‘Listen,’ said Amy to Helena on the phone later in the morning after Helena had been to see Gilly and come away with a lot of pork. ‘Are you sitting down?’
‘I am now.’ Helena was telling a lie. Amy sounded so urgent that standing up seemed a better choice. It was probably that Amy had forgotten to tell her they had a workshop in Cornwall tomorrow and they had to set off immediately.
‘OK, well, you know the Springtime Show?’
‘Yes,’ said Helena, slightly sarcastically, ‘the show where all the really high-end crafters display their work and it costs a grand to get in.’
‘Right. Well, I’ve got you in!’
Helena exhaled and perched on the edge of a very broken-down armchair that had apparently once been leather. ‘Calm down and breathe. How can I possibly be “in”? It’s booked up the year before it’s on and – in case you missed it – costs a grand to enter. Am I sharing your stall?’ Amy had indeed booked her stall at this show the previous year.
‘No! The stalls are tiny. There was a cancellation. I was with some other people and one of them got the call. None of them wanted to take the place so I said yes. For you!’
‘Amy! How can I go? I’m busy enough getting stuff together for Woolly World and I couldn’t take that stuff to Springtime, it’s too rustic. Quite apart from the money.’
‘I’ve paid for your entrance. You’ve got just under three weeks to create some suitable stock and you’ll get your money back – my money – no problem. Helena, this is the perfect opportunity for you to weave in silk.’
Helena wiped her arm with her forehead. Amy knew about her long-held ambition to work with silk, one she had batted away numerous times as being impractical. But at a show like Springtime, where people who would willingly spend well over a hundred pounds on a scarf visited with credit cards and a lust for luxury retail opportunities, silk would be perfect!
‘I haven’t got time—’
‘You’ve got nearly three weeks. You won’t have time to make that much but you could make samples and take orders. Hels, you’ve got all that silk at your mum’s house and that handy little loom—’
‘But I’m known for my blankets!’
‘You can change. And you could take a few of your best blankets just to fill up the stall. But as I said, the stalls are tiny anyway.’
‘It’ll take me three weeks to thread the loom!’
‘But, Helena’ – Amy was talking soothingly now as if her friend were a traumatised horse – ‘you’ve got all those beautiful cones of silk yarn that someone trusted you enough to donate to you. They might get eaten by clothes moths if you don’t use them soon.’
‘Do moths eat silk?’
‘Definitely! Anyway, you have to do it or you’ll never be able to pay me back my grand.’
The conversation continued for a while. When Helena put the phone down she noticed there was a mug of tea on the table. ‘You are such a star!’
Jago nodded, acknowledging his starriness. ‘My reward is that you tell me what that was all about. It sounded really exciting from this end.’
Helena sipped her tea. ‘OK, but it’s a bit of a long story. Aren’t you busy?’
‘I’m having a break.’
‘Well, when I was at art college, before I’d discovered weaving really, there was this amazing woman. She was in her fifties and I think I was missing Mum a bit and she took me under her wing. She gave me her loom. People often give weavers looms! Although I wasn’t one then, I think this woman, Julia Coombs, saw that that was where I was headed. And, with the loom, she gave me a whole load of silk yarn. Beautiful colours. I longed to make something with it but someone told me I had to start with wool. Can’t even remember why, now. So I put all the lovely coloured silk into bin liners and took it home and it went in the attic – although Mum put it in plastic boxes. The loom went up there too.’ She gave a rueful laugh. ‘My brother would say it’s one of the reasons I don’t want Mum to move except I don’t think he’d remember about my stuff in the attic.’
‘So what does Amy want you to do?’
Helena went on to explain about Springtime, how it had been a showcase for great artists and masters of their craft and how utterly impossible it would be for her to get enough work done in time even if woodworm hadn’t got to the loom and moths to the cones of silk thread.
‘I guess Amy could probably find someone else to take the spot, get her bag of sand back,’ said Jago.
‘Her what?’ said Helena, distracted for a moment.
‘Bag o’ sand, grand.’
‘Love it!’
‘But you should go and check out your mum’s attic and see what’s survived.’
Helena sighed, feeling suddenly overwhelmed by the whole thing. Amy had such faith in her; her wonderful mentor, Julia Coombs, had had such faith in her; this was her chance to show them she was up to it.
Helena hadn’t thought to ring her mother before she went up to visit the attic and tell her the news about the show, but her car was there so it was slightly surprising to find the back door locked. Helena used her key and let herself into the house.
‘Mum?’ she called but the kitchen had that empty feel that indicated no one was home. Ulysses the cat got up from the chair he was snoozing on and came over to say hello. ‘So where is she, Uly?’ Helena asked. ‘I’d better ring her.’
She dialled. ‘Mum? Where are you? I’m at the house and I want to go into the attic.’
‘Oh, hello, darling!’ said Gilly.
She sounded a bit awkward, Helena thought. ‘Are you OK, Mum?’
‘Of course, I’m perfectly all right. I’m with a friend.’
Helena got the impression she wasn’t with a close friend and wasn’t entirely happy about it either, so although she knew her mother hadn’t been kidnapped she felt obliged to ask: ‘You haven’t been taken anywhere against your will, have you? Say Ulysses if you have.’
Her mother’s laugh was rather brittle. ‘Don’t be silly and be careful going into the attic if you’re on your own. The ladder isn’t very secure. Promise?’
‘Is that you, darling?’ Gilly called.
‘Yup,’ said Jago, appearing in the hall with a large plastic box in his arms.
Gilly laughed. ‘Is my daughter with you? Or are you burgling me?’
Helena appeared with a slightly smaller box in her arms.
‘Is that the family silver in there?’ asked Gilly.
‘No. It’s all that silk yarn you’ve been keeping for me in the attic and that small loom,’ said Helena. ‘Did I tell you? I’m going to start weaving in silk!’
‘But I thought you were working flat out for World of Wool?’
‘I’m doing something quite different now!’ She looked at her watch. ‘We must go – Jago has to be somewhere – but I’ll ring you and tell you all about it. It’s all Amy’s fault!’ She followed Jago out of the back door. ‘And thank you so much for keeping everything in those boxes,’ she added. ‘It’s completely saved me!’
Although Helena was trying to remember the eccentricities of the loom that was travelling in pieces in the back of Jago’s pickup along with the plastic boxes, one part of her mind was on her mother. Did she look guilty? Unsettled? Just a bit odd? ‘I wish I’d remembered to ask my mother where she’d been when I called her.’ She paused. ‘Did she look shifty to you?’
Jago laughed heartily. ‘No! And I think your mum is entitled to a private life, Helly.’
He hadn’t called her that before and Helena took a moment to decide if she liked it or not. She concluded that she did. ‘I know, it’s just I’m in the habit of looking out for her. And she looks out for me.’
‘Is that what they call a “co-dependency”?’ Jago enquired.
Helena thought about this before acknowledging there was possibly some truth in his comment. ‘The trouble is, she was a bit of a wreck after the divorce. She was really strong all the way through it, but afterwards she sort of slumped for a bit.’
‘She’s lucky to have a daughter like you.’
‘And I’m lucky to have a mum like her! Totally keeping the moths away from my silk thread was amazing!’
‘So you’ll stop worrying about Gilly and just focus on your new project?’
‘I will.’
Jago stayed to help her assemble the small loom and then said, ‘I must dash. I’m looking for my next project. Always have to think ahead in this game.’
Helena was aware this gave her a slight feeling of loss. ‘Oh, OK! I’ll see you later. Maybe I’ll cook something?’
‘Or maybe you’ll get so involved in threading your new loom I’ll cook something?’
Helena beamed. ‘An even better idea.’
Threading the smaller loom did take forever, especially as the silk strands were so fine. She needed 125 threads per inch and she wondered if she was mad to start doing this when she had so little time. But the time flew by and when Jago put a monster sandwich by her she had no idea where she was in the day.
‘Is that lunch or breakfast?’ she asked, suddenly starving, her hunger triggered by the sight of food.
‘Early supper. Shouldn’t you stop now? Can you still see?’
Helena blinked. ‘Actually you’re right, I’m not functioning all that well at the moment.’
‘Why don’t you bring the sandwich into the kitchen and have a glass of wine with it while I cook us something else?’
‘That sounds like a very good plan!’ said Helena and picked up her plate.
As she followed him through the house she remembered he’d been on a mission too.
‘Did you get the property you were interested in? Were you buying or just checking out?’
‘Checking out. No point in buying something if it’s never going to get planning permission. So how did setting up a different loom go?’
‘Well! Although it took me a while to find my way around it, and I had forgotten quite how long it takes to thread a loom with thread so fine. I reckon I can get three good scarf lengths out of every time I thread the loom, but I am going to have to charge a lot to make it worth it.’ She took a large bite of her sandwich and sighed happily.
‘But there’s the honour of being in the show?’ He put down a full glass of red wine and she knew it was her favourite.
She took another bite before answering. He did have a way with a sandwich: the right bread, the right condiments, all perfectly balanced. ‘There is, but you can’t pay your bills with honour, can you? You have to have actual money as well. There’s no point in creating beautiful pieces if people won’t pay enough for them.’
‘But didn’t Amy feel fairly sure you’d make back your thousand pounds without difficulty?’
‘Amy is dreadfully optimistic!’
‘When I last looked, being optimistic wasn’t considered a bad thing,’ said Jago.
Helena looked at him, biting her lip to hide her smile. ‘There’s being optimistic and being foolhardy. And that was possibly the most delicious sandwich I’ve ever eaten.’
He nodded gravely. ‘You were hungry. That helps.’
Over the following days, Helena hardly stopped weaving. Jago brought her food during the day and dragged her to the table for the evening meal. She sent her mother a text to say she was fine but working very hard. She didn’t tell her how late and long her hours were. Mothers didn’t need to know everything.
