‘To me, fair friend, you never can be old,
For as you were when first your eye I eyed,
Such seems your beauty still’
(Sonnet 104)
‘Woah, please let me help with that,’ Kelsey called out at the sight of Blythe teetering on a kitchen stepladder, reaching up to the larder shelves and directing some particularly fruity language at some jars of fruit jam.
‘Can’t reach the bloody things,’ she muttered, stepping down again and watching Kelsey reach up with ease.
‘How many do you want down?’
‘Depends. Do you like gin jam? Six ought to do it.’
‘Ginjam?’
At that moment the toaster on the work surface popped. ‘I made some raspberry gin back in September, couldn’t bring myself to waste the booze-soaked raspberries, sovoilà!Gin jam.’
‘It’s cocktail hour even at breakfast time?’ Kelsey grinned, placing the jars two at a time on the table by the copper still.
Blythe said nothing but waggled her bare brows proudly.
‘Pop one open, dear.’ Blythe buttered the toast and pulled out a plate for Kelsey. ‘You can sample it here first, let me know if you like your Christmas present.’
Kelsey eyed the six jars and hoped Blythe didn’t mean to give them all to her, until, that is, she took her first bite. Sweet strained raspberry juice and bitter gin had combined in a perfect not-too-firm jelly-like set. ‘Oh wow!’ Her taste buds zinged.
Blythe chuckled and poured water from the whistling kettle into an antique silver teapot. It looked like Kelsey was staying for breakfast. She’d only meant to pop in for a moment to ask her a question.
‘I was wondering whether you wanted to come and see the Christmas lights today with me and Jonathan? You haven’t met him yet and you can talk Shakespeare all day, and maybe we could get some lunch in town? You haven’t been in town for a while, have you? Be nice to get out.’
Blythe’s eyes dimmed. With a nod at the tray of cups and saucers she shuffled away to her salon, leaving Kelsey to load the jam, toast and teapot and carry the tray in her wake, calling behind her, ‘Obviously, you don’t have to, I just thought it might be nice to do something festive?’
Blythe lowered herself wearily onto her pink chaise, still silent.
‘Can I get you any groceries then?’ Kelsey pressed. That was when she noticed the fancy white box of almond turrón on the table by Blythe’s elbow and the bottle of fino still sitting upon their torn Christmas wrapping.
Blythe followed her eye line. ‘I’ve everything I need for a lovely Christmas, thank you dear.’
‘You’ve been getting presents?’
‘Mm-hmm, my favourite. Spanish turrón and sherry. Every Christmas my son sends them.’ Blythe sipped her tea. ‘Eat up, toast’s getting cold.’
Kelsey wouldn’t be put off. ‘You’ve got a wheelchair, haven’t you? I saw it folded up in the hall. Maybe we could take a walk along the street, have a good old nose in all the windows at people’s Christmas decs?’
‘Darling, I appreciate you asking, I do, and my grandchildren ask me the same things and I see them tutting and shaking their heads at me being a stubborn old bird, but Kelsey, you lose confidence after being sat indoors for a long time; even the shortest stroll feels a little frightening. You tell yourself, I’ll go out once I’m over this cold, but when that’s gone, you’ve got a twinge in your back, and then the weather’s not good enough and the pavements are slippery and before you know it a year’s passed and you’ve not set foot over your threshold. You’ll see. The world’s your oyster when you’re young and mobile…’
‘Knock knock?’
Both women turned to the sound of the voice in the kitchen. Kelsey had been listening and nodding along, feeling as though she was finally getting a glimpse of the real Blythe beneath her glamourous bravado and she regretted the interruption even though it was her favourite person. ‘That’ll be Jonathan. I told him to come down when he was done talking with his parents in the States.’
‘Ah, the famous Jonathan Hathaway. Let’s be seeing you then,’ Blythe trilled, and Kelsey watched her elderly neighbour with all her worries about her mobility and independence, the woman who struggled to reach her shelves and hated admitting that struggle, suddenly assuming her actress’s posture again. When Jonathan’s head appeared around the salon door frame, Blythe was already sitting taller and stretching her neck, elegant and poised. That was all about to change when she saw Jonathan.
‘Oh! Goodness!’ Blythe cried out, raising a hand to her mouth, her eyes narrowing to focus on his features. ‘You… you…’
‘Blythe, are you all right?’ Kelsey was on her feet in an instant, making her tea slosh in the saucer.
She watched the woman do battle with herself, gaping open-mouthed, seeing the look of bewilderment cross her face before it was erased by a forced, friendly smile, but the panic still showed in Blythe’s eyes. ‘I’m fine dear, fine. I thought for a moment you were someone else… I couldn’t account for it… oh, dear.’
