by Clare Lydon
“That’s because we know you. How is Alice?” Meg and Alice had always got on; when Tanya and Meg had split, Alice had spent weeks mourning the loss of Meg.
“She’s good — she sends her love.” Tanya leaned forward. “And she’s in love, too — a perky personal trainer called Jake. I like him a lot; he’s good for her.”
Meg smiled. “That’s great news — tell her I said hi.” She paused. “Are women still hitting on her, though?”
Tanya laughed out loud. “Every day,” she grinned. “Poor old Alice and her faux-lesbian style.”
“She’s much better than you, Mrs Clean Lines and tailored shirts.”
“That’s what Alice tells me,” Tanya replied. “Anyway, enough about me — how’s your lovely wife? Is love still blooming in the Harding-Carter household?”
Meg’s smile got broader if that were possible. After all, she was talking about her two greatest passions in life: floristry and Kate — not necessarily in that order. “Certainly is. We’re inseminating this week — can you believe it?”
Tanya smiled: Meg was going to have a baby. She tried to picture herself doing that, but her mind drew a blank. “That’s amazing, really. How’s that going to work with your flower shop?”
Meg shrugged. “We’ll worry about that when it happens — but how hard can it be? Millions of parents juggle work and childcare every day, don’t they?”
“They do,” Tanya replied. “Plus, he or she will have an army of lesbians ready to lend a hand.”
“I hope so, Aunty Tanya!”
“Closest I’ll ever get to be being an aunty, what with Jonathan buggering off to Dubai forever.”
“Have you heard from him lately?” Meg asked.
Tanya shook her head. “Not lately.” She paused, remembering again she hadn’t told Meg her news. “I need to drop him an email, actually. You just reminded me.”
Meg nodded. “And how’s your gran doing?”
Tanya took a deep breath and tried to regulate her breathing, but it wasn’t easy. Telling Meg wasn’t like telling a stranger, because Meg knew Tanya’s scars. Meg was the only person Tanya had ever let anywhere near her homelife.
Tanya started to shake her head, the tears bubbling behind her eyes. She went to say something, but her voice was absent, gone.
Meg’s face dropped, alarm spreading across her features. “Tanya?” she said. “Is she okay?” Pause. “Has she gone?”
Tanya crumpled then, nodding slowly, the tears beginning to fall. She took a deep breath, and then another, but it was no good, the floodgates had opened. And then Meg’s arms were around her, squeezing her, and Meg’s voice was in her ear, telling her everything was going to be alright.
Even though they both knew that everything had just collapsed in Tanya’s world, and that everything was never going to be quite the same again.
“I’m so sorry. I know what she meant to you, what she meant to everyone. When did it happen?”
“Last month,” Tanya said, pulling back, getting a tissue from her bag.
“And you only just told me?” Meg was going to chastise her, but then clearly thought better of it. “Babe, you need to reach out when things like this happen. Your friends are there to help you.”
Tanya nodded. “I know,” she said. “I just needed some time to process. And to really believe she’s gone.”
“So have you been to the funeral?”
Tanya blew her nose before she replied, and wiped her eyes again. “Still waiting on a date — there’s a backlog in the area apparently. It’s not the time to die in Sturby.” She sighed and blew her nose again.
“Have you spoken to your mum?”
Tanya sighed again, shaking her head. “No, you know the score. She’ll probably blame me for Gran dying.”
Meg snorted. “Don’t take any of her shit — because remember, it’s her shit, not yours.”
“I know,” Tanya replied. “I’m going to mentally prepare before going up there. I spoke to Alan, so at least he’s there.”
“Send him my love,” Meg said.
“I will.”
“Do you want me to come with you? Moral support and all that?”
Tanya shook her head, despite being touched. The bond between her and Meg was strong; it always would be. Meg had been her first true love.
“That’s really lovely of you, but no. This is something I have to do on my own. Face my parents, say goodbye to Gran. I knew it was coming, I just have to be strong.”
“You sure?”
Tanya nodded.
“Okay. But ring me, and let me know how it goes. And if you need to talk while you’re there, I’m here, okay?”
“I know,” Tanya replied.
“There’s me going on about birth, and all the while you didn’t tell me your gran had died.”
Tanya shrugged. “It’s the circle of life, isn’t it? My gran’s gone, but you’re planning on a new baby. Life goes on, doesn’t it?”
Meg smiled. “It does. But if I can do anything to help — anything at all — just let me know, okay?”
“You could order me a new mother at the parent shop if you like,” Tanya replied.
“Is there an app for that?” Meg asked.
Chapter Fifteen
Sophie had forgotten the collapsible doggy water bowl, so she walked Branston back to her block of flats to fetch it. Branston was a snappy mop of a Yorkshire Terrier who thought he was born to take on the world. Sophie wasn’t going to be the one to tell him he was only a foot tall, and to stop being so territorial about public pavements.
She rounded the corner into their courtyard, gave Roger a wave and jumped into the lift, pressing the floor 20 button. As the doors closed, Branston squared up to himself in the lift mirror and began to bark at his own reflection. When he moved left, so did his reflection and he barked louder; when he moved right, he stopped, seemingly puzzled.
“Stupid dog,” Sophie said, as the lift reached her floor. “It’s you, Branston, nobody else.” Every time she said the dog’s name, she had a hankering for a cheese-and-pickle sandwich.
In response, Branston cocked his head, still thrown.
“Good job you’re so cute, isn’t it?” Sophie said, leading him out of the lift.
Branston’s other less savoury habit, along with challenging every dog that came his way, was peeing in inappropriate places, including on people. His owners had warned Sophie, but so far, he’d resisted peeing on her. However, his reputation went before him, and when other dog owners spotted them out in the park, they gave Branston a wide berth. A dog behaviourist would have a field day.
“No peeing in the flat, okay?” she told him as his paws clip-clopped on the laminate floor in their hallway. She walked through to the lounge, and grabbed the bowl, stuffing it into her backpack. Being able to keep the dogs hydrated was essential in her line of work. She stopped and downed a glass of water herself before leading Branston back to the lift, waiting for it to arrive.
When the doors opened, Tanya was standing inside it, a suitcase by her side, her face drawn. She was dressed in black jeans, black jacket, black boots and black sunglasses. The only thing unblack about her was her hair, which smelt as fresh as it looked. Her expression, while not quite black, was definitely straying into charcoal.
What had gone so wrong with her day to warrant such an outfit, a mood? It was in stark contrast to their last meeting, when Sophie had given her a hand moving and seen the inside of her new flat.
Tanya took a moment to register Sophie was standing in front of her.
Sophie’s insides, meanwhile, did a little jig of happiness — even if Tanya wasn’t in the best of moods, it was still good to see her again. She’d been primed and ready to be on her best behaviour whenever it happened.
“Hey! Fancy meeting you here,” Sophie said, pulling Branston inside. He assessed Tanya, before starting to bark at his reflection again.
Tanya glanced down, then gave Sophie a weak smile. “Hi,” she
said, so quietly Sophie almost didn’t hear her.
“Going away?” she asked, nodding at Tanya’s case. It was black too, hard-shelled and most likely cost more than Sophie’s entire wardrobe. She recalled suitcase shopping last summer and being horrified by the prices.
Tanya looked at her case, almost as if she’d forgotten it was there. “Yeah,” she replied. “Going home for a few days.”
Sophie nodded. “Parental duties?”
Tanya shook her head. “My gran’s funeral.” Her shoulders slumped as she said it: no wonder she looked so dark and defeated.
Sophie’s heart broke just a little when she heard that — she wasn’t close to her grandparents, but she understood loss acutely.
It was clear from Tanya’s face that her gran wasn’t just someone she saw every now and again: her gran had clearly been a major influence on her life, and Sophie wished she could do something to make Tanya feel better.
“Shit, I’m sorry,” she said, pulling on Branston’s lead as he sniffed Tanya’s case. “Were you close?”
Fucking hell, she had verbal diarrhoea. Just shut up, Sophie! What did it matter? The woman was still dead. Now she was the one with bad manners, making Tanya feel worse than she already did.
Tanya gulped, then nodded, taking off her sunglasses. Her eyes were puffy and bloodshot. “We were. She taught me everything. She was the first woman I ever loved.”
Sophie was stumped. “Shit, I really am sorry.” Should she hug her? Sophie assessed the situation, but then decided against it. After all, she hardly knew her at all, and who even knew if Tanya was the hugging type? She wasn’t giving off that air right now. Her body was taut, a mass of sharp angles.
“Where’s home?” Sophie asked, popping the silence hanging over them like a weighty balloon.
“The Midlands,” Tanya said, screwing up her face.
And then, out of the corner of her eye, Sophie saw Branston raise his right leg: unless she was very mistaken, he was about to perform his party trick.
“Branston, no!” Sophie shouted, but it was too late.
As Tanya widened her eyes in fascination and horror, Branston let out a steady stream of doggy wee onto Tanya’s left boot.
Sophie yanked his lead, and he fell off balance, squirting a shaded line of wee up in the air, arcing over Tanya’s case and hitting the mirror.
“Shit!” Tanya said, jumping out of the way, as Branston continued to jump around.
“Luckily not, just wee,” Sophie replied as the lift reached the ground floor.
Then Branston shook himself, before crouching and lowering his backside towards the floor.
Was he going to poo, too?
Not if Sophie could help it. “Branston, no!” she shouted loudly, pulling him up. He barked, went to squat again, but Sophie managed to stop him. She fished in her backpack and got out a doggy chew and fed it to Branston, which seemed to take his mind off his need to expel anything else from his body.
When she looked up, frazzled, Tanya was shaking her head, a smile on her face. “So how’s the dog walking going?” she asked, breaking into a giggle.
Sophie grabbed a pack of tissues from the backpack, and then she was on her haunches, mopping up the wet floor. “It has its ups and downs,” she replied, rolling her eyes. However, she was pleased to see Tanya was taking it all in her stride — getting weed on by a dog could have sent her over the edge.
When Sophie had soaked up the liquid, including patting Tanya’s shoe dry, she produced a pack of Wet Wipes and mopped Tanya’s case, before standing up and offering her a Wet Wipe, too.
Tanya shook her head. “He didn’t get me directly — just my shoe. And I’m sure I’ve had worse than that on a night out in Soho.”
Sophie pulled Branston out of the lift, giving him a stern look. “Apparently he has a habit of doing this. His owners told me it means he likes you, but I’m not sure if that’s just a really bad excuse on their part.”
Tanya wheeled her case towards the door. “He certainly took my mind off today,” she replied. “Perhaps it’s just the curse of us in this lift? Maybe we should avoid getting it together from now on.”
“Could be tricky, seeing as we live here,” Sophie said, still mortified. “I really am sorry. You’re bereaved, and my dog wees on you.”
Tanya laughed at that. “Brings you back down to earth, doesn’t it? Animals are good at that.”
“They are,” Sophie said. She walked Branston outside so he could finish what he’d started, but now he was outside, he had no interest in expelling anything. Typical.
Tanya assessed her. “You know, his arc of wee got you.” She pointed at a wet line on Sophie’s trousers. “You want me to hold him while you go and change?” Tanya held out her hand to take his lead. “Consider it my penance for being such an arse to you when we first met. Your dog’s weed on me now, so we’re sort of even.”
Sophie winced: Tanya was being lovely, which made her feel even more guilty for Branston weeing on her. “Are you sure you can hold him? I won’t make you late?”
“Yes, it’s fine, just go,” Tanya told her. “I’m always super-early for trains, it’s a fault of mine.”
Sophie did as she was told, praying Branston wouldn’t attempt any more deposits while she was gone.
She was back and freshened up in five minutes, with Tanya bent down and chatting to Branston when she returned.
When she saw Sophie, she straightened up and gave her the lead, checking her watch. “I better get going — I have a homestead to get to and a funeral to endure.”
Sophie nodded. “I hope the funeral is a fitting send-off for your gran. She sounds like a lovely woman.”
Tanya gave a deep sigh. “She was the best. Sadly I can’t say the same for her daughter, my mother.” She closed her eyes, then took a deep breath. “Wish me luck.”
“Good luck,” Sophie replied, even though she wasn’t sure it was the right sentiment for her gran’s funeral. “And Tanya?”
Tanya looked up. “Yes?”
“When you’re back, maybe we could grab a drink, and you can fill me in on how it went?” Sophie paused, not stopping to wonder where her courage had come from. This speech was out of the blue, her invitation putting herself out there. If Tanya said no, she might hurl herself off the roof of her life. “And I promise to leave Branston at home,” she added.
Tanya laughed gently, and smiled her million dollar smile: it illuminated her face and robbed Sophie of rational thought for a second.
And then her answer spilled from her lips. “I’d like that. In fact, I’ll store it up as something to look forward to. It might help me get through the next few days.” She smiled a little harder. “See you when I’m back.”
Sophie nodded, a stupid grin creasing her face. “You definitely will,” she replied.
Chapter Sixteen
Tanya grabbed her suitcase from the luggage rack at the end of the carriage and got off the train. Sturby Central. It still sent a shudder to her heart, even though she was fond of the station’s architecture, with its ornate building and long history. Underfoot, the concrete was grey and stained, just like her childhood.
The signs ahead told her of the pies she could enjoy, hand-made at the local bakery, and that took her back to her formative years and the taste of buttery pastry filled with chewy brown meat and veg. She’d loved pies back then, but she never ate them now — she was far too conscious of her figure to do that.
She clicked her way down the stairs, through the dank underpass and out of the station, to the waiting darkness outside. It was 8.30pm, and Tanya walked slowly to the cab rank, queuing for a taxi to take her home.
Home. It’d always seemed like a weird word — she’d never really considered herself to have a home. She had a house where she’d grown up, and where her parents still lived, but she’d never had a home as such.
But now the time had come to go back to that house, to face her parents and to attend her gran’s funeral. Her beloved gr
an who’d succumbed to the cancer that had slowly eaten her from the inside.
A cab arrived and she gave the driver a thin-lipped smile, breathing in the cold air that smelt of disappointment, just like always. The ride home would take her past her old school where she’d stood out for being odd and clever; past the park where she’d tried to fit in on damp evenings, drinking cider in the shelter.
They drove past the pub she’d had her first drink in, now called The Shaggy Dog and not The Red Lion as it had been back in her day. Past the building that had housed the club they used to go to on a Monday night, now a multiplex cinema. Past their old chip shop, which had now branched out to selling pizzas and kebabs as well.
And then, far sooner than she’d have liked, they were turning into her road, and the cab was slowing down, drawing up outside her parents’ house. Tanya drew in a deep breath to stop her nerves from jangling. Why had she agreed to stay here tonight?
She suddenly felt very alone, but then an image of Sophie tugging on Branston’s lead popped into her head, which caused a smile. Sophie and Branston had at least brought a touch of normality to an otherwise bizarre day. It had been good to chat about where she was going, to crack the surface of her funeral emotions. They were still icy underneath, but Sophie and Branston had made a dent in them, which was something.
The image of Sophie in her jeans and jacket, hair swept to one side, her stunning eyes lingering on Tanya’s face was burned into her memory. And had she asked her out on a date as they left? Or had she just been showing concern? Either way, Tanya was keen to get to know Sophie better, because right now, she was the one spot of brightness in her life. Every time she saw Sophie, Tanya felt ten times better.
“That’ll be £12.40,” the driver told her, turning to give her a toothy grin. His accent was so thick, it curled at the edges. Tanya winced: she knew she was a snob, but she hated her hometown accent.
She paid the driver, put her suitcase on the pavement and slammed the taxi door. The car drove off, which left Tanya staring at the house where her parents would be sitting on their allotted sofas, watching TV, Daily Mail on the coffee table, tutting at anything that didn’t conform to their world view.