The Switch(104)

‘Daddy! Daddy!’ Samantha cries.

Marigold follows her daughter more slowly. In her defence, nobody could move at speed in those ridiculous heels.

‘Leena, hi,’ she says, leaning to kiss my granddaughter on the cheek. Marigold looks relaxed, and the smile she shoots Leena seems genuine.

This is all Leena’s doing. Samantha will be spending the next four weeks here, then going back to America with Marigold after Christmas. Leena worked on Marigold for weeks: softly softly, placating, easing her into the idea, removing each obstacle one by one. I was there for the moment, one month ago, when she told Jackson that Marigold had agreed to a longer visit at Christmas. If it is possible for a man to look both broken and healed at the very same moment, then that’s how Jackson looked. He hugged Leena so tightly I thought she’d suffocate, but instead she came up red-cheeked and beaming, turning her face up to his for a kiss. I have never been prouder.

We make our way back to Hamleigh-in-Harksdale in convoy, Jackson’s truck in the lead, and me in Agatha the Ford Ka, who now – thanks to Arnold – has functioning air conditioning. There’s snow on the hilltops and dusting the old stone walls crisscrossing the fields. I feel a fierce, intense love for this place that has always been my home, and I watch Leena smile out at the Dales as we pass the sign saying Welcome to Hamleigh-in-Harksdale. It’s home for her, now, too.

The Neighbourhood Watch are setting up the village hall when we get there. They greet Marigold and Samantha like returning war heroes, which just goes to show that absence really does make the heart grow fonder, because Basil and Betsy used to harp on about Marigold like she was Mary Magdalene before she moved to America.

‘You guys! You’ve done an amazing job,’ Leena says, bouncing on the spot.

Betsy, Nicola, Penelope, Roland, Piotr, Basil, and Kathleen are all beaming back at her, and, behind them, Martha, Yaz, Bee, little Jaime, Mike, and Fitz are doing just the same. Everyone’s here – Betsy’s daughter, Dr Piotr’s ex-wife, even Mr Rogers, the vicar’s father.

Arnold walks in behind us, arms full of napkins waiting to be distributed on the long table running down the centre of the hall. ‘Eyeing up Mr Rogers, are we?’ he asks, following my gaze. ‘Probably very dull in bed, remember.’

I whack him on the arm. ‘Oh, would you shut up? I can’t believe I let you talk me in to showing you that list!’

Arnold chuckles and returns to napkin duty. I watch him go, smiling. Hates me almost as much as I hate him, that’s what I’d written on Arnold’s list. Well. That was about right, in the end.

‘Grandma? Did you want to say a few words before the food?’ Leena asks, as everyone takes their seats.

I look towards the door. When I turn back, Leena’s expression is a mirror of mine, I imagine – we both had our hopes up. But we can’t wait any longer before starting the meal.

I clear my throat and make my way to the head of the table. Leena and I are at the centre, an empty chair between us.

‘Thank you, everyone, for coming here today to celebrate our Carla.’ I clear my throat again. This might be harder than I’d thought it would be. Now I’m standing here, talking about Carla, it occurs to me how tricky it’ll be not to cry. ‘Not all of you knew her,’ I say. ‘But those who do will remember what a bright, fiery person she was, how she loved to be surprised, and how she loved to surprise us. I think she’d be surprised to see us all here, now, as we are. I like that.’

I sniff, blinking rapidly.

‘Carla left a … I don’t know the words for the sort of hole she left in our lives. A wound, a crater, I don’t know. It seemed – it seemed so utterly impossible that we were expected to go on without her.’ I’m crying now, and Arnold passes me one of the napkins. I take a moment to collect myself. ‘A lot of you know that earlier this year, Leena and I took a little sabbatical from each of our lives, and we stepped into one another’s shoes for a while. That time showed me and Leena that we were each missing a part of ourselves. Perhaps that part left us when Carla did, or perhaps it was gone long before, I’m not sure. But we needed to come back together again – not just to each other, but back to ourselves.’

There’s a sound from the doorway. I breathe in. Heads turn. I can’t look, I’m so hopeful it hurts, but then I hear Leena breathe out, a half-gasp, half-smiling laugh, and it tells me everything.

Marian looks so different. Her hair is cut short and dyed white blonde, stark against her tan; she’s wearing patterned trousers cuffed at the ankles, and though her eyes are full of tears, she’s smiling. I haven’t seen that smile – that smile, the real one – in so long that for an instant I feel like I’m seeing a ghost. She stands in the doorway, one hand on the frame, waiting.

‘Come in, Mum,’ Leena says. ‘We saved you a seat.’

I reach blindly for Arnold’s hand as the tears come in full force, sliding down my cheeks and misting my glasses as my daughter takes the empty chair beside me. I was a little afraid she’d never come home again, but here she is, and smiling.

I take a shaky breath and go on. ‘When people talk about loss, they always say that you’ll never be the same, that it will change you, leave a hole in your life.’ My voice is choked with tears now. ‘And those things are undoubtedly true. But when you lose someone you love, you don’t lose everything they gave you. They leave something with you.