Chapter Thirty-Two
Wesley has moved out and Jess has taken up knitting to fill the empty evenings. She’s refusing to even talk to Luke.
She insists she’s fine and doesn’t want us fussing over her, but we worry all the same. Especially when she enthusiastically shows us the wool for our Christmas jumpers – it’s still only the first week of August!
Finally, after much coaxing, she agrees to ditch the needles and come out for a meal – on condition that Luke’s name shall not cross our lips.
When Anna bustles into the restaurant, she’s full of her hectic day, spent organising an event with a difference.
‘It’s a canine wedding,’ she says, flumping down into her seat. ‘Don’t ask. It’s just too ridiculous for words. The groom is a dachshund and the bride’s a Yorkshire terrier. But how the hell do you persuade twenty-seven doggy guests to cross their legs till they get home?’
I snort with laughter and casually enquire if Anna has seen anything of Peter.
‘No.’ Her shoulders slump. ‘Wine. We definitely need wine.’
I glance around for the waiter. Nowhere in sight.
I survey my dining companions.
Anna is slumped back in her chair, staring broodingly at the menu, looking as if she hasn’t slept for weeks. And Jess is lost in some private nightmare, glazed eyes trained on a spot over my left shoulder. Wearing not a scrap of make-up, she has a dazed look, as if she’s been put through a biological wash cycle and emerged the other end bleached and wrung-out.
Suddenly, she says, ‘I woke up yesterday morning and started making a wedding list in my head. I think I got to “check what time the flowers will arrive” before I remembered I wasn’t actually getting married.’
She looks from me to Anna. ‘Can you believe that?’
We smile in sympathy.
I can’t imagine how Jess felt on what would have been her wedding day. Instead of getting married, she stayed at home knitting and refused to talk about it.
Now, she sighs and picks up the menu. ‘Let’s talk about something else.’ She turns to me. ‘It’s your birthday in October, Izz. Why not have a party?’
A flicker of interest crosses Anna’s face. ‘Not a bad idea.’
I stare at them as if they are mad. ‘Is this really the right time to party? What with everything that’s going on?’ I glance at Jess.
She shrugs. ‘It’s still a month or so away. And it might take my mind off things.’
‘OK, maybe I will,’ I say cheerfully. ‘It could be my treat for everyone who helped with the fayre.’
Jess nods. ‘You’ve got to invite Dan as a thank-you. He was amazing with Wesley. I dread to think what would have happened if he hadn’t rushed to our rescue.’
‘He’s quite the hero, isn’t he?’ says Anna. ‘Tall, dark and handsome into the bargain.’ She gives me a sly, sideways look. ‘Isn’t it about time you two got together?’
I make an as if expression.
‘I think you’d make a lovely couple,’ says Jess.
I laugh, my face aflame. ‘We’re friends, Dan and I. We run together. That’s all.’
‘He’s divorced, isn’t he?’ says Anna, ignoring my protests.
I shake my head. ‘They never married. But Monique is still very much on the scene. In fact, I think she’s after a reunion.’
Jess leans forward. ‘What’s she like?’
‘Monique? Oh, nearly as tall as Dan. Long dark hair. A make-up artist. Works with celebrities all over the world. And she’s chic. Very chic.’
‘Why don’t you like her?’ asks Anna. ‘Or is that a stupid question?’
I laugh. ‘Anna, I don’t even know the woman. What makes you think I dislike her?’
‘Every time you mention her, you talk through gritted teeth,’ says Jess matter-of-factly, ‘as if you’d like to beat her over the head with a rolled-up copy of Cosmo.’
I’m silent for a moment.
‘Do I?’
They both nod.
This is terrible. I had no idea.
What has Monique ever done that would warrant my dislike? (Apart from looking like a model, of course, and clinging on to her man like a limpet. And neither of those is actually a crime.)
They’re looking at me expectantly.
‘Right. Party.’ I grab my phone and click on the calendar. ‘When are you both free?’
I bump into Dan at the farm and he asks when we’re going running again.
‘I thought you liked running alone,’ I say pertly.
He looks a little sheepish. ‘I did. But I enjoyed it more with you.’
‘Aw, really?’
He grins. ‘Yeah, there’s nothing like mindless chatter to distract you from the pain.’
‘Oh, thanks very much.’ I feign indignation while blushing stupidly.
There’s no awkwardness there at all, which is a great relief.
We run the following afternoon.
‘Twice round the course?’ suggests Dan.
‘Yeah, great.’
I do some leg stretches and we set off, running side-by-side.
‘Did I mention the girlfriend who shouted “Up the Rovers” every time we had sex?’
‘Up the Rovers?’ I ask, puzzled.
‘Bristol City fan.’
‘Ah.’
‘And then there was the woman who kept the ashes of her dead horse in a chest at the bottom of the bed.’
I laugh, catching on. ‘Ten out of ten in the alien girlfriend stakes.’
It feels good, picking up where we left off.
The August sun is burning overhead as we head along the farm track to the road. Climbing the fence and jumping down into the shade of the trees is delicious, like plunging into a swimming pool.
We pound along the river path, my breathing loud in my ears. Dan tells me more about Eugene the alien and what Zak has been up to at school. I eventually get up the nerve tell him about my birthday party and he says he’ll definitely be there. I’m desperate to ask if he intends bringing Monique, but that would sound as if I was bothered.
And of course I’m not.
After a while, the narrowness of the path forces us to run in single file. We lapse into silence and I run behind, watching the way Dan has to duck frequently to avoid the overhanging branches. His hair curls damply at the nape of his neck and every so often he pulls up his T-shirt and wipes sweat from his eyes.
We arrive back at the house and I follow him into the kitchen, glancing as I always do at the portrait photo of Monique and Zak in the hall.
He fills a glass with water and hands it to me. Then he strips off his T-shirt and aims it at the washing machine. He leafs through a pile of letters and flyers, throwing most of it into a heap on the table. ‘Bloody junk mail.’
He’s all lean muscle, broad shoulders and taut stomach and suddenly, I feel paralysed with shyness.
To distract myself, I bury my nose in a flyer.
‘What’s that?’ He glances over.
‘Oh, it’s – um – a new Thai restaurant opening in Fieldstone.’ I can’t look at him so instead, I start reading the blurb out loud. ‘Award winning classic Thai cuisine. Includes home delivery menu, wine and bar list. Enjoy our Thai comfort food in colourful and exotic surroundings and—’
‘Do you want to go?’
My head snaps up. ‘What?’
He shrugs, still rooting through the mail. ‘I haven’t been out for a meal in ages. I’m sure Mrs P would look after Zak. They got on like a house on fire when they worked together on the cake stall.’
He looks at me enquiringly and my flush deepens. I feel horribly exposed in my sweaty running gear with my hair plastered flat to my head.
A terrible thought occurs.
Oh God, what if he thought I was dropping a hint, reading out the restaurant leaflet? Like I was begging for a date or something?
‘I – erm…’
My mobile rings and I’m so grateful for the distraction, I gra
b it without checking the caller ID.
‘Hi,’ says a familiar voice. ‘Hope you don’t mind me calling.’
‘Erik?’
I look at Dan and he glances away, picks up his water glass and walks out into the hall.
‘It’s Gran. She’s in hospital. I thought you’d want to know.’
‘Mrs P’s in hospital? But why?’
He must be lying. Up to his old tricks again. Because Mrs P is never ill.
‘Heart attack.’ His tone is clipped and tight, not like Erik at all. ‘I wouldn’t be bothering you but I know she’s really fond of you. Will you come in and see her?’
Chapter Thirty-Three
When my Aunt Midge had her heart attack and Jamie drove me all the way down to Surrey from Edinburgh, I wasn’t sure I’d make it to the hospital in time.
When I got there and joined my mother at her bedside, Midge was drifting in and out of consciousness. She didn’t seem to know who I was.
I’m filled with dread on the drive to see Mrs P.
The line between past and present seems to have blurred. It’s horrible. It feels as if I’m making that heart-wrenching emergency dash to Midge’s bedside all over again.
When I arrive, Erik is there with his gran who’s fast asleep. He looks exhausted, as if he’s aged a decade. It’s not good news. Her main artery is blocked and she’s scheduled for by-pass surgery later that night.
I pull up a chair and we sit and stare at her sleeping form in the clinical hospital bed. Lying on her back with the sheet tucked under her arms, she looks pale and fragile and every one of her seventy-two years. But what appals me more than anything is the large violet bruise that has flowered on her hand where a tube has pierced it.
I keep looking at it. Then trying not to look at it.
‘Banksy found her,’ Erik says. ‘God knows what would have happened if he hadn’t been passing.’
‘Banksy?’ I turn to him in surprise.
‘He was on his way to you.’
My eyes close briefly. ‘Of course. The mangoes. He forgot to load them onto the lorry yesterday. He said he’d drop them off today.’
‘When he passed her cottage, he saw the front door was wide open. She was lying on the path.’ Wearily, he draws both hands through his hair. ‘Thank God he forgot the mangoes.’
We sit in silence.
Then I tell him he should go home and get some sleep because she’ll need him later, after the op.
At the door, he turns and murmurs a sheepish thanks.
I shake my head. The past doesn’t seem important any more. All my anger towards Erik has gone. I know what it’s like to lose someone you love.
After he leaves, I sit in his chair in the stark white room with its odd smell of disinfectant and stew.
It feels strange being at liberty to study someone’s face so intently. Hers is slack and papery in repose with brown age spots high on her cheeks. Her eyes are bruised as if she’s been in a fight.
How is it possible for someone to be so alive and full of zest one day and have all the vibrancy sucked out of them the next? I try to swallow but it feels as if there is something lodged in my throat.
I take her hand and lean closer.
‘I’m not going anywhere,’ I whisper. ‘I’m staying right here.’
When I arrived at the hospital with my mother that last morning, we went straight to Midge’s room. I took off my coat, laid it over the back of the bedside chair and sat down.
Midge lay on her back with her eyes closed.
After a while, my mother went to get some coffees. I took one of Midge’s blue-veined hands in both of mine and started talking to her about nothing in particular, keeping it light and breezy for my sake as much as hers.
One of the nurses came into the room. I liked Linda. She was softly spoken and never patronised the patients. She made me feel safe and reassured, like everything that was happening to Midge was a natural part of the life process and nothing to be feared. She took Midge’s other hand and started stroking it gently. ‘She’s really peaceful,’ she said. ‘I think she might be ready to go.’
I must have looked stricken because she smiled and said, ‘You can help her, you know. Talk to her. Tell her it’s all right for her to go now.’
Linda placed Midge’s hand back on the coverlet. ‘I’ll be out here if you need me.’
So I wiped my eyes and talked to Midge. I told her everything I needed to, then I sat holding her hand, listening to her shallow breathing.
Her eyes were still closed. Did she even know I was there?
I didn’t think so.
I glanced around the room. Everything was the same; everything in its usual place. The ugly but functional chest of drawers, the vase of artificial roses on the windowsill and the beaker of water, like a child’s cup, on a tray table at the bottom of the bed. It didn’t seem right that all these things would still be here tomorrow. When my Midge was dying today.
Feeling suddenly frozen to the bone, I stood up to put on my coat. And as I did so, she opened her eyes and looked right at me. Not a dull-eyed, looking-through-me kind of expression. But really connecting. If she could have spoken, I’m quite sure she would have said, ‘Hey, missy, you can’t walk out on me now!’
I sat back down, smiling through a blur of tears.
‘I’m not going anywhere,’ I whispered. ‘I’m staying right here.’
Tears are dripping down my cheeks.
I take a deep breath and stroke Mrs P’s hand, trying to quell the feeling of loss surging inside.
Suddenly, it’s all too much.
I need to get out. Breathe some fresh air.
The minute the thought forms, I’m on my feet and stumbling out, past the deserted nurses’ station. The corridor divides into two and I stop dead, no idea which way to turn.
What if I get lost and can’t find my way back to Mrs P?
Suddenly I’m in a cold sweat and the corridor is spinning around me.
I have to sit down. Now. Otherwise I will fall down.
‘Izzy?’
A man is walking towards me.
Dan?
He grabs hold of me and guides me into an empty side room where I sink onto a green plastic chair. Lowering my head between my knees, I’m aware of my heart beating with the rhythm of a drum in my ears.
I stare at the dull grey lino as the blood flows slowly back to my brain.
When I start to feel better, Dan pulls a chair round and sits facing me, holding my hands and squeezing them gently from time to time. I’m so grateful for his concern. He’s trying to help me relax, I know – but the pressure of his fingers is having quite the opposite effect.
‘Why are you here?’ I ask, removing my hands on the pretext of pushing my hair back.
He shrugs. ‘You looked terrible when you drove off. I thought you might need a bit of support.’ His mouth twists. ‘What with Erik …’
I whisper my thanks and ask where Zak is.
‘With Sue, his childminder. I asked her to collect him from school.’
‘Really? But I feel terrible—’
‘Oh, trust me, you shouldn’t. Zak is over the moon. Sue makes proper food.’
I smile, recalling the time he joked they only ever ate their carrots raw. ‘You mean she actually cooks vegetables?’
‘Yes. And she bakes chocolate cake. With proper icing and a bowl to lick. So you see, you have no reason at all to feel guilty.’
He smiles at me. But I have to look away quickly because the kindness in his deep blue eyes makes me feel tearful and happy at the same time, which is all very confusing.
‘Let me get you a drink.’ He roots through his pocket for change then eyes the vending machine with deep suspicion. ‘Dishwater tea or rancid coffee? Your choice.’
‘Is there hot chocolate?’ I rise too quickly and my head swims.
Dan grabs me. ‘Hey, you’re not about to faint on me, are you?’
I shake my head. Although ironically
, with his strong arms around me, swooning suddenly feels like a distinct possibility.
I cling tighter.
To steady myself, obviously.
I can’t believe how lovely and supportive he’s being. This is the real Dan. Not the narky delivery driver I first met, who rampaged through Midge’s precious gates like a football hooligan.
The real Dan smells great, too.
I should tell him.
I think of Mrs P lying in that bed on the ward, facing a major operation. It’s at times like this that people start remembering what really matters. The world would be a far better place if people showed their appreciation of others more often.
It feels like one of those Eureka moments. When you suddenly see everything very clearly.
I should tell Dan I’m sorry I misjudged him.
‘You smell great,’ I blurt out, my face pressed against his shirt.
‘I do?’
‘Mm. Sort of lemony.’
He laughs softly. ‘Better that than cabbage, I suppose.’
‘Or onions?’
I look up at him. The smile lines round his eyes are faintly white against his summer tan and his mouth is lovely. I remember noticing it when we sat together under the apple tree. You don’t often get a chance to study features close up. But it’s right there, Dan’s mouth, perfectly formed, only inches from mine.
And in my new spirit of loving my fellow man (or woman) whenever the chance occurs, I stand on tiptoe and bridge the gap, pressing my mouth against his.
And it feels good. In a way I never expected.
For a second, it’s me doing the kissing.
Then his hands slip round my waist and he pulls me close and I feel his urgent response. Fireworks are exploding around us. At least, that’s how my over-excited brain interprets it, as Dan shuffles us sideways, still locked together, and I find myself suddenly pinned very pleasurably to the wall. My head is whirling about in space, expelling all rational thought like a salad spinner ejecting the water.
We’re fused together and I couldn’t pull away even if I wanted to.
But after a while, an uneasy thought starts nudging at my brain.
I keep shooing it away as if it’s a Labrador pup that keeps bouncing up, demanding attention.
Green Beans and Summer Dreams Page 27