After a long day working in the garden, sitting down on the patio with Mum, enjoying a glass of wine and listening to the birds
D., Cornwall
It was just three days to go until the big move. She had a day off booked for Friday when the removals van was coming, thanks to Mark, who’d elected himself as driver, at eight-thirty a.m. Half the furniture had already gone off with Paul, who’d turned up last night looking rather sheepish in a self-drive with his mate. At least he’d had the decency not to bring the new girlfriend, but actually it hadn’t hurt as much as she’d feared. She’d booked a smaller van than Paul’s, and Mark was going to give her a hand with moving the sofa and larger furniture items, and then all the boxes. It was a bit daunting, but she felt very ready to face the next chapter. A fresh start.
Her mum, one of her moving out support team, let herself in that evening, calling ‘I’m here, love, where can I help?’
‘I’m in the kitchen. You can help in here, that would be great. That’s where most of what’s left to pack is.’
‘I’ll do your china and glass then. I’m a dab hand with scrunched-up newspaper. I take it you’ve kept some back?’
‘Oh yes, I’ve kept all my old articles. I thought they’d come in handy to wrap round my mugs,’ Claire quipped. Her mother raised a grey-pencilled eyebrow. ‘Actually, you can use the sport pages. Gary’s soccer specials are enough to bore the socks off anyone.’ She smiled.
Her mother shook her head. She was used to Claire’s ironic humour about her work. Her daughter was always modest about her writing.
‘I’m liking your “Magic Moments” articles, by the way. What a lovely idea. Makes you think about all those special moments and slow down a bit. Brings us all back down to earth.’
‘Thanks.’ Claire started on a box for her oven trays and casserole dishes.
‘Oh, and Mrs Evans, next door but one, said to tell you that her magic moment is an hour with The Times crossword and a coffee when her husband’s out at golf.’
‘Cheers. I’ll jot that one down when I get a mo.’
‘Do you want to know what mine is?’
‘Ah, okay yes, of course.’ Ooh, she hadn’t got round to asking her mum. She should have done by now, really.
‘It was after your dad died …’ Her mum held a half-wrapped mug aloft as she remembered. ‘I’d been racing around trying to block it out. Keeping myself busy. I thought that was best for a while, and then I realized that what I actually needed was to slow down. It was the garden that did it. Gave me these magic moments. At first it hurt like hell, even there. I’d be cutting the grass and it felt all wrong. Your dad always did that, not me. I did the borders and weeding. I just stopped mowing one day and smelt the grass, freshly cut, and I felt the sun on my face. And although it hurt and I ached inside, I felt like it might just be okay again, one day soon.’
Claire listened quietly as her mother reminisced, giving her space to talk.
‘Yes, the smell of freshly mown grass. The warmth of the sun on your face. Watching a butterfly on a buddleia. My magic moments … Oh, and when you were so poorly, Claire. It was the garden that kept me sane. Doing the weeding, watering the pots, keeping myself active. Thank God you’re all right now.’ Her mum’s eyes had misted. ‘Sorry, I’m going on a bit, aren’t I?’
‘No, it’s fine. It’s lovely to hear that. And I’m fine. So we’re all okay, aren’t we?’
‘Well, except for that bloody husband of yours.’
‘Ex-husband.’
‘The bloody bastard. I still can’t believe he’s making you move out.’
Claire was taken aback to hear her mum swear like that, but she gave a smile. ‘Mum, I’m okay with it. I can see the sense in it now. We were both clinging to a lost cause.’
‘But waiting to tell you until you got better, indeed. He shouldn’t have been messing about elsewhere in the first bloody place.’
‘The ship had already sunk, Mum, way before I even got cancer. I suppose it just made it harder for him to leave.’
‘Well, I’d not be so forgiving.’
‘Hey, I’ve tried the bitter, angry and twisted route already – it just left me exhausted. So I decided to go with it and see things for how they were.’
‘Hmm …’ She obviously wasn’t convinced. ‘Do you want me to leave the kettle out?’
‘Yes, last thing to pack away. Actually, let’s have a cuppa now, shall we? I’m parched.’
They had a ten-minute breather, munching on crumbly shortbreads and sipping strong Yorkshire tea.
‘Thanks Mum, for your help. For everything.’
‘My pleasure, darling. I’d only have been watching the Bake Off or repeats of Strictly. Talking of Strictly, what do you make of the new Romanian male dancer? Rather gorgeous, don’t you think? Makes it much more exciting viewing this year, I must say.’
Claire smiled. His eastern European charms hadn’t been lost on her either. Nothing like a taut torso, even when it was all spangly lycra and orange spray-tan.
They packed a couple more boxes, then her mother said she’d better be heading off. She’d promised to pop into Mrs Clark’s down the road on her way back and drop off half a dozen eggs and a madeira cake from Sainsbury’s before it got too late.
‘Are you all organized for Friday, darling? Do you need a hand on the day? Maybe I can come and help unpack all this stuff at the new place over the weekend.’
‘Friday’s going to be pretty manic. Sal and Mark are going to help. Mark’s driving the hire van for me, and he’ll help with all the heavy stuff. It’ll be enough hands on deck, I think. So thanks. But, Saturday would be good. By then we could unpack some of the smaller stuff together.’
‘I’d like to help both days if I can. I’ll keep them free and we’ll chat about what I can do. Ooh, shall I make you some supper over at mine on Sunday evening? I’m sure you’ll be in need of some good food and rest by then.’
‘Oh yes, that sounds great.’
‘Lovely. But ring me if you need anything before then, won’t you. No point struggling away on your own.’
‘Thanks, for everything, Mum.’ And she gave her a big hug. Family was precious.