Living Coral

Living Coral. That's the colour, supposedly. Although the sun may have taken its toll over the years - and that's quite a few years.

I'm talking about our sofa. Our settee. Couch. Whatever you want to call it. I'm not sure what the proper name is, but it's been in our living room since shortly after I was married. And it wasn't exactly new then.

The thing is, Cecile loves it. Snuggling down in the accommodating upholstery, a glass of milk and a squishy almond cake by her side, delving into a good novel - well, she is in her element.

For some time I wasn't quite as enamoured with this coral couch. Why? A bit of history.

The Buttergloves were one of the first four families who settled in the area many years ago. They actually camped nearer to the foothills of the mountains, closer to Sweetwater Lake that is nestled there, hidden from casual sight. The lake still provides our water, but the decision was made to start building our village further down in the calm, sheltered valley that is served by the river. Hence Mellowdene.

What has this to do with the sofa, you may ask? Well, being long-standing families in the village, the current Buttergloves traditionally live in the houses built by our ancestors. My brother Merlin and I live in different parts of the house in which we were raised. My cousins Biddie, Samantha and Jonathan all live in the house in which they were raised. Newton lives in a brand new house funded by his job, but my other brother has always gone his own way. The point is, when I married Cecile, she agreed to move into the house that had been in my family for generations. This was on the proviso that she would bring a selection of her family belongings. That was fair enough. The coral settee was one of the bigger items - and it was not in pristine condition even then.

Some years later I suggested we buy some new furniture.

"Fine," she said. "Just so long as there's room for my sofa."

It wasn't exactly an argument. A frank exchange of views, some people call it. The conclusion was that the settee stayed. I didn't mind too much, but I was a little confused. Cecile is the sensible one. The common sense one. I'm the arty creative one lucky enough to earn a living doing that sort of stuff. Cecile is wonderfully supportive, the one who budgets our money and ensures our children get fed. Well, maybe I'm exaggerating; I do my bit. But Cecile is the insightful practical one. I couldn't understand why the sofa was important. I asked her, and her reply was that helpful phrase that has infuriated many a husband.

"Well, if you don't know, I'm not going to tell you."

There's nothing useful gained by rising to this accusation. I dropped the issue, thinking I might find answers elsewhere. The children were the first port of call.

"We've got to look after coral. It's good for the envileoment," offered Brendan. "Miss Wildwood told us in class." He had missed the point, but the fact he was referring to his school lessons was a positive.

"Maybe it's an antique," suggested Beverley, reading a magazine.

"Mmm," said Russell, demolishing a bowl of orange segments.

Clearly I had to look further afield. I considered her old school friend Doris Seabreeze but she was elsewhere in Sylvania in the years immediately preceding my wedding. What other friends did she have who wouldn't immediately report back to Cecile? Then again, would it matter if they did? If nothing else it would show I was making an effort.

My next idea was more promising. Marion Brighteyes had been Cecile's Matron of Honour at our wedding.

I caught up with her at her workplace - the Blackcurrant Café.

After a little small talk I homed in to the subject that had brought me there.

"Marion, do you remember that coral-coloured sofa that Cecile is so fond of?"

She pondered a moment before smiling, momentarily closing her eyes and nodding at a memory.

"Oh yes. The one that she and Rowan helped their dad make. What about it?"

I had forgotten that Cecile's dad used to make furniture. The sofa was only one of a few such items she had brought with her, but if this was the only one that involved working with her brother, maybe Rowan was the key. I returned my attention to Marion.

"Well, it's still going strong," I replied, somewhat lamely. I beamed at Marion's slightly confused expression and continued with some other small talk for a while. As I was leaving I expected she was wondering what all that was about, but I didn't care - I believed I had the answer.

I knew Burdock Rowan Ivory before I'd met his sister. In fact, he introduced her to me. Whilst it might not have been love at first sight, there was a definite attraction between Cecile Ivory and this young songwriter. At first, Rowan was naturally a little protective towards her - after their parents had passed, they had watched out for one another - but when he realised the potential depth of our feelings, he became supportive. As the months passed, Rowan watched us grow closer. When it came to the wedding, Rowan had given her away, bringing her down the aisle so that we could be joined.

Maybe it was seeing Cecile settled that gave Rowan the opportunity to fulfil his suppressed ambition. To go travelling.

When he left Mellowdene, we didn't know how long he would be away. Months became years and there was little communication from him, then none at all. He never was a big letter writer. I suppose he figured that his sister was settled and happy, and words on paper were not that important. And because he didn't stay in one place too long, we didn't know where he was.

So maybe the coral sofa was Cecile's emotional contact with her brother. A strong memory of happy times when they worked together with their father.

After this revelation I didn't pursue replacing that particular piece of furniture. Even when a spring poked me unceremoniously in my bobtail I didn't complain - too much.

Brendan thought it hilarious, of course.

Cecile and I made the sofa repairs together and I think it brought us even closer.

o 0 O 0 o

A couple of weeks ago, the doorbell rang and I went to answer it. On the stoop there was a smiling rabbit, a small suitcase by his side. It was Rowan Ivory.

"Close your mouth, Jackson. Unless you're going to sing me a song?"

Bringing him inside, Cecile cried when she saw him and hugged him like there was no tomorrow. Her brother was back in Mellowdene. We didn't know how long he would stay, but for now Cecile was gloriously happy.

Conversation flowed. We heard tales of some of the places he'd been, and apparently he ended up in Vandykeville. And then the subject turned to Cecile.

"And what about you?" said Rowan. "Two children is it?"

"Three. And you'd know that if you'd kept in touch, you toad," she laughed. "Russell is our youngest. He's at nursery. He doesn't talk much yet, but he's an active little bee."

I chipped in. "And Brendan's our middle one. Energetic with an active imagination."

Rowan laughed. "I look forward to meeting my nephews. They sound great." He looked at Cecile with a raised brow. "And how is my niece? Did you call her Coral?"

Cecile actually blushed. "No. We called her Beverley."

I looked at her but she avoided my gaze. And then the realization crept upon me as the coral sofa caught my eye, screaming for attention.

That evening, a couple of months after the wedding. Two bunnies, very much in love. We didn't make it to the bedroom.

Beverley. Our living coral.

o 0 O 0 o