Her Last Promise

by Kathryn Hughes

  ‘Did she now?’

  This was all I needed. I wanted to be alone to just think, and I didn’t have the time, the inclination or the energy to sort out Ralph’s mess.

  Moira wrung her hands. ‘I’m sorry, love. I tried to call you but you didn’t pick up.’

  ‘My phone was on silent. I didn’t want to be disturbed.’ I gave Moira a reassuring pat on the arm. ‘Leave this with me.’ I called to the girls who were digging their sticky little mitts into my sheepskin rug. ‘Right, Lily, Jasmine. Come on, you two, we’re going for a little ride.’

  I bundled them onto the back seat of my car and fastened their seat belts. I didn’t have booster seats, so the belts rested against their necks. If I needed to brake hard, they’d be decapitated. ‘Wait here,’ I commanded, running back into the house. I returned with the seat cushions from the settee. It wasn’t ideal, but there again, there was nothing ideal about the whole situation.

  Ten minutes later I arrived at Ralph’s office. There was a new logo, RAA, embossed in gold script on the smoked glass door. First impressions would conclude Richard’s Advertising Agency would deliver an effective campaign. I mean, Ralph’s hardly Maurice Saatchi but he’s good at his job. I grabbed hold of the girls’ hands and marched into reception, their little legs struggling to keep up. The receptionist told me Ralph was in a meeting with a prospective new client. I couldn’t believe my luck. I could hear her frantically calling after me as I strode along the corridor towards his office. One of the girls had begun to cry and the other one declared she’d done a poo. Perfect! It was almost enough to make me believe in a higher power. I looked up and mouthed a silent thank you, just in case. I had to go through Mrs Blue Rinse’s office to get to Ralph but mercifully she had deserted her post and the way was clear.

  I didn’t bother to knock on Ralph’s door and as it flew open I saw him look up from his desk, his mouth open, immobilised with shock. The client in the seat opposite spun round in her chair, only managing a bewildered frown at this gross interruption.

  I pushed the girls into the room as gently as my temper would allow. After all, none of this was their fault. ‘Can you please inform your girlfriend that my house is not a free-for-all crèche and she can’t just dump the kids you spawned together and swan off to get her eyebrows knitted whenever she feels like it.’

  The client seemed to find something amusing. ‘Threaded,’ she stated. ‘You get your eyebrows threaded, not knitted.’

  I looked at her perfectly arched eyebrows and bowed to her greater knowledge of micro-grooming techniques. ‘Thank you for that. At least I’ve learned something today.’

  Ralph pulled one of the twins onto his knee, wrinkling his nose at the stench now emanating from her nappy. I cast my mind back to when our Dylan was that age. I’m sure he was out of nappies. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know . . .’ he said.

  ‘I’m not interested, Ralph. They’re all yours.’

  I stomped towards the door, then stopped to give him my parting shot. ‘Oh, and I am not their Auntie Tara.’

  Moira was still beavering away when I returned. ‘They’re little monkeys, aren’t they?’ She rummaged in the pocket of her tabard and shoved a note towards me. ‘Here. Fella called Jamie rang. Said he was from a solicitor’s. Ernest something or other.’

  ‘Irwin Fortis?’

  ‘Aye, that’s the one. Chap said there’s been a cock-up.’

  ‘Is that a new legal term then?’

  ‘Well, I’m paraphrasing, but he wants you to call him urgently.’ She folded her arms and nodded sagely. ‘’Ere, it’ll be about that locket, I reckon.’

  My heart beating hard in my chest, I reached for my phone and punched in the number.

  31

  The receptionist picked up on the third ring and sang her greeting to me. ‘Irwin Fortis, how may I help you?’ I cleared my throat and adopted a business-like tone. ‘Can I speak with Jamie, please?’

  ‘Jamie Mac or Jamie Ewing?’

  ‘Erm, I’m not sure, he called me and didn’t leave a surname. He’s tall and he’s quite young . . .’

  ‘In that case, it’s definitely Jamie MacKenzie you want. I’ll put you through.’

  As I waited for the inept Jamie to come on the line, I was forced to listen to a medley of Christmas carols, which caused me to glance at the calendar even though I knew full well it wasn’t even the end of November. ‘Jamie MacKenzie, how can I help you?’

  ‘Jamie, it’s Tara Richards here, returning your call.’

  I could hear him tapping his pen. ‘Tara Richards?’

  ‘That’s right.’ The fact he seemed to have forgotten who I was didn’t instil me with much confidence.

  There came a shuffling of papers down the line. ‘Aah, yes,’ he said triumphantly. ‘I’m glad you’ve called . . .’

  ‘You asked me to,’ I said incredulously.

  He lowered his voice and I struggled to hear him. ‘When you came in last week, when I gave you the key, you remember?’

  I tried to remain calm. ‘Yes, Jamie, of course I remember.’

  He laughed nervously and reduced his voice to a mere whisper. ‘Well, I forgot to give you something else . . . a . . . a letter.’

  Lord have mercy! It’s for people like him we have to have instructions on shampoo bottles.

  ‘A letter?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Who from?’

  ‘I don’t know, it’s sealed. It’s for your eyes only.’ He managed another nervous laugh.

  ‘Well, you’ll have to stick it in the post, I’m afraid. I’m not coming all the way to London to collect a letter.’

  He seemed unsure. ‘You’re not passing anytime soon then?’

  Passing? Has he ever looked at a map? ‘No, Jamie, I’m not passing. Please put it in the post and we’ll say no more about it.’

  He let out a sigh of relief. ‘Thank you, Mrs Richards. I’ll do it recorded delivery and once again, I’m really sorry.’

  ‘Apology accepted, Jamie, but for your sake, career-wise, I hope you’ve got a Plan B.’

  Moira was hovering by the mantelpiece as I ended the call. ‘Everything OK?’

  ‘That dozy intern should have given me a letter when he gave me that key. He’s going to post it to me.’

  Moira widened her eyes. ‘Oh, well good, perhaps that’ll explain everything.’

  32

  Forty years had gone by since I sat in front of a mirror contemplating a date with Tom, only this time I didn’t have my mother to help me produce a miracle. No, this time I had to call in the professionals. The stylist stood behind me tapping her scissors on her palm. I tried to concentrate on what she was saying but my mind kept wandering to the letter. Who had written it and what did they want to tell me? And, most mystifyingly, why had it taken so long to reach me?

  The hairdresser brought me back to the task in hand. ‘Well, that’s my suggestion but why don’t you tell me what you want?’

  ‘What? Oh, sorry, I was miles away.’ I stared at her reflection in the mirror and flattened out my parting. ‘This grey needs to go and the overall colour needs warming up. Then I want you to cut out all these split ends and give it some shape.’

  She picked up a strand of my hair and squinted at it. The look on her face suggested it was a clump of hair she’d just pulled out of the plughole. ‘How long is it since you’ve had it cut?’

  I tried to think. I knew I’d had it cut for Moira’s son’s wedding but that was back in February. Had it really been nine months?

  ‘Oh, not for a long time,’ I admitted. The truth is, going to the hairdresser’s is one of my least favourite things to do. Sitting in a chair, wilting under a black cloak with a pile of Hello! magazines to wade through is not my idea of fun.

  ‘I’m going to have to cut a good three inches off,’ she declared, as though this was some kind of punishment for letting myself go.

  ‘Do what you have to.’

  Even though we’d only known each other
five minutes, she gave my shoulders an affectionate squeeze. ‘You’re going to look amazing after I’ve lopped this lot off. Long hair drags down your features. You’ve got great bone structure, you need to show it off.’ Frowning, she peered at herself in the mirror. ‘I wish I had your cheekbones.’

  ‘Oh,’ I replied, genuinely embarrassed. ‘Thank you.’ I’ve always been hopeless at accepting a compliment.

  Three hours later I left the salon. That’s another reason I hardly ever visit the place. I was pleased with the result though. My hair moved in bouncy auburn waves as I walked down the street and I couldn’t help but admire my reflection in the shop windows as I breezed past.

  I needed to be back home before one to sign for the letter Jamie had posted. There was just time to nip into Next and treat myself to a new top to go with my staple black trousers and heeled boots. I went for a daring fuchsia colour in satin which would look great teamed with my cream leather jacket.

  As I turned into my road, I could see the postman with his bike propped up against my hedge. He was ferreting in his sack as I pulled onto my driveway. He looked up, waving the letter. ‘Another recorded delivery,’ he stated.

  I climbed out of the car and grabbed the bags off the back seat. ‘Yes, I’m expecting it.’

  ‘I like your hair, suits you, makes you look younger.’

  I took the letter and signed his little machine. ‘Thank you.’

  I dropped the bags in the hall and scurried through to the kitchen, tugging open the manila envelope as I went. Inside there was another envelope with an Irwin Fortis compliment slip attached to it.

  Again, my sincere apologies for the oversight, Jamie.

  I sat down at the breakfast bar and smoothed out the bulging envelope. The paper was crisp with age and smelled of old hymn books. My hands shook as I picked up the letter knife and eased it under the flap. There appeared to be several sheets of paper inside. The heat began to rise from my toes, flooding my body until my armpits prickled and I could feel the moisture on my top lip. Opening the back door, I leaned against the frame, wafting my blouse to let the cool air in. I stared at the letter, thick with promise. Part of me wanted to rip it open and greedily gobble up the contents. Another part of me, the more vulnerable side that I rarely showed to anybody, wanted to run and hide. It may appear that I have a tough exterior but that has been my way of coping ever since that life-changing day my mother drove off with Larry and never returned. I had no idea what answers lay in that envelope but I was sure of one thing. I couldn’t do this on my own.

  I lit a calming lavender-scented candle and sat down at my dressing table, staring at my reflection. My expertly coiffured hair was at odds with my pale make-up-free face. As I smoothed on my foundation I thought about the last time I’d seen Tom.

  He’d come to visit me in Lytham and when it was time for him to leave, I went with him to the coach station. He’d accepted a place at Thames Polytechnic but we promised each other that it wouldn’t be the end of our relationship. In spite of the distance between us, we knew we could make it work. We’d been through so much together and we weren’t going to let a mere two hundred and fifty miles scupper what we had. Our love was real and tangible; but in spite of our promise I never set eyes on him again until yesterday. The phone started ringing downstairs in the hall but I chose to ignore it.

  I was ready by ten to seven and even though I say it myself I didn’t look half bad. The new top was flatteringly roomy and didn’t cling to my doughy stomach. My bottom and hips have always been on the slim side and the gently tapering trousers grazed the top of my patent-leather ankle boots and made me look taller than I am. I’d managed to find an old pink lipstick which perfectly matched the colour of the new top and my trusty Swarovski earrings dazzled under the lights. I picked up the letter again, pressing it to my nose. Tom and I would read it together and at that moment I realised there was no one I would rather have by my side.

  I froze as I heard the key in the front door. Bloody Ralph, who the hell did he think he was? I’d told him that key was for emergencies only, but we seemed to have different opinions on what constituted an emergency. I resolved to take it off him. I tottered towards the front door on my heels, ready to intercept him in the hallway, but as the door opened my fury dissolved in an instant. ‘Dylan! What on earth are you doing home?’

  He dumped his holdall on the floor. ‘Surprise!’ He gave me a big hug then stepped back and frowned. ‘You’re going out?’

  ‘Well, yes, I was, but I won’t go if you don’t want me to. Come here.’ I gave him another hug and my cheek rubbed against his bristles. I grabbed hold of his chin. ‘What’s all this? Don’t they have razors up in Newcastle?’

  A note of irritation crept into his voice. ‘Nobody shaves any more, Mum.’

  It was a ridiculous statement but I let it go. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? I could’ve picked you up from the station. No sense in wasting your money on a taxi.’

  ‘I tried to call you on the home phone and on your mobile but got no answer. It was a spur of the moment thing. Dave’s sister’s having a twenty-first in town tonight and he asked me if I wanted to go. It’ll be great to see the lads again.’

  ‘Oh, so you haven’t come to see me then?’

  ‘I’ve come to see you as well, Mum.’ He pushed past me and went into the kitchen. ‘How’s Nan?’

  ‘Nan’s doing OK, considering. She told me you’d rung her. Brightened her day, it did.’

  He opened the fridge and stared into it. I saw the look of disappointment cross his face. ‘Not got much in, have you?’

  ‘There’s an emergency lasagne in the freezer, you can have that.’

  At the sound of the doorbell, I left him ferreting in the freezer and went to answer it.

  ‘Hi, Tom,’ I said. ‘I’ll just grab my handbag and I’ll be right with you.’

  I left him on the doorstep and dragged Dylan’s holdall into the kitchen. ‘Feels like you’ve brought a ton of bricks home.’

  ‘Oh that,’ he said casually. ‘It’s my dirty washing.’

  ‘Aah, right, well the utility room is that small one off the kitchen and the washing machine is the big white thing with the round glass door.’ I swung my bag onto my shoulder. ‘See you later, don’t wait up.’

  Tom gave a low whistle when he saw me again. ‘Wow, you look . . . amazing. I like your hair, it suits you, makes you look younger.’

  ‘You sound just like the postman.’

  I smiled at his frowning face. ‘Never mind.’ I linked my arm through his. ‘There’s been a development.’

  ‘Oh?’

  I patted my handbag. ‘It’s all in here. I’ll tell you about it at the restaurant. Believe me, Tom, it’s not something I want to read all by myself.’

  33

  We followed the waitress to our table, Tom’s palm gently touching the small of my back. He pulled a chair out for me and as I sat down the waitress flicked open the folded napkin and laid it across my lap. It was as though I was incapable of doing anything for myself.

  ‘Can I get you some drinks?’ the waitress asked

  ‘Sure,’ said Tom. ‘Tara, what do you fancy?’

  ‘I don’t know. What will you have?’

  ‘Well, I’m driving but I suppose one won’t hurt.’

  The waitress stifled an impatient sigh as she hovered with her iPad.

  ‘G & T?’ suggested Tom and I quickly agreed, if only to get rid of the waitress; but no, she wasn’t finished just yet.

  ‘Any preference? Bombay Sapphire, Gordon’s, Hendrick’s?’

  ‘Gordon’s is fine,’ I said.

  She tapped away on her iPad. ‘Schweppes or Fever Tree?’

  I shook my head. ‘Either, you choose.’

  ‘Ice and lemon?’

  Whilst I had to admire her attention to detail, on what planet did someone drink a gin and tonic without ice and lemon?

  ‘Yes, please.’

  She stabbed at the i
Pad again and toddled off.

  ‘When did everything get to be so complicated?’ I said, picking up the menu and fanning myself. ‘Is it hot in here or is it just me?’

  Tom shrugged off his jacket. ‘It is a bit warm.’ He leaned so far across the table I was worried his tie was going to catch fire on the candle. ‘So, you said there’s been a development.’

  ‘Yes.’ I nodded. ‘I should’ve been given a letter with the locket but the numpty down at Irwin Fortis forgot. I’ve got it now though.’

  ‘Oh, and what does it say?’

  I looked down at the table, my voice small and pathetic. ‘I don’t know. I haven’t opened it yet.’

  ‘Why not? You might finally have the answers you’ve been looking for.’

  The dismay in his voice forced me to try and explain something I could hardly understand myself. I can see why he would think it natural for me to rip open the letter and perhaps finally find out the truth. But it wasn’t as simple as that. As long as there was no proof otherwise, I could dream that against all the odds my mother was alive and well somewhere. Where there was ignorance, there was hope. I tried to articulate my reasoning but even to my ears it sounded hollow. ‘I’ve waited forty years to find out what happened to my mother. Let’s face it, Tom, it’s hardly going to be good news. Either she’s dead or she didn’t come back because she didn’t want to. And I’m not sure which is worse.’

  The waitress returned with our drinks and plonked them on the table. ‘Are you ready to order?’

  We hadn’t even glanced at the menus. ‘No, not yet,’ said Tom. ‘Can you give us five minutes?’

  ‘I understand what you’re saying, Tara. It’s been forty years; another couple of hours isn’t going to make any difference. You need to steel yourself, and whatever the letter says, I’m here with you, OK? Just like I was back then when she didn’t come home.’ He reached over and squeezed my hand. ‘We’ll open it together.’

  I managed a smile and wondered not for the first time why I ever let him go.

  ‘We’d better have a look at the menu,’ he said. ‘I can recommend the fish pie.’