The Hopes and Dreams of Lucy Baker: The most heart-warming book you’ll read this year. Jenni Keer
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pulled a few strings and let Brenda live to a hundred and three, still proudly clutching all her marbles, then have her slip away quietly one night in her sleep.
‘She’ll hate that. People in her house and being told what she can and can’t do. I will look after her for as long as I can before we have to involve outside agencies. I appreciate it won’t be easy, but she’s one of my dearest friends and I’ll find a way.’
‘She is very lucky to have a friend like you, Miss Baker,’ said Dr Hopgood. ‘Some people don’t even have family who care enough to do that.’
Both Adam and George contacted Lucy that afternoon: Adam to tell her she was to take as much time off as she needed and he would write it off as compassionate leave, and George to check on Brenda. Adam’s call took her by surprise. She had expected some sort of reprimand, and possibly an inappropriate joke, so was relieved when he offered neither. George’s call was brief and he was still calling her Lisa, but it was thoughtful of him to ring.
She popped home for her knitting and her current Regency romance and, fitting in a bit of housework for Brenda, spent a quiet afternoon watching over her friend. A neighbour called not long after the doctor had left, expecting to collect some lotion or other, but when Lucy explained Brenda was unwell, she offered to pick up both the prescription and a bit of shopping. Lucy had been troubled to discover Brenda’s fridge contained very little except for a lump of cheese and three pairs of soft-top socks.
By the evening, and after sleeping much of the day, Brenda made herself a pot of herbal tea, having refused the Dioralyte, insisting on warm water and honey with a pinch of salt instead. She asked for Jim several times and held some strange horse-related conversations with Lucy, clearly confusing her with the dead sister-in-law again. But after two doses of her antibiotics and lots of fluids, she seemed generally less muddled and agitated.
A strong waft of rosemary caught Lucy’s nostrils as Brenda swirled the loose tea in her bone-china cup. She’d picked up enough in the last two years to know that it was a memory enhancer. She knows, Lucy thought to herself, unable to approach such a delicate subject with her friend.
The sun had all but gone, gracefully retiring to the other side of the world, and the tassel-edged, gold standard lamp in the far corner was on, giving the room a soft glow. Brenda was quietly snoring in the armchair as Lucy drew the dated gold floral curtains and sat down. She felt at home here because it reminded her of her own untidy living room. Everywhere you looked something new caught your eye. It seemed much friendlier and more welcoming than the impersonal spaces of her childhood home, where the general clutter of life was kept to a respectable minimum. This was a room filled with scatter cushions, dried flower arrangements and animal statues, where strange symbols graced the spines of books, the pictures on the walls and the mystical ornaments. In contrast to her own mother, Lucy found the proliferation of objects calming, not stressful. What did it matter if there was a sprinkling of dust? Or no clear surface to put your cup of tea? She was surrounded by a sense of belonging, even if she didn’t quite understand what it was she belonged to. Tucking her legs underneath her, she settled into her favourite chair and let her book fall open where the embroidered bookmark nestled between the pages.
The Duke of Darkness eventually reached a satisfactory if predictable conclusion, although she wouldn’t have forgiven his scandalous affairs, regardless of his damaged childhood. Lucy looked at the cover one last time, those shadowed eyes and that resolute jaw, and tucked the book into her knitting bag. It briefly crossed her mind that George would make a passable Duke of Darkness. He certainly had the looks, but the Duke remained well mannered and courteous throughout, however annoyed he was by the behaviour of the heroine. So perhaps not.
After helping Brenda upstairs, Lucy made a temporary bed on the long, upholstered sofa, switched off the standard lamp and wondered if she’d ever be able to fall asleep with the myriad of clocks chatting to her from every corner of the house.
Five minutes later she was floating in a world of passionate dukes, black cats and grumpy neighbours.
The community admissions team arrived the next morning, but as Lucy was on hand, there wasn’t much they needed to do. Two bustling ladies with mumsy figures and cheerful smiles checked Brenda over and seemed generally happy she was back on track, even though she was still sleepy and having muddled moments. Not long after they’d left, Dr Hopgood telephoned to check for signs of improvement in Brenda’s condition. Lucy discussed with him her intention to become more of a carer for Brenda by calling in on her more regularly but in an unobtrusive way, and Dr Hopgood was supportive of her plans.
At eleven o’clock, there was a knock on the door and a young Interflora delivery girl handed over an enormous, and very expensive-looking, bunch of flowers.
‘Oriental lilies and yellow roses. How lovely, but who on earth would be sending me flowers? It’s not my birthday,’ said Brenda. ‘Is it?’
‘Not yet. Soon. July,’ Lucy reassured her.
Lucy put the arrangement on a raffia mat in the centre of the occasional table near the fireplace. She handed Brenda the card, who read aloud ‘George’. Brenda turned the card over but that appeared to be it. So his written messages were as brief as his conversations, thought Lucy.
‘Do I know a George?’ Brenda asked.
‘From next door. He helped us yesterday. Remember?’ Lucy prompted.
‘Not really, dear. But I don’t want to talk about yesterday. Oh look, they’re in a pretty crackle glass vase.’
‘It’s a very generous gesture,’ said Lucy, never having seen such an impressive bouquet before.
‘Hmm… Some might say it’s worth more to have half an hour of someone’s time than a lavish present,’ Brenda said, as she reached out for Lucy’s hand. ‘I remember George now. The sexy one with the strong arms? I think the boy means well; he has a few lessons to learn, that’s all.’
Lucy huffed at Brenda’s casual dismissal of George’s lack of manners.
‘You can take that look off your face, young lady, because I have a feeling you’ll be the one to teach him.’
The following day was one of those glorious May days that heralded the departure of spring and the arrival of summer. Collared doves cooed from the trees and late cherry blossom fell like confetti at the slightest breeze. Drawing back her curtains, Lucy decided it was the sort of morning you should walk to work – be outside and inhale the aroma of cut grass and scented flowers and feel the warmth of the sun on your skin. It would take forty minutes to get across town by foot, rather than twenty minutes in the stop-start traffic by car, but worth the extra journey time. She’d already rung Brenda to check she was okay, but even with the planned walk, she had time to pop over and share breakfast together, something Lucy decided she needed to do more often.
An hour and a half later, Adam welcomed her in his own inimitable style as she stepped through the sales office door.
‘Two men down and we don’t seem to have been able to steer the boat through the unusually busy traffic jam of problems we’ve encountered in the last two days. I won’t lie to you, Lucy-Lou, it’s been particularly stressful, what with half-term and everything. You need to apologise to old Starchy Knickers over there.’
He gestured to Sam, surveying the office over the top of her elegant red-framed spectacles. She had a phone to her ear and was thoughtfully tapping a silver Parker pen on the edge of her desk. Adam swung his chair to face Lucy and crossed one leg over the other, exposing a particularly splendid pair of Spider-Man socks and far too much groin.
‘And then perhaps you’d deal with this latest crisis? Four hundred Fizz, Boom, Bang chemistry sets shipped out in the last three months and it’s taken until now for someone to spot that despite the inclusion of a detailed instruction manual, including a section in bloody Estonian, none of