Be Careful What You Wish For

by Vivien Brown

  ‘Well, don’t do it tonight!’

  ‘I won’t, I promise. Now, what do you recommend?’

  ‘The pie. Like I told you when I invited you to join me, it’s the best.’

  ‘Really? With all this choice, you’re going for pie?’

  ‘Always been my favourite, a good steak and kidney. And since my Barbara isn’t able to make it for me any more, the Brown Cow version is the next best thing. I’ll probably have the spotted dick after as well. With custard.’

  ‘You’re thinking about pudding already?’

  ‘I like to plan ahead, Madi. Know what it is I’m leaving enough room for.’

  ‘In that case …’ Madi turned the menu over and studied the desserts list. ‘I’m going to leave room for a chocolate fudge sundae.’

  ‘Atta girl!’

  The evening flew by. Tom had been wrong about the singer, who never did materialise, but that just made it easier to talk, which they did, in abundance.

  They were struggling with the final mouthfuls of dessert, Tom loosening his belt by a notch and Madi glad she’d picked trousers with a hidden elasticated section of waistband at the sides, so useful with her weight fluctuating up and down as it had in recent months, when Tom reached out a hand to stop someone passing by on his way to the gents.

  ‘Hello, Ken,’ he said. ‘Long time no see.’

  The man stopped and grinned. ‘What? All of three days, you mean? Didn’t spot you tucked away over here or I’d have been over to say hello sooner. Never have liked drinking alone.’

  ‘Alone? Ken, you know just about everyone in here. Don’t you pretend you’ve been sitting on your own sobbing into a pint! Madi, let me introduce you to Ken Barton, an old buddy of mine, who, despite what he might have you believe, has a million friends and likes to make up a good story.’

  ‘Not so much of the old. You’re a good five years older than me, remember? Nice to meet you, Madi. The lady staying at Prue’s, I assume?’ He held out his hand and shook hers firmly. ‘I’ve heard all about you from my son Ralph. The vet.’

  ‘Oh, of course. He’s been so incredibly kind, looking after little Flo.’

  ‘He’s a good lad. Sensible head on his shoulders. Can I buy you both a drink? A coffee maybe, and a brandy to go in it?’

  Madi made to object but held her tongue. What harm could a drop of brandy do? A little of what you fancy …

  Ken returned a few minutes later, with a drink in his hand and another man in tow.

  ‘Madi, this is Stuart.’ Tom did the introductions as Ken pulled up a couple of spare chairs. ‘Ralph’s business partner and fellow vet, and of course young Prue’s dad. And one of those many drinking friends our Ken here swears he doesn’t have!’

  ‘Pleased to meet you, my dear. Not often we get any new faces around here.’ Stuart sat down heavily and turned his chair to face her. ‘And my wife tells me you’re quite famous. Star of stage and screen, I hear.’

  ‘A huge exaggeration!’ Madi could feel herself reddening. Her hand went to her hair, as if to check it was still there. ‘But where is Faith tonight? Not with you?’

  ‘Oh, she and her friend Patty are up at the village hall. Well, it’s more of a large wooden shack, to tell you the truth. Still, it serves its purpose well enough. Big enough to squeeze us all in when needed, although it can get mighty chilly in there, with no proper heating system. They’re getting set up for one of their W.I. events tomorrow. It’s one of those produce affairs where women flaunt their best fruitcakes and daffodils and what have you. I’m sure half the competitors buy the stuff in Tesco’s and pass it off as their own, but it’s all good fun, isn’t it? They even have men’s categories nowadays. Supposed to bring in a cake made with apples, or a homemade wine. Stuff and nonsense. You won’t find me in the kitchen. And I prefer the real deal myself.’ He lifted the glass of whisky he’d brought over with him and downed it in one.

  ‘Well, I always enter. I’ve made a lovely mango wine this year. From pulp in a tin, obviously. We don’t grow a lot of mangoes around here! You should pop along there, Madi,’ Ken chipped in. ‘Starts around twelve. I believe. You might enjoy it. Being as it’s fine weather, and Mother’s Day as well, there should be a good turnout. Bring your coat though. As I say, it can get a bit draughty. They do lunches too, and a mean cream tea, at the back of the hall, with scones and all. Worth going, just for that.’

  Madi sat back, savouring the brandy-laced coffee the waitress had just delivered to the table, and listened to the three old friends chatting. Having just told Tom about her time playing King Lear had put her in mind of some unusual cross-gender castings and it was not difficult to imagine them as the three witches from Macbeth, heads close together, hubbling and bubbling away nineteen to the dozen.

  Mother’s Day! She had temporarily forgotten about that. Well, she wouldn’t be getting anything from George this year, that was for sure. If he had even thought of sending a card, it would be at the flat, stuck in the tray in the hall, unless Prue had already sent it on. And that meant she wouldn’t see it until at least Monday or Tuesday. No, she might as well go along to the hall and support the local produce show. It would kill two birds with one stone as well, as she still hadn’t sampled Faith’s famous Victoria sponge cake, which she felt sure would be on offer, and probably taking pride of place among the winning entries.

  Chapter 18

  PRUE

  The lights twinkled on the water as Prue and Aaron stood side by side in the pod and the Eye rose up and over in a wide, slowly circling arc, so slowly in fact that Prue could hardly detect any movement at all.

  ‘See. I told you it was worth doing,’ Aaron said, skipping over to the other side to get a better look at the Houses of Parliament and Big Ben, the tower still enveloped in scaffolding while its restoration works went ahead. ‘Nothing to make you feel sick. Just brilliant views. Lots of things to take photos of, right?’

  She had to agree that any initial reservations had been totally unfounded, and this was indeed a great vantage point from which to see London in a whole different way. Her camera had hardly left its position clamped to her eye since they’d set off.

  ‘It’s great. Thanks.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Being my guide. Looking after me.’

  ‘You don’t need looking after, just pointing in the right direction.’

  ‘Maybe.’ She spotted someone walking on the embankment below, dressed from head to toe in garish yellow tartan, trying to keep his kilt down in the wind, and she couldn’t resist taking a few sneaky close-ups with her zoom. That image would make a wonderful greetings card, if only she was any good at writing funny captions.

  ‘Heard anything from home?’ Aaron asked, following her gaze and laughing at what he saw.

  ‘Just a thank-you text from my mum. For her present. Not that she was meant to open it until tomorrow, but that’s what she’s like. Can’t resist delving straight in. No patience. She did try calling earlier but I only have the phone on for a little while at a time so I must have missed the call.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Why what?’

  ‘Why don’t you keep your phone on? I never turn mine off, unless the battery dies.’

  ‘Ah, but I’m trying to escape from people, not leave myself open to them morning, noon and night. I want to be in some sort of control. Who I talk to, and when.’

  ‘This is about your ex, I guess?’

  ‘Got it in one. The last thing I need is Joe Barton calling me, thinking he can get hold of me whenever he wants to, messing with my head.’

  ‘Is that what he does? Messes with your head?’

  ‘I’m beginning to think that’s all he’s ever done. Telling me how special I am one minute, then cold as a bloody fridge the next …’

  ‘The man’s a prat. Not worth thinking about.’

  ‘Oh, believe me, I am trying, really hard, not to think about him.’

  ‘And succeeding?’

  ‘Most of
the time.’

  ‘It’s his loss, you know. He was probably regretting your break-up as soon as it happened.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think so. But let’s not have any more talk about Joe, okay?’

  ‘Okay. How about you then? Prue. Where does that name come from? I don’t think I’ve ever met a Prue before.’

  ‘Short for Prudence. As in careful, which I suppose I am. My mum’s called Faith, and my gran was Verity, meaning truth. All good, old-fashioned, God-fearing names. A family tradition.’

  ‘I like them. All of them.’

  ‘Well, Aaron’s pretty Biblical too, isn’t it?’

  ‘Sure is. Although not in my case. I was actually named after my mum’s favourite auntie, Nora. Spelt backwards, see? Or as close as she could get it and still end up with a real name. Would have been so much easier if I had been born a girl!’ He gazed out across the sparkling water. ‘So what names do you have lined up for your own kids? And don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it. Most people have. You girls, especially. Like knowing what sort of wedding dress you want to wear before you’ve even met the right bloke.’

  ‘We do not!’

  ‘Okay then. For the first time, as you’ve never given it a moment’s thought before, what names would you choose?’

  ‘Boy or girl?’

  ‘Both.’

  Prue pretended to ponder the question, although she did, just as he’d suggested, already know the answer. ‘I’ve always liked Bobby, actually. For a boy, or with an i at the end for a girl. But that probably had a lot to do with it sounding good with Barton after it. Now I’m never going to be Mrs Barton, I may have to think again.’

  ‘Oh, good grief. I was right! You have been planning it for ever! And I thought the wedding-dress thing before you’re even engaged was bad enough, but choosing baby names to fit with your potential, possible, might-not-ever-happen, future surname … that’s crazy.’

  ‘I suppose it is. Maybe that’s what I am. Or was. Crazy.’

  ‘More like blinkered, or stuck in a rut. Blimey, Prue, did you ever do anything in life that didn’t revolve around this Joe character? Whatever happened to having a life of your own?’

  ‘I do have a life of my own. A cottage, a job …’

  ‘The cottage was handed to you on a plate, and the job bores you rigid but pays the bills. Hardly earth-shattering stuff. No wild thoughts about travelling the world, or going up in a hot-air balloon?’

  ‘I told you I’m scared of heights. And that includes flying.’

  ‘So you did. And may I remind you that you are currently hanging four hundred feet above London in nothing but a glass bubble? What about an adventure? Like zipping round a track in a racing car?’

  Prue shuddered. ‘God, no. That sounds just as bad as a rollercoaster. I don’t do speed.’

  ‘Is there anything just a tiny bit scary that you would consider doing? It’s great for the rush it gives you, you know, that flash of fear!’

  ‘Sorry, Aaron, but I’m strictly a two-feet-firmly-on-the-ground sort of a girl. I’ll tell you what I’ll do though, to prove I’m up for a challenge. Find me some jellied eels or one of those East End cockle and whelk stalls I’ve heard so much about and I’ll try one, okay?’

  ‘Just the one?’

  ‘Well, I might not like it.’

  ‘Prue, you are such a daredevil! And I’m not sure there’s a lot of that stuff about these days. I think you might be basing your ideas of London cuisine on something you’ve read in one of your books. Set in Victorian times, by the sound of it. How about cod and chips if you’re after something fishy? Not exactly caught in the Thames, but will that do you? And if you’re really serious about trying something a bit racy, we can ask for a pickled egg on the side.’

  She couldn’t help but giggle. Aaron might be a lot younger than her, and there was absolutely no romantic spark between them, but he got her. He shared her sense of humour and he wasn’t afraid to poke fun at her. In just a few days she felt as if she knew him almost as well as she knew herself, and a whole lot better than she had ever known Joe Barton. Why couldn’t Joe have been more like Aaron? More open, more fun, more real?

  As their pod reached ground level, they stepped out and headed along the embankment and up the steps to Westminster Bridge. Leaning on the stone wall, Prue aimed her camera at the boats moving through the water below, clicking quickly to record a sequence of shots taken just seconds apart. ‘There might only be one good one among this lot,’ she said. ‘That’s the beauty of digital. No wasted film. Try as often as you like to capture the perfect image and just delete the rest.’

  ‘Maybe that’s what you should have been doing with your men.’

  ‘What men?’

  ‘Exactly. Just homing in on the one was always going to be a gamble, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Two. I’ve had two boyfriends, I’ll have you know.’

  ‘Right. Sorry. But two? Really, Prue? You should have gone out with loads of them by now. Played the field a bit, tested the water. You know, try before you buy. It’s what I’ve always done, not that I’m in any hurry to find The One, but it’s fun looking, and I’m pretty sure it’s the only way to recognise perfection when it finally arrives. Then you can just delete the rest! And that includes that loser Joe.’

  Prue knew he was joking, but she had to admit he was probably right. She was twenty-four and she had had precisely two boyfriends. One a best friend she had hoped for more from but it had never been offered, and the other, if she was honest about it, probably nothing more than an exciting experiment, to test herself, to see what it would be like with someone else. Dating, kissing, sex …

  She shook her head, trying to dislodge the image of Joe, on the few occasions they had slept together, his pale face next to hers on the pillow, his clothes neatly folded on the chair by the bed, his shoes lined up in parallel with his socks tucked inside, the kiss on the top of her head as he crept away early in the morning. Like an old married couple, following a routine, going through the motions. Her inheriting her own place, and him moving out of his dad’s, should have given them all the chances they needed to be alone together, to make the most of each other, but it hadn’t happened. Nothing had changed. There had always been something hesitant about Joe, always something missing, but she had been too naïve, too trusting, too needy, to work out what it was. But she knew now. Looking back, and with this newly permanent distance stretching out between them, she knew what had been missing. It was passion. Raw, uncontrollable passion. The sort she had read about in novels, seen in films, had glimpsed very briefly on those sexy hotel weekends away with Luke. But she hadn’t loved Luke. He had taken possession of her body for a while and brought it to life but hadn’t quite reached her heart. And passion didn’t really work without love. Perhaps the perfect man, if he existed somewhere, would give her both …

  ‘Come on, dreamy. Let’s go and find something to eat, shall we?’

  ‘What? Oh, yes, let’s.’ She hooked her arm through his as he led her off down the street. ‘Not fish and chips though. I fancy something more … exotic.’

  ‘Pizza?’

  ‘Yes please. That sounds perfect.’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about your garden.’

  ‘What garden?’ Aaron swallowed the last strip of stuffed crust and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. ‘Oh, you mean that scrappy lump of old grass out the back of the flats. What about it?’

  ‘Haven’t you ever wanted to do something with it? Smarten it up a bit? We’re coming into spring now, warmer weather, sunny afternoons. It’s somewhere you could sit, read, get some air, a tan …’

  ‘Never really thought about it. I live a fairly nocturnal life, remember? I’m asleep most of the time the sun’s up.’

  ‘You make yourself sound like some kind of vampire! How about the other residents? Your mum?’

  ‘Dunno. I suppose they might make use of it, if it was there, all prettified, but sorting it out looks like hard wor
k to me. I’m not sure any of them would be up for that.’

  ‘Wouldn’t your mum like it though? It would be a great Mother’s Day gift.’

  ‘What? Me, cutting the grass for her? By tomorrow? Not quite the same as a nice bunch of roses and a box of Milk Tray, is it?’

  ‘Start a garden for her this Mother’s Day and you could be picking her flowers from it by the next one!’

  ‘Ha! I don’t think so. I work in a supermarket, remember. I can get whatever I want to give her, all ready made, and with staff discount …’

  ‘It was just a thought.’

  ‘And a good one, but I’m no gardener, and neither is my mum, much as I think she might have liked to be.’

  ‘I still haven’t met your mum, by the way. Not even just passing on the stairs. I don’t even know her name.’

  ‘It’s Suzy. And she doesn’t go out much.’

  ‘What does she do? Work-wise, I mean.’

  ‘Telephone stuff, from home. Nothing too exciting, but it suits her.’

  ‘You should bring her up to me one day for a coffee and a chat.’

  ‘Yeah, maybe. Not to talk her into some sneaky weeding and planting plan though. We have a bloke who comes to do that sort of thing, remember? Well, maintenance generally, like I told you, not that he does a lot out there. Simon, I think he’s called. Why don’t you catch him next time he’s round and see what he says? To be honest, I don’t even know if we’ve got a spade anywhere. He carts it all about with him in the van. What is all this about anyway? You’ll be gone in a couple of weeks, so why bother?’

  ‘I just thought it might be nice, that’s all. To make a difference, leave something behind, you know. To remember me by.’

  ‘In other words, you’re bored. You’re looking for something to do.’

  ‘You could be right. I like green things. Gardens, trees, plants. I like being outdoors. Walking Mum’s dog. Photographing the wildlife. Fields are my thing!’

  ‘Well, that so-called garden of ours is a bit small to be classed as a field, but I’m not going to stop you, if you want to have a go. And I will remember you, by the way. When you’ve gone. I won’t need a garden for that, believe me.’