them everything they need, you see. It’s their larder on tap. How can I explain it?’ I wish she didn’t feel quite so strongly that she had to. She’s scanning the garden at Florence Cottage again as if she could draw some comparison between it and the Amazonian jungle.
‘I think you’ve been living on overdrive these past few months,’ I tell her kindly. ‘Being home for a bit will do you some good. You can potter about in the garden for a bit and that’ll help calm you down.’
Scarlett sighs then. It’s a sound that I’m familiar with from the past. It means
you really don’t understand anything, do you?
And maybe I don’t.
My sister makes a deliberate effort to shift the conversation back onto me now.’ So, um…what have
you
been up to, anyway? How’s Beatrice Highland doing next door? How’s…the bridge?’
‘Great. Everyone’s great, thank you…’ I throw her what passes for a smile, glancing up at the grey sky. The misty rain has turned into bigger droplets and I can feel them running down my cheeks. ‘In fact, you’re right. Perhaps we should head back in now?’
What am I up to? Let me see. I struggle for anything to compare with her adventures.
‘There’s a new picture of Rochester Bridge that we’ve just acquired for the Trust’s collection. It’s by a local artist, Oliver something. I’ve got to organise the framing of that.’
Scarlett looks at me blankly. ‘You’ve got to frame the picture?’
‘It’s going to be quite a challenge,’ I bluster, realising that she’s just travelled eleven days down the Amazon in a dug-out canoe surrounded by alligators so it probably doesn’t sound like much of one to her.
‘Is it any good?’
‘What?’
‘The picture,’ she says levelly.
‘Oh, the picture. Um. It won a competition with a whole panelof very distinguished judges including the Pro-Rector at the Royal College of Art, no less, who chose it to hang in our permanent collection so I guess it must be very good.’ I don’t care about the picture. I look at my sister openly now, wanting to share my real concerns with her, but Scarlett laughs.
‘You don’t “get” it, though? Too modern for you?’
‘It’s not very traditional,’ I confess.
‘And everyone knows how our Hol loves her traditions…’ My sister pulls a face.
‘Scarlett…’ We’ve reached the French doors and I pause to pick up the old towel I keep to wipe the mud off Ruffles’ paws before he’s allowed back in the house. Scarlett smiles, watching me, and I remember she’s been living in a round hut surrounded by mud, living, eating, breathing mud, and all this is going to seem a little pernickety to her now. I hold my peace.
‘I think,’ she says mildly once the warmth of the cottage has thawed us out a bit, ‘you shouldn’t give up so easily on your plans to start a family. It’s what you’ve always wanted to do, isn’t it, sis? And they’re so clever with technology these days. There’s all sorts of help for couples who are having difficulties…’
‘Seeing as you’ve brought it up,’ I swallow, pausing in my brisk rubdown of the shivering Ruffles, ‘actually I…
‘And I was thinking, when you do start a family,’ she runs on, gesturing to the lounge, ‘this place really isn’t going to be big enough for you, is it?’
‘That may be jumping the gun a bit.’ I sit up on my knees and Ruffles slinks off to lie beside the log fire. ‘I’d need to actually
have
a baby first.’
‘And it isn’t happening?’ Scarlett gives me an unexpectedly sympathetic hug. ‘I want you to be happy.’ She takes my hands in hers and her fingers are as warm as toast while mine are icy. ‘Look, tell me what I can get you for Christmas? What would make you happy, Hollie? Anything at all?’
I give a small, choked laugh. If only she would
listen
, I mightbe able to get it out. I might be able to share with her the thing that’s been on my mind for weeks now.
‘I’ve got
‘I think you’ve been living on overdrive these past few months,’ I tell her kindly. ‘Being home for a bit will do you some good. You can potter about in the garden for a bit and that’ll help calm you down.’
Scarlett sighs then. It’s a sound that I’m familiar with from the past. It means
you really don’t understand anything, do you?
And maybe I don’t.
My sister makes a deliberate effort to shift the conversation back onto me now.’ So, um…what have
you
been up to, anyway? How’s Beatrice Highland doing next door? How’s…the bridge?’
‘Great. Everyone’s great, thank you…’ I throw her what passes for a smile, glancing up at the grey sky. The misty rain has turned into bigger droplets and I can feel them running down my cheeks. ‘In fact, you’re right. Perhaps we should head back in now?’
What am I up to? Let me see. I struggle for anything to compare with her adventures.
‘There’s a new picture of Rochester Bridge that we’ve just acquired for the Trust’s collection. It’s by a local artist, Oliver something. I’ve got to organise the framing of that.’
Scarlett looks at me blankly. ‘You’ve got to frame the picture?’
‘It’s going to be quite a challenge,’ I bluster, realising that she’s just travelled eleven days down the Amazon in a dug-out canoe surrounded by alligators so it probably doesn’t sound like much of one to her.
‘Is it any good?’
‘What?’
‘The picture,’ she says levelly.
‘Oh, the picture. Um. It won a competition with a whole panelof very distinguished judges including the Pro-Rector at the Royal College of Art, no less, who chose it to hang in our permanent collection so I guess it must be very good.’ I don’t care about the picture. I look at my sister openly now, wanting to share my real concerns with her, but Scarlett laughs.
‘You don’t “get” it, though? Too modern for you?’
‘It’s not very traditional,’ I confess.
‘And everyone knows how our Hol loves her traditions…’ My sister pulls a face.
‘Scarlett…’ We’ve reached the French doors and I pause to pick up the old towel I keep to wipe the mud off Ruffles’ paws before he’s allowed back in the house. Scarlett smiles, watching me, and I remember she’s been living in a round hut surrounded by mud, living, eating, breathing mud, and all this is going to seem a little pernickety to her now. I hold my peace.
‘I think,’ she says mildly once the warmth of the cottage has thawed us out a bit, ‘you shouldn’t give up so easily on your plans to start a family. It’s what you’ve always wanted to do, isn’t it, sis? And they’re so clever with technology these days. There’s all sorts of help for couples who are having difficulties…’
‘Seeing as you’ve brought it up,’ I swallow, pausing in my brisk rubdown of the shivering Ruffles, ‘actually I…
‘And I was thinking, when you do start a family,’ she runs on, gesturing to the lounge, ‘this place really isn’t going to be big enough for you, is it?’
‘That may be jumping the gun a bit.’ I sit up on my knees and Ruffles slinks off to lie beside the log fire. ‘I’d need to actually
have
a baby first.’
‘And it isn’t happening?’ Scarlett gives me an unexpectedly sympathetic hug. ‘I want you to be happy.’ She takes my hands in hers and her fingers are as warm as toast while mine are icy. ‘Look, tell me what I can get you for Christmas? What would make you happy, Hollie? Anything at all?’
I give a small, choked laugh. If only she would
listen
, I mightbe able to get it out. I might be able to share with her the thing that’s been on my mind for weeks now.
‘I’ve got
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