A Little Love

by Amanda Prowse

  Christopher looked at his watch. ‘Same time tomorrow?’

  ‘Is this a ruse to get more croissants aux amandes?’

  ‘No! Of course not.’ He held his hand to his chest, offended. ‘But if you had any of those éclairs you mentioned earlier going spare, the ones with the glossy chocolate on top, I would be happy to sample them.’

  ‘Oh, so you are doing me a favour, like market research?’

  He chortled as he trotted off the bridge, away from her, and shouted back over his shoulder, ‘Exactly! Market research.’

  That night, Pru pulled the blind on the café and locked the bakery, then trod the stairs and tiptoed along the corridor, nervous as ever of what she might find in the flat above hers. From the sitting room came the low hum of the television. She padded along the carpet, bent her head round the door and was met with a sight that warmed her heart. Meg was in her pyjamas, slumped on the sofa with her feet up on a stool, a cushion behind her head and an empty plate beside her on the floor. She was watching an episode of Friends. Pru didn’t hear the joke, but Meg suddenly laughed out loud, and gulped as it turned immediately into a sob.

  Pru crept forward and gave a little cough. Meg looked up and closed her eyes as her grief poured from her. There was no sign of neutral here; not yet. Pru sat down on the edge of the sofa and placed her arms around Meg, who collapsed forward into her lap.

  Pru stroked her hair and patted her back. ‘Don’t cry, love. Come on, it’s okay.’ Her voice was soft and soothing, the voice she had used to lull Bobby back to sleep in the early hours and the voice Meg had dreamed of as she watched the floral curtains of a dozen foster homes shifting in the night breeze of a dozen temporary bedrooms.

  Finally, Meg’s sobs turned to words. ‘I wonder when he would have told me. Would he have actually married Bobby and left me on my own? Or worse still, had the baby with me and then married her, seeing both of us behind the other’s back? What would have happened at Christmas, birthdays? Can you imagine, nipping off to see her when my back was turned and then coming home to play happy families? I feel so stupid. Angry and stupid! I should of known that someone like me doesn’t get to play happy families!’

  ‘You have a right to be angry, but you’re not stupid, love. He deceived you – he deceived you both, he lied to us all, and he was very convincing.’

  ‘I need a bit of sorting out, Pru. I haven’t got anyone else.’

  ‘Don’t you worry, love.’ She stroked Meg’s hair away from her forehead. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

  Once Meg had finally fallen into a deep sleep on the sofa, Pru tucked a soft blanket under her chin and returned downstairs. She lay in bed and watched the hands of the clock slowly turn. It was impossible trying to sleep with so much whirring in her head. She got up to make a cup of tea.

  As Pru headed back to her bedroom with her mug of Earl Grey between her palms, Milly called out. ‘Can’t sleep?’ Her voice came from the sitting room, where she sat in the dark.

  Pru laughed as she rubbed her eyelids, which felt as though they were full of grit. ‘No.’ She took a sip of tea and sat down in her chair opposite.

  ‘Did you see the note I found?’

  Milly nodded.

  ‘I thought it was wonderful; it made me so happy to know she was happy! Because that’s all I ever wanted for her, all we ever wanted for her.’

  ‘I keep thinking I can hear her…’ Milly held her cousin’s gaze through the gloom, not commenting on the note.

  Pru stared right back, suddenly tired at the prospect of another weighted conversation with Milly. All she wanted was to go back to bed.

  Milly took her silence as a cue to continue. ‘You know how she used to call out, “I’m just nipping out!” Or “I’m making a cup of tea”, like we needed a running commentary on her life.’

  Pru smiled weakly. She could hear that voice clearly inside her head. ‘I was saying something similar to Alfie earlier.’

  ‘I haven’t been able to go into her room and I have this thought that the longer I don’t go into it, the more likely I am to find her there, all warm and crumpled from sleep, but if I do go in and the room is empty, it means she is really gone. I guess her note is a reminder that she’s not there.’ Milly buried her face in her hands.

  Pru leant forward in her chair. ‘It’s okay, Mills.’

  ‘I just keep wondering what Bobby would think about you letting that girl come here.’

  ‘Oh God, Milly!’ Pru was weary of the topic. ‘What would you have me do, throw her out? She’s got nowhere else to go and she is having a baby!’

  ‘That’s not the point.’

  ‘That is the point!’ Pru shouted.

  ‘No, Pru! The point is you always think you know best. You make a decision and you go for it, without ever listening to anyone else, without listening to me.’

  ‘Yes, and that’s how we’ve made it as far as we have, because I did just that. If we’d waited for you to act, we’d still be planning things in your bloody sketchbook!’

  ‘Is that right? What gave you the right to plan my life? What gave you the right to take me along with you?’ Milly was sitting forward in her chair now, her face contorted.

  ‘Take you along with me?’ Pru felt physically winded. ‘We were a team – we are a team!’

  ‘Are we, Pru? Really? Or am I a silent partner that knows her place? I feel like I’ve never had choices, I just did what you said, always, even when we were kids. Christ, one minute I’m getting a smack across the knuckles from Nan and the next I’m meeting Crying Micky in a dark alley to hand over cash. All because I went along with what you said, always!’

  ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Yes!’ Milly shouted. ‘I’m bloody serious. I never questioned anything, I never have. I just did it, all of it, everything, because you said it would be okay.’

  Pru felt as if she had been physically attacked, each word striking her as surely as a blow from a fist. ‘That is not true, Milly! We’ve always done everything together, but you’re making it sound like I held a gun to your head!’

  ‘There are many types of gun, Pru. There’s ones made of steel, and ones made of loyalty.’

  That was so unfair. Milly had been so excited when they’d left Bow; she had packed before Pru had. All of a sudden Pru felt sick. What had their nan said? ‘And if Pru told you to jump off Tower Bridge, would you?’ Supposing Milly was right; supposing she had forced her into this life, into making those choices, shoving those skeletons in her closet.

  Milly wasn’t done. ‘And just the same where Bobby was concerned. I loved her!’ The words set off a new flood of tears. ‘But you took over, not leaving her alone for a second, going to her new school, introducing yourself to the staff, buying her clothes and making sure you were her confidante. You kept me away from her. Even chatting to her bloody dead dad, like you had an exclusive phone line. How could I match that? But the thing is, Pru, she was my chance at motherhood too, did you ever think of that? And even now, people keep saying to me, “How’s Pru doing? Give her my love.” As though you count more; as though you loved her more.’ Milly’s voice finally cracked. ‘But I loved her too, so much.’

  Pru stood from the chair. She knew that she had to walk away now, knew that the words that were forming inside her head had to be contained and removed from this scene; allowing them to escape would be just too horrible to contemplate, the retorts too vicious, the attack too brutal. She stormed from the room, a whirling tornado of angst and anger, blindly stumbling along the hallway. Her heart hammered inside her chest. She pondered her exit and her cousin’s cutting comments in equal measure. This was not how it worked, this was not how it was meant to be, she could not be in receipt of such an accusation and fail to deliver a response.

  As if gripped by an impulse stronger than reason, Pru found herself back in front of Milly, back in the situation where she would deliver the most hurt. It was her turn to shout.

  ‘Yes, you are right about Bobby,
she was mine! Like everything else in our so-called partnership. I needed to be the best mum I could to her, just like I have to be the best baker and the best business woman. Not through any conscious choice but because you are totally fucking useless. And I didn’t take you along with me, I have dragged you like a weight for all these years!’

  ‘I have worked hard all my life! How dare you!’

  ‘What do you mean, Milly, how dare I? I’m only confirming what you know!’

  Milly shrieked. It was a loud guttural shriek as she hurled the china mug past Pru’s head. Pru felt it whistle through the air as it skimmed her hair by millimetres. It shattered into a thousand pieces against the creamy wallpaper; mud-coloured droplets ran down the wall and splattered the carpet. Pru hadn’t ducked or moved, almost wanting to feel the force against her face.

  They stood in stunned silence. They had both gone too far and they knew it.

  10

  At 5 a.m. on Saturday, Pru stood on the kerb, waiting for the Jag to swoop into view. Despite being mid June, she had a fleecy jumper over her arm; this was a British summer, after all. She had spent the last few days and evenings in her bedroom and Milly had done the same, both smarting from their exchange. The flat had taken on a different atmosphere, as though the discord had seeped into the walls, ready to waft out every time they walked into a room; it was far from pleasant.

  The only thing that had kept her sane was Christopher. The day after her row with Milly they had met in the park at their usual spot.

  Christopher put his hands on his hips and shook his head. ‘You’re late, Miss Plum!’

  Pru trotted over the bridge to make up the time. ‘Only by a couple of minutes. This might help, a bribe to assuage your anger.’

  She placed the little box tied with gold ribbon on the blue railing and watched as his big square fingers nimbly teased the knot until it fell apart.

  Chris grinned at her. ‘You are entirely forgiven.’

  He carefully lifted the lid to reveal three tiny, puffy éclairs: one topped with a square of shiny dark chocolate and bursting with fresh cream, as promised; another filled with mascarpone cream and tiny morsels of fresh peach, glazed with Amaretto icing and peppered with crushed macaroons; and the third bulging with coffee-infused crème patissière and with a thick pale coffee fondant on its lid.

  ‘Wow! Did you make these?’

  ‘Yes, actually, I did.’ Pru folded her arms, feeling rather smug.

  ‘I could get used to this. Assuming I can find a tailor who will let out my waistband on a weekly basis. Did you see me on TV this morning?’

  ‘No! I was making those.’ She nodded at the nest of cream cakes.

  ‘I’ve told you, Pru, you should be watching how your country is governed; you might learn something interesting. I’m honoured to be a regular contributor. Luckily for me, I’m one of the more presentable members of the party – I sit nicely in the middle and don’t ruffle too many feathers. I’m predictable, or so I’m told. Had a rather engaging debate with Tristram Monroe. I came out of it very well; the Prime Minister is tickled pink.’

  ‘Oh, sorry I missed that.’

  ‘I detect a note of sarcasm.’

  Pru laughed.

  ‘Are you okay, Pru? You seem a bit distracted and whilst still looking lovely, you do look tired, like you might have lost a little bit of the sparkle you had yesterday.’

  Pru rested her elbows on the railing, propped her chin on her hands, and told him about her fight with Milly. She watched the ripples work their way out towards the bank, caused by a fat duck paddling around under the bridge. ‘It’s our first really serious fight in all our years together. We bicker all the time, always have. But this was different.’ She turned her head to look at him. ‘I don’t know how we’ll move forward from it. And the worst thing is, I think a lot of what she said was true. I wish I could run away.’

  ‘Well, I can help with that. Let’s go to Salcombe on Saturday!’

  ‘Chris, it’s not that simple.’

  ‘Ah, but it is! This is another fine example of over-thinking things – do you remember our first dance?’ Pru’s cheeks dimpled. She would never forget it. ‘Well this is a bit like that: we are letting life start! Let’s do it, let’s go, this weekend. You know the drill, I’ll pick you up at five on Saturday morning.’ He smiled as he popped an éclair on to his tongue.

  And now here he was, pulling up in front of Plum’s almost to the minute. Leaving the engine running, he jumped out and opened her door. ‘Morning, ma’am. Your coffee is in the central cup holder and there is a pillow on your seat, should you wish to sleep.’

  Pru felt an overwhelming desire to cry. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered.

  ‘Oh cripes, are we going to have to put you on an hourly tear allowance again?’

  She shook her head, she was determined. ‘No. Not today.’

  Pru did sleep. The movement of the car lulled her into a deep slumber and she woke feeling more rested and clear-headed than she had in a long time. Chris negotiated the winding lanes and pretty soon they were driving down the hill, with Salcombe’s harbour glittering at them in the distance.

  ‘Look at that, Pru!’ said Chris, pointing at a flotilla of small boats in the estuary. ‘Isn’t it beautiful?’ With white sails full and arching against the breeze, the dinghies looked almost stationary as they raced across the water in formation. ‘That’s not a sight you see in London every day. Stress, be gone! Away with you!’ He opened the windows and let the mid-morning breeze whip around the car. ‘This is called blowing away your cobwebs!’ he shouted as paper napkins billowed off the dashboard and Pru’s hair streamed over her face.

  Pru laughed, loudly and without restraint, until she remembered that she was grieving and stopped, placing her hand over her mouth. Chris put the windows up and spoke slowly. ‘She wouldn’t want you to be sad forever, you know that, don’t you?’

  Pru looked out of the window and nodded. Yes, she knew that.

  They paired their shoes neatly beside them on the wall, rolled their trousers against their calves and dangled their feet from the dock. Sitting close together, they licked at honeycomb-flavoured clotted-cream ice cream in fancy waffle cones and listened to the distinctive ping of rigging knocking together in the breeze. Boats rolled gently in the harbour swell.

  Pru flexed her toes in the sunshine. ‘I like it here.’

  ‘I’m glad. It would be a shame if you didn’t. I hate the thought of dragging you somewhere you’d rather not go.’

  ‘I think I’d like anywhere you dragged me, as long as I was with you.’ Pru didn’t know where she’d got the courage to say it, but she had.

  Christopher stared at her. It was hard to read his expression and she wished she could rewind.

  ‘Come on, fish and chips are calling!’ He jumped up.

  ‘But we’ve only just finished our ice cream!’

  ‘Ah, first rule of Salcombe: there is always, always room for ice cream, any time of the day or night, no matter what else you have eaten or are about to eat. And for the record, Miss Plum, I intend to drag you everywhere I go, for the foreseeable future – like baggage, but better company and with the ability to make extraordinary buns.’ With that, he strolled ahead, a little embarrassed.

  Pru did her best to stifle the firework that had exploded inside her, happy that she was considered better company than baggage.

  They walked into the Victoria Inn, which was buzzing. Liz spied them from behind the bar and pointed at a little table by the fireplace that had just become free. ‘Ah! Chris. And Pru, his friend! How are you, lovelies?’

  ‘We’re good,’ Christopher answered.

  ‘Are we? Well I’m jolly glad to hear it.’ Liz smiled, noting the ‘we’. ‘I don’t see you for months, Chris, then two visits in quick succession! I’m not complaining, but what’s going on?’

  He winked. ‘Must use the bathroom!’ And off he nipped.

  ‘Typical politician, evasive as ever. It’s
lovely to see you again, Pru. So come on, spill the beans, are you two an item?’ Liz leant forward across the table.

  ‘We haven’t had that conversation.’ Pru felt her cheeks go red.

  ‘You don’t need to have that conversation, you just know, don’t you?’

  ‘I guess so.’

  ‘And do you?’ Liz pressed.

  ‘Do I what?

  ‘Just know!’ Liz tutted.

  Pru looked up as Christopher entered the bar and stopped to chat to a group of men sitting on bar stools, nursing pints. Her heart gave the familiar lift that it did every time she saw him and she saw an image of Alfie, smiling and giving her the thumbs up. ‘Yes. Yes I do.’

  ‘Well it’s about bloody time!’ Liz clapped her hands in joy.

  Pru fought the desire to bombard her with questions, realising that it would be wholly inappropriate to behave like a fourteen-year-old with a crush and pump this woman for information. She wanted to ask if she had known Ginny, what had she been like? Had they really been happy? Again, wholly inappropriate. Instead, Pru ordered the famous house fish and chips, twice.

  Christopher returned to his seat. ‘Bit busier today; I think the holidays must have kicked off properly. I break up quite soon too – mid July, can’t wait!’

  ‘What do you do in the summer break? Go on hols, sit in your garden, watch daytime telly?’

  ‘Ha! I wish. No, I still work, I just don’t have to attend Parliament. There’s still a lot going on, but I usually find time for a little break at the beginning. To be honest though, what with spending more time with Isabel and whatnot, it’s rather crept up on me. I don’t have anything planned yet.’

  A family barged the pub door and rushed in: a nervous woman, like a frantic mummy duck with too many chicks, followed by her brood of five children.

  ‘Five! Can you imagine?’ Christopher nodded his head at the noisy group. ‘What do you think? No TV? Too many power cuts?’

  Pru giggled. ‘When I was little I remember being taught how babies were made. I spent the next two months assessing the neighbours and everyone I knew in my own private survey – Mr and Mrs Morris, three children; that meant they’d done it three times. Mr and Mrs Guttmann, one child; they’d done it once. My own mother, oh my word, four living and the two babies she lost; six times. I thought this was terrible, disgusting! Then there was Mr Peterson, who always smelled of freesias, and his best friend Mr Patrick, who lived together at Number 8 Blondin Street; they kept the most beautiful window boxes and they had a white poodle called Trixie who used to wear a little bow on her head. They were both single and had no children and according to my survey had never done it. I used to wonder if they ever wished they could try it – like jellied eels, not everyone’s cup of tea, but a must just once in your life, especially if you lived in the East End. As my mum was so fond of saying, “How do you know you don’t like it if you’ve never tried it?” I wanted to ask Mr Peterson this, but I never had the courage.’