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Nate’s excited shoulders round and his face falls.
‘I’ve been where you are now,’ my mother explains. ‘Back in the seventies when I was a teenager, I contacted countless publishers. Most refused but I did have one offer from a small press in London. I couldn’t wait to tell Nana. I thought she’d be so excited. But she wasn’t. She smiled and praised my efforts, of course, but she also explained that seeing her book on the shelves was never why she wrote it. She wrote it to help heal her broken heart. She said it did just that.’
‘You read Annie’s book before…’ Nate says, confirming what everyone must have suspected by now.
‘Yes.’ Mam smiles. ‘My mother gave it to me at the time in my life when I needed it most. I was about sixteen when I started asking questions about my father. I needed to know about where I was born. Who I was. I needed answers. Your grandmother gave me her book and let me read it in my own time. And, I’ll tell you’ – she places her hand flat against her chest – ‘I’ve needed to read it again a few times since. Life is not a bed of bloody roses.’
‘No. It’s really not,’ I say, thinking of the ups and downs of the last twelve months.
‘Bed of roses or not,’ Ben says, ‘Nana’s life was amazing. ‘I’m so happy she got to travel.’
‘Me too,’ Mam says.
‘Why did she leave France?’ Ben asks.
‘She promised your grandfather an adventure,’ Mam says, tears glistening in the corner of her eyes. ‘And she was as good as her word. For months she saw and did plenty. But adventures aren’t as easy with a baby on your hip. Nana knew that when the time came to have me the best place to be was back home on the farm.’
‘I’m so glad that Nana knew she was pregnant with you before she went to France,’ I say, revealing that Mam and I have talked about this. The night Arty was born, and I couldn’t get out of bed after surgery, Nate spent hours in ICU with Arty making sure our son knew how much he was loved. Mam spent hours with me. We chatted for a long time about Nana’s pregnancy. And about both of Mam’s and mine. It helped. It helped a lot. I think it helped Mam too.
‘I can only imagine how hard it was for Nana to step aboard the boat alone,’ I say. ‘But, knowing she was taking a little piece of Sketch inside her must have meant everything.’
Ben sighs contently and I wonder if he and Mam have had similar conversations. I hope so. And I hope we continue talking about Nana always. Because that’s exactly what Nana wanted – her story etched into the hearts of the people who loved her the most. Nana had to go, but her words live on. Her book is her gift to us.
The first gift Sketch gave Nana was a painting, the last gift he gave her wasus. A family. A legacy.
‘Nana told me once that the moment my father reached for her heart as he lay dying, and told her she would always have him with her, was the moment she realised she was pregnant with me,’ Mam says. ‘She liked to think he knew she wouldn’t be alone.’
A delicate sniffle sounds behind us, and I turn around to see Sabrina pull her sleeve over her hand and dab around her eyes. ‘What a beautiful story,’ she says. ‘Your grandmother sounds wonderful, Ben. I wish I’d known her.’
‘Maybe you could get to know her now,’ I say, smiling at my mother. Mam smiles back, and I know we’re thinking the same thing.
‘Publishing Nana’s book is a lovely idea, Nate, but would you let the publishers know that we won’t be taking their generous offer,’ I say.
I can sense Nate’s disappointment. He might not understand right now, but someday, he will. Maybe we will have a daughter in the future and Nana’s book will help her through a hard time. Just as it helped my mother and helped me. And when I give it to Sabrina, I hope it will help her cope with her mother’s illness, too.
‘Okay, Holly,’ Nate says. ‘I’ll let them know.’
We sit in silence, sipping tea that’s getting cold, and watch as night falls and the stars come out. A cluster of three stars shine directly overhead. Two large stars twinkle on each end and a third, smaller star that I’ve never noticed before, winks at me from its position in the middle.
‘Good night, Arty,’ I whisper, blowing a kiss into the air.
As I suspected, rain begins to fall, and my mother and I hurry to throw the teacups and flask into the picnic basket while Sabrina helps to gather up the blankets.
‘Let’s walk back to the farmhouse,’ my mother suggests. ‘Your father can drop you down to collect the cars in the morning.’
‘Walk?’ Sabrina asks, opening her hand to catch some raindrops. ‘But it’s raining. We’ll get soaked.’
‘Yes. We will.’ Mam says with a smile.
Sabrina looks at Ben for clarity. He nods and smiles as well.
‘That’s the best time to walk,’ Ben says, sliding his fingers between hers. ‘When it rains…’
*
