Joe squeezed her hand back, and Rachel realised that there were parts of her past that were okay, maybe even nice. If only she could block out the other parts, she might just survive it with Joe holding her hand.
41
The mornings were still warm, with the roses on the fence demanding attention when Clara went out to try and tie them back. She had been clearing the undergrowth of weeds and volunteer plants that had popped up over the past decades, happy in their wild setting.
Tassie had loaned her a book of common garden plants and she was outside every morning trying to identify them, and work out which ones she wanted to keep, train, tame or do away with. Between gardening and knitting and looking after the chickens and finishing the painting of the inside of the house Clara was busy and tired at night. It was a different sort of tiredness than she had felt before. More bone-weary but happy with what she had achieved. She could see the work starting to emerge in the garden with a sense of order among the wild plantings.
There was a peace in the garden in the mornings; even the chickens seemed to respect her time, as they pottered about in the coop. Pansy would always check for the eggs before Henry took her to Tassie’s for reading lessons in the morning.
When he was back, Clara would have made them coffee and they would talk about what they wanted to do that morning around the cottage or the garden.
Sometimes plans went awry and they ended up in bed again, learning each other’s bodies and desperate to be in constant physical contact.
Other times they pottered about. The roof was finished, the insulation was in, and the insurance company had taken the van away to be repaired.
It seemed odd to look out the window and not see the van with the oak tree branch on top, but it also felt safe. The van was a constant reminder that Henry and Pansy could go at any moment.
They hadn’t talked about what next after the cottage was finished and the van was fixed.
Henry didn’t discuss the future or make overtures about them being married or staying in the cottage or even what was happening next week.
They had a month before Pansy started school and there was a sense of avoidance around both issues.
But Clara didn’t know how to bring it up. If she said, Stay with me and keep your dead wife’s ashes in the cupboard in the cottage pie container, and let’s get married and I will love Pansy as my own, she thought he would run.
She wondered if she was actually his rebound relationship.
But there were moments when it was so perfect she thought she would die from happiness.
‘Take a mental snapshot,’ her mother used to say when something nice happened.
Clara’s mind was filled with them now.
Henry handing her tea in the garden and admiring her digging work in the vegetable patch.
Pansy on her lap as she read her the stories about the chair with wings and a naughty pixie.
Pansy calling out excitedly when she found an egg in the chicken coop, as though it was extraordinary and she hadn’t collected three the day before.
Henry’s face when he was above her. His face when he was below her. The look in his eyes when she knew he was going to lead her to bed.
Henry was taking Pansy to Tassie’s, so she walked to the oak tree and stood underneath its beautiful canopy and stood quietly.
‘Listen to the whispers,’ Tassie had said.
She stood in the silent morning, waiting.
‘What do I need to know?’ she whispered to the tree. A slight breeze drifted past, and she closed her eyes and tried to hear.
She could hear the occasion chat of the chickens. Leaves rustling. But nothing else was coming into range.
She tried to block out all the sounds and focus on the trees but still couldn’t hear anything.
She laughed at herself as she heard her car pull up outside and walked around to see Henry, holding something in his arms.
‘What have you got?’ She smiled at him. He was being very careful and tender as he moved towards her.
‘I bought you something, although Pansy will fight you for it.’
Clara peered into his arms and saw a blanket and a little black nose.
‘What is that?’ she asked.
‘It’s a puppy.’ He held it out for her to take.
‘A puppy?’ Clara was genuinely confused. ‘You were taking Pansy to lessons. How did you come across a puppy?’
She moved the blanket and saw the little face and was instantly in love.
‘Oh my God. What’s its name?’ asked Clara, as she held the tiny thing to her face.
A little pink tongue licked her cheek.
‘Whatever you want to call him,’ said Henry, beaming at her and the puppy.
‘What sort of dog is it?’ She held it up to look at him. He was brown with black markings and he was squat with tiny legs and a funny-shaped long body and a larger head. He was completely out of proportion and Clara was madly in love with the dog and Henry.
‘Joe the butcher had him in his van. I saw him when I was leaving Tassie’s. He was going to see Rachel and showed me him in the car. Rachel said she couldn’t have him in the bakery. Joe thinks he is part-dachshund, part-Labrador. His neighbour found him in a gumboot. They thought it was a rat. Perhaps another farmer put them out to die and this one escaped. They’re not sure.’
‘Oh, darling,’ said Clara, holding the pup close to her. ‘In a gumboot – that is the saddest thing I have ever heard.’ She looked up at Henry.
‘We will need to go to Chippenham and get puppy things,’ she said and handed the dog to Henry. ‘Put him in the garden and encourage him to do a wee and let me get my bag.’
‘Okay,’ said Henry and she leaned up and
