Kathleen stared after her for a moment feeling frustration and regret.
She’d thought that her travels would make her daughter more independent and in a way that had been the case. Liza had learned to cook and care for the home. She’d provided the cozy warmth that Kathleen hadn’t. What was lacking was emotional independence. Liza had become insecure and clingy when Kathleen had returned from her trips.
Was that why her daughter had married so young? Had she been seeking security?
Kathleen had taken the opposite approach. She hadn’t married until she was forty and even then it was on the third time of asking. She felt a strange pressure in her chest and realized it was grief. It had been five years since Brian had died, but still she missed him terribly.
She stood up, her bones aching. People who said that eighty was the new sixty had never been eighty. At her age only one thing was certain, and that was that nothing was going to get easier.
She waited for the stiffness to pass, and then joined them in the kitchen.
“Morning, Kathleen.” Sean pulled a face when he saw the ugly wound and the traces of blood in her hair. “That’s quite a wound. But I’m sure the other guy is worse. You’re an example to us all.”
“Sean!” Liza was exasperated. “Are you hungry? I’ll make breakfast.”
She opened the fridge and removed eggs, while Sean sat down and chatted about golf, fishing and the outrageous cost of property in London.
Liza moved quietly round the kitchen, laying the table and cooking.
Kathleen watched her daughter as she whisked eggs and expertly produced fluffy omelets which she sprinkled with fresh chives cut from Kathleen’s herb pots. Caring for people came naturally to her, but at some point she’d forgotten to include herself.
Sean picked up his fork. “My favorite comfort food.”
Liza made a fresh pot of coffee and put it in the center of the table, along with bowls of fresh berries and yogurt. “I brought you fresh oranges, Mum.”
“Delicious,” Kathleen said. “Let’s have fresh juice right now. Such a treat.”
Liza shook her head. “You should keep them.”
“Why? What use is an orange in a bowl? The bowl is decorative, but the orange isn’t.” Kathleen studied her daughter. “You need to squeeze every last drop of juice from it and enjoy it while you can. When it’s gone, it’s gone.”
“Is that supposed to be a metaphor? Life giving you lemons and all that?” But Liza squeezed juice and put the jug and glasses on the table.
“What’s the plan for the day?” Sean cleared his plate. “Shall we take a walk to the beach later?”
“This isn’t a minibreak.” Liza put two slices of toast in front of him. “We need to help Mum with the house.”
“I know, but in between helping, we can have some fun.” Sean spread butter on his toast. “Might see if the surfboard is still in the garage.”
Kathleen glanced up. “It is.”
Liza poked at her eggs, as if she was too tired to lift the fork to her mouth.
After breakfast, they all moved into the living room.
Sean looked a little lost. “Do you need me to mow the lawn or something? Call an estate agent? Give me orders.”
Kathleen breathed in sharply. “You will not be calling an estate agent. I’m not selling this place so please don’t waste your time trying to convince me.” Was this what it was going to be like from now on? Was every conversation with her family going to be them trying to persuade her to move, and her refusing? How dull and frustrating that would be for all of them. What was it going to take to get them to understand that she had no intention of selling? Didn’t they understand how she felt about this house?
She ignored the little voice inside her telling her that they couldn’t possibly know how she felt about the house because she’d never shared her feelings on the subject.
“Right.” Sean glanced at Liza who was dusting surfaces. “One option would be for you to stay here and we could arrange some help.”
“What help do I need? A bodyguard?”
Liza shook her head. “That man probably knew you were alone and vulnerable, Mum.”
“He was too drunk to know anything.”
Sean laughed. “I was going to suggest buying you a scary dog with an extra row of teeth, but nothing could be scarier than the sight of you brandishing a skillet in a nightdress. If the press got hold of the story, you’d be the headline.”
Liza clutched the cloth she was holding so tightly that the blood fled from her fingers. “She could have been killed, Sean.”
“But I wasn’t.” Kathleen was calm. “And if that had been the end of me—well, so be it. I will not sell this place. If you really want to do something useful, you can look for Popeye. He’s missing.”
“I’ll do that.” Sean stood, apparently grateful for something that gave him an excuse to leave the house.
“I’m going to spend the morning going through this room,” Liza said. “Clearing the bookshelves. They haven’t been touched in decades.”
Kathleen bristled. “I’d rather wrestle another intruder than throw out books.”
“But there has to be stuff here you’ll never read again.”
“Possibly. But if we throw it out we remove the option. And there is no reason to clear them. I’ve already told you—”
“You’re not selling the house. I know. But that doesn’t mean it’s not a good idea to occasionally have a clear out. We don’t have to rush any decisions.” Liza clearly wasn’t going to give up and Kathleen decided that the simplest solution was to allow her daughter to load a few things into boxes. It would give her a feeling of control, and Kathleen could always unload them again after she’d gone.
“In that case you can start on those shelves in the corner.”
The morning passed, bathed in tension rather than a companionable silence.
Occasionally Liza would hold up a book. “This one?”
“Keep it,” Kathleen would say, or “put it in the box.”
Sean returned, but with the news that Popeye was nowhere to be found. “He’s probably off exploring.”
Kathleen had never thought she’d find reason to envy her cat.
On the other hand if a one-eyed, three-legged cat could go exploring, why couldn’t she? There were no rules that demanded a person be in perfect condition in order to travel beyond one’s own walls.