The Inn On Bluebell Lane — Episode 21


For all the information Ellie’s sister-in-law had been happy to impart, she’d missed that detail.

“Have you eaten anything since you got home? You must be starving.”

“I had some toast,” Jess said grudgingly, before rolling back on to her side.

“I’m so sorry, sweetie,” Ellie murmured. “That must have been tough.”

And no doubt embarrassing, which was worse in Jess’s eyes.

“It will get better, though, I promise. I’ll set up the account tonight.” She’d have to call Suzanne and ask her to help her.

“You can’t promise anything,” Jess said, her voice muffled again as she buried her head in the pillow. “I wish we’d never come here.”

At this point, Ellie was half-wishing the same.

“Dinner will be ready in a few minutes,” she said with one last pat of her daughter’s shoulder.

She knew she was offering so little, just as she knew sometimes you had to wade through the sadness, even when it felt as if there was no end in sight.

*  *  *  *

“Are you sure you don’t want to come?”

Ellie looked at Gwen uncertainly, car keys in hand.

She was going back to the hospital to fetch Matthew, and Gwen had already told her she’d stay.

“Yes, I don’t think you need me,” she said, trying to smile. “I’ll tidy up, have a bit of quiet.”

Ellie looked around at the dirty dishes strewn across the table, biting her lip.

“Sorry everything’s such a mess . . .”

“It’s fine. It’s nice to have a busy household.”

Even if it had been exhausting. Gwen didn’t know if it was the stress of the day that had made her so tired, but the children’s noise at dinnertime last night had seemed louder than usual.

Even Jess’s silent sulking had been loud, with deliberate, dramatic sighs.

When she’d cleared the table, she’d put the plates in the sink with an almighty clatter and then muttered a snarky sorry when Ellie had asked her to be careful.

Then they’d had to go through bath time, and homework, and a load of laundry because there was only one pair of trousers that Craig thought were comfortable.

Gwen remembered how it used to be, and yet it felt so unfamiliar. So much.

At least now, after half an hour of mayhem as the four children had readied for school and eaten breakfast, Gwen could have some quiet.

Enough quiet to sit down and make that phone call she’d been dreading.

But first, dishes. Anything to postpone the inevitable.

Gwen filled the sink with soapy water, enjoying the simple pleasure of a sunny day, the chickens pecking in the yard outside, the leaves on the trees just beginning to turn to gold.

The kitchen was peaceful, and twenty minutes of work soon set it to rights.

After she’d tidied up, Gwen boiled the kettle and slowly made herself a cup of tea, still trying to postpone that moment.

Then the phone rang, making her heart lurch.

When she answered it, Suzanne’s anxious voice strummed down the line.

“Mum, I just heard about Matthew. What on earth –”

Gwen closed her eyes.

“I’m sorry, Suzanne. With all the mayhem it slipped my mind to tell you what had happened.”

“I saw John on the way back from the school run, and he said the ceiling had caved in.” Suzanne sounded aggrieved. “And Matthew’s had surgery?”

“On his elbow. He’s fine.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I’m sorry,” Gwen said patiently. “Like I said, it slipped my mind.”

“I just can’t believe it.”

“I know, it’s all been rather a shock.”

“But he’s OK? You’re OK?”

Again that voicemail flickered through Gwen’s mind.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, we’re all OK. I am sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“I understand,” Suzanne said, but she sounded hurt.

“Anyway, what can I do? I’ll bring a meal over . . .”

Gwen knew how her daughter liked to be busy, in control, needed.

“That would be lovely,” she said. “Thank you.”

After the call, she took her cup of tea and the phone to the sitting-room and sat in her favourite chair, across from the one Seth had always sat in.

It was so quiet; she was still used to having guests about, reading the paper in the chair by the window or just moving about upstairs.

But right now it was only her, and she had nothing left to put off that call.

Gwen put her cup of tea down and picked up the phone, her heart starting to thrum in her chest.

Within a few seconds she was connected, and then put on hold, which suited her fine.

She could wait. She could wait a long time.

Alan Spink

Alan is a member of the “Friend” Fiction Team. He enjoys working closely with writers and being part of the creative process, which sees storytelling ideas come to fruition. A keen reader, he also writes fiction and enjoys watching football and movies in his spare time. His one tip to new writers is “write from your imagination”.