Annie had decided that she wanted to settle on studying business at King’s College in London, and was working three jobs to boot. She wasn’t much to be seen as of late. She and Carolena had rented a flat together with another girl, who disappeared a few months later in the middle of the night with most of their clothes. Shortly after that, Warren decided he didn’t like living where he was in London and he took up residence with the girls. Annie liked that quite a bit, she said, because his presence deterred boys from inviting themselves in. Annie had many suitors and none she was interested in dating more than casually.
By the time Warren moved in, Carolena was in love with the older brother of a friend she worked with. He was a tall, light haired, handsome bloke named Adam Moldovan. They’d met at a costume party and had been joined at the hip since. Oliver and I liked Adam quite a lot as he had a quick sense of humour and a kindly disposition. It was a bonus that, according to both Warren and Annie, he respected and adored Carolena as well. It was the only thing, Warren said, that kept him from exercising brotherly protection.
“Adam’s all right,” He told Oliver and I one evening as we were all having dinner. “He calls before he comes over and he leaves when he ought to. It’s Annie’s dates I don’t like being in the house.”
“At least her dates don’t giggle like fools,” Caro told him.
“Or scream ‘Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God!’ at the top of their lungs all night long while people are trying to sleep,” Annie added bravely.
Warren turned deep crimson and stared at the tablecloth.
There was an awkward silence where several of us could not look at each other without laughing.
Lucy cleared her throat, “So, Warren, have you auditioned for the symphony yet?”
Warren was still reading at the London College of Music. Of course, he shined there. The competition was thick and he occasionally felt overwhelmed and insecure, but his dedication and talent carried him through the rough spots. He’d call Oliver and me up just bursting with news of who he’d met and what he was doing. We were often lost in translation, but we were excited because he was. He stayed in London for two years before he graduated and was asked to audition for an orchestra in Berlin. From Berlin he played his French horn and then he was invited to play piano in concert in the Czech Republic. He stayed on there for about six weeks before he was subsequently asked to play the piano for an opera in Vienna. He rang often to tell us how unbelievably cold it was in the city and how unbelievably blessed he felt to be doing what he was doing.
“Life’s fantastic, Mum!” He told me breathlessly. “Really! Who would have ever thought a boy from the wood would be walking in the footsteps of Mozart?”
“Yes, Renny,” I smiled into the phone, “It is fantastic. I‘m so happy for you.”
Finally in his element, our baby boy had done what I told him. He’d spread his wings and he had flown away. So far away. I missed him. I missed them all.
I must admit, I went a little crazy with all of them gone. Actually, I went a lot crazy. I found myself being clingy and needy with Oliver when he was home. When he was gone, I was lonely and bored. I had no interest in any of my chores or hobbies. I found myself easily brought to tears and not sleeping well. I spent most of my days hanging about in the garden, talking to my trees.
“I want them!” I shouted at least ten times a day to the winds, “Send them home! Make them little again! I want my muffins little again!”
The goat was cute and funny, but she wasn’t enough to fill my void. I thought about getting another dog, but I couldn’t stand the idea of the heartbreak it would bring when he crossed the veil. I was not willing to go through that again. The pain of losing Duncan had left me shy. I could get a cat, I supposed, but a cat was likely to just be wild in the wood. The other’s had all gotten that way. I knew I needed to just get used to the idea that I would see the children at Christmases and when I was lucky enough to make or receive a visit. It just seemed so horribly dismal. I still had my need to mother something and no one to look after.
Seven muffins, seven empty beds. Three rooms upstairs and a nursery downstairs that we had put on just for our children, all sitting quietly where there used to be so much noise and so much action. And me, who’d given up a career and all self-interest to raise a family, had no idea of what to do with myself.
Oliver came home from work one night with a bag of sweets for the circle and a faerie cake. He took off his office jacket and walked to the stove where I was standing. “I’ve been thinking, Just Silvia, that I know what your problem is.”
“I have a problem, do I?” I asked inoffensively as I turned my chicken in the pan.
“Well, it’s not a problem, perhaps,” He tossed his jacket over the back of a chair, “It’s more of a predicament.”
“And what is my predicament, pray thee?” I stuck my face into his, “Are you forgetting something?”
“Not at all, Love!” He gave me a kiss, “I’ve thought of everything.”
“And what is everything?”
“Your problem is simple. You’re bored.”
“I am,” I agreed.
“Yes, you are! You’ve been bored since the moment you waved goodbye to Warren as he got on that plane, you have. I think you need a little something to occupy your energy,” He rolled the faerie cake in his fingers and then licked icing from his thumb.
“What do you suggest?” I asked as I turned off the stove.
“Well…is supper finished, Love?”
“It is. Are you hungry?”
“Yes.”
“Well, wash your hands then. I’ll have it for you in a second.”
“I don’t want to eat right now.”
“Why?”
“Because I’d rather do this,” I should have known when I saw the smile curve in the corners of his mouth he was up to something, but, being out of practice, he caught me off my guard. In a flash he took that faerie cake and he smashed it right into my face.
I stood there with my mouth gaping, cake and icing up my nose and sticking to my eyelids.
Oliver was standing in front of me now with his hands on his knees, that old, insane smile on his face, “Are you bored now, Love?”
“I’m…going to…do…you for that!”
“Ha! You have to catch me first!” He shouted and made a dash for the door, calling, “You are way too slow, Silvia! You’ll never get me!”
I grabbed a bread roll from the counter top being as it was the nearest thing I could smash into his face in return and jetted out that door hot on his heels. I couldn’t see for a moment through the cake in my eyes, but I could hear him laughing and shouting from the lawn.
We were seventeen again. I gave him a good chase across the garden and down the path, but he was still much quicker than I was. “Run! Run as fast as you can! You can’t catch me!” He called as he leaped over something in the way, “I’m the bloody Gingerbread--” It was at that moment his foot caught on something and he fell flat on his chest.
I had to stop running I was laughing so hard. “Are you hurt?” I called out to him. I kept forward, but I was bent sideways with laughter.
“I think I’ve ruptured my spleen!” He rolled on to his back and flopped his arms out wide. “I’ve been meaning to fix that hole!”
It was my turn to cackle and taunt him, “Can’t catch you, you’re the bloody gingerbread man? Did your break your biscuit when you hit the ground?”
He laid there and laughed.
I plopped down beside him out of breath, but smiling. “Here,” I handed him the roll, “You must be hungry.”
He drew me to him and sucked icing off my cheek, “I’d rather eat cake. Oh, that was a good. I should have bought a batch.”
“It’d have been all out war if you had. And anyway, all you ever eat is the icing.”
He was quiet. He played with my plait for a while, still smiling, “I love you, Sil.”