The Hopes and Dreams of Lucy Baker: The most heart-warming book you’ll read this year. Jenni Keer
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‘Now I know you’re losing the plot,’ Lucy joked, but an uncomfortable silence followed.
They lingered in the long hallway, surrounded by the ticking and tocking of Brenda’s many clocks. Every time Lucy visited, she had the strange feeling they were collectively counting down to something, but she hadn’t quite worked out what. A small pile of brown paper packages sat on the Shaker table by the front door awaiting collection and a potent mix of rosemary and tea tree drifted out from the kitchen. Whether it was the fragrant scents, the rhythm of the clocks or merely being with a good friend, Lucy felt more at ease in this house than she did anywhere else in the world.
‘As it’s such a pleasant evening, I thought we could have the tea in the garden,’ said Brenda, rallying. ‘I wanted to talk to you about…’ She frowned. ‘It will come back to me in a minute. And perhaps today we could try the valerian and chamomile?’
‘That sounds lovely.’ Lucy was in no hurry to return to her flat, but wished she’d thought to grab her knitting. There was something rather fun about having Poldark across your knee, even if he was in 4 ply.
Ten minutes later, the pair stepped through the back door and delicate chimes tinkled as the door swung shut behind them. Lucy carried the tray of tea and placed it on the cast-iron bistro set on the patio. Like her garden, Brenda’s was small, but it was overflowing with flowers, herbs and unrestrained trees and somehow managed to look about four times the size of her own. A light breeze toyed with Lucy’s hair and she smiled as a group of starlings perched around the birdbath stopped their chatter in deference to the kindly old lady who kept their drinking water so efficiently topped up.
‘So how has your week been, my darling?’ Brenda asked, pouring the highly scented tea into garish Sixties bone-china cups.
‘It started well. It was my niece’s birthday on Monday and she was delighted with the foldaway kitchen I sent – one of the perks of working at a toy wholesaler. Emily helped her Skype me to say thanks and it was hilarious. She dressed up for the occasion, even donning a tiara, and sat on a beanbag, all serious and formal. It was like watching a mini version of the Queen’s Speech. And then little Gracie walked across the screen and merry hell kicked off.’
‘Awww, I know how much you love those little girls. Shame they don’t live closer.’
Lucy often talked to Brenda about her nieces and showed her the Facebook pictures of their latest exploits. They’d both been in hysterics recently over a short video her sister had posted of Rosie trying to hula-hoop. Every single time, the hoop slid gently to the ground whilst an exuberant four-year-old thrust her hips backwards and forwards like a demented Mick Jagger. How she hadn’t snapped the hoop in half at the end out of utter frustration was a mystery.
Lucy moved on to talk about the upcoming birthday party, Brenda studying her face intently the whole time.
‘I don’t know why it worries you so much,’ Brenda said, tipping her head to the side. ‘You needn’t pretend with me – I see that troubled expression. It’s obvious you aren’t looking forward to it one bit.’
Lucy sighed, realising she was more readable than a large-print library book. ‘Whenever we visit family, my mother can’t stop gushing about Emily and how proud she is of her career and lifestyle, and I sit there, wanting to put up my hand like a schoolchild and shout, “what about me?” But, of course, I don’t.’
‘Sometimes, you need to be a bit more forceful, young lady. Put a spin doctor head on those young shoulders of yours and shout about your strengths. Tell people how much you enjoy your job and want to get on in life. How kind you are, and that you have so many friends in the neighbourhood. Talk about your beautiful knitting—’
‘My knitting?’ Lucy was confused.
‘Absolutely. Can Emily knit?’
Lucy smiled. ‘She wouldn’t even know which end of the needle to poke in the wool.’
‘Well there you go. You underestimate yourself and your abilities. Look at the beautiful things you create from a couple of balls of wool and your effortless dexterity – they are real masterpieces.’
‘It’s just knitting.’ Her woolly Poldark was hardly Turner Prize-worthy.
‘It’s not just knitting. It’s a definite skill. Oh, how I wish you could see what others see. You are such a beautiful, intelligent and kind girl, who deserves recognition, success and love…’ Brenda’s voice trailed off and her bright button eyes pinged wide as she slapped her hand on her thigh. ‘I remember what I wanted to talk about now,’ she said. ‘I wanted to do something about you and that young man.’ Lucy’s stomach tightened. ‘And I have something that will help…’
With some difficulty, and refusing Lucy’s help, Brenda stood up and shuffled back to the house. Lucy assumed she was having another distant moment (what young man?), but she returned clutching something to her chest.
‘Close your eyes and put out your hand,’ she instructed.
Lucy reluctantly did as she was told and felt cold metal slide into her palm.
‘Sometimes we all need a little help along the way. I want you to have this because I’ve become incredibly fond of you, and I know you’ll use it wisely. Besides, once he gets to know you, I’ve a feeling the pair of you will get on like a house on fire,’ and she giggled to herself. ‘You can open your eyes now.’
Lucy looked into her open hand. Nestled in her palm, with a chain coiled around it, was a silver locket. It was oval and had the circumference of a small egg. There were engraved flowers and swirls on the front face and it had a beautiful filigree edge.
‘I can’t possibly take this, Brenda, but thank you.’
‘If it opens for you, I insist you take it. It’s a very special locket and doesn’t open for everyone.’
Did Brenda mean there was some trick to opening it? Or merely that it needed a good squirt of WD-40? Lucy studied it closer. On the side facing the hinges was a tiny button, so she pressed it and the locket popped open. Inside, instead of the usual space for photographs or a lock of your beloved’s hair, were two silver panels. Each side was engraved with words in an ornate script. Lucy tipped the locket towards the sun, trying to make out the inscription, but Brenda knew the words by heart:
‘Deserved of love, this locket finds you
Use these spells to forever bind you.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Lucy said, looking over to her friend.
‘It means that the locket finds its way to a deserving person and using the spells will help you be with your true love.’
Brenda was off again, with her mumbo jumbo.
Humouring her friend, she turned the locket over, but there were no further inscriptions. ‘What spells?’ Lucy asked.
‘You’ll see. The locket isn’t ready to tell you yet, but it will. When the time is right.’
‘I’m really grateful that you’ve entrusted this beautiful locket to me but—’
‘Do you think I’m some doddery old lady who is losing her marbles, Lucy?’ Brenda gave her a challenging stare.
Lucy swallowed. ‘No.’
‘Then take it. And do what it says. And I’m telling you, that great big scary man from next door is the one you should be aiming for.’
‘George?’ Lucy coughed out the word. ‘He’s not really my type,’ she said. The locket really would have to be magic to break down his defences, but she knew deep down it was merely a pretty trinket, something Brenda was trying to persuade her was more special than it was.
‘Nonsense. With a body like that, even the Queen would have trouble keeping her majesterial hands to herself. I know I struggled when I met him on the pavement