‘I am leaving you my pension fund, which George invested very well, and with your clever money skills, I have no doubt you will triple this in in no time. I am leaving Pansy some money also, which you can manage for her until she is twenty-five. That is a smarter age than twenty-one, I am sure you will agree.’
Henry looked up from the letter and smiled. Clara waved at him to continue.
‘I have left you my Welsh dresser and china, as I know you loved it so and there is a spot for it in your lovely little kitchen. Perhaps you can paint it pink like I did in mine. Pink is such a happy colour. And finally, there is a notebook for you. You always wanted to know what I knew, all those little superstitions I shared, and old wives’ tales and the tea leaf symbols. I have been writing these down since I was a girl. Some of them are from my own mother, and grandmother and probably her grandmother before that. You can add to it now, as I bequeath it to you. It is one of my most treasured possessions; the other one I have given to Henry.
‘I didn’t have children in my life and I taught and cared for many other people’s children, but of all of them, you, Clara, were the one I thought I most would have liked to have been my own.
‘You were more a daughter to me than anyone else and you cared for me, and for that, I thank you.
God Bless,
Tassiana McIver.’
Clara wiped away tears as Henry turned the paper over.
‘PS,’ Henry read, ‘your son is named James.’
Henry looked confused.
‘What son?’
Clara started to laugh and cry simultaneously.
‘I’m pregnant,’ she said, pulling the test from her bag and handing it to him.
He held it up and looked at it and then at her and then at the test again.
‘Nooo,’ he said but he was smiling broadly.
‘Yes!’ He came around and picked her up and kissed her over and over and then on her stomach.
‘Oh, Clara, I love you so much,’ he said and she saw tears in his eyes.
‘Will you marry me? Can I live in your pink cottage with your cockleshell borders and chicken coop and magical oaks trees be a part of your crazy, complicated, simply perfect life? Please say yes?’ He kissed her again, and looked at her. ‘Say yes,’ he whispered.
‘Yes,’ she whispered back.
‘I don’t have a ring,’ he said after he kissed her again.
‘Open your gift from Tassie,’ she said, feeling like the world was spinning but she didn’t want it to stop.
Henry opened the box and lifted a smaller box from it. Across the top was a sticker reading: For Henry, for Clara.
He opened it and it was his turn to laugh and cry.
‘Maybe I do have a ring,’ he said. He fell to his knee and took Clara’s hand put on the ring.
It was a beautiful cluster of diamonds with tiny oak leaves making up the band.
‘It’s perfect,’ they both said in unison and Pansy walked into the room.
‘Tassie sent me her shells,’ she said showing them the box. ‘Why are you on the floor, Daddy?’ She looked at Clara. ‘Why are you crying again?’ She shook her head. ‘Grown-ups are so weird.’
*
Later that night, when Henry was dozing on the sofa and Pansy was tucked up in bed with her shells nearby, Clara went out into the garden.
It was nearly cold, she thought as she pulled her cardigan close around her. Rachel had been teaching her to knit and her cardigan was the first thing she had finished. It wasn’t perfect but it was warm and Rachel had taught her to sew it up properly.
She stood under the oak tree and looked back at the cottage. The lights inside gave it a warm glow. She could hear the chickens chatting quietly as they settled down for the night. The scent of the roses tickled her nose and the crisp air felt like the first bite of an autumn season apple.
I wish you were here, Mum and Gran, she thought to herself but then she felt them with her in all she did. When she collected the eggs, when she read stories to Pansy, when she watched Rachel twist pastry into plaits.
This was it, she realised. This was what she had been waiting for and searching for when she was young. How long do we go through life looking for something, a feeling inside us about what we think we want, not realising we were actually living it all along? And only after do we realise we missed it, after it’s all gone.
Clara walked back inside the cottage and locked the back door, then switched off the lights in the kitchen. She locked the front door, went into the living room and turned off the lamps, then leaned over and kissed Henry on the mouth.
‘Hello,’ he said sleepily.
‘Time for bed,’ she whispered and she took his hand and led him to their bedroom.
‘I love you, Henry,’ she said as he pulled her to him.
‘I love you too, Clara Maxwell.’
‘I’m happy,’ she whispered as his hands began to explore her.
‘Let’s see if I can’t make you ecstatic,’ he murmured in her ear and she smiled in the darkness, knowing this was as good as life could get but with the intense feeling that life was about to get even better.
Early Winter
57
The pink ribbon was strung across the door of the bakery, tied with a large bow, and Clara slipped under it as she opened the door, the bell singing happily, as Rachel came out from the kitchen in her crisp white apron with the name of the tearooms beautifully embroidered in pink
