Flicking through the TV channels, she did a whistle-stop tour of the seventy-odd stations on her TV. Nothing caught her interest. She’d never really been a TV person.
It had been so good having Adam to stay for a few nights. They’d spent evenings chatting about Rachel, swapping stories. He understood her pain, because he was feeling it too, only tenfold. She would have loved him to stay on this weekend as the children and Ramona were away. But he had promised to help Pete put together the nursery for the new baby. She’d even offered to keep Matthew with her for a few days, but he wouldn’t hear of it.
‘You enjoy some me time,’ Adam advised.
As she made herself another cup of coffee, she noticed the Post-it note on the fridge from Ramona.
Heather ring. Again. Call your mama.
She knew she couldn’t put it off any longer. She’d used the children and work as an excuse for not talking to her mother for over a week now.
Karen punched in the long Spanish number, reading it from the pad that sat beside the phone. One of these days she’d get around to learning how this new phone worked and she’d save all the numbers on to its digital memory card.
‘Ola!’ A bright cheery voice said.
‘Hello, Mum.’ Karen tried to match her tone, but failed miserably.
‘At last! I thought you’d emigrated to a kibbutz, darling. I’ve been ringing you for days now.’
‘I know, Mum. I’m sorry.’.
‘It’s just, it’s very hard for me. Over here. Worried about you and the children. I don’t think you give me a moment’s thought, do you?’ Heather was determined to have her say.
‘That’s not true. It’s just I’m back working—’ Karen said.
Heather cut her off. ‘I mean, is it too much to ask for a daughter to call her mother the odd time? Let her know she’s alive and well? Let her talk to her grandchildren?’
‘No, it’s not and—’
‘I said to Esther last night – you know my bridge partner? The one with the unfortunate lisp. Well I said to her, how selfish can one child be? We bring them up and do our best, then they fly from the nest, never to look back.’
Karen sighed and tried to tune out her mother. Best to let her get it off her chest. She’d let it drop then and they could move on. She glanced down at her nails. All but two nails had chips on them. That’s what she could do. She’d take advantage of having the house to herself, strip naked, and have some spa treatments.
‘Darling, are you going to bother speaking to me at all? Why did you call me if you had nothing to say!’ Heather’s voice interrupted her thoughts.
‘Sorry, Mum. I was trying to speak, but you kept interrupting me,’ Karen said, trying very hard to keep the edge out of her tone.
‘Oh, excuse me for caring,’ Heather sniffed her disappointment.
Please don’t let it be true, that we all turn into our mothers, Karen thought. ‘I know you care. And I do too.’ Karen tried to get the conversation back on to solid ground. With her mother, things sometimes derailed at the rate of knots. ‘How are you, Mum?’
‘Busy, busy, busy. We had the most wonderful regatta fundraiser last week. Simply everyone was there. And guess who turned up! Antony Worrall Thompson!’ Heather exclaimed.
‘The TV chef?’ Karen asked.
‘Yes! And he’s such a gentleman. I took quite a shine to him, I don’t mind telling you. So did Esther, but she was rather over the top, the way she kept placing her hands on his chest and leaning in so he could see her cleavage. If you asked me, well, it smacked of desperation. And I don’t think he had a clue what she was withering on about,’ Heather said.
Karen giggled at the image. She’d met Esther before and she was single-minded in her goal to meet and marry well. The fact that she had reached the age of sixty with, so far, no likely candidate coming forward, didn’t seem to bother her in the slightest.
‘I’m glad you’re well, Mum,’ Karen said, and she felt her earlier irritation dissipate. She loved her really, and when they saw each other, it was great. The trick she’d learned was to keep their visits short and that way they remained sweet!
‘How are the children?’ Heather asked.
‘They are with David this weekend. And Robyn.’ The phone went silent for a moment and Karen thought they’d been cut off at first. ‘Mum?’
‘I’m here, darling. I just didn’t want to say the wrong thing. I know I irritate you at times.’
‘No, you don’t!’ Karen objected, flushing at how close her mother was to reading her mind a few seconds ago.
‘Yes I do. And I think that’s perhaps the role all parents fall into the older they get. Or maybe it’s just me.’
‘You can say anything you want to me, Mum.’ If she could have found a way to reach into the phone, she would have hugged her mother and not let her go.
‘Well in that case, can I just say that I think you are incredibly brave? I know you and David had your problems. And I know you said you were happy with the separation and the divorce. But it must be hard waving your children goodbye, especially with that woman in the picture. There must be some ethical grounds we could lodge a complaint, on that one.’ Heather’s voice was now laced with anger.
Karen laughed, her mother’s outrage at David and Robyn’s relationship showing no signs of abating.
‘I don’t think Josh likes her very much,’ Karen said.
‘He always was a good judge of character. Gets that from you, darling.’
‘Oh, Mum . . .’ Karen couldn’t finish the sentence. Her throat was weighted with the biggest lump.
‘I can come over, you know,’ Heather said. ‘I just need to juggle a few things around over here, get someone to manage the end-of-season barbecue, and I’m sure Esther could find someone else for the bridge charity marathon.’
For a moment, Karen thought about saying yes to her mum, do all of that. Come here and look after me. Cook me dinner and make sure I eat it. Help me take care of the children, and sit with me in the evenings while Ramona is Skyping her boyfriend.
Distract me from my thoughts. My grief. My sorrow. My jealousy. My need for a glass of wine.
But instead she said, ‘There’s no need. You’ve got an awful lot on over there. And I’ve got all of this under control. You’re coming for Christmas. We shall all look forward to that.’
‘Darling, you need to know that I’d drop everything in a heartbeat for you.’
‘I know, Mum.’ Karen pinched herself to stop tears falling. She had to get a grip. ‘I promise you. I’m fine!’
‘What are you going to do for the weekend? Don’t just sit at home dwelling on things. Get out and go for a walk. Feel some fresh air on your skin.’
‘Will do. You go on and I promise to call you next week,’ Karen replied.
They said their goodbyes and Karen stood looking at the phone for a few moments, unable to move away. She always gave her mother such a hard time. In her head, leastways. Heather irritated her and frustrated her on a regular basis. But she adored her too and couldn’t imagine a world without her in it. When Rachel died, she’d brought Ramona and the children to Spain to stay with her for a few weeks. And Heather had taken one look at Karen, pulled her into her arms and held her while she cried. Then she organised Ramona and the children, and put Karen into her bed, insisting she take the big king size. That fortnight she’d rarely left her daughter’s side. She was a force to be reckoned with, with boundless energy.
Maybe it was time to listen to her mother. Mother does know best. She went upstairs and changed into a pair of jeans, with Converse and a sweatshirt. While it was now early November, it was still dry. She’d go to the park.
Twenty minutes later, she joined the dog walkers, the mums and dads pushing buggies and the sweaty joggers, in Didsbury Park. It was a lovely day, with only a slight chill in the air. The wind whipped through her blond bob and she relished it.
How often did she get a chance to do something like this? Normally, wh
en she came here to this park, it was with the kids. She would spend her time trying to slow Josh down for the first half of the walk, then speed him up for the second! Always fun, but it was a different experience from this gentle ramble. She looked around her, determined to take in every detail of the blue skies, the perfect backdrop for the large oak trees whose leaves were beginning to turn golden brown.
A little cockadoodle puppy galloped towards her, its lead trailing behind him on the leafy path. And running behind the puppy was its owner, shouting, ‘Lulu, come on, girl!’
Lulu was adorable and jumped up to lick and sniff Karen’s legs. She quickly grabbed its leash and gave the thumbs-up to its owner who shouted her thanks, slowing down her frantic dash to a more manageable jog.
Karen kneeled down and let Lulu lick her face and she laughed in delight as the little puppy tickled her. ‘Oh, I’d run away with her!’ She said to the owner.
‘Thank you!’ The owner replied, looking alarmed as she snatched control of Lulu’s lead again.
And then she was gone. Karen felt a bit silly. She had been ready to start a chat with the owner. But to that woman, of course she was a stranger.
Karen walked on, feeling idiotic for letting the dog upset her. She needed to get a grip. It was just every emotion seemed heightened. She couldn’t bear it.
And then she saw them.
Whatever joy she’d just felt in that slobbery wet kiss from Lulu the dog vanished as she watched the scene unfold in front of her.
David and Robyn were swinging Josh between them, and his squeals as they lifted his little feet off the ground made her want to reach out and pull her son to her.
They were obviously having a picnic. The double buggy had the hood up and she suspected the girls were having their mid-afternoon sleep. The fresh air always conked them out. A large wicker picnic basket sat on top of one of the wooden benches. It looked picture perfect.
She turned around quickly and began to run back the way she’d come, passing Lulu and its owner on the way. She didn’t stop running till she got to the car, then she jumped in and howled. Like a crazy woman, she screamed until the windows of her car steamed up and she pounded the dashboard so hard her hands turned red.
Suddenly she was spent. Her body sagged from the emotional assault and she lay her head on the steering wheel until her breathing quietened.
She switched on the engine and drove, knowing exactly where her destination was. She felt calm and resolute.
She walked through the heavy double doors, a bell ringing to let the shopkeeper know she had arrived. Karen walked straight to the back wall, knowing exactly what she wanted.
She picked up a bottle of Grey Goose vodka and paid for it without saying a word to the young man who served her.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The reckless email and the YR and ketchup sauce-off
Pete and Jenny’s house, Didsbury, Manchester
As soon as Pete hit send, he regretted it. He ran downstairs and asked Adam if it was possible to retrieve and delete a sent email.
‘What have you done, you numpty?’ Adam replied.
It pissed Pete off that Adam assumed that he’d done something wrong. He might have had a legitimate reason for asking that question. To do with work, maybe.
It was his mum’s fault anyhow, showing him that photograph of Jo. She looked so brown and fit and healthy. And non-judgemental. And, more than anything, not pregnant with some faceless bastard’s baby.
He’d thought about what he would say to her for weeks now. Planned it in his head, and when it was just a thought it seemed like a really sensible thing to do. He’d just send over a bright and cheery email, checking in. Nothing too serious. Test the lie of the land.
But instead of that, he found himself saying to her that he missed her and wondered if she missed him too.
Adam was right. He was a numpty. He trudged back upstairs to see what he could do about retrieving, and deleting, the email he had sent to Jo.
‘Pete,’ Jenny’s voice called out. He heard her shuffling her way towards him, so he quickly signed out of his email account. He tried to rearrange his face, so that he didn’t look as guilty as he felt.
‘What you doing?’ She asked when she saw him at the computer.
‘Work, love. Deadlines and stuff. Sorry,’ Pete said.
‘Don’t be sorry. You must be exhausted. Having to work at the weekend.’ Jenny walked over to him and manoeuvred her bump sideways so she could kiss his forehead. ‘I’m going to make you a Jenny special. One sausage sandwich coming up.’
‘You don’t have to do that, love. You sit down and I’ll make it,’ Pete said, his guilt trebling now, making his face flush.
‘No!’ Jenny said. ‘Look at you, all red from the stress. You’re working too hard. Let me take care of you. Okay?’ Jenny touched his cheek gently and shuffled out the door.
He wondered what his mum would make of it all. Maybe he’d go and visit her next week to ask her opinion about it all. The good thing about Audrey was that she was a straight talker. And she knew her son.
Then two minutes later, Adam’s head appeared around the door. ‘You’re a bollix.’
‘I beg your pardon!’
‘Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to,’ Adam told him. ‘You’ve emailed Jo, haven’t you?’
‘Keep your voice down!’ Pete hissed. ‘And close that door! I take great offence that you would suggest such a thing.’
‘Your wife is downstairs, telling me how worried she is about you working so hard at the weekend. Her two feet are so swollen she’s wearing your bloody sandals, yet she’s standing at that cooker, frying up a storm for you. And you’re up here, doing what?’
‘Don’t. I feel bad enough as it is,’ Pete said. ‘Am I really a bollix?’
‘A dickhead of the highest order,’ Adam said, but the anger had abated from his voice. ‘Right, spill. What exactly did you do?’
‘I did email Jo,’ Pete admitted.
‘I fucking knew it!’ Adam said. ‘I told you not to. What did you say?’
‘Just said hello. That’s all.’ Pete suddenly became very interested in the wallpaper that was beginning to peel on the wall.
‘And what else?’
‘Just that,’ Pete lied.
When you are friends for over twenty years, your lying radar becomes fine-tuned to deceit. ‘I call bullshit,’ Adam said.
Pete started to shift in his chair. It had become uncomfortable all of a sudden. ‘I kind of told her I missed her,’ he blurted out.
Adam sat down on the seat beside him and sighed. ‘Listen, mate, you need to get your shit together. If you want Jo, then go get her. But are you even sure that’s what you want?’
Pete shrugged.
‘From where I was watching, you two had fallen out of love long before the issue of her visa came into question and she was sent packing home to Australia,’ Adam said.
Pete knew Adam was right. For the last few months they had been together, their initial spark had long fizzled out.
‘I saw first-hand how hard it is to be a single mother,’ Adam said. ‘My mum had it tough and she had no choice but in turn to become tough herself. That girl downstairs is hurting and she needs looking after. If you plan on letting her down, you do it now, before this wee baby comes along and things get even more complicated.’
‘I shouldn’t have sent that email.’
‘Fire up that computer and let me see if I can delete it,’ Adam said, his tone softening.
Pete switched it back on and logged into his hotmail account.
You have one new mail, flashed up on to the screen.
‘Shite,’ Adam said.
Pete hit enter, scanning quickly to see who the sender was.
It was from Jo.
‘Shite,’ Adam repeated.
‘What will I do?’ Pete said, panicked.
‘Open it,’ Adam said.
Hi Pete. Good to hear from you. Of course I mi
ss you. I feel bad that we ended things the way we did. But I am glad that I’m home again. I didn’t realise how much I missed Sydney, until I got back. Fancy coming over? Jo x
‘Shite.’
‘Is that all you can say?’ Pete said.
‘It appears so,’ Adam replied. ‘But it doesn’t matter what I have to say on all this. It matters what you do.’
Jenny’s voice called up the stairs. ‘Pete, Adam, get your arses down here. Sambos are ready.’
Pete quickly closed down the computer and they went downstairs. Did he want to go to Australia to be with Jo?
Jenny ushered them to the kitchen table and held up the Heinz ketchup and the YR brown sauce. ‘Which one do you want, Pete?’
Adam turned to Pete. ‘Yes, what do you want, Pete? You need to make a choice. But make it carefully. Chose the wrong sauce and your sandwich is ruined. For ever. You won’t get a second sandwich. Oh no. You just get the one.’
‘You all right there?’ Jenny said to Adam, making a face to Pete. ‘He’s talking shite again.’
Pete threw Adam a dirty look. ‘I’ll have my sandwich plain, love. I don’t feel like making a choice right now.’
‘You were never a plain sandwich man. You couldn’t live without sauce.’ Adam wagged his sandwich at Pete. ‘I’m a YR man. Have been my whole life. But every now and then I’ve strayed and had ketchup. And while it might taste delicious for a short while, afterwards, I’m left feeling a little bit left down.’ He grabbed the YR bottle and squirted a dollop on top of his sausages. He picked up the sandwich and took a bite.
‘You’re weird,’ Jenny said.
‘That may be the case. But I know which sauce I like,’ Adam replied.
Jenny sat down and then jumped. ‘The baby just kicked me, the little monkey. Nearly broke a rib! Quick, have a feel, Pete.’
She grabbed Pete’s hand and placed it over her tummy. They waited for a few moments, but the baby was quiet again.
Cold Feet: The Lost Years Page 16