Later, after Tom comes back with Snowy and they cluster around the little wooden table in the kitchen for dinner – Saffy pulls it out from the wall so there’s room for Lorna – she broaches the subject of the baby again.
‘So have you thought of any names yet?’
‘Not really,’ says Saffy, through a mouthful of bolognese.
‘Will you find out the sex?’
Saffy glances across at Tom. ‘No. We want it to be a surprise.’
‘You do,’ says Tom, good-naturedly. ‘I wouldn’t mind finding out.’
‘I just think it will be a nice surprise.’
‘But if we find out, we’ll know what colour to paint the nursery!’
Saffy rolls her eyes. ‘Ever the practical one,’ she says fondly. ‘We can paint it a pale grey.’
Lorna tries not to grimace. What is it with grey? What happened to colour?
Saffy reaches across the table, takes Tom’s hand and squeezes it. Her daughter is more like her dad when it comes to being demonstrative but the love she has for this man shines from her. It slams home even harder what Lorna is missing with Alberto. In fact, with any of the men in her past, apart from maybe Euan. But they’d been so young.
Saffy puts down her knife and fork, a glazed look in her eyes. ‘I keep thinking about Gran. She should be here, with us.’
‘I know, honey,’ Lorna says gently.
Her daughter’s eyes well. ‘Do you think she’s happy in that place? I worry that she’s unhappy and doesn’t understand why she’s there. That she has moments when she’s scared. Do you think we could bring her here to visit?’
‘It might confuse her. And she’s well looked after there. It’s a good care home, I did my research.’ Saffy has always lived too close to the well, as Lorna used to put it. She was such a sensitive kid. Once on a holiday to Portugal when she was nine she burst into tears at a restaurant when she saw the lobsters in a tank ready to be eaten. It took her days to get over it. She’d worry for hours about a homeless man on the street, or a stray dog.
‘But … it’s not her home, is it?’
‘Being here must remind you of her.’
Saffy’s face crumbles. ‘It does. And I miss her.’
‘I do too.’ Lorna realizes, with a jolt, that this is true. When Saffy was born her mother doted on her only grandchild and the two of them have always been exceptionally close. Lorna was pleased they loved each other so much – and she tried, she really did, not to mind being the third wheel when they were all together. They were so alike – she could see that. But while her mother let their differences create a wedge between them, Lorna has always vowed never to allow that to happen with Saffy.
‘Why don’t you show me where the baby’s room is going to be?’ Lorna suggests, hoping to cheer Saffy up.
Saffy’s face brightens and she leads Lorna into the hallway and up the stairs. ‘We’re going to get a runner up here but we can’t decide on one. Maybe natural wool …’ she shrugs ‘… or something.’
At the top of the stairs they turn into the little bedroom. It’s no more than eight feet by nine, with a fireplace on the left wall, but Lorna can see it would make a perfect nursery. It’s empty at the moment, other than a few boxes stacked in the corner. The carpet has been ripped up to expose the floorboards and the wallpaper is faded. But as soon as Lorna steps into the room she’s overcome with a sense of déjà vu so strong she has to hold on to the windowsill.
‘What is it?’ asks Saffy, alarm in her voice. ‘Are you okay?’
‘It’s just …’ Lorna turns towards the window, which overlooks the back garden. She can see the purple tree from here. It only stayed purple in the spring and then the leaves would turn green, falling off in the winter. They used to carpet the lawn. She turns and reaches out to touch the wallpaper. She remembers. She remembers lying in bed in this very room and trying to decipher face shapes in the rosebuds on the wallpaper.