Even so, my heart longed to be up in Sticklepond with Aunt Nan. I was worried about how frail she’d become, as if a brisk breeze would blow her away. Just as well I had Bella to keep an eye on her! I rang her every day for an update – and to exchange thoughts on turning Bright’s Shoes into a wedding shoe shop.
The shop had been closed for a week after Christmas and now, according to Bella, Aunt Nan had entirely relinquished the day-to-day running of the shop to her and just happily pottered about, chatting to customers and holding a sort of court in the kitchen with an endless succession of visitors, from the vicar to most of the Sticklepond Women’s Institute.
Of course I spoke to her every day, too, and she told me that Hebe Winter had been to see her.
‘Doing the Lady Bountiful, as usual, even though her great-niece Sophy’s the one in charge now up at Winter’s End, with her daughter, Lucy, learning to manage the estate. She was trying to find out what I put in my Meddyg again, but I’m not telling anyone – well, apart from you, lovey. And you mustn’t reveal it, either.’
‘Oh, no, I’ll keep it secret,’ I assured her. ‘I’ve got some fermenting in the airing cupboard now, though it always tastes better made in summer with fresh herbs rather than dried, doesn’t it?’
‘It works just the same, though, that’s the thing,’ Aunt Nan said. ‘I credit my daily tot of Meddyg with my getting to this age at all. I’ve had a good innings … That Cheryl Noakes has been again, too. I’ve told her we need to get a shift on with the recording sessions. I won’t be around for ever.’
‘Aunt Nan!’ I hated it when she alluded to a time when she wouldn’t be here any more, however cheerfully she seemed to be looking forward to going, as if it was some sort of extended holiday.
‘Now, our Tansy, there’s no point in not being ready when you can see your time is nearly up,’ she said practically. ‘But when you hear the recordings, lovey, I hope you won’t think too badly of your great-aunt Nan. Things were different in the war.’
‘What things?’ I asked, puzzled, and wondering if Aunt Nan had a skeleton in her cupboard – though if she had I was sure it would only be a tiny one, because she couldn’t have done anything very bad!
‘Have you thought any more about the shop, Tansy? I liked the idea of it becoming a wedding shoe shop, if you think it would work in such an out-of-the-way place.’
‘All the time,’ I admitted. ‘I can’t seem to stop thinking about it and I’ve even worked out a business plan. I’ll tell you all about it when I come up the weekend after next. I wish it was this weekend, but Justin’s booked us in somewhere for that romantic break he promised me, and we’re going to have a real heart-to-heart discussion about everything. I think he understands a bit more how I’m feeling now, and that we can’t go on like this. We need to set a wedding date and start a family soon, if we’re going to do it at all.’
‘I should think so! And I’m glad you and Justin are getting along better, even if it means you won’t be moving back home.’
‘Sticklepond will always be my real home, and if I took over the shop I’d have to spend a lot more time up there, even more than I do now … but then, Justin’s forever at his mother’s house or out all day playing golf, so I expect it would work out.’
‘It’s a funny old world,’ Aunt Nan said. ‘But if you’re sure he’s the right man for you …’
‘Of course I’m sure,’ I said, though deep inside there were still sometimes niggles of doubt.
He hadn’t yet explained to his mother that he couldn’t carry on giving her financial support, for a start, but he insisted he would do it after we’d been away for the weekend. He did sound resolute about it, though, which was surprising considering he was generally like butter in her little red-tipped talons.
But the romantic break never happened, because Bella called me the very day after Hebe Winter’s visit to say that Aunt Nan had fallen in the night, bruising herself, though fortunately not breaking anything, and she’d found her when she went to open the shop.
‘I called an ambulance and they think she’s had a mild stroke,’ she said, and I told her I’d be on my way within the hour.
Justin was at work, so I left him a note explaining and then a text on his mobile – but I knew he would understand. He’d have to.
Unfortunately, he’d have to cancel our hotel booking …
Aunt Nan looked frail and small in the hospital bed, but after a couple of days she was well enough to sit up, attired in Timmy’s lovely rose-coloured quilted bed jacket, and criticise the thoroughness of the cleaning and the quality of the food.
Then she insisted on coming home, aided and abetted by her friend Florrie, who was constantly to be found by her bedside, eating grapes and picking the pips out of her dentures.
‘Don’t make a fuss, lovey,’ she told me when I suggested she shouldn’t discharge herself. ‘I’ve got the medicine, though I doubt it’ll cure anything that Meddyg can’t, and in any case, my heart’s wearing out and there’s no medicine to stop that.’
‘I can’t bear it when you talk like that, Aunt Nan. What would I do without you?’
‘Daft ha’porth,’ she said fondly.
Once she was home she seemed to pick up and was adamant that she wasn’t going to take to her bed all day until she had to, even if she did need help with the stairs. One of Florrie’s daughters was a retired nurse, and came every morning to help Aunt Nan to wash and dress. Then she installed Nan in her comfortable chair in the kitchen by the stove, from where she could hear what was happening in the shop if Bella left the door open, or hold court with her friends.
I offered to pay for the nurse, but she insisted she had a little nest egg put by for emergencies. ‘And for my funeral, of course: that’s all planned.’ Seeing my face, she added, ‘Now, don’t look like that, lovey, because my heart’s failing. It’s tired, and so am I. I’m wearing out and I’m ready to go.’
‘Yes, but I’m not ready to let you go.’
‘You’ll have to. I’d have liked to have lived long enough now to see this wedding shoe shop of yours get off the ground, that’s the only thing – but then, when you’re called, you’re called.’
She seemed quite happy about the thought of her imminent demise, giving me cheerful directions for her disposal: there was room in her parents’ grave and she wanted to be buried in her wedding dress and veil, which was touching: her heart had always remained loyal to her fiancé, Jacob, killed in the early years of the war.
The dress, which was of white silk-satin, simply cut on the bias and with a modest sweetheart neckline, was looking fairly worn by now, since of course she put it on every Sunday afternoon for high tea. Originally it had had a lovely lace coat to go over it which ended in a train, with leg-of-mutton sleeves that buttoned tightly at the wrist and satin inserts to match the dress, but this was now much shorter, since Aunt Nan had at some time let the dress out considerably by using part of the train to make extra panelling in the bodice. But the veil was pristine.
‘I’d no ring of my own – we hadn’t much brass for a fancy engagement ring – but I’ve got Mother’s Welsh gold wedding ring.’ She told me where she’d hidden what good jewellery she had – a small gold locket and one or two other family bits and bobs. ‘Just in case I leave the scene suddenly,’ she explained.
I opened my heart to Raffy, the vicar, about how upset it made me that she seemed to want to leave me like this, and he said I must respect her wishes