Seraphine
WITH VERA GONE,I spend Friday evening checking through the remaining contents of the bottom desk drawer in the study, a glass of white wine turning warm and unappetizing by my side. Underneath a loose photo of Edwin and Theo in stripy T-shirts, I find a newspaper obituary for my mother:
Taken from us suddenly on 21st July 1992, RUTH ANGELA MAYES of Summerbourne House, Norfolk, aged just 29. Loving wife of Dominic Charles Mayes, beloved daughter of Vera Ann Blackwood and the late John Blackwood, dearly missed mother of Edwin, Daniel, and Seraphine. Reunited in heaven with her precious son Theodore, and with her father, brother, and grandparents.
Flowery words, surely chosen by Vera. Strange that I never knew my mother had a brother. There are too many unspoken stories in our family.
I close my eyes and rotate the chair one way and then the other, consumed by the wish that when I open them, my dad will be standing there, grimacing at the mess in his study, ushering me down to the kitchen where he’ll chop vegetables for a huge stir-fry while he talks me through the day’s county cricket results. If I could have him back, I’d never question anything again. But when I open my eyes, I am still alone, and the questions remain.
On Saturday morning, I’m in my dressing gown, inhaling the steam from my coffee at the kitchen table, when a car pulls up. My brothers burst into the hall, clattering through to the kitchen, filling the house with noise as they fling down keys and bags and phones and take-out coffee cups. Edwin bends to hug me, while Danny pulls a loaf from a carrier bag and starts slotting bread into the toaster, eyeing up the level in thecafetière.
“So what’s up, sis?” Danny asks.
My sigh is tinged with relief, because, despite the way they get under my skin, I love my brothers fiercely, and they’re the only people I can be myself with.
“Did Edwin tell you about the photo?”
Danny nods, shrugging. “Yep. So?”
“Well.” I glance at Edwin. “I found Laura.”
Edwin makes an incredulous sound. “You did what?”
“And also,” I say, “I had an argument with Gran, and she told me she’s going to leave Summerbourne to you, Danny.”
They both stare at me. I count the seconds of silence. Four. Five.
“Okay, hang on,” Edwin says. “What sort of argument? What did she say, exactly?”
Danny sidles away to get milk from the fridge. I glare at his back.
“She didn’t give me a reason. I guess Danny being her favorite blue-eyed boy is all the reason she needs.”
Danny shuffles round to my side of the table with his coffee, and bumps his elbow against mine as he sits down next to me.
“Why would I want this old place? If she gives it to me, I’ll give it to you. Don’t sweat it.” He peers at the smoke rising from the toaster. “As long as I can nap in the day nursery when I’m passing, and you make sure you keep some decent coffee in.”
I lean closer to him for a moment, pressing my upper arm against his.
“It’s the principle, though, isn’t it?” I say, straightening.
“When you say you argued with her—is she okay?” Edwin asks.
I think of Vera’s hand trembling as she looked at the long-hidden photo of her dead daughter. I remember the obituary that implied she also lost a son. I tear a leaf from the bunch of wildflowers in front of me, and watch it darken as I roll it between my finger and thumb. The smell reminds me of the folly in the rain.
“She’s fine,” I say. “You know Gran. She’ll be fine. But something else—did you know Mum used to have a brother? I thought she was an only child.”
Danny shrugs. Edwin’s eyebrows shoot up.
“Did Gran say that?” Edwin asks. “It’s news to me. What happened to him?”
“I don’t know,” I say.
Edwin stares at me. “And what do you mean you found Laura?”
I shift in my chair. “I found out where she works. At an insurance firm in the city. What do you remember about her?”
Edwin is still frowning, but his gaze drifts to the window.
