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There was something unnerving about the gift arriving just after the funeral and Georgie had a feeling that the others were as thrown by it as she was. She moved to sit next to Iris, and Nola too slid from her chair and perched next to them on the sofa. Georgie watched as Iris gingerly went about unwrapping the box, setting the card aside for a moment.
‘Oh, come on – just peel the bloody wrapping off,’ Nola said impatiently, and she reached out and tore away a strip of paper.
‘Oh my God,’ Iris breathed, almost dropping the box. Luckily, Georgie swiped her hand beneath it before it crashed to the floor. ‘I can’t believe he actually did this,’ Iris murmured. She had turned completely pale.
‘It’s a blast from the past, all right,’ Georgie said, examining the box. It was a bottle of Iseult Gin. Named in memory of their mother, her father had spent a long time experimenting with it after she died. ‘I never thought he actually bottled any of it, or…’ She studied the home-made amateurish label. It was old-fashioned, staid, not how she would brand a product for the current gin-drinking market, which had shifted dramatically over the last decade. No doubt her father believed Delahaye Gin should be marketed towards little old ladies who liked a tipple, or afternoon drinkers who solidly stuck to pep or lime. He would have no idea of the huge resurgence in popularity gin had been having for the last few years. Her father liked things as they were.Old dog, new tricksand all that. She looked over at his empty chair. She could see him now, a twinkle in his eye as they raised their glasses to the end of a long day’s work. Georgie took a deep breath. She would not cry again. Not now.
‘He made it for our mother?’ Nola’s voice dragged Georgie back to the present.
‘He made it in her memory. I hadn’t thought about that in years,’ Georgie explained.
‘Well, he obviously wants us to taste it,’ Iris said, standing up and taking down three tumblers from the sideboard. She rooted about beneath it for a bottle of tonic water and, when she found one, she set out the glasses and then opened the box carefully. It felt as if she was uncovering something holy, a relic of sorts.
‘It’s purple!’ Nola squealed.
‘It says on the box that it’s been infused with lavender,’ Iris said, frowning. ‘Can you actually drink lavender? I thought it was just handy for smelling up sock drawers and attracting bees to your garden. Anyway, you can pour,’ she said to Georgie and she handed the bottle to her now to take charge.
‘I think we should all sip together,’ Georgie said when she’d poured out three small measures.
‘In case it poisons us?’Nola was only half joking.
‘Oh, don’t be so ridiculous,’ Iris said scornfully. ‘He wouldn’t have left us poisoned gin. And besides, it’s obvious this isn’t about the gin. Father wanted us to sit here for a short while and take time to think about our mother, and about him. He would have wanted us to spend time just reminiscing about our happiest memories of them both. It’s what families do.’ After another tense moment, Nola relented and picked up her glass. The others followed suit and they sipped together, savouring the taste for a moment before any of them said a word. Then Nola exhaled, as if the alcohol had somehow neutralised some of her nervousness.
‘It’s actually very good,’ Georgie said, holding up the glass towards the light. She was trying to figure out if she liked the colour or not, but there was no denying, the gin itself was probably the best she’d ever tasted.
‘It’s better than good.’ Iris sipped again, savouring the mixture of alcohol and lavender. ‘It’s like taking a holiday in each sip, isn’t it? It feels as if it’s almost washing away the stress of the day.’
‘I think we should read the card.’ Georgie leaned forward and handed it to Nola.
‘Why me?’
‘Why not? You’re the actress,’ Iris said, sinking back into the depths of the old sofa.
Nola reached forward and took up the card, opened it a lot more gingerly than when she’d swiped at the box. ‘It was written almost a year ago.’
‘Well, do go on, read it aloud,’ Iris said. Her eyes were closed, as if she wanted to concentrate on every single word. Georgie leaned back next to her. Nola took a deep breath and began.
‘Dearest Girls, I am so glad you’re all together to read this card and share a bottle of my Iseult Gin. Of course, it’s named after your darling mother, but the truth is, it’s been inspired by each of you – my dear GIN girls. It’s taken an age to get the recipe exactly as I wanted it. I hope you all enjoy a glass or two and it gives you a chance to sit for a while and perhaps look back, but more importantly look forward.’
‘What does he mean by that?’ It seemed Iris couldn’t help interrupting.
Nola ignored her question and continued reading aloud. ‘I could make this a letter of apology and waste pages saying sorry for all the things I regret when it comes to each of you, but know this: if I feel I have fallen badly short in being the father you deserved, that doesn’t mean I didn’t love each of you with all my heart. It’s too late for all that now and I don’t want anyone wallowing on my account. But I do have one request. My greatest regret is the fact that you three have not managed to remain close. I want nothing more than to know that when I’m gone, at least you will be there for each other. We all made promises. I promised your mother that I would do my best for each of you and I did try, but I can’t help feeling that the divisions between you spell out my biggest failure in life. Darling girls, don’t forget that we all made promises – now I’m going to ask you to keep one of yours…
‘So, in the next few days, Stephen will arrive to read my will. I want you to bear in mind that it’s set out to try and bring you together – not to divide you. There’s a future here for all of you, if you want it, but there’s no obligation on any of you to give up the lives you already have. I’m only asking that you each make a little room for the other as you move ahead with whatever lives you decide to have going forward.
‘All my love,
‘Your father.’
As Nola fell silent, Georgie felt that all too familiar cavern of loss open up in her again. She sipped some gin to cover how close she was to crying; she couldn’t let her sisters see the floodgates open. There was far too much that could rush out alongside her grief, things she’d promised herself she wouldn’t tell them.
‘So, we’re no wiser now than before we opened it?’ Nola looked at Georgie and Iris.
‘You know as much as I do.’ It was all Georgie could manage if she wanted not to drown in the well of longing for her father that threatened to engulf her.
‘Well, I say we should have another glass of gin,’ Nola said, and topped each of them up. The fire, dying in the grate, needed stirring and feeding up. As if she had noticed it at the same time, Nola put her glass down, picked up the poker and prodded at what was left of it, scattering the ash and adding fresh firewood, stoking and blowing it back to life.
‘Are you cold?’ Iris reached behind the sofa and pulled out one of the heavy woollen rugs from the Corrigan Mills.
