Hothouse Flower (5 page)

‘Darling, I understand it’ll be hard, that big family gatherings aren’t quite your thing at the moment, but I know that everyone’s looking forward to seeing you. And Dad would be devastated if you didn’t come.’

‘I’ll be there. Of course I will.’

‘Good.’ Alicia looked at her watch. ‘I suppose I’d better be off, back to the madhouse.’ She rolled her eyes, walked over to Julia and squeezed her shoulder. ‘Is there anything else I can get you?’

‘No thanks.’

‘Okay.’ Alicia planted a kiss on the top of Julia’s head. ‘And listen, please keep in touch and try and remember to keep your mobile switched on. I worry about you.’

‘The signal’s almost non-existent here,’ Julia said, ‘but I will.’ She watched Alicia as she walked to the door. ‘And thanks. Thanks for taking me back to Wharton Park.’

‘My pleasure, really. You just call and I’ll be here. Take care, Julia.’ The door slammed behind Alicia.

Julia felt sleepy and lethargic. Leaving the half-drunk bowl of soup on the table, she walked wearily up the stairs and sat on her bed, hands folded in her lap.

I don’t want to get better. I want to suffer the way that they suffered. Wherever they are, at least they’re together, whereas I’m here alone. I want to know why I wasn’t taken with them, because now I’m neither here nor there. I can’t live and I can’t die. Everyone wills me to choose life, but then, if I do that, I must let them go. And I can’t do that. Not yet …

3

At two minutes to one the following Sunday, Alicia marshalled her family into the drawing room.

‘Lissy, have some wine, darling.’ Her husband, Max, pushed a glass into her hand and kissed her on the cheek.

‘Rose, will you take that iPod off now!’ Alicia snapped at her thirteen-year old daughter, who was slouched morosely on the sofa. ‘And all of you, please try to behave.’ Alicia sat down on the fender and took a large slug of her wine.

Kate, her pretty, blonde eight-year-old, sidled up to her. ‘Mummy, do you like my outfit?’ she asked.

Alicia looked properly for the first time at the concoction of vivid pink top, yellow polka-dot skirt and turquoise tights. Kate looked a mess, but it was too late. She could see her father’s car coming up the drive.

‘Grandpa’s here,’ shouted James, her six-year-old, excitedly.

‘Let’s go and get him,’ shrieked Fred, the four-year-old, and he headed for the front door.

Alicia watched the other children following him, a smile of pleasure at their excitement playing on her lips. The children opened the front door and scattered out of it to surround the car.

A few seconds later, George Forrester was pulled into the drawing room by his grandchildren. At sixty-five, he was still a handsome man – slim, with a full head of hair just greying at the temples. He had an air of authority and confidence, gleaned from years of addressing an audience.

George was a renowned botanist – Professor of Botany at the University of East Anglia – lecturing often at the Royal Society of Horticulture and at Kew. When he wasn’t sharing his knowledge, he was off to foreign parts, searching out new species of plant-life across the world. Which was when, he readily admitted, he was at his most content.

George had always told his daughters that he had walked into the hothouses of Wharton Park expecting to be overwhelmed by the famous collection of orchids that grew there, but instead had fallen instantly in love with the young beauty – his future wife and mother of his two daughters – who was in the hothouse with them. They had been married only a few months later.

George advanced towards Alicia. ‘Hello, darling, you’re looking as beautiful as ever. How are you?’

‘I’m well, thanks. Happy birthday, Dad,’ she said as he hugged her. ‘Drink? We have some champagne in the fridge.’

‘Why not?’ His eyes creased into a smile. ‘Bizarre really, celebrating the fact I’m one step nearer the grave.’

‘Oh, Dad!’ Alicia chided. ‘Don’t be silly. All my girlfriends are still in love with you.’

‘Well, that’s always nice for a chap to know, but it doesn’t change the facts. Today,’ he turned round to face his grandchildren, ‘your grandfather is a pensioner.’

‘What’s a pensioner?’ asked Fred.

James, two years older and wiser, dug his little brother in the ribs. ‘It’s an old person, silly.’

‘I’ll go and get the champagne,’ Max said, winking at Alicia.

‘So,’ George perched himself on the fender opposite his daughter, stretching his long legs out in front of him, ‘how’s everything?’

‘Hectic, as usual,’ sighed Alicia. ‘What about you?’

‘Same,’ agreed George. ‘Actually, I’m rather excited. Last week I had a call from an American colleague of mine who lectures at Yale. He’s planning a research trip to the Galapagos Islands in May and wants me to join them. It’s one place I’ve never been to and always intended to go – Darwin’s
Origin of the Species
and all that. I’ll be away for a good three months, mind you, as I’ve been asked to give a couple of lectures whilst I’m in the States.’

‘No intention of slowing down then, now you’re a pensioner?’ Alicia smiled.

Fred hopped up to George on one leg. ‘We bought you a really cool present, Grandpa. It’s a –’

‘Shut up, Fred. It’s a surprise,’ said Rose – the disdainful teenager – from the sofa.

Max came back in with the champagne uncorked and poured it into three glasses.

‘Well, cheers everybody.’ George lifted the glass of champagne to his lips. ‘Here’s to the next sixty-five.’ Taking a sip, he asked, ‘Is Julia coming?’

‘Yes, she said she would. She’s probably running a little late.’

‘How is she?’ he asked.

‘Not good.’ Alicia shook her head. ‘I took her out last weekend, to Wharton Park actually, which is where I got your birthday present. They were having a Sale of Contents. She seemed … well, maybe a little better, but that’s not saying much.’

‘Such a terrible thing,’ George sighed. ‘I feel so … helpless.’

‘We all do, Dad,’ said Alicia despairingly.

‘First, losing your mother when she was eleven, and now …’ George shrugged helplessly. ‘It seems so unfair.’

‘It’s dreadful,’ she replied, ‘and very difficult to know what to do or say. Julia took Mum’s death so hard then, as you know, Dad. It’s like she’s lost the three people in the world that have meant the most to her.’

‘Has she mentioned if she’s going to return to the South of France?’ asked George. ‘I would have thought she’d be better off in her own home, rather than sitting in that depressing cottage all day.’

‘No. Perhaps she can’t face the memories there. I know I’d struggle if this house was suddenly –’ Alicia bit her lip – ‘empty.’

‘Grandpa? Do you have a girlfriend?’ The mood was diffused by Kate, climbing on to his knee.

‘No, my darling,’ chuckled George softly, ‘I only ever had eyes for your granny.’

‘Well, I could be your girlfriend if you wanted me to,’ Kate offered generously. ‘You must be lonely, living in that big house in Norwich all by yourself.’

Alicia winced. Kate had an unerring habit of saying all the things that everybody else just thought.

‘I’m not lonely, darling.’ George ruffled her hair affectionately. ‘I’ve got Seed, my doggie, and all my plants to keep me company –’ he squeezed her – ‘but I promise you, if I’m ever in need of a girlfriend, I’ll give you a call.’

Alicia saw Julia’s car snaking slowly up the drive.

‘She’s here, Dad. I’ll go and greet her, see how she is.’

‘Right-ho, darling,’ George agreed, sensing Alicia’s concern.

Alicia went to the front door and opened it. As she stood waiting for Julia to climb out of the car, she mused on the fact that, even though it was over twenty years since their mother had died, George had never done what most men did and looked for a replacement for her mother. Alicia remembered the eagle-eyed divorcées circling her still young and attractive father, yet he had never shown the least bit of need or interest.

Perhaps, thinking back, there had been the occasional woman, but only to serve on a physical level. She doubted he had even bothered to look on an emotional one, believing and accepting that no one could replace his soulmate, his partner in crime and botany: her mother, Jasmine.

Perhaps having a passion like her father did had helped fill the hole.

But then, surely, that should be true of Julia too?

Julia emerged from the car, shrouded in a cardigan several sizes too big, and walked up the path towards her.

‘Hi, darling. Dad’s here already.’

‘I know. I’m sorry I’m late. I lost track of time,’ she answered defensively.

‘Never mind, come in.’ Alicia indicated the rectangular present under Julia’s right arm. ‘You managed to get the pictures framed, then?’

‘Yes.’

‘Julia!’ Max walked towards her as she entered the room. ‘Lovely to see you,’ he smiled, as he put his arms round his sister-in-law’s painfully thin shoulders. ‘Can I take that from you?’ he offered.

‘Thanks.’

‘Hello, Dad. Happy birthday.’ She bent down to kiss him.

‘Darling, thank you so much for coming.’ George reached for Julia’s hand and squeezed it.

‘Right, now we’re all here, shall we open the pressies?’ suggested Alicia.

‘Can I open them for Grandpa?’ said a voice from under the coffee table.

‘I think Grandpa can manage,’ Max admonished his youngest son as he picked up the urn and gave it to George. ‘This is from all the Howards. Looks like one hell of a beer tankard to me,’ he chuckled, indicating the large handle-bulges on each side of the urn.

George started removing the wrapping paper, helped by a small pair of hands that had appeared, like magic, from under the coffee table.

‘It’s a very big pot, Grandpa,’ announced Fred as the urn was unveiled. ‘Do you like it?’

George smiled. ‘It’s wonderful. Thank you, Alicia, and thank you, kids.’ He looked up at his daughter. ‘Did you say you got this from Wharton Park?’

‘Yes.’ She looked at Julia. ‘Are you going to give Dad your present now?’

‘Of course.’ Julia indicated the package on the coffee table. ‘Why don’t you open it?’

Julia couldn’t help but look expectantly as her father opened the present. The framers she had taken the paintings to had done an excellent job, mounting them with a fawn-coloured border and advising Julia to use a simple black wooden frame around their edges.

‘Well, well, well …’ George’s voice tailed off as he looked at each one. Eventually he said, ‘These were from Wharton Park too?’

‘Yes.’

He sat silently, trying to work out something that was puzzling him. The whole family was watching him. Finally Alicia broke the silence. ‘Don’t you like them?’

George looked up at Julia, not Alicia. ‘Julia, I … love them, because you see …’ he smiled and surreptitiously wiped a tear away from his eye, ‘I’m positive that these were painted by your mother.’

The conversation over the lunch table was full of ideas as to how Jasmine’s paintings could have ended up at the Wharton Park Sale of Contents.

‘Are you absolutely sure they were Mummy’s paintings?’ asked Alicia.

‘Darling,’ George said as he tucked into the perfect roast beef Alicia had cooked, ‘I’m convinced of it. The first time I clapped eyes on your mother, she was sitting in a corner of your grandfather’s hothouse with her sketchbook and her tin of watercolours. And later, when we travelled together, and we’d find a species of interest, I’d take down the notes and she would paint the flowers. I’d recognise her style anywhere. When I get home I’ll study them again and compare them to some of your mother’s other paintings. But, Julia,’ he smiled warmly at his daughter across the table, ‘you really couldn’t have given me anything better.’

After coffee back in the drawing room, Julia stood up.

‘I’m off, Dad.’

George looked up. ‘So soon?’

Julia nodded. ‘Yes.’

George reached for her hand. ‘Come and visit me some day, will you? I’d love to see you and have a chat.’

‘Okay,’ agreed Julia, but they both knew that she wouldn’t.

‘Thank you so much for those paintings, darling. They really do mean the world to me,’ he added.

‘I think we’d better thank serendipity, because I’d no idea,’ said Julia. ‘Bye, kids, see you soon,’ she waved.

‘Bye, Auntie Julia,’ they chorused.

Alicia caught her hand just as she was walking out of the door. ‘Coffee next week?’ she offered.

‘I’ll give you a call. And thank you very much for lunch.’ Julia kissed her sister on the cheek. ‘Bye.’

Alicia shut the door behind her sister and sighed. A pair of arms snaked round her waist from behind and held her tight.

‘I know, Lissy. She’s still in a pretty bad way,’ sighed Max.

‘She is,’ Alicia agreed. ‘But she doesn’t help herself, sitting in that miserable cottage alone all day long. It’s been over seven months now.’

‘Well, you can’t force her,’ Max sighed. ‘At least she uttered a few words today. Anyway, Grandpa’s staying on for tea and I’m in charge of the washing-up. Go and put your feet up, darling, and talk to your father.’