The Secret Life of Evie Hamilton - Catherine Alliott [176]
‘Caro—’ I started.
‘I know,’ said Ant quickly. ‘We'd be doing everything to the farm they'd ever wanted to. I know, Evie, that bothers me. We'd have to square it with them first, obviously, and I'm not sure—’
‘No,’ I interrupted impatiently, shaking my head, ‘I mean yes, we will have to square it with them, but I didn't mean that. I don't think it will be a problem. Actually, I think she'll be fine.’
‘You do?’ Ant looked surprised, but I didn't just think, I sort of knew. Ordinarily I'd break out in hives at broaching such a conversation with my sister-in-law, but… well, it was a funny thing, life. What was that Chinese proverb? Be careful what you wish for. Perhaps Caro and I had both wished for too much. With maturity comes a certain wisdom, definitely, but also an ability to live in the moment, which, let's face it, is more restful than constantly striving to pin down an endlessly shifting future. It was over fifteen years since Caro and I had been passionate about our futures, and over time, I believe those passions had hardened into positions behind our backs. Our ancient desires had become unrecognizable, even to ourselves. I'd seen Caro turn round and blink in astonishment at her old self the other day as she'd flipped through her decorating book, as she'd glimpsed her new self in her lofty, spacious, state-of-the-art kitchen; in fact, I'd seen her gawp. It seemed to me it wouldn't matter how many terracotta tiles we put down in that farm, how painstakingly we restored the beams that Tim cracked his head on, she still wouldn't want it. Odd, I mused, that Caro and I had both reached that same place at about the same time: reached a tranquil state of acceptance of ourselves. But not that strange, really. Over the years, we'd done an awful lot together.
‘I'll ring her later, sound her out. But as long as you're sure, Ant.’ It was my turn to interrogate him. ‘You're a real town mouse, and it's further into college—’
‘I know, but I'm working at home more now. Doing more writing.’ He walked round the kitchen, jingling coins in his pocket. He looked young, excited. ‘I can work in your father's old study. French windows open to the garden, the stream…’
He turned. His eyes caught sharply on mine.
‘No, no demons,’ I said quickly. ‘You?’
‘No. Not now. Too long ago.’
Our eyes silently communed for a moment. I gave a small smile. ‘So… not all progress is bad, perhaps?’
He gave a small smile back. ‘No, not all.’
Which was how, some months later, I came to be standing in the not so muddy yard of my childhood, waiting for my girls. Happily they'd been enthusiastic about the move, planning bedrooms rather like their cousins, talking parties in barns, barbecues by the river. It also had the added bonus of giving both of them a fresh start, rather than just Stacey. A shared experience. They'd already worked out the buses into town, one of which, these last few days, Anna had started taking into school. Stacey, meanwhile, was still enjoying the end of her last, long, seemingly endless summer holiday, waiting for her new term to begin.
She'd been allocated a room at Balliol, which we'd all been to see. We'd clattered excitedly up number two staircase, the four of us, throwing open her window over the quad, admiring her new quarters, but she'd told us, as we clattered back down again, that she thought she'd meet Anna at the bus stop on a Friday evening, and come back to the farm for the weekends. We'll see. I was already privately preparing myself, just as I was getting so fond of her, to see less of her as she joined in university life, went to parties, stayed in town at the weekends, although she insisted she wouldn't: was convinced she'd want to spend every spare minute with us.
‘You're such a loser,’ she told Anna now, who was giggling uncontrollably as she trailed yet more packets of Hula Hoops out of a box that had clearly burst its bottom. Stacey scooped one up and threw the trodden contents in a handy bucket. ‘Shame the pigs have gone. They'd love these.’
Ah yes, the pigs. Happily no