Pockets
Mum, honestly, what are you going on about? The business with your pockets again? A will? Really? Why are you even talking about that? Youre not planning on departing this world just yet, are you? Alice jabbed her finger towards the ceiling, frowning. Youve no business up there! We need you here!
Sweeping aside her mothers persistent worries with a sigh, Alice rolled up her sleeves and resumed kneading dough, smacking it about the kitchen table so forcefully that even the cats shot outside onto the conservatory, well aware that their owner wasnt to be trifled with today.
It needs doing, Alice. I want things in order, insisted Margaret, her mother, glancing after the tails disappearing out the door, before she calmly set about cutting apples for the filling.
They were perfect apples. Big, fragrant, full of the autumn colours that flooded the old country house belonging to Alice Greenwood.
That house had belonged to Alices grandfather. Spacious, ancient, heavy with memories it sighed at night, just like Margaret did when her back was troubling her, and held so many family secrets, even the current lot hardly knew them all.
Alice, whod spent her childhood holidays here and swore she knew every nook, was always discovering something a little hidden door in the attic, a half-tumbled bench at the far end of the garden. It felt as though the place lived on its own terms, detached from the fuss, worries, and passions thatd ruled under its roof for almost a century. Alices great-grandfather, a well-known author in his day, had built it for his sprawling family, which included aunts, uncles, lost cousins, and great-aunts who all saw out their days there, cosied up with each other. At least, as long as he was alive. When he passed, his third wife, whom hed adored though rarely understood, promptly turfed out the lot save for her sons and mother, declaring shed had quite enough of communal living.
The rest of the family were stunned by her sudden change, having endured so many years for their beloved Benjamins sake.
But Lottie, how can you just? Benjamin would never
Benjamins gone! snapped Lottie, waving her now-former in-laws out the door. Im in charge now!
The family left, all stiff upper lips, and the house seemed to age overnight. It creaked, moaned, and grumbled a disconcerting quiet in the day, unfamiliar noises at night. Gone was the laughter that used to ring up the halls, gone the evenings around the big tea urn on the veranda, where every soul had a place, and even newcomers soon felt at home, never mind how tangled up their relation might have been.
Lotties time as mistress of the house didnt last long. She fell out first with her mother, then her eldest son, who promptly moved out, and finally her younger son, who had nowhere to go and drifted around the creaky old place rather than face the chilly city flat where he wasnt wanted.
The house roused a bit just then. Fresh voices, younger ones, filled the rooms again. Youd catch the sighs of love-struck girls behind garden hedges, laughter and secrets returned, if only briefly.
But fate played a cruel game. Lotties youngest, obsessed with rowing, drowned under a boat on the nearby lake. Lottie, after another silly row, had stopped speaking to him, so only found out days after, by which time uncles, aunts, those she’d banished, had looked after the arrangements for her eighteen-year-old son.
It barely shook Lottie. She mumbled something, drank steadily at the wake, never blaming herself for what happened, only railing at the world.
Youre moving in with me! she tried to command her oldest son, Edward, who came to say goodbye.
No, Mum, I cant. I have a family my wifes expecting, she couldnt come, you know how far along she is.
Family? Im your family! Dont you get it? Ive lost a son!
And Ive lost a brother! Edward snapped, getting up. Dont shout, Mum. Yelling wont bring him back.
Lottie burst out crying and ran to her own mum to complain about her own suffering, but Margaret had no patience for her.
You drove everyone away, Lottie! Now youre about to lose Edward too. Youre getting a grandson, you know. But you wouldnt even listen!
My grandson? Who cares? Ive never even met his wife! For all I know, that child isnt even Edwards! Some girl making up stories
Stop it, Lottie! I know youre grieving, but youre way out of line. I dont want to hear it!
Well fine! You all hate me! Left me! I did everything for this lot…
Whats everything, Lottie? Margarets voice was so heavy, even Lottie looked uneasy. Who did you leave behind? Maybe, think about that then perhaps youll be able to build bridges. I spoiled you, yes, tried to make up for your dad dying young by being too soft. Maybe that was a mistake…
Oh, dont! You think scolding me wouldve made me some sort of saint? Nonsense! Im perfectly fine. Ill speak to Edward again!
Dont you dare, Margarets tone carried a steel Lottie hadnt heard before. If you meddle, hell leave you behind for good.
Fine! Ive already no one! Lottie sniffled, face streaked with tears. No one loves me…
And who do you love?
That question caught Lottie off guard. She was still searching for an answer when her mother turned on her heel and left. There was little comfort to be had by the end of the wake, just a sour aftertaste and unanswered questions.
Edward tried again before leaving, but Lottie wouldnt listen.
Youll see when Im proven right!
Right about what, Mum? Why are you so angry?
Oh, get out! And dont come back, she shrieked, startling herself with the outburst.
Edward didnt stick around to see her tantrum through. The taxi slammed; he took one last look at the old house, grieving for the childhood and the father he remembered.
They never reconciled. Only a few weeks later Lottie, in a drunken haze, wandered into the road and was struck by a car. As Edward and his nan rushed back from London, the extended family appeared out of the woodwork, sorting everything and arranging for Lottie to be buried next to her husband. Even those whod barely liked her felt sorry for such a short, lonely life where she never even met her grandchild.
That boy Jamie would never know his grandmother or her quirks, but as he grew, everyone marvelled at his uncanny resemblance to her. For all their rules and attempts to teach him love, responsibility, and happiness, his life played out in echo.
He divorced his first wife a month into their marriage, accusing her of cheating when there hadnt been the slightest whiff of proof. When he met Margaret, he convinced himself hed found peace and joy, but again, it was not to last. Their daughter, Alice, born five years later, looked nothing like Jamie.
How? How could a blue-eyed blonde like me have a dark-haired, brown-eyed daughter?! Whats going on, Margaret?! He pestered, refusing to listen to reason or photos clearly showing Alice took after the women on his side.
You all want me stuck with Margaret! he raged, pacing the veranda of the old house. Well, Im done! Shes out!
No, Edward, tired of the drama, drew a line. Alice is our granddaughter she stays with us as long as Margaret lets her. Margaret, go get some rest, its not worth the stress. And you, Jamie, get your things and off you go to your own flat.
Ill live where I please! muttered Jamie.
You wont this house is mine now, I decide who stays. Maybe youll see sense one day. But I warn you, Jamie, life isnt a game. Careful you dont end up alone.
Better alone than made a fool! – Jamie stormed out.
And Margaret remained, along with Alice, for whom the country house became her favourite place in the world.
She spent her childhood there in a whirl of happiness her mothers hugs, Grandmothers stories, Grandpa Edwards fishing trips and wild rides on the old garden swings. There was no father, but Alice didnt miss what shed never had. When she was five, Margaret met her second husband, and Alice immediately decided he was her new dad. She even called him that from the start.
When Margaret tried to explain, Edward stepped in. Let her be. If it works, good. Were not getting in the way. If Jamie doesnt want her, thats his bad luck. Weve tried to talk to him, you know that. Just dont keep us from seeing our granddaughter, please.
Of course not. After everything youve done for me
A year later, Alice and her family moved to Devon when her stepdads job transferred. But she kept in touch with her grandparents, even after her stepfather passed and Margaret decided to return to London. Margaret rolled up her sleeves, did up the old house, and moved Jamies ailing parents in.
This will be better, fresh air and all the modern comforts, she said brightly.
Margaret, you sold your flat for this? Spent everything? Edward and his wife roamed the fresh, revived old home, marvelling.
Not at all. My late husband kept us well, and Ive work. Another language under my belt now, Mandarin, so theres plenty of translation work to keep me busy here near you. Once weve settled, Ill look for a place for Alice. Well manage.
Dear, this is happiness! beamed Alices gran, hugging her. Were all together!
Only one thing was amiss Jamie, visiting his parents, flatly refused to acknowledge his daughter. No appeals or heart-to-hearts from his mum could change his mind.
Alice grew up, finished university, and married. Her gran fixed her veil, and Grandpa led her down the garden path, resplendent in autumn glory, laughter ringing out. Margaret covertly wiped away a tear, stealing glances at Jamie, who had been persuaded to come at last.
Im getting old, he muttered, almost apologetically, avoiding eye contact with Margaret.
We all are, Jamie, she replied kindly. At least, she thought, hes here to see how happy their daughter is.
He dashed off almost straight after the vows, but after that day occasionally showed up at the house, though always when Alice and her now-husband were there as well.
The years turned, Alice became a mother, Edward just lived to see great-grandchildren before quietly passing away after his wife.
That’s when Margaret had to tangle with Jamies unpleasant side again.
This house is mine!
But Edward left it to Alice in his will, Margaret countered, keeping her cool.
Dont care! Ill contest it!
What do you gain, Jamie? Youre greying, youre alone except for Alice! What are you going to do, stuff it all in your pockets and carry it off with you? There are grandchildren now, and youre still fighting!
Im not even sure shes my daughter! And you talk of grandchildren!
Fine, off to the solicitor! Ill go too!
What for?
Well do a paternity test. Ive had enough of your nonsense.
Jamie faltered, gave Margaret a peculiar look, and finally nodded. Alright then. No courts needed.
Unsurprisingly, the test proved Alice was Jamies daughter. He reconciled himself at least partially and it turned out just in time.
A couple of months later, Jamie got some grim news.
A matter of weeks, Margaret, he said quietly, popping round while Margaret and the family were busy making chutney in the kitchen of the house.
Margaret gasped, cracking a jar of tomatoes and bursting into tears, frightening the children who joined in without knowing why granny was hugging the grumpy old man theyd only ever seen here on occasional visits.
Oh Jamie, why didnt you say?
Im telling you now. Stop that blubbing makes it worse!
Can we do anything at all?
Doctors say not.
Doctors dont always know. Lets see! Margaret, dabbing her cheeks, shooed the children outside to the swings. I need a word with your grandfather.
Instead of a few weeks, Jamie lingered nearly a year.
The house offered him peace, space to think, and at long last, the chance to reflect on life the good, the bad, all of it. He remembered those close to him, realised all too late what hed failed to appreciate.
Margaret said little, just sat with him, cared for him. Her heart, oddly, held no lasting grudge.
Thank you, Jamie.
What for?
If not for you, I’d never have known true happiness.
But I hurt you
If not for that, Id never have met my husband. He loved me, loved Alice like his own.
But you never had a child together?
I tried. Didnt work out, lost two, and after that the doctors said no more. I thought hed leave me, but he said Alice was enough for us.
He was a good man.
The best.
And I I was a fool.
Were only human, Jamie. Its good youve realised it, even now.
Do you reckon Alice forgives me?
She did, ages back.
And you?
I do too.
Youve always been soft-hearted.
And you, a stubborn mule.
Too right.
He passed away at the end of summer, quiet, dozing on the veranda. Margaret, in the kitchen, missed the moment, and when she saw him, still and smiling to himself, she gasped and ran for the phone to ring Alice.
Alice arrived to find her mother weeping, so raw and honest that Alice was taken aback.
Mum, why?
Im crying because I feel sorry for him. Every person deserves someone to mourn them, dont they?
Why pity him? He
Hush, Alice. Hes gone, and thats that. Im not just crying for him.
For what, then?
For my own life For my first love For the people who supported me when I needed it your grandparents. I miss them.
Me too
Your dad They loved him too. Couldnt change his ways, but they always held out hope.
He never understood
No, he didnt. Thought people are born loners, like wolves. Only wolves aren’t alone they live in packs, with their own order. Wish hed learnt that in time. Wouldve been different. Now its all done.
The pockets, right Mum? Alice hugged her.
Yes, Alice. Where hes gone, there are no pockets for carrying anything away.
Jamies will left everything to Alice, but she found out he had another child somewhere never officially acknowledged, hidden away just as shed once been. The boys mother had never contacted Alice, but Alice found her brother after sorting her fathers papers.
There were pictures, and
Alice put a stack of letters down on the table in front of a woman who looked so much like her own mum it was almost eerie.
You wrote to him, saying you were expecting a baby.
He never replied.
I know. So you gave your son your own surname?
Yes.
And you sent his father photographs. Hoping hed come round?
Yes Foolish, really.
Not at all. Without those letters, Id never have known I had a brother.
What do you want?
I want things done fairly. My brothers got just as much right to our fathers things as me.
What?! Are you serious? Why?
Its whats right.
And so the old place creaked and sighed and filled up with people again. Laughter rang out under its eaves, family gathered at the big round table on the veranda, and Alices husband finally hauled the forgotten old kettle down from the attic. All polished up, it gave a proud little whistle, promising warmth and comfort for that old house.
Mum, thats enough apples! Alice dusted flour from her hands, listening to the children calling to each other in the garden. Or are you planning on two pies?
One for the kids, one for the grown-ups. There are so many of us now, Alice!
Youre right. Thats lovely.
And about the will
Mum, not today, Alice laughed, throwing the door open and breathing in the smoky, earthy, golden autumn air. Lets enjoy now. Were here, all of us, all right? Theres time enough to sort things out. Now just now, thats enough, isnt it?
It is, Margaret nodded, wrapping her arms around her daughter, listening.
The old house groaned contentedly, the gate clanged for the next visitors, and it listened, once more, to happiness taking root within its walls.
