This is the second week running I’ve turned up at the nursing home hungover. At least last week I’d had a shower.
‘Lidia, Lidia!’ I beckon my mum’s favourite carer over to the entrance.
‘Oh!’ She seems startled by my appearance – and this is someone who often sees ninety-year-olds naked. ‘Are you okay?’
‘I stayed at a friend’s house last night and had to leave in a bit of a hurry. I couldn’t use the staff shower, could I?’
‘Of course, my kit is already in there, help yourself.’
‘Oh, you are a gem!’
She gives me a sideways glance as we head down the corridor. ‘Is this a new friend?’
I nod. ‘I’ve got mixed feelings about him. Oh, hello, Malcolm! Glad to see you’re fully dressed this week.’
He pulls a face. ‘You’re the one who needs to check your reflection.’
‘Yes, yes, I know!’ I pat my fuzzy hair. ‘I’m seeing to that now.’
‘Do you want me to throw your sweater in the dryer?’ Lidia asks. ‘You seem a bit damp.’
‘I fear it would shrink, I’ll borrow something of mum’s.’
‘The cream cable knit?’
‘Perfect,’ I smile.
For a second I stand in the doorway thinking how marvellous it is that there are people in the world who you can trust whole-heartedly. Lidia feels like a safe haven after Storm Tristan.
Could it be that he’s just too much for me? There is definitely something unsettling about him. If I’m honest, I think part of the problem is believing that someone that good-looking would be into me. I mean, a one-night-stand maybe, but an ongoing thing seems like a stretch. Don’t men like him need women with longer legs and higher heels and beauticians on speed dial?
‘Enough with the self-sabotage!’ I hear my body complain. ‘Can we please just enjoy the attention he is paying us?’
I sigh. I’ll process the pros and cons of this union later. For now, I simply attempt to sluice away any misgivings with the shower.
*
When I emerge all shiny of locks and freckly of face I feel marginally better, or at the very least clean. It’s also dawning on me just how hungry I am – small wonder since very little food was consumed last night and I had nothing more than a visual feast for breakfast. Imagine my joy when I find warm-from-the-oven ginger cake and a pot of tea beside my mum.
‘Oh, that’s a sight for sore eyes!’ I cheer as I enter her room. ‘Shall I pour?’
‘That’s for my daughter.’ She raises a protective hand. ‘She’s coming to see me.’
My heart sinks. I should be used to this by now but I always experience it as if it were a physical blow. There’s something so disconcerting about your own flesh and blood not recognising you. In these moments I feel so disconnected, like I’ve lost part of my identity.
‘I’m here, Mum. It’s Amy.’ I gently take her hand, hoping that her muscle memory will trigger her mind memory and gaze imploringly into her eyes. ‘You remember me!’
She peers closer, studying my face. ‘Oh yes, I recognise those freckles. How was school today?’
‘Good,’ I reply with a sigh. Always easiest to go with the flow.
‘What did you do?’
‘Um, physical education mostly.’
‘You smell nice,’ she says as I lean over with her cup of tea. ‘Is that coconut?’
I nod. ‘It’s like being at the beach, isn’t it? Remember our holiday to Spain? We played the Guardians of the Galaxy soundtrack every night when we were getting ready for dinner.’
I ask Alexa to play ‘The Piña Colada Song’ and her face lights up. She’s singing along by the chorus, happy as a lark, while I feel overwhelmed with nostalgia, wishing I could rewind to those days, when she was herself all day every day.
For all the times I’ve skipped forward, would it be too much to ask to skip back, just once? Imagine if I could rewind to the night before the wedding and not drink so much so I actually knew which was my guy. Then again, would I have kissed any of them sober?
I reach to top up our tea, frowning at a sudden overlapping in tunes. I’m just wondering if Alexa has a new DJ mix option when I realise the second tune is coming from my phone. I’m about to turn it off, concerned it might be Tristan, but then I see Charlotte’s name on the screen.
‘Aren’t you still in South Africa?’ I gasp as I answer, hurrying over towards the window.
‘Yes! But I had to tell you – the photographer sent me the link to the wedding pics. There’s hundreds of them. We’re just leaving for our afternoon tea at the Mount Nelson but I thought you could start going through them?’
‘I’m at my mum’s!’
‘Well, she’s got a tablet, hasn’t she? She can be an extra pair of eyes for you.’
Ever calm and wise. ‘Thank you, Charlotte,’ I sigh. ‘I’ll let you know what I find.’
‘Okay, gotta go! Good luck!’
I turn back to my mother. ‘I’ve got a game for us.’
‘What kind of game?’
‘We’re going to be detectives looking for clues in a set of photographs.’
‘You’re so dramatic.’
‘I know. But it’ll be fun.’ I prop the tablet in front of us. ‘Not to sound like an egomaniac but we’re looking for any shots of me interacting with a man.’
‘There’s one, there’s one!’ She points excitedly at the screen.
‘That’s Jay.’
‘So?’
‘Okay, any man except Jay.’
‘I’ve found another!’ she cheers.
‘That’s Ernie, Marcus’s grandfather.’
‘I suppose he doesn’t count, either?’
‘Not for this particular game but you’ve got a good eye so let’s keep going.’
There’s a lot of exclaiming and cooing as we scan through the highlights of the wedding. Charlotte is going to be thrilled, especially with the first dance sequence – she looks exquisite and Marcus is clearly smitten. It really is all so romantic.
‘Ooh! My waiter!’
‘Well, he’s lovely.’
‘Isn’t he? His name is Ben. I had a date with him yesterday, though it feels like a lifetime ago.’
‘Are you going to see him again? Your face is telling me that you want to.’
‘I do. I just left in a bit of a hurry and haven’t had a chance to contact him since.’ I casually bring my phone to life and startle as I see there is a text from him. ‘Oh my gosh, he’s messaged me!’ I bite my lip as I read it.
‘Not good?’
‘No, he’s just being really sweet.’
‘Is that a problem?’
‘Only because I feel guilty at leaving him rather abruptly to go on a date with another man. You’ll see him in a minute. Here. This one.’ I point to Tristan.
‘Oh.’
‘What do you think?’
‘Well, of course, he’s very handsome . . .’
‘But?’
‘I don’t know. There’s something about his eyes.’ She zooms in on his face.
I get a little shudder myself. ‘Moving on!’
There is a noticeable change in the poses as the booze kicks in – way more lunging and hugging, faces smooshed up together with exaggerated pouts. As ever, the dance floor freeze-frames are good for comedy value.
‘You danced with a lot of different men,’ my mum observes.
‘That I did,’ I confirm. ‘But none of these ones are ringing a bell.’
‘Wait, go back!’ My mum grabs my arm. ‘That picture in the hall – go in closer on the background.’
I squint at the figures and then jerk back in shock – it’s me and Elliot.
‘Who’s he? It looks like you’re having cross words.’
‘That’s Charlotte’s cousin,’ I murmur. ‘You met him once years ago. I’m not a fan but I don’t remember an argument.’ Although I am now getting the sensation of being riled up and indignant.
‘See if there’s any more of him.’
I continue to scroll.
‘There!’ she exclaims. ‘What’s that down his shirt?’
My stomach drops. ‘Red wine.’
‘Is that significant?’ She looks at me.
I nod. ‘I think I threw it at him.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know. I can’t remember anything we said.’
‘Maybe things went beyond conversation.’
Now I’m feeling seriously queasy. She’s right. He must have been one of the kisses. And if the red wine was the end of the relationship, that means it really is between Tristan and Ben. But did Elliot and I really kiss? I shudder.
I sit back and tap my lip. I know where he works, I could just rock up and ask him what happened. But would he tell me the truth? I have to at least try to get the facts.
‘Are you okay?’
I nod dumbly.
‘Okay, let’s keep going.’
By the end of the photo viewing I am all the more amazed that Ben agreed to meet up with me after bearing witness to my drunken debauchery. I pick up my phone and look back at his text.
Hope you landed the client. The movie was a yawn so you didn’t miss much. Have a super chill Sunday.
I type my reply:
Just having tea and ginger cake with my mum – definitely no chance of anyone kidnapping me now!
I smile, thinking of the sign at the Crouch End cafe. I can’t wait to go back there. But for now I turn off my phone and turn all my attention to my mum.
‘Fancy a little mani?’
*
I walk away from the nursing home in something of a daze. The manicure somewhat soothed me – the warm water, the attention to detail, the prettiness of the pearlised ivory we opted for this week. For half an hour I didn’t have to make any decisions greater than how many coats to apply.
As I head down the street, I take out my phone and tentatively bring it back to life. I send a quick update to Charlotte and then ponder who I should follow up with first – Tristan or Ben? The sex text or the sweetie who, now I reread his text, isn’t exactly hounding me for a second date. Hmm. I was the one who asked him out on the walk, so it really should be his turn now. Though I guess he did ask me to the cinema. Maybe he thinks because I’m the older woman I should lead the way?
I jump as my phone buzzes in my hand. Who’s this?
Welllllllll?????
It’s May, via text, wanting to know how the dates went. This is not something I can summarise in a line or two. Or even do justice to on the phone.
Meet me for lunch tomorrow? I type.
I can’t wait that long! she complains.
8 a.m. coffee at The Pour House?
Isn’t that where Elliot works?
It is indeed.
There’s a pause and then my phone starts to ring.
‘Please tell me he’s not a candidate!’ May gasps down the line.
‘He had red wine on his shirt in the wedding pictures.’
‘Noooooo! The scoundrel!’
‘I just need to hear what happened from the horse’s mouth.’
‘The ass’s mouth!’ she scoffs. ‘I’ve got to get back to the shoot but I need every detail tomorrow. I’ll see you on the corner so we can walk in together.’
‘Deal,’ I confirm.
I feel so much better about the prospect of confronting Elliot with May by my side.
In fact, I think it’s best if I wait until that is dealt with before I engage any more with Tristan or Ben. I’ve had quite enough action for one weekend. Just one more deed to be done – returning Gareth’s phone – and then it’s home to bed.
As I arrive at his door my gaze inadvertently slides to the left, wondering whether Julianne has sealed the deal yet. A week ago the thought of calling this place home seemed so thrilling but now, without Gareth around to get into the nitty-gritty, it’s been relegated to a passing fancy. I’d still like to run the idea by him out of curiosity but the house is in darkness so I’m guessing he’s still not back. I sigh to myself. So, what now?
I reach for his phone, which I’ve been carrying around all week, thinking he might get in touch. If I had a Jiffy bag, I could just put it through the letter box and have done with it. Perhaps I could wrap it in something? I rummage through my bag, pulling out my multi-purpose cami. Now that would start a whole different conversation.
Suddenly the door opens. ‘Oh!’ Gareth startles.
‘You’re back!’ I exclaim.
‘Did you ring the bell?’
‘I was just about to – are you leaving?’
‘No, I was just going to get my things from the car.’
‘You’re just getting home now?’
He nods.
‘Well, that’s good timing – I brought your phone!’ I hold it up.
He looks between that and the black silk cami.
‘I . . .’ I try to speak but I’m lost for words.
‘Did you want to come in?’
‘Not if you’re busy . . .’ Why does this feel so awkward?
‘It can wait,’ he says, leading me inside. ‘Tea or rosemary ale?’
‘A very small ale, please.’ I perch on the edge of the sofa with the cats, awaiting my hair of the dog. ‘Your lip looks better.’
‘It is,’ he nods, running his thumb over it. ‘Are you coming from your mum’s?’
‘I am.’
‘How is she?’
‘Good. In fact, they’re having a fancy dress party the weekend after next, if you’d be game? I’m hoping the whole gang will be there . . .’
‘Of course,’ he nods, handing me my drink and then turning back to the counter. ‘Oh, I got your favourites.’
He throws two packets of crisps at me, causing me to exclaim, ‘Mackie’s Haggis! I can’t believe you found these in Sweden!’
‘Sweden?’
‘Oh! I presumed . . .’ I bite my lip. ‘Dharmesh said you hopped on a flight . . .’
‘I went to see my dad.’ He puts me out of my misery. ‘In Scotland. Hence the Haggis crisps.’
‘Well, of course, that makes a lot more sense.’
He sits down in his old recliner. ‘I hadn’t seen him in a while and I was right there at the airport with my overnight bag . . .’
I nod, understanding. There’s nothing like the comfort of home when you’re feeling down. Plus, Freya and Gareth lived with his dad for a while so he could chime in more than the rest of us, despite being a man of few words.
‘How’s he doing, your dad?’
‘Good. He’s got a new lady friend. Maggie. She’s nice.’ There’s a hint of sadness behind his smile, I note. I wonder if he’s thinking of his mother.
I wait a moment and then ask, ‘Do you want to talk about Freya?’
‘I don’t but it feels like you do,’ he half smiles.
‘It’s just, it was such a surprise to us all . . .’
‘I know.’ His voice softens. ‘But it wasn’t for me. We might have similar interests but we have a very different approach to life. She’s more global messaging, I’m just planting seeds in my small corner of Battersea hoping the word will spread. It got to the point where she needed to be with someone louder, more vocal.’
‘Like Lucas?’
‘Yes, how did you . . .?’
‘Just a hunch.’
‘Okay, so that part was a little galling. He was always coming up with new promotional partnerships for the pair of them.’ He shakes his head. ‘Then again, they are probably the better match.’
‘So you really are okay with this?’
‘I really am. Honestly, it was a bit of a relief. All the back and forth to Stockholm, feeling like we were pulling in different directions.’
‘Can I be nosy?’
He gives me a look as if to say, ‘Aren’t you always!’ But not in a totally exasperated way.
‘Do you know why she was calling you the day after the wedding?’
‘She wanted me at her ceremony.’
‘What?’
‘She wanted to show that there were no hard feelings. A lot of local press had pictures of us from a recent event so she said for “optics” it was important to show a harmonious transition.’
I raise my eyebrows. ‘And what did you say to that?’
‘Well, I didn’t get the chance to reply – she was on speakerphone and my dad chimed in with a few choice Glaswegian phrases from his youth.’
I laugh. ‘I love your dad.’
‘He loves you too.’
‘Not as much as May.’
‘He loves drinking and arguing with May.’
‘But aren’t those two of his favourite things?’ I tease.
‘You have a point.’ He takes a sip of ale. ‘So, what’s the theme of this fancy dress party?’
‘Sitcom characters!’ I brighten, equally ready to move on. ‘You have to go as Tom from The Good Life! And wouldn’t Charlotte and Marcus make a great Margot and Jerry? She loves a seventies dress with billowing sleeves and apparently he’s got a whole drawer of cravats he’s saving for retirement!’
‘You know, with the right wigs they would be excellent.’
I lean over to the other side of the sofa and grab Gareth’s heavy green knit jumper. ‘Team this with a pair of Wellies and you’re golden.’
‘Not much of a stretch, is it?’
‘Well, no, but . . .’
‘What are you going as?’
‘I haven’t decided, it depends on who I bring as my date.’
‘And how’s all that going?’
I decide to spare him the whole Ben/Tristan saga but I do reveal that it looks like Elliot has been identified as the missing third kiss.
‘Elliot?’ He’s not convinced. ‘You’ve always said he gave you the creeps.’
‘He still does, but one of the premonitions involved throwing red wine on a white shirt and he fits the bill there.’
‘Is it possible you kissed more than three men?’
I shake my head. ‘Three bottle tops, three premonitions. Was that your doorbell?’
He looks down at his watch. ‘She’s early.’
‘Who?’ I’m not making any more assumptions.
‘Peony,’ he replies, not looking exactly thrilled at the prospect. ‘Maggie talked me into it.’
‘Do you want me to leave by the back door?’
‘Of course not!’ he tuts.
‘Okay, well, I’m out of here.’ I swig back my drink.
We both head for the front door but I step to the side as we get there. ‘You should answer it.’
‘Right.’
I will now be hidden behind the door as he opens it. I really hope she hasn’t gone for a flasher mac and suspenders entrance.
‘Oh! Mr Atkins!’
‘I hope you don’t mind, I saw you’d got back. Oh, hello, Amy!’ he addresses me as I peek out from behind Gareth. ‘I was thinking about what you said about the joint purchase or shares in the cafe—’
‘Sorry?’ Gareth interjects.
‘Um,’ I grimace, squeezing to the fore and giving Mr Atkins a significant look. ‘I’ve yet to have that conversation with Gareth.’
‘Oh.’ His shoulders slump. ‘I see. Well, goodnight to you both.’
‘Goodnight. Thanks for coming by!’ I chime.
As I close the door I hear Gareth’s voice behind me. ‘You offered him shares in a cafe that doesn’t exist?’
‘No, well, I was just trying to think of a way to persuade him to sell to you rather than this Julianne character and Charlotte had suggested making a joint purchase—’
‘With Julianne?’
‘No, um, with me.’
‘What?’
‘Well, you know I’m looking to buy and you want this place but it’s too expensive so if we split it and I took upstairs and you had downstairs . . .’
He looks completely thrown.
‘Or not. It was just a random thought.’
He leans back on the wall.
‘It’s obviously a terrible idea,’ I fluster. All these years of being friends and I still have no idea what is going on behind those eyes.
‘It’s not the idea, it’s the timing,’ he tells me. ‘I mean, aren’t you about to fall in love?’
‘I don’t know about that . . .’
‘But that’s not true, is it?’ he counters. ‘You do know. You know that one of those men is your happy ever after. Don’t you want to be making plans with him?’
I purse my lips.
‘And that’s not to say you can’t make your own choices and live anywhere you please, it’s just—’
‘No, no, you’re quite right. I just got carried away thinking it was so close to mum’s and there was the added bonus of the cats . . .’
‘The cats?’
‘And you,’ I say.
And for a moment it seems as if the world stops. The way those two words came out of my mouth wasn’t jokey or cavalier. I flush, suddenly very conscious of how close we are in the corridor.
‘Amy—’
The doorbell rings again, causing us both to jump out of our skins.
‘Okay, now it’s Peony.’
I shake off my daze and pull myself together. ‘Should I?’ I am now closest to the latch.
‘Go ahead.’
It’s no surprise to see her face fall at the sight of me. If I’m not answering his phone, I’m answering his door.
‘I’m just leaving,’ I say, not waiting for her to reply. As soon as I’m out of the door I jog a few paces in an attempt to put some distance between myself and the awkward triangle.
‘Amy!’
I turn to see Gareth coming after me. For a moment I think he’s running to tell me that the idea of us co-buying the house is brilliant and The Botanist dream can finally be made a reality. But of course, it’s not that.
‘You forgot your crisps.’
‘Oh,’ I say, taking them from him. ‘Thank you.’
‘See you here next Thursday?’
I give him a blank look.
‘The dinner to hear about Charlotte’s honeymoon?’
‘Of course! And then the fancy dress party is that Sunday. Feel free to invite Peony, by the way. She could be Grace Adler with that beautiful red hair.’
‘Good call. Okay, I should get back.’ He reaches to give me one of our customary hugs.
I hold on a little longer, trying to convey how sorry I am about Freya, closing my eyes and imagining him surrounded in a glow of healing love. It takes him a moment to respond but then he leans his head against mine and, for a fleeting moment, I feel a direct connection to his heart.
‘Thank you for thinking about buying the flat, I know you meant well.’
I sigh. I want to say my offer still stands but that doesn’t seem to be what he wants to hear. At least he’s no longer mad that I went behind his back with Mr Atkins.
‘Have a good night with Peony!’ I give him a cheery wave.
‘Have a good week with your beaus.’
Oh jeez, I’d almost forgotten about them.
I head for the bus stop in a daze. All the times I wished for more romance in my life, I never expected it to feel this confusing. Still, hopefully by next Sunday things will be a lot clearer.
