The spring breeze plays with Moira’s soft, blonde hair—whiffs of baby shampoo comforting Rebecca as she watches her mother step inside the taxi.
“Granny Emma is going home, say bye bye, Granny!” She raises the infant’s hand to wave until the car takes a left turn into the main road, disappearing behind the ancient yew tree. “Shall we bake some muffins? Daddy loves chocolate muffins, doesn’t he, baby girl?”
Moira’s grin radiates joy, her two front teeth as white as the Greek marble statuette placed on top of the console table in the hall.
Rebecca closes the front door and strolls to the kitchen, the baby cooing in her arms. She settles her daughter in the high chair at the top of the kitchen table and gives her pureed carrots to eat, smear, play with, and throw. Rebecca grabs Gran’s cookbook. She knows where the recipe is, but takes her time, caresses the faded petals on the cover, leafs through, lingers, and feigns interest in a Far Breton and Brownies before reaching for the right page.
Ingredients:
Flour: 150g/5¼oz
Baking Powder: 1 teaspoon
Blueberries or dark chocolate chips
Milk: 110ml/3¾fl oz
Melted butter: 50g/1¾oz
Egg: 1
Brown sugar: 75g/2¾oz
Optional: 1 drop of vanilla extract
Recipe:
Mix flour and baking powder, add the washed and dried fruits or chocolate chips.
In another bowl, mix the milk, egg, vanilla, melted butter, and sugar.
Mix everything gently.
Baking: Preheat oven - 180 degrees/Gas Mark 4.
Cooking time: 20-25 minutes
The Goodbye muffins, Rebecca’s favourite comfort food to swallow along with her mother’s “sorry I can’t visit this weekend/holiday/summer.” Her mother’s broken record on a loop of apologies, “I can’t take time off work/I have a date/Hugh got tickets to the theatre/We’re going away for the long weekend/Hugh is taking me to Greece/ Your brother is too little/Your brother has the flu/We’re going skiing in the Alps/Your brother has his exams/I have too much going on right now…’
The Goodbye muffins, Rebecca’s favourite comfort food following every one of her mother’s short visits.
Rebecca’s favourite comfort food ever since her mother left her behind.
/
The afternoon sun disappeared as suddenly as Rebecca’s smile. Her mother held her hand too tight as they hastened towards the village, and Rebecca’s little legs grew tired of running alongside her hurried strides.
“Mummy, you’re going too fast.”
“Move along, Becca, the train station closes soon.”
“Will we see Santa?”
“I don’t think so.”
Rebecca scowled; her wool cap was itchy, and sweat stuck to the fringe her mother had cut a few days earlier. It irritated her eyelashes. She pushed it to one side. The park was to their right. She pulled at her mother’s hand. “Mummy, the ducks!”
“Not today.”
“But, you said—”
“Stop moping and keep walking. Be a good girl and I’ll take you to the Tea Room for muffins.”
“I don’t want muffins, Gran’s are nicer, anyway. I want to see the ducks!”
“Becca. That’s enough!” Her mother squeezed her hand tighter.
Rebecca yelped, trying to wriggle her hand free, before staring at the road, sniffing. Gran’s muffins are nicer!
A light drizzle welcomed them into the village. The pavements were slippery and busy, with late Christmas shoppers hurrying from shop to shop, like the bees flying from flower to flower in Gran’s garden during spring—but bigger, and less cute.
A bearded man bumped into her, stepping on her left foot. She shrieked, tears running down her cheeks as her mother apologised to the ugly bear when it wasn’t even her fault.
“He hurt my foot!”
Her mother ignored her, pulling her along the pavement to the other end of the village.
When they arrived at the train station, it was empty and quiet under the darkening sky. Gloomy. She had heard that word the previous week and liked the sound of it. Gloomy.
Her mother directed her over to a bench and lifted Rebecca onto it. “Sit and do not move. I’ll be right back.”
Rebecca nodded, dangling her sore legs. She took off the itchy cap to unstick her fringe while her mother ran to the ticket booth. The tracks glistened with rainwater and the tall grass in the field beyond danced in the breeze, as did the tall trees to her left. She smiled when she spotted a sparrow alight on the platform, to drink from a puddle of muddy water.
Her mother joined her beaming, holding a train ticket. “I have my ticket! Can you believe it? I’m moving to England.”
“When are we going Mummy?”
“Oh, Becca, I’ll need to settle before you can join me. I’ll need to find a place to live, a job… I can’t do any of this if you… Gran will look after you. You can learn to bake muffins, won’t that be fun?”
“But, Mummy…” Tears welled at the corner of Rebecca’s eyes, a sob escaped her throat. She swallowed hard. “I already know how to make muffins.”
Her mother placed her right arm around Rebecca’s shoulders. “Don’t worry, I’ll come back for you before you realise I’m gone.”
She glanced at her mother’s face as she rose, her eyes shining with excitement, a wide grin revealing her dimples, her cheeks as pink as the Christmas roses that had bloomed by their front door. She was so pretty when she was happy.
“Come on, Becca. I need to get packing. Let’s go back to Gran’s.”
It’s not just Gran’s anymore, it’s home now.
/
DELPHINE GAUTHIER-GEORGAKOPOULOS is a Breton writer, teacher, mother, nature and music lover, foodie, dreamer. She loves butter, needs coffee, hates easy opening packaging, and likes to create stories in her head. She lives in Athens, Greece. X/Facebook: @DelGeo14.
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