The church clock chimed midnight. Rosa sat back, eased her aching back and surveyed the doll with satisfaction. After eleven hours of intensive sewing, stuffing and accessorising, she’d finally finished. She wrote out a label that said, Hello, I’m Maisie’s doll! and fastened it with ribbon around the doll’s wrist. If she said so herself, she’d done a good job.
Taking a fresh sheet of paper, she wrote a brief note to include in the package:
Dear Pamela,
Here is the doll I’ve made for Maisie – I do hope she’ll like it. No payment is necessary. You have a beautiful granddaughter and she’s very lucky to have you in her life.
Very best wishes,
Rosa.
Having tidied up, she carried the doll and the letter upstairs and put them out of sight. Tomorrow she would wrap the parcel and post it off.
She paused and wished there was someone she could confide in about her tiny act of rebellion, someone who wouldn’t shake their head and tell her she was gullible.
Actually, there was someone . . .
‘. . . Because even if Pamela is a con artist, Maisie still exists, doesn’t she? And if she’s that unhappy, a doll’s going to help her feel better. I’m really glad I made it now. You don’t think I’m mad, do you? No, of course you don’t, because you were even more of a big softie than me.’ Rosa ran her hands over the grass that she liked to think contained essence of Joe. ‘Remember the time I came home and you’d bought six tea towels from one of those door-to-door sellers because the guy said his dog needed an operation? You paid ninety pounds for those tea towels and then you found out he’d told the neighbours a completely different sob story about—’
The words died in Rosa’s throat as she heard the sound of the French doors being unlocked, followed by the swish of them being opened. OK, no need to panic, this had happened before. All she had to do was keep quiet and stay still.
It was half past midnight, for heaven’s sake. Whoever it was, why weren’t they asleep by now?
There was no tap-tapping of high heels like last time. Rosa didn’t turn around. She listened and waited, then held her breath as the faint sound of someone moving across the grass grew closer.
Moments later, the movement stopped and a low voice behind her said, ‘What are you doing?’
Bugger. Here we go. Rosa twisted round. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘It is you.’ Benny gave a quiet bark of laughter. ‘I thought it was. What’s going on? Is it something to do with the hedgehogs?’
‘You have hedgehogs?’
‘Ingrid said we did. Or possibly badgers.’
‘Oh. Well, they might have been me.’
‘Does that mean you come here . . . often?’
‘Well, quite often. Yes. Sorry.’
He took a step closer. ‘So if you’re not here to see the hedgehogs, what’s the reason?’
He was an intelligent man; could he seriously be asking that question? Rosa said, ‘To talk to Joe.’
She could just make out his frown. ‘In our garden?’
‘It used to be ours.’
‘Look, no offence, but couldn’t you talk to him in your own garden?’ He was sounding bemused rather than angry.
‘But this is where he is. You know that.’
‘What?’
‘His ashes. This is where we scattered them, under his favourite tree. I know it sounds stupid, but it’s where I feel closest to him. If I’d known I was going to have to sell the house I’d never have done it, I would’ve k-kept them . . . but by the time I found out, it was t-too late . . .’ Oh God, and now to her horror she was choking up, teetering on the edge of tears. How mortifying. Hastily she wiped her brimming eyes with the sleeve of her black cardigan.
‘Look, shall we go inside?’
‘I’d rather not.’
‘OK.’ Benny sat down on the grass a couple of feet away. ‘So how long’s this been going on?’
‘About a year. I didn’t do it at first. But once I started, I discovered I couldn’t bear to stop. It’s kind of addictive.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘And it never occurred to you to ask if you could come over every now and again?’
‘Of course it occurred to me! I did ask!’ She took a shuddery, indignant breath. ‘You said no.’
‘I did? When?’
‘OK, it was your solicitors. I sent the letter to you, and they wrote back. And it wasn’t a polite no.’ Rosa sniffed and wiped her cheeks again. ‘It was a definite, scary, not-in-a-million-years kind of no.’ She glanced at him accusingly. ‘They must have sent you a copy of their reply.’
Benny shook his head. ‘I haven’t seen it. I didn’t see your letter either. Who were the solicitors?’
‘Not the ones you used when you bought the house. This was Berry and Bayliss in London.’ She heard him exhale slowly. In the distance, an owl screeched.
‘Right. Well, now it’s my turn to apologise. Maybe I was away at the time, but Ingrid must have dealt with it. I’m afraid she’s quite into rules and regulations. She probably asked for legal advice and was told it wasn’t a good idea, because . . . well, we didn’t know anything about you. It could have turned into a tricky situation.’
‘Of course . . . I mean, it wouldn’t have, but you weren’t to know that. I’m sorry.’
‘Stop it. I’m the one who should be apologising. I feel terrible.’
‘You really didn’t know?’
Benny shook his head. ‘I swear I didn’t. I’ll have a word with Ingrid about it. As far as I’m concerned, you’re welcome here any time.’
Rosa’s spirits lifted. ‘Really? But what if she says no?’
‘She can’t do that. Ingrid doesn’t own the house. It’s in my name.’
Well, she hadn’t known that. ‘So . . . how was she able to get the letter sent?’
His smile was wry. ‘Trust me, Ingrid has her methods. Anyway, don’t worry, I’ll sort it out with her. From now on, you’re an invited guest. Oh God, are you crying again?’
‘In a good way.’ She brushed away the tears of relief before they dropped off her chin. ‘You don’t know how much this means to me. It’s been three years since Joe died and I’ve kept going all this time without him, but it doesn’t seem to get any easier. Sometimes I wake up in the night and think, haven’t I suffered long enough? I just want him back now. And I’m not going mad, I know he can’t come back, but anything that makes me feel better is worth doing, I think, and being here, talking to Joe, is the best thing of all. It cheers me up.’
‘Any time you want,’ Benny told her. ‘How do you manage to get into the garden anyway?’
‘Well, it’s not by parachute.’ Rosa managed a smile. ‘Over the wall.’
‘With your dodgy knee? That’s asking for trouble.’ A thought occurred to him. ‘Did you once leave a jar of Gold Blend coffee on the lawn?’
She nodded. ‘I did. Sorry, that was—’
‘Because Gold Blend was Joe’s favourite coffee?’
Rosa spluttered with laughter. ‘He preferred tea. Leaving the jar behind was an accident. I was looking for the charm bracelet I’d lost the night before.’