“Right, I think we might need something a bit stronger than tea for this,” says Monica, patting me on the back, then she calls toward the kitchen. “Sorry, Kitty, you haven’t done the trick this time.”
I laugh and wipe my eyes. Aunt Monica helps Sue back inside and then strides through to the kitchen and pulls three glasses from the cupboard. She decants a slosh of dark brown liquid into all three and then tops them up with a splash of ginger beer from the fridge. Trotting through to the living room, she hands one to me and the other to her sister.
“Now, take it from two women with over a dozen decades of experience between us, there’s no such thing as a ‘happily ever after.’ Maybe a ‘happy for now,’ if you’re lucky.”
Sue nods in agreement.
“People fight, people break up. It doesn’t mean it wasn’t real and it doesn’t mean it wasn’t worth having, Laura. All these films where people walk off into the sunset at the end and you’re led to believe all their problems are over . . .”
“I quite agree,” says Sue. “It’s a dangerous myth to peddle.”
“I prefer action and adventure films myself. Have you seen Lethal Weapon? Oh, I do like that series. If you’re going to sit down and watch a lot of unrealistic hogwash, it might as well have explosions in it, that’s what I always say. Wasn’t Mel Gibson such a dish in his day? I was so upset when he died—I lined up all my ornamental pricklers, and we had a Mel movie marathon to mark his passing.”
“I don’t think he’s dead, Monica,” says Sue.
“Isn’t he? Who am I thinking of then?”
“How am I to know what goes on in your head?” Sue tuts.
I find myself smiling at the sisterly patter between them; it makes me miss Dee.
“Are you married, Laura? Seeing anyone special?” Sue asks.
“No, I’m not. I haven’t had much luck with dating recently.” I find myself trying to hide a smile. “Though funnily enough, I’ve met two men since being here.”
“Two?” both women say in unison, which makes me laugh.
“An island this size, that must be a record,” says Sue.
“Well, well, spill the beans, girl,” says Monica.
I bite my lip, trying to think what to say.
“Well, one is perfect for me; we’ve got everything in common, and he seems to like me too—”
“And the other?” asks Monica.
I pause for a moment before answering.
“The other one is more complicated, less suitable, and I don’t know if he likes me or not.”
“But?”
“But I can’t stop thinking about him.”
The truth of these words startles me, as I admit to myself how much I am thinking of Ted.
“Well, there’s your answer,” says Sue, tapping her forehead. “Men are like woodworm. Once they’ve wheedled their way in, they’re almost impossible to get rid of. Even when you’ve had the wood treated, the holes are there to stay.”
I’m not sure this is the most romantic analogy I’ve ever heard.
“Ah, it’s been a while since I’ve had any woodwormy wood,” says Monica wistfully, causing me to splutter on my damson gin.
Declining another round of drinks, I say regretfully that I must go. I need to retrieve my computer, track down my phone, and finalize the photo shoot tomorrow.
“How long are you here for? You will stay in touch, won’t you?” says my grandmother. “You should meet Graham’s children, your second cousins. You’re a Jersey girl at heart, Laura Le Quesne,” and she pronounces it Ques-ne with a wink.
“I’m not flying back until Wednesday now,” I say, squeezing her hand, “and I would love to stay in touch.”
“We could talk to Graham about having a meal with his brood, before you go.”
Sue turns her head toward Monica, who says, “We’ll do some plotting and let you know what we can organize.”
The idea alone plants a glow inside me. I always longed for more family, to be part of one of those scenes in Christmas movies when the extended family gets together—everyone brings a different dish and people tease each other, the way Jasper and his sisters do.
“And you will take your father’s box?” Sue asks.
I feel like saying I don’t want it, that I don’t want anything that belonged to my dad now, real or imagined.
“I’m afraid I wouldn’t have room to take it on the plane. Plus, I came here on a bike.”
But Monica has already picked up the box from the floor and is walking toward the front door with it.
“I’ll nip you back in the car, we’ll sling your bike in the boot. You’ll have a proper look through, see what you want to keep, and throw the rest away. It will all just get put on the pyre when we pop our clogs otherwise. Sue, come on, polish off that piece of cake, and I’ll drop you back to yours en route.”
My heart sinks at the responsibility of throwing away the last vestiges of a man’s life. But then I look up at Sue and Monica, feel the warmth these women have shown me, and think of the family I am yet to meet. Something Ted said comes back to me—about love being a chain letter through the generations. Perhaps Dad and the coin caused a link to break, but now I am here, and I can pick up the pieces of the chain once more.
Chapter 27
We drop Sue off at her house in St. Ouen’s village. I untangle myself from the bicycle handlebars to say good-bye and she promises to be in touch. As we pull into Ted’s driveway, Monica leans over from the driver’s seat and attaches an enamel pin to my jacket. It has a picture of a hedgehog on it, and beneath are the words “I just needle little love.”
“There, that’s better, isn’t it?” she says. “Stay in touch, chickadee. It’s nice to know I have more family left out there in the world who don’t have prickles, ha-ha!”
“There’s one thing I don’t understand, Monica,” I say before getting out. “How did I come to have both pieces of the coin? In Dad’s letters, he didn’t want Mum to have it.”
“I don’t know,” she says. “Annie claimed he sent it to her before the accident, but I’m afraid Sue was never convinced she didn’t get it by deceit.”
Monica sees my face fall and reaches out to pat my hand. “Don’t let the ending ruin their story. They still met through the coin, fell in love, had you, loved you—both of them. The rest? Well”—Monica sighs—“maybe life’s more about carving out happy chapters than finding a single happy ending.”