It was a sweet thing to say, and even though he hadn’t known her, he was one hundred per cent on the money. Mum would have liked it.
‘Are they from an admirer?’
I think he was teasing me, but I rather liked that.
‘No, just a friend,’ I said firmly.
‘Orchids speak the language of love, you know,’ Henry said, his voice still playful.
I shook my head. ‘These ones don’t.’
My response must have sounded more abrupt than I’d intended, because my new friend looked instantly contrite. ‘I’m sorry, Ellie. I didn’t mean to offend you.’
I gave him a reassuring smile. ‘You didn’t. I don’t think anything you say could ever do that.’
For a micro-second I thought he looked troubled, but then I blinked, and his usual affable expression was back in place.
For two people who hardly knew each other, we got on remarkably well. Henry was a good conversationalist and had a host of amusing stories about his days as a teacher, which I swapped with some about being an estate agent. He was a really good listener, asked excellent questions about the industry and how I’d set up my own business. He seemed genuinely fascinated by every aspect of my job and was either incredibly polite or a very good actor.
‘Your mother must have been very proud of all that you’ve achieved,’ he said, his head inclining gently towards the woman who I’d tried so hard to please yet somehow had never quite managed to do so.
‘I’m not sure. Mum wasn’t one for handing out praise.’
Henry’s brow furrowed as though I’d said something quite unexpected. But then he hadn’t known her. He’d look far less surprised if he had.
‘She gave me the drive to succeed,’ I conceded thoughtfully. ‘I just think I took things a little too far and dropped too many balls along the way.’ I glanced towards the granite headstone. ‘But I can’t blame her for that. That one’s on me.’
‘Perhaps the fault doesn’t lie with either of you,’ Henry said thoughtfully. ‘Perhaps there are other mitigating factors.’
I shook my head. ‘None that I know of.’
We chatted until the sun slipped lower in the sky and the shadows on the grass grew longer. There hadn’t been a single awkward silence or conversational lull as we hopped seamlessly from onetopic to another and I could happily have stayed talking to him for hours, but it was growing late and I got the feeling he wanted to be on his way.
‘I should go now and let you have a little alone time to chat to your mother,’ he said, getting to his feet.
‘Is that what you do when you come to visit Bee? Do you talk to her?’
‘Always.’
Something deep inside my heart stirred at the sadness in his voice.
‘You see, there’s still so much I have to say to her. So many things I want to share. I know I could talk to her anywhere – and of course I do – but there’s something special about speaking to her here. It feels more meaningful.’
‘Have you told her about meeting me?’
I had no idea what made me ask that question, or why its answer suddenly felt important.
‘It was one of the first things we spoke about after I met you.’
I liked that, and yet I had no idea why.
‘You should try talking to your mother.’
‘I will,’ I said. ‘Although I doubt if she’ll be any more forthcoming with her answers than she was when she was alive.’
I came very close to slapping a hand over my mouth, as though those words should never have been spoken.
‘There are questions you never asked her when she was alive?’