was gone. Her sons had come in from London for the wake in her village cottage. Well, at least theyve shown their faces now, whispered the neighbours, peering over the rosebush. Theyve seen their mother off for the last time. After the gathering, the families began to pack their cases, the air heavy with warmth and awkward silences. Suddenly, Aunt LydiaCatherines sisterstepped over the threshold in her worn boots.
Aunt Lydia, we really must be off, said the elder son, straightening his tie. The house needs to be locked up. Youd best be on your way, too.
Go? Why should I go? Lydia exclaimed, dropping her umbrella with a thunk on the mat. Im at home. Nowhere else to be.
All eyes turned to Lydia, flickering with confusion, drifting in that strange twilit moment between departure and staying.
Some time ago, Rita and David had married modestly, moving into Davids cottage with his mother. No lavish reception, the savings pooled for some other day. Before that, Rita had lived in a hostel in Nottingham; David dwelled with his mother, since his father had been long absent. Rita had not returned to her own mother, who lived a reckless life, her father a ghost shed never known.
Davids mother decided to give the newlyweds time alone. She packed her raincoat and left for her sister Catherines cottage in the countryside, a place she often retreated for peace. Catherine lived alone; her husband had passed, and her sons, both city men, rarely called, let alone visited.
If only they phoned, Catherine thought, if only just to ask if she needed anything. But of course, they were always busy, burdened by the endless matters of city life.
She harboured a quiet hurt. Surely a mother deserved a call now and then? But Catherine asked them for nothing. She patched the fence herself, fetched help from neighbours, and sometimes her nephew David would visit with his wife Rita.
David could fix just about anything, and had often come round before his marriage. Now she feared hed forget her, like her own boys had. Theyd never even brought their wives to her cottage, city girls shed glimpsed only at their weddings. No grandchildren yet either. Too soon, theyd say in passing.
Lydia! Youve come at last, my dear sister! Catherine beamed, hands outstretched.
Together, they filled the cottage with clattering laughter and steam from the kettle. Theyd been inseparable as girls until Lydia vanished off to Bristol, married there, and left Catherine alone in the country. Both lost their husbands the same year but never remarried.
Lydia chuckled, Ill play housekeeper for now. But my holiday only lasts a week. Why havent David and his young wife come? Off on a honeymoon at the seaside, are they?
No, theyre being sensible with money. Modest wedding, just the registry office. Rita hasnt much family. Her mothers always off somewhere, and shes been on her own for years. A pity, reallyRitas a lovely lass.
Why didnt you bring them all along?
I thought Id leave them to settle in. I wont be underfoot. Give them a month without me about. Honestly, Id begun to think David would never marry at all. Thirty years old now. Thank heavens he finally did.
They dont need you hovering, you know. Why stay cooped up in the city? They could visit their auntand why not bring Rita? Ring them up! Theres plenty of room. If they dont fancy it, the trains never far.
David and Rita arrived after a day. Lydia welcomed them with open armsat least someone remembered her. Catherine watched, bittersweet.
Im so pleased to see you! Mine never come, no matter how much I ask. Catherines voice faltered.
Rita settled into village life as if shed slipped into a familiar dream. She remembered being young and visiting her grans cottage, picking gooseberries and trailing through the garden, before her grandmother passed away when she was fifteen. Since then, shed worked and studied alone.
Catherine worked, Lydia pottered about and cooked. David mended the garden gate by the pump house and patched up the shed roof. Rita spent her days weeding, turning earth until dusk.
Oh, leave it, Rita, youll be covered in mud, Catherine called from the kitchen. My holiday starts soon enough. Ill take care of it then. Go and rest.
Its nothing, really. I did everything at my grans. Ive always loved the feel of the soil. You deserve a proper rest, especially now.
The week vanished as quickly as midsummer rain. Then everyone packed up and left, leaving Catherine alone. It was so quiet she missed the creaks in the old floorboards. One evening she rang her eldest.
Mum? Whats happened?
Nothing, love, I just wanted to hear how you were. Will you come by soon?
No chance. Were far too busy. Ring your younger son insteadperhaps hes not off to Cornwall.
She tried the younger, but no luck there either. Holidays at the seaside took precedence over visits home.
Well, David promised hed visit
Years passed. David and Rita bought a flat in Reading, but never forgot the village cottage. They visited Catherine often, helping fix whatever weather or time had wrecked. They brought their children, who sometimes spent summers with both grandmothersCatherine and Lydia, now retired and sitting by the fire with mugs of tea.
Catherines own sons never gave her grandchildren; the younger had married a woman with a child already, the elder was always chasing the next promotion until it was too late to be anything more than a Christmas card. They showed up only every few years, and she was supposed to be grateful.
Thank goodness for David and Rita, and for Lydia.
Life drifted on like mist until Catherine grew ill. There were medical bills. She rang her younger son, explained everything.
Oh, Mum, you never spent your time in fancy spas before, no sense starting now. Home is best. Youll mend.
David and Rita paid for the convalescent home.
They sent both sisters together, so they could recover amid each others company, laughter echoing down the corridors.
Catherine passed away four years later, gentle as sleep. Her sons arrived from London just for the wake in the old village cottage.
At least they turned up this once, the neighbours whispered by the rain-soaked hedgerows. Saw her off proper.
Afterwards, the families bristled at the doorway, eager for the city and its distractions, with Lydia seated in Catherines armchair, Davids family around her.
Aunt Lydia, about Well, well be off now, began the eldest son, flicking his keys in his hand. Best to lock up. Perhaps you should get going as well.
Why should we? Lydia replied with a slow, dreamy smile. Were already home. Nowhere to go but here.
Bewilderment flickered across every face.
This was Mothers house, said the younger son. Its ours now. Well be selling it. Take whatever trinket you want for memorys sakea little vase, some old crockery. Well clear it all soon anyway.
Youll want something to remember your mother by, Lydia answered, her gaze clear and strange. But as for the house, Catherine left it to me after her illnessjust after she returned from the convalescent home.
Left it to you? But were her sons!
Remember now, do you? Sons Her words drifted in the sunbeam, half sorrow and half song. When she fell ill, you never came. Not once.
The sons left. They didnt even bother with excuses. There was nothing here for them anymore. No reason to call, no one to visit.
Lydia moved into her sisters house, letting out her flat in town. She helped Davids family as much as she could. They visited her, helped her in returna gentle, close family, though the house felt strangely empty without Catherine.
But her presence was always near, a scent of lavender, a shadow in the hallway, laughter and memories tucked into every cupboard, never far from those who truly loved her.
