The Patchwork Quilt

‘There. It’s done.” Alice took a step back from the ironing board and ran her eyes over the finished patchwork quilt. It was, if she said so herself, a work of art. A thing of beauty. Square after square of repurposed fabric lovingly stitched together and backed with the floral-printed curtain which had once hung in the nursery. Worth all the time, effort and sore fingers she’d put into it. She could quite happily stare at it for hours. Except that wasn’t going to be possible. She felt a lump form in her throat. No sooner was her first ever attempt at quilting finished than she would have to give it away.

“Finally,” Flora, her 11-year-old daughter sighed dramatically. She had been sitting on the sofa, puffer jacket zipped for the last 30 minutes. “Can we go to the Winter Fair now? We are literally going to be the last ones.”

“We won’t, I promise.” Alice laughed. Everything was “literally” at the moment. She was “literally” starving, hockey was “literally” the worst thing about PE in winter… And anyway, they wouldn’t be the last ones there. As a supplier of one of the silent auction prizes, Alice was duty-bound to arrive at least five minutes before the official start time to allow her donation to be arranged in the display.

She glanced sideways at her daughter. Flora was growing up. There was already a hint of the young woman she’d become. She was fair like Alice, but tall like her father.

Darling Matthew. Even four years after the motorway accident that had claimed his life, there wasn’t a day that went by without her breath catching in her chest. He was there in Flora’s smile, in the whorl of her ears, the curve of her eyebrows. He was here in the house, in the furniture that he’d spent weekends building (and swearing over). And, as she folded the quilt and packed it into a gift bag, she realised he was there too: in the blue paisley squares she’d made from one of his shirts and in the cot bedding they’d chosen together in those magical few weeks just before the baby had come along.

“Mum?” Flora’s voice cut into her thoughts and she was back in the present.

Flora was at the front door now, her foot tapping with impatience.

“Coming.” Alice grabbed her things, shoved her feet in her boots and followed her daughter out of the house.

Ten minutes later, Alice pulled into the school car park

and squeezed her car into a narrow space. “Will you be OK going round the fair on your own?’ Flora asked, nibbling on her lip.

Alice smiled, thinking how quickly the tables had turned.

“Of course. I’ve got one or two Christmas stocking fillers to buy.” She shot Flora a sharp look. “Not that I fill your stocking. Santa will be doing that. Obviously.” Flora had never said that she didn’t believe in Santa and until she did, Alice had vowed not to be the one to ruin it for her.

Flora gave a snort. “It’s OK. I’ve known ever since you opened the loft hatch and a pink dressing gown fell out.” Alice groaned. “You spotted that?” “I probably wouldn’t have thought much of it if you hadn’t made up a complicated story about Santa getting confused.” Flora giggled at the memory. “I didn’t say anything, I didn’t want to spoil it for you.”

There wasn’t a day that went by without her breath catching in her chest

“I’ll always believe in the magic of Christmas,” said Alice.

Her daughter nodded. “And me. And anyway, the cousins will be here this year, we don’t want to spoil it for them.”

“Quite right,” Alice said proudly. It was her turn to host. Her brother James, his wife, and their three young children would be arriving on Christmas Eve,

filling the house with noise and laughter, making memories. She couldn’t wait. She and Matthew had hoped for a big family, but it had never happened. She was 45 now and peri-menopausal and widowed, so it never would. But she and Matthew had had Flora and for seven years, their family had been complete.

Flora’s best friend, Holly, was waiting for her in the school reception when they arrived, hopping from foot to foot with excitement.

“Wait until you see the chocolate fountain,” she squealed, grabbing Flora’s hands. “It is A-MAZ-ING.”

Flora gasped. “Let’s take pictures.

I want that on my Story.”

Alice suppressed a smile. Instagram was one of Flora’s new obsessions. She handed her some money. “Have fun. Don’t spend it all on the chocolate fountain.”

Flora’s eyes lit up. “You are literally the best mum in the world.”

The two girls ran off into school, full of confidence and anticipation. Alice felt another pang. This time next year, Flora would be at secondary school. This next era of their lives was something that Matthew would never be a part of; it was going to be hard to say goodbye to the primary school where everyone had known him and had helped her and Flora through those first few difficult months.

After saying hello to some of her friends, Alice found the display of items for the silent auction. A large space had been left on the table for her patchwork quilt. There was a stack of entry forms and a tub of pens on one corner. Alice scanned the list of auction lots hoping that the quilt had been missed off the list. If it was, she was going to sneak out before anyone saw her and put it back in the car.

But there it was: A handmade patchwork quilt, starting bid £50. Just think of the money it will raise, thought Alice, giving the corner of the quilt one last stroke.

She’d started making it in September as a way to pass the time and keep her hands busy and her mind occupied once Flora was in bed. When the letter asking for prizes for the auction had come along, she’d offered to give away the quilt to give herself a deadline to finish it. It had been much more time-consuming than she’d anticipated, hence the eleventh hour ironing this afternoon.

“Oh wow, that’s gorgeous!” exclaimed

Carey, chief organiser of the fair. “That’ll be a real family heirloom! How can you bear to part with it?” With great difficulty, thought Alice. “It’s for a good cause, so…” she smiled weakly and shrugged.

“I’m glad you did though, that and the Spa Day For Two are our top prizes.” Carey took the quilt out of Alice’s hands and put it pride of place in the display. The afternoon whizzed by in a blur, and then it was time for the silent auction. Carey stepped on the raised platform at the front of the hall and called everyone to attention.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you so much for coming to join us today. Now, without further ado, I have the results of the silent auction,” she began. The noise levels in the school hall dropped. Most of the lots were adult-oriented, but there was a hamper filled entirely with chocolate and Flora and some of her friends had clubbed together to put in a bid.

“Starting with the Spa Day For Two,” Carey continued. “The winner of this magnificent prize is Mr Turner, our wonderful head teacher.”

Half an hour later, it was time to go. Alice had already put her purchases in the car by the time Flora appeared.

“Literally unbelievable,” Flora grumbled, climbing into the car. “We lost out on that chocolate hamper by one pound... Oh, Mum!” Flora gasped as she saw what was sitting on the back seat. “No one bid on your quilt! I’m so sorry. Are you really sad?”

“Not at all,” Alice smiled at her daughter. “I’m very happy indeed.”

It had cost her a fortune to guarantee that hers was the highest bid, but it had been worth it.

Carey was right, the quilt would be a real family heirloom

– for Alice’s family.

The next era of their lives was something Matthew would never be a part of

Cathy Bramley’s new novel, Merrily Ever After (Orion, £8.99) is published on Thursday