‘For my sake as much as yours,’ added Rebecca, obviously still pre-occupied with all things moggy.
Annabel almost laughed. Talk about a pair of hypocrites. It didn’t seem too long ago that one of the women before her thought she was still grieving, while the other insisted she’d lost the plot. As for their dislike for Dan, they’d had him down as some sort of bad influence.
‘What do you think Tom would say if he saw you like this?’ asked Katy. ‘Would he want you to just give up?’
‘Because it doesn’t stop at the cats, you know,’ her sister carried on. ‘Before long you’ll be wearing floppy hats and hoarding pile after pile of newspapers.’
‘To think, my own sister, a cat lady,’ added Rebecca. ‘I need a drink.’
Before she could protest, Annabel’s glass was snatched from her hand. She watched on, wide eyed, as her pregnant sister began downing its contents.
‘Thank you,’ said Annabel. For the baby’s benefit if not the mother’s, she quickly re-claimed her now half-empty glass.
‘Then you’ll stop leaving the house altogether like some sort of hermit,’ said Rebecca. ‘And let’s face it, when it comes to the life of a recluse, you’re already half-way there.’
Annabel stared at her sister, unsure whether to laugh or feel offended. She supposed it was her own fault, a part of her even felt a bit guilty. In her desire to the change the subject she’d obviously pushed the poor woman over the edge. However, in her condition, it probably didn’t help that her hormones were all over the place.
Annabel returned her attention to Katy and decided it best to ignore Rebecca and her cat complaints altogether. ‘I know exactly what Tom would say,’ she said. ‘But we’re not talking about him, are we? We’re talking about me.’
Sitting in one of the armchairs in the lounge, Dan quietly watched over his mother as she slept on the sofa. She seemed so at peace when asleep, to the point that Dan wished sleep would come to her more often. It had to be a welcome relief from the increasing agitation she experienced when awake, a sure sign that her medication was losing its power over the pain. One of the reasons he wanted his mum to listen when he suggested she might be more comfortable upstairs. But as always, the very idea had been poo-pooed. Taking to her bed, as his mother put it, would be too much like giving in. Although Dan wasn’t stupid, he knew her reluctance had more to do with the actual climbing of the staircase itself.
He continued to observe his mum and found himself insisting he’d give anything to take away her suffering. Offered the chance, he’d exchange places with her in an instant.
He took in the photo album lying on the coffee table, wondering which of her memories she’d been reminiscing about today. She’d taken to going through their many snapshots just before her naps, almost as if she wanted to impress each and every image to mind should she not wake up. He leaned forward and reached for the album to see for himself; his sudden movement causing his mother to stir. He stopped, holding his breath as he willed her to stay asleep and, much to his relief, she seemed to settle back down.
Dan picked up the album and, after getting himself comfortable in the armchair again, began slowly turning its pages. He couldn’t help but smile as, photo after photo, his mum and dad stared back at him. In some of them they were goofing around, in others there was definitely a bit of posing going on. Throughout though, they were clearly at ease in front of the camera and no one could deny the feelings they had for each other, their togetherness leapt off of the pages. The family of two soon turned to three and Dan started to recognise himself in the photos. He’d been too young to remember when any of them were taken, but his parent’s clearly adored him. In every shot, their love for him was as evident as their love for each other.
‘What time is it?’ his mum suddenly asked.
Surprised that his mother had awoken, Dan let the photo album rest on his lap. He checked the clock on the mantelpiece. Disappointingly, she’d slept for less than an hour. ‘Almost six-thirty,’ he replied.
‘Shouldn’t you be getting ready by now?’ she said. She gradually eased herself into a more upright position.
‘There’s no rush.’
‘Still, it’s a big night and you need to look your best.’
Dan didn’t want to even think about the evening ahead. There was no getting out of it, of course, which did nothing to help his sense of foreboding. But at least he could delay the inevitable for a little while longer.
‘I know,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry. I will.’
He raised the album and continued to browse its pages.
‘It’s funny how the brain works,’ said his mum. ‘I can forget what I’m doing from one minute to the next, yet I remember each and every one of those photos being taken like it was only yesterday.’
‘That’s old age for you,’ said Dan.
His mum laughed. ‘I wouldn’t mock,’ she replied. ‘It comes to us all eventually.’
She indicated for him to pass her the album, and Dan joined her on the sofa. Perching himself on the edge, he angled it so that they could both see the images without her having to move too much.
‘Now this,’ said his mum, pointing to one photograph in particular. ‘Is one of my favourites. You were two years old and it was the first time we’d taken you to the beach. Boy, did you hate it.’
Dan stared at the young child in the picture. With his unruly blonde hair, big blues eyes, and great big smile, it was fair to say he’d been cute back in the day. Sitting in a deckchair, his shoeless, podgy feet just about hung over the edge of the seat and his arm was outstretched, as if pointing to something out of shot. Surrounded by blue skies and the orange sand typical of many UK beaches, it seemed your usual family outing. ‘I look happy enough,’ he said.
‘That’s because you’re sitting down,’ his mum replied. ‘It was the sand you didn’t like. Every time we put you on your feet, you froze for a second before bursting into tears. You were so funny. We put it down to you not liking the feel of the stuff. You were the same with grass for a while too.’
Dan smiled. He couldn’t remember a second of it. ‘Those were the days, eh?’
‘They certainly were.’
They carried on browsing for a while; Dan listened intently as his mum animatedly filled in the details of this photograph and that photograph. She seemed in her element back then, and now. Dan smiled, able to understand why. The images proved just how good life had been. Perfect, in fact, the way his mother told it.
He began to wonder if he, himself, would be ever lucky enough to experience this. In years to come, would he sit on a sofa with his own children, looking back on a lifetime of memories filled with real love? At the moment, it was hard to imagine. He struggled to get his head around the possibility that he and Maeve could ever share the depth of feeling that his parents had shared. He just had to hope that, in time, things would change, that he’d start to think about Maeve in the same way he thought about Annabel. His heart sank. Funny how he could only admit his strength of feeling for the woman once they’d called things off.
‘Are you okay?’ asked his mum.
Dan fixed a smile on his face. ‘I’m fine. Why do you ask?’
‘You have that faraway look in your eyes again,’ she replied. ‘Anything you want to talk about.’
She’d accused him of that a lot these last couple of weeks, but Dan didn’t see the point in talking. He’d made his decision, even before Annabel suggested they call it a day.
He pictured Annabel’s face the last time they’d met. He could have sworn she’d been disappointed when he agreed it was probably for the best. He realised he’d imagined it, of course; foolish wishful thinking that she might feel for him what he felt for her. He took a deep breath, determined to dismiss all thoughts of the woman from his head.
‘I’m just a bit nervous about tonight,’ he said. ‘Meeting Missy for the first time and all that.’
‘Why don’t I believe you?’ asked his mum.
<
br /> As she searched his face for the truth, Dan suddenly felt self-conscious. The truth was the last thing his mother needed to know and he quickly handed her the album ready to leave the room. ‘I suppose I should go get a move on,’ he said. ‘Time to get ready.’
His mother suddenly appeared concerned and, gently placing a hand on his leg, she prevented him from going anywhere. ‘I’ve been very silly, haven’t I?’ she asked.
‘What are you talking about?’ replied Dan. ‘Silly about what?’
‘About the whole caboodle, for thinking I know what’s best. You don’t really want a future with Maeve, do you? And I think we both know why.’
Sitting there, all pretence seemed to suddenly desert him. Dan felt as sick of lying to himself, as much as he did lying to his mother. But he still couldn’t bring himself to answer the question. His mum was dying and the last thing he wanted was to add to her pain.
He stared at the floor and tears sprung in his eyes as he wished that everything could be different.
‘I only wanted what I thought was best for you,’ said his mum.
‘I know,’ he replied.
‘I’m sorry, Dan.’
After wiping his eyes, he finally returned his mother’s gaze. ‘Me too,’ he said. ‘I did try.’
His mum smiled. She held her arms out for a hug, Dan could see she needed it as much as he did.
‘That’s settled then,’ she said, eventually pulling away. ‘We’ll have no more of it.’
‘But … ‘
‘No buts. You’re the person I care about here, no one else. Besides, if Missy is half the friend I think she is, she’ll more than understand. And so will Maeve.’
The relief Dan felt was enormous. At last, he could breathe a bit easier again.
‘Fancy looking at some more photos?’ asked his mum. ‘Before supper.’
Dan nodded as she re-opened the album and, proving herself true to her word, it seemed that was the end of the matter.
‘Now this one,’ said his mum ‘is of me and your father on our wedding anniversary.’
Dan stared at the image; his mum and dad were raising a glass of bubbly for the camera. It was a cute picture. His mother, with her head thrown back, was laughing as his father whispered something in her ear. Dan sighed. Looking at how happy the two of them were, he couldn’t help but think of Annabel.
22
With only half an hour before closing time, Annabel pawed through the TV guide she’d picked up at lunch. There was nothing like a good crime drama to make her forget her own problems and, with a couple of new shows starting this week, she wanted to know if they were worth tuning in for. The synopsis made the first one sound quite good. At last, she thought. Something to look forward to. Just as she was about to read the second synopsis, the shop doorbell sounded and Annabel looked up. She automatically put the magazine to one side and smiled at the young chap who, after a quick look around, seemed relieved to spot the bucket of red roses.
‘Can I take a dozen of these, please,’ he asked.
‘Of course you can, sir,’ Annabel replied.
As he handed her the container, she couldn’t help but notice the man’s nerves. The poor chap seemed so worked up that the whole thing shook in his hands. In Annabel’s floristry experience, this could only mean one of two things. Either he’d been a very bad boy and was about to make a heartfelt apology, or he was being a good boy and about to do something romantic.
She hoped it was the latter and carefully selected twelve of the best blooms before laying them onto sheets of decorated paper. Annabel then began expertly wrapping them into a bouquet. She could see him anxiously fidgeting out of the corner of her eye and decided to let her curiosity get the better of her. ‘Special occasion?’ she asked.
‘They’re for my girlfriend,’ the chap replied. ‘I’m going to propose.’
Annabel felt glad to hear it. She much preferred to think of her flowers displayed in a vase somewhere, rather than simply dumped in the bin. Plus, the poor man appeared to need a good woman behind him, if only to show him how to use an iron. ‘How exciting,’ she said.
The doorbell sounded once more, signaling yet another customer and, after glancing over, Annabel gave a friendly nod to the older lady now making her way inside.
‘Would you like to see the ring?’ asked the young chap. He proceeded to take a box out of his inner jacket pocket and seemed to anticipate her response as he carefully opened its lid. ‘I chose it myself.’
Annabel took in the simple gold band and beautiful solitaire diamond. Despite the man’s appearance, he certainly had taste. ‘She’ll love it,’ she said. ‘It’s gorgeous.’
Clearly relieved to hear this, the chap proudly tucked it away again.
‘There you go,’ said Annabel. ‘Beautiful flowers for a very lucky lady.’
The man flushed red as he produced a couple of notes from his wallet and swapped them for his purchase. ‘Keep the change,’ he said.
‘But won’t you need it?’ asked Annabel.
‘Sorry?’ said the man.
As she rang up the till, he seemed to suddenly panic and Annabel felt guilty for sending him into another tither. As these events go, it was as if she’d made him think he’d forgotten something important. ‘For the champagne,’ she calmly replied. ‘When she says yes.’
The man visibly relaxed. ‘Right, for the champagne,’ he said. He still refused to take the money and simply waved a dismissive hand before heading for the door.
‘Excuse me,’ Annabel called out.
Before he could leave, she hastily raced from behind the counter and grabbed a couple more roses along the way. ‘Here,’ she said to the young chap. ‘Twelve of these declare your ultimate love, whereas two show your commitment to the forthcoming marriage. Maybe you could give these to her tomorrow.’
The man looked at the roses in her hand. ‘Thank you,’ he said, appreciatively taking them. ‘I will.’
‘Good luck,’ Annabel called after him, as he finally made his exit.
After re-taking her place behind the counter, she began cleaning up the odd bit of leaf left over from the dozen roses. Annabel glanced up at the older lady; she appeared to be looking for something in particular. ‘Can I help you?’ she asked.
‘That was a lovely thing you just did there,’ said the woman.
Annabel shook her head. ‘Ah, it was nothing.’
The woman smiled before getting back to her search. ‘Who doesn’t love flowers?’ she said. ‘They’re all so beautiful, so cheerful. Did you know each and every one of them has their own special meaning? That’s what makes it so hard to choose.’
Annabel thought that it was nice to meet someone who appreciated all things floral as much as she did, she eyed her potential customer, who was wearing striking patterns and bold red statement jewellery; she obviously enjoyed the finer things in life, along with a sense of style. Unlike me, thought Annabel. After looking down at her own somewhat boring attire, even that young chap in his crumpled suit demonstrated more pizazz.
She suddenly remembered her conversation with Dan, about how his mother never saved anything for best. She pictured his face, just thinking about him made her heart pang and, in refusing to let herself go there, she tried to dismiss the memory as quickly as it had arrived.
She returned her attention to the customer. ‘What is it you’re looking for?’ she asked.
‘Oh, I’ll know it when I see it,’ said the woman. She continued her search. ‘Here we are,’ she all at once added. ‘Perfect.’
Annabel watched her hastily reach down to pick up a bunch of her chosen flowers. In her excitement, however, she must have moved too quickly. It looked like she was about to faint and Annabel rushed over to help before the woman could injure herself.
After relieving her customer of her belongings, she gently took her by the arm and steered her towards the stool by the counter. ‘Here,’ she said. ‘Take a seat.’
‘Talk about a head rus
h,’ said the woman, clearly thankful for the assistance. ‘I don’t know what came over me.’
‘You do look a bit pale,’ said Annabel. She placed the woman’s handbag and flowers on the counter and helped her on to the stool. ‘Let me get you some water.’
She quickly headed out back, grabbed a glass, and turned on the tap. ‘Do you want me to call someone? A doctor maybe?’ she shouted through. After returning to the woman, she set the glass down for her to drink from when she was ready.
‘It’s very kind of you to offer,’ her customer replied. ‘But I’ll be alright in a minute.’
Annabel checked the time and decided it wouldn’t hurt to close up a little earlier for a change. ‘Then how about I give you a lift home?’
‘Again, there’s no need,’ said the woman. ‘I have a taxi waiting.’
She indicated outside and Annabel spotted the attending car. The driver, a cheerful looking, portly man, seemed to sense he was being watched and, gave them a wave. In return, the woman held up what looked like the victory sign and mouthed that she’d only be a couple of minutes. He smiled, sticking his thumb up in response.
‘He seems a lovely chap,’ said Annabel.
‘Oh he is. He runs me about a lot these days. Honestly, anyone would think he was my own personal chauffeur. And he isn’t one of those drivers who sits up front, all po-faced, refusing to say a single word. He tells me about his wife and his family, about what they’re up to.’
The woman picked up the glass and began sipping on her water. Much to Annabel’s relief, some semblance of colour finally began returning to her cheeks.
‘Do you have children?’ she asked.
Annabel felt thrown. After the last couple of months it was a subject she preferred not to discuss. ‘I’m afraid not,’ she said. She automatically placed a hand on her belly. ‘I was hoping to, but, well you know.’
‘It just hasn’t happened yet?’ said the woman. She nodded to Annabel’s necklace. ‘I noticed the wedding ring.’
The Trouble With Words: a heart-warming romantic comedy Page 19