EVEN AFTER THE MORNING we’ve had it is almost impossible not to feel your spirits lift at Auntie Kath’s tiny Victorian cottage. It is a perfect reflection of her and a living scrapbook of her life. Every nook and cranny is decorated with photographs, tickets, letters and mementos from her past. Every piece of treasure has a tale behind it. The hardwood floors are covered with patterned rugs and swirly carpets; the walls are painted in jewel tones and the curtains are velvet flock. Every piece of furniture is mismatched, and usually with a floral pattern or lurid cushion adorning it. Frames are hung all over every wall, with pictures of Kath’s life peeping out from behind the glass, many with Derek’s cheery face in too. Derek Drummond, Kath’s late husband, was a good man. We all miss him, but of course Kath misses him the most. They were a beautiful couple. They travelled the world and they were the perfect team. Derek was strong and calm and found Kath’s scatty eccentricities endearing. When he got ill, Kath cared for him night and day, and when he finally died it really shook her. I think she sometimes feels The Emptiness too. I’ll talk to her properly about this one day, but right now I feel so consumed by my own emptiness and self-loathing for being the shit mother that barely even meets her child’s most basic needs, that I don’t think I can bring myself to do it. I don’t think I could be much help.
Looking around, you’d think the whole place would clash and jar but somehow it works. Everything has her touch to it: the shell lamp that probably once didn’t have seashells glued all over it – come to think of it hers is the only VCR I’ve ever seen with shells on; the coffee-table cloth with a pom-pom trim (who has a tablecloth for a coffee-table, please?); the framed map of Wales (we’re not Welsh and don’t know anyone from there), where she’s marked certain towns with stick-on diamantés – everything has been ‘Kathed’.
As soon as Kath answers the door, I feel a little lighter.
‘Hello, my lovies! I’ve missed you!’ she trills, beaming, even though we only saw her four days ago. Mollie is even more thrilled to have house guests. I really want to love her but she’s so jumpy and yappy, and should you leave any piece of skin exposed it’s going to be licked.
‘No kisses, please, Mollie!’ Kath laughs as Lyla nearly drowns in Mollie’s slobbery greeting. Kath ignores my barely concealed distaste and waves Lyla through to the kitchen, bustling Mollie into the back garden at the same time. She did notice the lick attack, then.
I can smell something baking in the oven (please be scones, oh please, please be scones!) and all the lamps are lit, creating the perfect warm glow this grey February day needs.
‘Auntie Kathy! We’ve got petals for you!’ Lyla chimes before she’s even managed to take her shoes and coat off.
Yesterday we stopped by Dovington’s for a chat and a cup of tea – hot chocolate for Lyla – and Terri let Lyla deadhead the wilting flowers that couldn’t be sold. Lyla revelled in the honour of doing something so grown-up that she’d never be allowed to do at home – not that I see many bouquets of flowers these days. I’d collected them all into a paper bag and messaged Kath because I knew she’d have a genius idea for customising something with them. And now I’m hopeful that idea will take up a whole afternoon and I won’t have to leave, or use my brain, or listen to my own thoughts.
I pick up the coat and shoes Lyla’s strewn all over the entryway and follow them through to the kitchen. Lyla has already climbed up onto the solid wood worktops, tipped the petals out of the bag and Kath is going through them all with her. ‘Oh, Lyla, look at this one, it has little yellow flecks in it, can you see? Mmm … smell this one, sweetheart. Doesn’t that smell sweet?’ I can see from the doorway that Lyla is taking this sorting process very seriously, and dutifully smells and strokes and inspects each petal as Kath remarks on it.
As I walk in, Kath looks up at me and our eyes meet. Over the last few years we’ve been here more than once. Me in The Emptiness and Kath picking us up. The Emptiness comes in waves. Some months are bad and some are OK, but lately those waves seem to be crashing a whole lot harder than before and after a morning like this morning I’m struggling to carry on standing up in them. A flicker of recognition dances across Kath’s kindly face and I know she understands how I feel. As mad as she is, Kath is astute. I love that I don’t have to sit and articulate all the horrible feelings in my head and can, in one look, say, ‘help’.
Walking over to the stove, Kath reaches out her hand and gives my shoulder a squeeze, which is probably all I can handle without bursting into tears. Kath’s got no idea how shit our IKEA morning was, and I don’t think I can bear to talk about it all. Sensing my reluctance, she whips into motion and busies about making hot chocolate the old-fashioned way – no instant powder and boiling kettle water for her, oh no! She’s bringing milk to the simmer on the Aga and melting a slab of chocolate, and then she pulls some scones (YESSS!), out of the oven. From the fridge, she gets the clotted cream and jam and in no time she’s sat back down with Lyla, who is still fiddling with the petals and singing a little song to herself about fairies and magic and all the sweet things that fill little girls’ heads. I hope her head stays filled like that forever. I wish mine had.
‘Oh, Bluebird, that’s a good song you’re singing. I think I saw some fairies in my garden the other day, and I thought how much you’d have liked them!’ Kath whispers in Lyla’s ear.
‘Did you?’ Lyla asks with wide eyes.
‘I did! Next time I see them, I’m going to tell them all about you and your beautiful song.’
Lyla beams up at Kath. I’m so glad there is someone to add this magic to her life; someone she can connect with like this. I wish it was always me every minute of every day, but right now it feels so hard.
I take the bar stool next to Lyla and sip at my freshly poured hot chocolate. It’s like little drops of heaven. The scone is still warm and it tastes all the better knowing Kath lovingly made it. When I feel like this I don’t want to interact with anyone, but I don’t want to be on my own, either. Kath knows and so she carries on around me, letting me be.
‘Right then, Missus Blue, what are we going to do with these petals?’ she asks Lyla in a mockingly authoritative tone.
‘Ummm … play with them?’ Lyla replies hopefully, twirling her hair around her fingers and smiling in anticipation. She knows Kath has a plan.
‘Well, we can either press them and preserve them or crush them into perfume. What shall we do?’
‘Both!’ That’s my girl.
‘All right. We’ll do both.’
‘Yay! Let’s make perfume for Mummy!’
And so they set to work with Kath’s marble pestle and mortar, crushing up half the petals to a floral mush and sprinkling them into four different ornate glass bottles that have been collected over the years from markets and car boot sales. They add water, and every so often encourage me to scent-test their creations. Obviously they all smell the same – a bit mulchy, to be honest – but Lyla is carefully telling us which secret power each perfume has.
‘This one’s for you, Mummy. When you spray it, it will make your heart happy.’ My unhappy heart almost breaks. On some level maybe she understands how flat I’ve been feeling these last few months. She loves me with no agenda or expectation.
Trying not to cry, I say, ‘Lyla, this is the most perfect-smelling perfume I have ever been given. I’m going to wear it every single day and have the happiest of all the hearts in all the world because you gave it to me.’
Her face glows with a smile.
We have a little snuggle while Kath fetches the flower press. As she leaves the kitchen I can see a wry smile on her face. She knows what she’s doing.
Twenty minutes later, and we’re all in full swing with the flower pressing. The Emptiness is fading.
We spend the afternoon carefully selecting the best petals. We go by Lyla’s measure. Using tweezers, we lay them on tissue paper, lay another soft sheet over the top, put them in the press and eventually – when every layer of wood, tissue and petals is full – twist down the nuts and bolts. It’s gentle and methodic and exactly what I need to lose myself in. I suspect Kath has planned this activity for exactly that reason, even though she insists she just had a hankering for it.
Kath takes Lyla upstairs by the hand to place the flower press ceremoniously in the airing cupboard, where it will stay for a good few weeks to ensure we achieve the finest dried flowers in Cambridge, and I take a moment to gaze out of the window into Kath’s garden.
Like her house, her garden has been fully Kathed, too. On wrought iron ‘stems’ Kath has screwed stacked plates and coloured glasses to make decorative flowers. Wind chimes and tiny mirrors hang from bare tree branches, and if you look very closely, the odd porcelain fairy pokes out from beneath brambles and bushes. I can remember being Lyla’s age and being utterly enchanted by them. Kath has such a magical aura about her. She drives me to absolute distraction (I still can’t find my corkscrew after her New Year clear-out, and since then she’s been in and ‘upgraded’ my kitchen chairs with gaudy paisley seat cushions I didn’t ask for and obviously can’t throw out), but on days like this, where would I be without her?
Lyla clatters back into the kitchen with Kath following steadily behind her.
‘Feeling a bit better, love?’
‘Yeah. Things just felt a bit much, you know?’
‘I know. It gets to us all. You’ve got to put your best foot forward and carry on. Carry on all the way to Auntie Kath’s house for a bit of TLC and scones, that’s what.’
She comes over and gives me a huge cuddle. Normally I’d feel uncomfortable with such a show of emotion but today, I’ll take it. Never one to miss out on affection, Lyla bounds over and clings onto the other side until I’m in a Kath/Lyla sandwich. And it’s actually quite lovely.
‘Ooh Mummy, you’re so squishy with love.’
She’s right. I am. My heart is very full, thanks to these two, slightly crazy, very wonderful women.
On the drive home, Lyla is quietly listing the names of all the fairies in Kath’s garden, and I am thinking. Having some time at Kath’s has given my brain a chance to escape from my mummy-guilt and general lethargy for a few hours.
I realise I’ve felt most alive recently when I’m designing or making something, and when I’m with other people. Not socialising specifically – gosh, no – but just being around other grown-ups.
I play with the idea of asking Natalie if I can take on a few more jobs and get back into the swing of things. I’m currently working one or two events every couple of weeks, but with Lyla settled in school, Simon’s new-found flexibility (Storie has taught him to be ‘fluid like the energy of the earth’) and Kath’s help, I could definitely go up to three or four – or more – and maybe lift myself out of this fog I’m in.
A few weeks ago I would have been stressed to the point of tears just thinking about taking on anything more, so letting myself go there – considering working more and taking a bit of ownership for my life – feels like a big step.
I’m going to do it.
Lyla stops listing names. ‘Mummy! You’re smiling! You look happy like a rainbow after it’s rained.’
I hadn’t even noticed, but she’s right.
Maybe the rain has stopped.