Yesterday's Sun (34 page)
“Will you do me a favor?” Jocelyn asked Billy, pulling herself up as tall as her aching bones would allow. “I’ve a few things to do here, but then would you be a dear and give me a lift home? I don’t think I could manage the walk back today.”
“You, wanting a lift? That’s a first, but I’m glad to be of service,” smiled Billy before letting a frown of concern cloud his features. “Are you all right, Joss?”
“I’ll be fine,” Jocelyn assured him with a wink.
“Good, I can’t have my favorite girl getting worry lines.”
“I think it’s a bit late for that,” she told him before turning her attention back to the gatehouse. “It’s seen a lot of history, hasn’t it?”
They were both looking up at the imposing facade, which hid its years and its secrets well beneath newly painted woodwork and a sprinkling of honeysuckle around its edges.
Billy raised an eyebrow. “Some things are best left in the past.”
“And some people,” added Jocelyn solemnly.
“Which is why today is so special. It’s time to draw a line through the past and look to the future,” he said with a twinkle of excitement in his eyes.
“I couldn’t have put it better myself. Now enough of this chitchat, I’ve got work to do and so have you,” Jocelyn told him and sent him scurrying back to his landscaping.
Holly had given Jocelyn a set of keys, and she was under instructions to make sure everything was ready and prepared for Tom’s return home alone with his new baby daughter. Holly had stocked up on enough supplies to feed an army.
Jocelyn crept through the empty house for fear of waking up the ghosts from her past. She couldn’t resist taking a peak upstairs at the newly decorated nursery, but her joints creaked almost as much as the stairs. By the time she reached the top, the dull ache in her back had upgraded itself to a searing pain despite the painkillers she’d taken earlier, and she had to catch her breath before entering the nursery. The empty bassinet was in the center of the room, awaiting Libby’s arrival. Moving closer, Jocelyn realized that the bassinet wasn’t completely empty. Inside there was the comforter doll Holly had told her about. Holly had been sleeping with the doll for the last week so that it would pick up her smell, a final gift that would create a tangible connection between mother and daughter.
Creeping back down the stairs, Jocelyn tried hard not to think back to the times when she had called this house her home. She could shake off the ghosts but the guilt that had followed her out of the door the day she left Harry had proven a little more difficult to leave behind. Despite the mournful time that lay ahead, Jocelyn felt that guilt, which had plagued her for decades, finally beginning to lift.
It was in the kitchen where she felt most at ease, here where she had made so many good memories in the last eighteen months. She was supposed to start making a hearty stew for Tom’s return, but she didn’t have time to cook today; time was of the essence. She quickly unpacked the selection of pies and cakes she’d picked up from the tea shop’s larder on her way over, allowing herself a brief glance out of the window toward the moondial. The only items she left in her shopping bag were a white envelope, the journal, and the wooden box.
Jocelyn took the shopping bag and headed for Holly’s studio, which had a few ghosts of its own. It had been a long time since it had been her husband’s workshop and despite the makeover, Jocelyn felt Harry’s presence here more than anywhere.
Jocelyn placed the box and the journal on Holly’s workbench where they would be easily found. Looking thoughtfully at the box, she tapped its lid with her finger, a finger that was starting to show the gnarled signs of arthritis. “I’m ready to complete the bargain,” she told it.
Carefully, she placed the envelope on top of the box. The letter was tantamount to making a deal with the devil but, thanks to the wonders of the moondial, it was a deal that Jocelyn knew had already been sealed, along with her fate.
Jocelyn locked up the studio and the house before dragging Billy away from his work to take her home. The sense of relief she felt was almost euphoric as she was driven away from the house, leaving behind the last remnants of guilt. Not long now, she thought to herself as she pictured the scene that awaited her at home. The little bistro table had everything set out, ready for her return: the pills, the bottle of vodka, and the photographs of the people she loved. Those would be the last faces she would ever see. The score was about to be settled.
My dearest Holly
,
I expect you’re wondering what on earth is going on, or perhaps more likely, wondering why the village is mourning the passing of a foolish old woman rather than a young mother. Childbirth is a big enough shock for any woman, but for you, I suspect it’s going to take a little longer to settle into your new life. You’ll be feeling a mixture of anger and guilt. You’ll be thinking that you’ve stolen someone else’s life. I wish I had the words to stop you feeling like that, but all I can really say is, don’t! I’ve wasted too much of my life feeling guilty and I don’t want that for you. We both know that the moondial demands a life for a life but it shouldn’t be yours, or Libby’s, or Tom’s. So why not mine? Do I really want to spend my golden years bedridden as these joints of mine seize up? It sounds like a fate worse than death to me.
I look up at the full moon sometimes and it reminds me of my own life. It steals its light from yesterday’s sun and that’s how I’ve felt for a very long time. I stole someone else’s life and my penance has been to be left with a life that didn’t quite shine bright enough—not until I met you, that is.
Your fate is going to be different because this is my gift to you and it’s gladly given, and it should come as no surprise to you to know that the moondial has played its part in my bargaining. I’m actually sitting at your kitchen table writing this letter. It’s the evening of the unveiling of your sculpture and you and Tom are no doubt still partying the night away. The full moon is shining through the window, winking at me now and again.
I wish you could see me, but rest assured I’ve got the biggest smile on my face you could ever imagine. Tonight I used the moondial one last time and I, too, saw the future as you had seen it, with Tom grieving for his lost wife, but only for a moment. I had already known I was prepared to sacrifice my life for yours but we both know the moondial has its rules. The life sacrificed has to be part of the family circle to settle the score. Take another look at your sculpture, Holly. It’s you holding Libby, but the foundation etched into the black marble, the maternal support that you never had as a child, I want that to be me. I’ve told you often enough that you’re just like a daughter to me and thankfully tonight the moondial has seen that, too.
As soon as I set eyes on Libby, that sweet child who had lost her mother, it firmed my resolve and the moondial accepted my offer. My life for your life. A mother sacrificing her life for the life of her daughter. Sound familiar? As soon as I knew I could and would make the deal, time unraveled before my very eyes and I was able to see what we both thought was an impossible dream. Oh, Holly, to see the three of you together, it was such an amazing sight, and you were all so happy. Of course you tried to dissuade me from putting my plan into action but I’m a stubborn old fool. Your words, not mine.
The one thing we could agree on is that there are a few insights that might help you take those first steps on your new path a little more easily. I know you’re going to be worried about the coming years; you’ve told me as much yourself. In some ways, you’re right to worry about this balancing act the moondial demands. I wish I could soften the blow, but time and circumstance just won’t allow. There will be no other children for you and Tom. The Holly I met beneath the light of the full moon wanted you to know that, if only to stop you holding on to a false hope. You will come to accept this but you need to share the burden of this knowledge, and more besides, with Tom. Don’t waste years worrying that he’ll be tempted to use the dial himself and that the moondial will continue to blight your life. He won’t. He’ll be there to support you and help you, especially with the next part of what is quite clearly a plan that your future self has set for you.
You’re still to go ahead with the renovation of the gardens at Hardmonton Hall and this is where Tom can help you track down Lucas Hardmonton. Lucas deserves to know exactly what happened to his family and the sacrifices they made. You aren’t to prevaricate over giving him the journal and returning the moondial to its original site and you shouldn’t waste time debating whether or not to simply destroy it. You won’t destroy it; none of us ever could, could we? You will return it to the Hardmontons and that will be the right thing to do, for you and for Lucas. Just remember to keep Billy on his toes, even though, from the images I’ve seen tonight, he’ll do a good job on the restoration anyway. And when the time is right, tell him that I would have been pleased with the results but don’t let it go to his head.
There, I’ve said enough. I refuse to give you any more information about your future. A life is for living and you should start each day with a blank page, although once in a while you might just notice the occasional glow from yesterday’s sun. All I ask in return is that you go easy on Paul. He was meant to mourn his mother. It’s come a little later than expected; that’s all.
I could sit here writing forever but I really must stop my ramblings. Don’t worry. On the eve of Libby’s fifth birthday, with the full moon gazing down upon us, we will have our last good-bye.
Until then,
My eternal love and gratitude,
Jocelyn
It was because of Nathan Valentine that I began to write. He is my inspiration and this book is only a small part of his legacy. I was blessed to have had him in my life, but three years and ten months was not nearly long enough. My little boy taught me more than I was ever going to teach him and there were some tough lessons to learn. First and foremost, he taught me how to grab happiness where I can and to hold on to it, to appreciate what I have when I have it, which is why I hope he won’t mind if my first acknowledgment is to my daughter, Jessica Valentine, without whom I would be lost. She is growing into an amazing, beautiful young woman and she has made her mum very, very proud.
I have so many other people to thank, so many friends and family that have helped me and supported me over the years. I can’t name you all but please know that I’m still standing because of you. Special thanks to my mum, Mary Hayes, for being a mother to my children as well as to me, to Chris Valentine and Jonathan Hayes for the encouragement to pursue my dreams, and to Lynn and Mick Jones. Some people are blessed to have someone they call their rock; I have two.
Immense thanks to my agent, Luigi Bonomi for the insight, encouragement, and most of all the courage to pull apart my manuscript and then put it back together again. A huge thank-you, too, to everyone at HarperCollins for taking my dream and giving it wings, especially to Sarah Ritherdon and Hana Osman for guiding me so gently and supportively through this new world of publishing that I’ve found myself in.
And finally, thank you to the Rainbow Mums (you know who you are), who learned how to be brave from their sons and how to be strong from each other. In memory of our little heroes: Conor, Connor, Jordan, James, and Nathan.
Amanda Brooke is a single mother in her forties who lives in Liverpool with her teenage daughter, Jessica. It was only when her young son was diagnosed with cancer that Amanda began to develop her writing, recording her family’s journey in a journal and through poetry. When Nathan died in 2006 at just three years old, Amanda was determined that his legacy would be one of inspiration, not devastation. Her novel,
Yesterday’s Sun
, is inspired by her experiences of motherhood and her understanding of how much a mother would be willing to sacrifice for the life of her child.