A December to Remember (42)

“Good, thanks,” Patrick replied, letting his eyes wander over the crammed shelves. “You?”

“Not too shabby,” Star replied.

Patrick nodded and murmured “good, good” but was too captivated by the clutter to start a proper conversation.

Duncan raised a hand in greeting. “Hello, we haven’t been formerly introduced. I’m Duncan, the appraiser. You must be Maggie’s eldest. I’ve heard a lot of good things about you. Great to meet you.”

Patrick smiled warmly. “You too,” he said. “Ma asked me to give you these,” he said to Star idly, placing a bowl of fruit down on the desk. “She said to tell you she’ll be over later to talk winter solstice plans.”

“Cool,” said Star, taking a bite out of one of the apples.

“I thought she was going to be here.” Simone didn’t like the petulant sound in her own voice. She took a breath. Don’t be stroppy. It is what it is. You have to be here, so suck it up.

“The shop’s busy, she can’t get away.” Patrick picked up a tiny model of a ship and studied it. Duncan came over.

“Trench art,” he said, pointing at the model.

“Huh?” Patrick looked quizzically up at him.

“Crafts made by soldiers who were in the trenches or held as prisoners of war. Most war-related arts are given the umbrella term of ‘trench art.’ That piece probably originated from World War One. Soldiers used what they had on hand, bits of wood, bullet casings, that sort of thing.”

“Wow, that’s kind of chilling.” Patrick frowned.

“I think it’s kind of nice, art through adversity, et cetera.”

“Sure, mate. This place is just mad, huh.”

“That’s an understatement,” said Simone.

“I don’t think Mum liked coming in here when Granddad wasn’t around.”

“It shows.”

Patrick turned to look at Simone. “What do you mean?”

Star was glaring at her with bug eyes, clearly imploring her to stop, but she didn’t seem able. She didn’t want to be sorting through two hundred years of grimy old crap. She wanted to curl up in a ball and hibernate through till spring, and she wanted someone to blame for not being able to. Patrick was watching her, the tic at the corner of his eye said Don’t you dare! and suddenly her blood was up.

“Only that the place is a mess.” Her words were a challenge. “Everything’s covered in dust. I thought since you only live over the road your mum might have tidied things up a bit before we got here.”

“Simone!” Star admonished.

Patrick cocked his head to one side. “She’s had a lot on her plate,” he said, his stare flinty.

Oh yeah? she thought. You want to see my plate? It’s brimming over, sunshine!

“Yes, well, we all have a lot on our plates now,” Simone countered, motioning around the shop. “I’m not having a go, I’m simply saying, you know it wouldn’t have hurt her to pop in and flick a duster around when she knew we’d all be having to go through this crap.”

She watched as Patrick gently placed the wooden ship back on the shelf and turned his gaze on her, his jaw set. Oh, crap.

“Where were you?” he asked. “When the funeral needed to be arranged?”

“Don’t get defensive, Patrick. I helped out on the day. But as far as organizing the rest of it, I live miles away, and your mum lives right here. It was a lot easier for her to sort it out than for me to try and do it from Greenwich.”

“You do know Granddad died on a mountain, in a van, in Italy? Yeah? Do you know how stressful it was for Mum to get him repatriated? I was coming home every weekend to help out because she was trying to organize the paperwork, which was a minefield by the way, and arrange the funeral and run the grocer’s and look after Verity. All you had to do was turn up on the day and eat vol-au-vents. I thought she was going to have a nervous breakdown. I don’t know what would have happened if Joe hadn’t been around and he’s practically a stranger.”

“Hardly a stranger,” Star interjected.

“Not family, though, is he? It’s not his business.”

“What’s your problem with Joe?” Simone asked. “You ought to be pleased your mum’s got someone to help her out.”

“Why? Because it makes it easier for you to shirk any responsibility?”

“Don’t speak to me like that,” Simone snapped.

“Why not? Where have you been? You certainly haven’t been down here for years. I’m surprised you even know who Verity is! So don’t chat shit about my mum not ‘flicking a duster around’ when you abandoned us a long time ago!”

“That is not fair!”

“No, what’s not fair is my mum trying to make everything easier for everyone else all the time, and the people she tries hardest for not even noticing.”

Guilt slithered in her stomach. What was she doing? It was as if the devil on her shoulder had punched the lights out of the angel on her other shoulder, and now she only had one voice in her head. She took a breath. This was ridiculous. The last thing she wanted to do was fight with her nephew.

“Listen, Patrick . . .”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t think I will.”