Page 95 of Little Wing
‘To Harry’s.’
‘To Harry’s?’
‘I went there for you.’
‘For me?’
‘Yes, Mum. But for me too.’
‘For you?’
‘And for Flora.’
‘Flora? Who’s Flora?’
‘Not Flora –Florence. I went there for Florence.’
Wendy’s eyes darted all over Nell’s face as though they were caught in a pinball machine. However, the confusion that Nell had so frequently seen criss-cross her mother’s face was absent. Nor did her eyes have that alarming blankness. Today was very different; today Wendy’s expression was fearful.
‘Did you find her?’
‘Yes, Mum – I did.’
‘My little Florence?’
‘Yes.’
Nell took a beat, not knowing what best to say next. Should she suggest that Florence was still alive? Should she pretend she was Flora? Should she make out that it was still 1969?
‘My darling little naughtynaughtyFlorence?’
And then Nell realized that perhaps Wendy just needed straight facts.
‘Florence hadsucha good life out there, in Harris,’ she said. ‘She had a little house and she was an artist. And a mummy. And she was very much loved. Everyone thought the world of Florence. And she was safe. She was cared for.’ She paused; Wendy was looking at her unflinchingly. ‘Everything is OK now, Mum. Florence was very happy before she died. Her life was good. She is at peace now. Florence is at peace. Everything is OK now.’
‘Oh,’ said Wendy, her voice tattered with relief and sorrow. ‘Oh.’
‘I visited Florence’s house. I met her friends.’
‘You did?’
‘I did. I saw where she is buried. It’s beautiful.’
‘And the baby? The little cheruby-blonde pudding baby?’
Nell inhaled deeply and brought her face close to her mother’s. ‘Oh, Florence was an excellent mother. And she is so grateful to you, Wendy, for all that you’ve done. Florence is so happy that you were there for her, that you stepped up to be such a good mummy to the little puddingy cherub-blonde baby.’
‘Yes?’
‘Oh yes.’
‘Because look at you!’
‘Look at me, Mum.’
‘Yes – because I meanlook at you! Look at you!’
‘I’m all grown up.’
