Page 8 of The Inn on Bluebell Lane
“Yes, please. Thank you.”
“I can make you instant, if you’d rather?”
Now there definitely was an edge.
Gwen took a careful breath. “What you’ve made looks lovely, thank you. Smells lovely, as well. We should use it up, especially as there are no guests around!” Somehow, she managed a laugh. “Don’t want it to go to waste.”
Ellie gave a stiff little nod and poured the coffee while Gwen got the milk out from the fridge.
This was her favorite time of day—the pale dawn light, the quiet, save for the pleasant twitter and chirp of the birds, the sense of solitude and peace that wrapped around her like a comforting blanket. Unfortunately, right now, the palpable tension in the room felt both unavoidable and unwelcome. The first day in, and she already missed her quiet mornings.
“You’re up early,” she remarked as she poured milk into the coffees and then took her cup to the kitchen table.
Ellie picked up her own cup and leaned against the counter, cradling it between her hands. “I couldn’t sleep,” she confessed.
“I thought the jet lag traveling in this direction went the other way…?” Gwen remarked, and Ellie just shrugged. Should she apologize for the coffee remark again? Somehow she couldn’t quite make herself do it. Last night had been stilted, to say the least—the children had all picked at the supper she’d made—toad in the hole—one of Matthew’s favorites and a childhood classic—yet not for her grandchildren, it seemed.
“I’m sorry, we don’t normally eat sausage,” Ellie had said when Ava had folded her arms, refusing to try even a bite of the Yorkshire pudding, perfectly golden, hiding succulent bits of meat.
“You don’t?” Gwen had been startled. Who didn’t eat sausage? “You’re not all vegetarian, are you?” She had tried not to sound appalled; she knew loads of people were vegetarian these days, or even vegan, and she’d cooked breakfasts to that regard for her guests, but she’d never really understood something she viewed as little more than a fad.
“No, no, not at all, we just… don’t eat sausage.” Ellie had shrugged helplessly, seeming to think Gwen should have grasped this distinction.
“People don’t really eat sausages in the States, Mum,” Matthew had chimed in cheerfully. “Except at breakfast, and then it’s usually doused in maple syrup and served with pancakes.”
“Maple syrup!” Gwen had been truly taken aback. “You never have sausages for tea?”
“Tea?” Josh had said in surprised disgust. “You have sausages in tea?”
“Tea is the evening meal,” Matthew had explained easily. He seemed to find it all so amusing, all the cultural and linguistic differences nothing more than amusing points of conversation, while Gwen struggled not to feel dismayed and, worse, hurt, by all the surprises she was coming up against. Of course, she should know these things by now. She’d visited Matthew and his family in the States quite a few times over the years, she wasn’t completely unfamiliar with Ellie’s ways, with America’s ways, and yet… not in her house. Her home.
“I suppose,” Gwen said to Ellie now, determined to put last night’s awkwardness behind them, “this is all bound to feel a bit… strange.” She was conscious of how much Ellie had given up, moving to Wales, even if her daughter-in-law didn’t realize she understood. Even if, Gwen acknowledged, she didn’t act as if she did.
“Yes, it is,” Ellie admitted after a moment. She tried to smile, and almost managed it, but her lips wobbled a bit and Gwen felt a sudden, sharp shaft of sympathy for her. She’d known this would be hard for her, of course she had, but perhaps not quite as hard as it actually was. How much of that was her fault? She knew—of course she knew—she could have made it easier for Ellie. “But,” her daughter-in-law continued staunchly before Gwen could say anything, although, in truth, she didn’t know what she would have said, “we’ll all get used to it in time, I’m sure.”
She made it sound as if they all had to gird their loins and grit their teeth, to get used to something so very difficult and unpleasant.
“I hope so,” Gwen replied after a moment, trying to moderate her tone to something upbeat, but she feared she sounded the tiniest bit skeptical, even though she hadn’t meant to.
Ellie gave another stiff little nod. “It’s very kind of you to have us here.”
“It’s no trouble.”
What dreadful chitchat they were having, Gwen thought rather miserably. Their sentiments sounded formal and forced and, worse, not entirely sincere, and after another agonizing few seconds, they both lapsed into silence, and Gwen wished she could think of something more to say. Something friendlier, warmer.
“Matthew mentioned some of his renovation ideas to me last night,” she finally ventured. “They seem quite… ambitious.”
In fact, Gwen hadn’t been at all sure about half of them—en suite bathrooms for every bedroom? Whirlpool bathtubs and infinity showers, whatever those were? When she and David had first started the B&B, back when Matthew had left for university, they’d only had the one shared bathroom in the hall. They’d put another one in the following year and thought that had been a luxury, but now Matthew was talking as if he was going to turn this admittedly rather ramshackle house into some sort of high-end hotel. It all sounded terribly expensive, as well as a bit, well, ridiculous. It would take a lot of money and effort to turn the Bluebell Inn into anything remotely close to a five-star establishment, and that wasn’t what she or David had been going for at all, anyway.
“He’s really excited about it all,” Ellie replied as she took a sip of her coffee. “I’m glad he has new a project to focus on.” She paused before adding quietly, “It’s been a difficult few months, in that way, since his redundancy.”
“Yes, I’m sure.” Gwen didn’t know all the details of Matthew’s redundancy six months ago; he’d brushed it all aside when she’d asked him last night, assuring her everything was fine, and she hadn’t wanted to press, but she suspected it had all been harder and more damaging than her son liked to admit. “He seems as if he can’t wait to get started.”
Last night, he’d talked about wanting to start ripping things out as early as today, which had alarmed Gwen. She’d been thinking about a fresh lick of paint, maybe some new carpets. But her son seemed to have a different, and far grander, vision entirely, one that required planning permission and business loans and goodness knew what else. Why hadn’t he mentioned any of this before? Although, Gwen knew, even if he had, she would have most likely gone along with it, because she’d wanted Matthew back here, with her, and she’d known he needed a project.
“Yes, I think he is champing at the bit to get started,” Ellie agreed. She didn’t sound entirely thrilled by the prospect, and Gwen couldn’t blame her. She had four young children to look after, while Matthew immersed himself in renovations. It wasn’t going to be easy, even with Gwen’s help—if her daughter-in-law even accepted it. Ellie paused before saying rather brightly, “I thought I’d take the kids to look around the village today, help them to settle in. They’ll start school in just a week, and I’d like them to feel as if they know their way around here. And I don’t actually know my way around, either. It’s been a while since we’ve last been here, and I think I’ve forgotten where everything is.”
Three years, Gwen thought, but didn’t say. And only twice before that, in all their years of marriage. It had been expensive, of course, to come over, and when the children had been babies, there had been concerns about the travel, the jet lag. Still, the lack of visits had stung.