‘Why can’t I have this?’ enquired Tom, scrunching up his eyes like a petulant child.
‘You know what the doctor said. Boiled fish and vegetables for you if we want to keep you around, Dad.’
‘Sounds like you hate me,’ he scoffed. ‘What’s the point of living if I have to eat food like that to last?’
He shuffled back out of the room mumbling to himself and Jean shook her head.
Sophie enquired after his health in a low voice. ‘Is he doing okay?’
‘He’s having a good day today – he does better when he takes his pills,’ Jean said, cocking an eyebrow. ‘And we’ll probably have him around for a while yet. Though the forgetfulness comes and goes, and some days are very hard. How was your journey down, love?’
‘Very pleasant. I love coming here,’ said Sophie, stretching, and sitting down in the chair at the broad pine farmhouse table.
‘Let me get the kettle on, make a cup of tea, and you can tell me all about things in London.’
After a long chat with her auntie Jean, where Sophie somehow managed to glide past any mention of Matt, she caught her up to date on her gran’s news and what she had been doing in her new job, then they got to the business at hand.
‘So, tell me again, dear,’ Jean said, covering her hand with her own, ‘about where you found this photograph.’
Sophie told her all about the exhibition and the story that her grandmother had told her.
Jean shook her head. ‘It’s an absolute mystery to me, I’m afraid, no one has ever really talked about her. I didn’t want to say anything to Dad. He goes to bed early now. Maybe over this week you can do some searching? There are boxes of photographs in the attic, and surely there must be something from this mystery sister. There must be a birth certificate or whatever somewhere. Maybe we could piece together this history for you.’
‘I can’t believe Uncle Tom would never have talked about his other sister.’
Jean’s voice dropped to a whisper. ‘All I can tell you is there was a lot of heartbreak for years after the war. I don’t remember anything being told directly to me during my childhood. But I do remember stories of people being hostile towards Dad in the village. Who knows? This may help me put together the pieces of my own family puzzle.’
With her grandmother’s stern warning about Uncle Tom’s health still echoing in her mind Sophie sipped at the tea her auntie Jean had automatically placed in front of her. Sophie pondered Jean’s words, seeing the encouragement in her eyes, and hoped that she wouldn’t somehow uncover something that might make things worse.
13
The next day Sophie woke up and, as she stretched, she could almost feel all the stress of London leaving her body. Cornwall was starting to work its magic on her. She loved the city and all its buzz, but when Sophie needed to find herself, collect all the fragments of herself, Cornwall was invariably the place to do it. Showering, she got dressed and went down for breakfast. The hub of the little kitchen was warm and alive with the buzz of morning conversation between Jean and her son and she settled herself at the farmhouse table to connect with her family. She looked forward to listening to all the local gossip, the regaling of family stories and all that needed to be done on the manor at this time of the year.
Her cousin Jamie was just on the way out the door when she’d arrived downstairs. He gave her a hug. ‘Unfortunately, I’m afraid I can’t stop and chat, Sophie, as the weather is mild and I have to inspect trees today. The wind we’ve had over the last few weeks has weakened some limbs. I need to get out and get those dealt with. We don’t want them taking out a new bride in the spring, now do we?’ he stated, grinning at her as he grabbed a piece of toast spread with his mother’s home-made marmalade and headed out the door. ‘Enjoy your day,’ he sang out as he left.
As she watched him leave she tried to recall the boy she had often climbed trees and fished with in the lake on endless summer holidays. The scrawny teenager of her youth had filled out into a good-looking man with curious brown eyes and a close-cut beard. He looked a lot like his father, her uncle Philip, who had passed away when they’d both been young. Now, as he trudged out in his green wellies and green Barbour jacket, he looked every bit the country farmer.
Her auntie Jean was busy making breakfast. ‘How would you like your eggs, Sophie?’
‘Eggs? I actually don’t really eat breakfast normally.’
‘Well, you’re in the country now, and the country air will make you hungry. You need to make sure you eat something.’
‘If you’re going to force me, then scrambled eggs would be wonderful.’
Jean nodded and started working at the stove as the sizzle and smell of butter filled the kitchen. ‘What are you planning on doing today? Make sure you get plenty of relaxation while you’re here.’
The words stabbed at her, reminding her of one of the reasons she was here – yes, to do the research, but also because of the break-up with Matt. She hastily pushed thoughts of him away from her mind.
‘There’s a lot going on in town today,’ Jean continued. ‘It’s market day. And even though it’s not outside at this time of year, the village hall has stalls if you wanted to pop in there,’ she suggested, cracking eggs into a bowl, whisking, and pouring them into the hot buttered pan; where they spluttered and spat.
‘I think I will continue doing the research about Vivienne, our phantom ancestor. I was wondering if that little museum is still in town.’
Her auntie stopped and stared out of the kitchen window for a second then realised what she meant and nodded. ‘Oh, of course. Harold Westlake keeps that place spic and span. Probably because half of it’s dedicated to his father’s supposed heroics during the war. But yes, it’s still there. Let me see. If you check in the paper, it should tell you what time it’s open under the local section.’
Sophie opened the newspaper folded on the table as a full English breakfast was placed in front of her. ‘Good grief, Auntie Jean. How do you expect me to eat all this?’
Her auntie smiled. ‘At least it’ll put something in your stomach, even if you can’t manage it all. There are plenty of mouths around here to help you out.’
Sophie’s attention was drawn under the table where she could hear the thudding, wagging tails of the family’s two golden retrievers as they rapped on the floor, knowing their cue. She dived into the food, which somehow tasted so much better in the country. Free-range eggs, country sausage, stewed tomatoes, and her auntie’s home-made marmalade and crusty bread.
Studying the newspaper, Sophie could see the museum would be open at midday. She glanced at her phone. Just after nine. Good. She’d have a little time to get ready and maybe do some further online war research.
‘It is lovely being here,’ she mused as she spread Jean’s golden marmalade on another piece of toast.
‘And we love having you,’ Jean added, pouring her a cup of tea. ‘Though you should know my dad is having one of his forgetful days today. You may find him rather different on these challenging days.’
Sophie nodded. She had been surprised the day before when he had been so chatty, after the stories of his dementia from her gran, and it made her sad that he had so many health concerns.