by Lesley Allen
Biddy’s heart sank to her toes and her blood rushed to her ears. She felt herself wobble and gripped the edge of the table for balance. It was over. Terri spoke on, but she couldn’t hear her words, such was the pounding in her head.
‘So, what do you think?’
Biddy shook herself and breathed deeply. Think about what?
‘Pardon?’
‘What do you think? About Sunday?’
‘Sunday?’
‘Yes, you know, like I said, instead of Wednesday. Is this a bad line, Biddy? Would you like me to phone back?’
‘No,’ Biddy nearly jumped down the phone. ‘No, it’s fine. I can hear you. You want me to come on Sunday? This Sunday?’
‘Well, yes, if it’s OK with you. I know it’s a bit of an imposition, and I generally despise changing arrangements, but I’m afraid I can’t get out of this blessed thing on Wednesday. So, I wondered if you might like to come for Sunday lunch instead? That is, if you haven’t got other plans, of course.’
Biddy’s head was spinning. She would love to have lunch at Terri’s. She would love to. Sunday lunch. A proper meal in someone else’s home. Terri had asked her to stay for dinner before, of course, but always on a Wednesday. And Wednesdays didn’t suit. But this was different. This was a proper invitation, by phone. This was a Sunday. And Sundays did suit.
‘Yes,’ she gasped. ‘I mean, no. I mean, no, I haven’t got plans and, yes, I’d love to come for lunch. I’d really like that. If you’re sure it’s OK?’
‘Well now, Biddy my dear, I wouldn’t have asked you if it wasn’t, would I? Besides, now I won’t feel guilty about cancelling our Wednesday arrangement. And I do love to make a roast dinner, especially for guests. Do you like beef and Yorkshire puds?’
‘Yes, thank you,’ Biddy nodded furiously. Beef and Yorkshire pudding, one of her father’s favourites. She hadn’t had a proper Sunday dinner for years, not since he had become incapable of cooking. It was a meal she had never managed to master herself.
‘Fabulous. Shall we say 1 p.m.?’
‘Yes, yes.’
‘Well, I’ll tell you what, you check the bus times, and if there’s a problem then I shall come and get you. OK?’
Biddy was so excited it didn’t even occur to her to reject the offer of a lift.
‘OK.’
‘Oh, and Biddy, so I can get my timings right with the meal, do you need to be home for a certain time?’
The new Biddy smiled at her through the mirror. ‘No,’ she shook her head. ‘No time.’
‘Fabulous. I’ll call you back tomorrow morning at the same time, and you can tell me if you need a lift.’
‘OK.’
‘Great. Bye, then.’
‘Terri?’ Biddy gasped quickly, before Terri could hang up.
‘Yes, Biddy?’
‘Thank you.’
‘It’s a pleasure, Biddy, an absolute pleasure.’
43.
Terri was both delighted and relieved that her invitation had been accepted. Of course she could have rescheduled the appointment, but Charlie had pulled strings to get her a cancellation with Helen Potts, who by all accounts was booked up weeks in advance. Helen was the only optometrist in town worth tuppence, according to Charlie, and Terri did desperately need an eye test. Besides, it provided her with a wonderful and timely opportunity to invite Biddy to Cove Cottage for a social occasion. Now she would have a full afternoon with her. Perhaps, if things went well, she may even stay until the evening. It would be great to have the company and she would finally have the opportunity to give Biddy a proper meal. Feed her up.
Biddy arrived bang on time, clutching a bunch of pale cream roses roughly bound in kitchen roll. She thrust them at Terri as soon as she opened the door, rather like a small schoolgirl might do to an important visitor.
‘Oh, Biddy, they’re beautiful.’ Terri inhaled. ‘And the smell. Wow. Fabulous. They smell like roses really should. Are these the roses from your garden?’ Biddy nodded.
Terri remembered that Biddy didn’t cut the roses from that bush. She felt a lump at the back of her throat and swallowed hard.
‘Oh, Biddy, thank you. Thank you so much. I know what they mean to you and I’m really touched.’
Biddy felt a tingle in her tummy. She liked the sensation. She liked this feeling of doing something nice for somebody. ‘It’s a pleasure,’ she beamed.
‘Now don’t worry if you can’t manage it all,’ said Terri brightly as she placed Biddy’s plate in front of her, piled high with tender roast beef, golden roast potatoes, perfectly caramelised carrots and parsnips and fluffy Yorkshire puddings. ‘I’m never offended by leftovers on a plate, and I know a very fat cat who adores them.’ But she needn’t have worried. Terri watched Biddy eat as though this was the first proper meal she had had in years. Maybe it is, she thought.
As they ate, Terri chatted openly about family news. Her sister Caroline, the one who lived in Canada, was planning a trip home in the summer with her daughter, Kerry. A friend from London had bought a house in Mallorca and had invited her out for a holiday. Then there was her agent in London, who was hassling her about writing another book. Terri was done with academia and self-help books, but the problem was, she had promised him a novel. She just hadn’t got around to starting it yet. And best of all, her dear old friend Derek Davidson’s step-daughter, Olivia, had given birth to a little boy, Archie. Terri was very close to Olivia and her partner Benjy, as they’d lived close to her in London and she often had them over for dinner, or they her. She missed them. Their house was adorable. Olivia had such flair with interiors. And they had a beautiful garden, which had won several awards. Benjy was a horticulturist and garden designer, and was making quite a name for himself. He’d recently designed a couple of celebrity gardens and now there was talk of a television programme.
Biddy listened in awe as Terri talked. A sister in Canada, a friend in Mallorca, an agent, a new baby. People with names like Olivia and Benjy. Writing a book. Making a television programme. Terri’s world was a million miles away from her own, and it fascinated her. She didn’t want Terri to ever stop talking. She wanted to hear more about her life and the people in it. She wanted to sit in this bright, sunny kitchen, in the best house in the world, eating the best food she had ever tasted in her life, and listen to Terri forever.
‘Would you like a little more?’ Terri asked, interrupting Biddy’s thoughts. ‘There’s plenty, so don’t be shy. But bear in mind there is a fruit crumble for afters. Mind you, we can wait a while for that, can’t we?’
Biddy nodded enthusiastically. She was in no rush to leave.
‘So, some more, then?’
Biddy nodded again. ‘Yes please. It’s delicious. I think it’s the nicest meal I have ever had.’
‘Well, that is the nicest compliment I have ever had. Thank you, Biddy,’ Terri smiled, as she dished out more of everything onto Biddy’s plate. She believed her, and that made her feel incredibly sad.
‘Thank you, Terri,’ said Biddy when she had finally finished, wiping her mouth with her napkin. ‘That was delicious. Really, really delicious.’
‘Good. Glad you liked it,’ Terri smiled. ‘It’s such a pleasure to cook for someone again. Maybe in my next life, I will be a chef,’ she winked at Biddy and began to stack the dishes in her small dishwasher.
‘Well, I think you would be a great chef,’ Biddy smiled. ‘Roast beef and Yorkshire pudding was my father’s favourite meal, so we had it all the time. But,’ she laughed lightly, ‘it never tasted like that.’ A flash of guilt cut through her. ‘It was still nice though, just not, well, not like that.’
‘I’m sure your father was an excellent cook, Biddy,’ Terri smiled warmly, ‘but thank you. Actually, that was Harry’s favourite meal too.’
Biddy waited for Terri to elaborate, tell her who Harry was. She’d definitely never mentioned a Harry before. But she continued to clear up, rinsing out pots and wiping down the benches. Biddy picked a tea tow
el from the rack, her favourite one with the blue stripes and pink roses and started to dry the pots.
‘Are you still OK to have a break before pudding?’ Terri asked, putting on the dishwasher. ‘I thought we could maybe take a wee stroll, work up an appetite for round two.’
‘Who’s Harry?’ Biddy blurted, ignoring the question.
Terri paused and took in a deep breath.
‘That’s Harry,’ she said, nodding towards the framed black and white photograph which sat on the thick windowsill amidst little pots of herbs and jam jars of freshly picked wild flowers from the lane. ‘That’s my Harry.’ She picked the photograph up and ran her fingers over the glass, as though wiping off dust, or touching a memory.
‘It was taken in Donegal, on one of our trips home years ago,’ she smiled, not at Biddy, but at the man in the picture. ‘Harry loved Donegal. He loved Greece more, mind you,’ she laughed. ‘He used to say Greece was like Ireland warmed up and he’d rather have the hot version, thank you very much.’
Biddy was familiar with the photograph, which showed a much younger Terri and a large man with dark curly hair wrapped up against the elements on a windswept beach. She’d noticed it many times before, along with several others of the same man dotted around the cottage, like the ones in the study she had spotted on her very first visit. For some reason she had assumed that, as there had never been any mention of a husband, the man was Terri’s brother, Patrick. But now, when she looked again at the photograph over Terri’s shoulder and studied it closely, she could see something in their eyes. The way they were looking at each other. It was . . . She searched her mind for the right word, but she couldn’t find it. Then she realised, with a jolt. It was love.
‘Tell you what,’ said Terri, taking the tea towel from Biddy and throwing it over the draining board, ‘how about we go for that stroll now and I’ll tell you all about my Harry?’
By the time they returned to Cove Cottage almost forty minutes later, Biddy knew all about Harry McDonald whom Terri had shared her life with for more than fifteen years, until his sudden death from a heart attack almost four years ago. That was one of the reasons she’d returned to Ballybrock, Terri admitted, she couldn’t settle back into a life in London without him. They’d met at a little café Terri used to go to on her way home from work after David, her former ‘asshole of a lover’, had run off with ‘the French floozy in the neighbouring flat’. She reckoned she’d been going to the café for three weeks before she realised that the big man in the brown suit with rugged cheeks and thick black curly hair, was sat in the same window seat every time she went in. It was another week or so before she made eye contact with him and a week after that before they finally spoke. He claimed he’d noticed her the very first evening she walked into that café. Lola’s, it was called. They had named their first cat after it, the tabby cat from the photo in the study.
Biddy was captivated by this new, romantic story from Terri’s life. It was better than anything she’d ever read in a book, or seen in a soap or watched in a film. It was beautiful and magical and full of colour and energy and life – a type of living that Biddy knew she herself would never do. Could never do. And as she listened she hoped that, somehow, Terri had got the ending wrong. For how could a love as vibrant as this one obviously was, just end? She strained with every muscle so as not to miss a word, a blink, a breath.
‘We were inseparable from that very first conversation, me and my big Scottish hunk,’ Terri smiled, wistfully. ‘Sure, wouldn’t you know he was Scottish, with a name like Harry McDonald?’ she laughed. ‘Ah, we were a right pair. Never married, never felt the need. Perhaps if we’d had children, we might have, but, well, that wasn’t to be.’
‘What did he do?’ asked Biddy, still mesmerised.
‘He was a writer. And a very successful one at that,’ Terri told her, proudly. ‘He published five bestselling thrillers. One of them, The Casual Observer, was named Thriller of the Year by the Guardian shortly after it was published. Harry was working on a film adaptation of it when he died. He was so excited,’ she shook her head, smiling at the memory, ‘all his dreams had come true.’
Biddy noticed Terri’s eyes glaze behind her smile. ‘You must miss him very much,’ she said softly, almost reaching out to touch the older woman’s arm.
‘Oh I do, Biddy, I do. I miss him every single bloody day. I miss the life that we had and I miss the future that we planned to have. We were going to retire to Greece, you see. We’d probably be there by now. We’d set our sights on a tiny fishing village on Crete, where we used to go on holiday each year. Even had the plot picked out for our villa. But,’ she sighed, ‘it wasn’t to be. Still. I can’t complain. Like I said, I was blessed to have loved him and I’m willing to settle for having had fifteen years of my life with that man, than never to have met him at all.’
By this time, they were nearly back at the cottage. Its whitewashed walls and blue shutters sparkled in the afternoon sunshine. The window baskets which Terri had recently hung outside were starting to spill over with brightly coloured flowers. Biddy’s heart leapt when she saw it. She loved the house even more, now that she actually knew it.
‘Harry would have loved this place,’ said Terri, almost reading her thoughts. ‘But it wouldn’t have won his heart the way our dream plot in Greece had.’
She winked at Biddy and pointed out a seagull who was proudly strutting along the roof, as though the cottage was actually his.
‘Still,’ she whispered, as Biddy walked a step or two ahead, ‘it suits me. For now.’
As she left that afternoon, it occurred to Biddy that she knew more about Terri than she had ever known about anyone. More than Miss Jordan. More than her father even. And it felt wonderful. She turned quickly on the threshold of the door and flung her arms around Terri. It was clumsy and stiff, and too brief for Terri to reciprocate, but it was a hug all the same. And if Biddy had turned round to wave as she made her way down the path, she would have seen Terri wipe a tear from her eye.
44.
‘Biddy, I have a favour to ask you.’ It was late June, and the two women were taking their afternoon tea on the sun-drenched patio. ‘Now, it’s quite an imposition, so if you’d rather not, just say so and I promise you, I won’t be in the least bit offended.’
Biddy wondered what was coming. People didn’t ask her to do favours.
‘The thing is, I have to go away for a few days soon. The week after next, in actual fact. Olivia and Benjy are having a naming ceremony for Archie. Apparently it’s the done thing these days. Anyway, they expect me to be there. It’s at their home in London, and, in truth, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.’
Biddy wondered what this had to do with her. Then she gulped, almost choking on a crumb of the freshly baked oatmeal cookie she was munching, as the thought struck her that perhaps Terri was going to invite her along too.
‘My problem, of course, is Bertie.’
Biddy sighed with relief. She was going to ask her to look after Bertie. That was fine. She could do that. She could never have travelled to London, but she could definitely look after Bertie. She’d never had much time for cats before, especially as they liked to kill birds, but she’d become used to Bertie and quite liked the way he rubbed his head against her ankles. She’d just make sure he didn’t get anywhere near the birds in her back garden.
‘You want me to take him home and look after him?’ she said, smiling at Terri.
‘Not exactly,’ Terri smiled back. ‘It’s just that Bert is so settled here now; it took him quite a while after our move from London, and I don’t want to unsettle him again. I did think about putting him into a cattery, but, quite frankly, I wasn’t in the least bit impressed by the two I looked at, and I did consider asking you to keep him, but I was worried that he might become disorientated and try to find his way back here and end up getting lost or . . .’ she shuddered. ‘Well, then I hit on the idea that you might come here? You know, take care of him here while
I’m away. What do you think?’
This time Biddy did choke and spat a mouthful of biscuit into her napkin.
‘Are you OK, Biddy?’ asked Terri. Biddy nodded, wiping her mouth with the back of the napkin. ‘Would you like a glass of water?’
Biddy shook her head and took a sip of tea. ‘I’m fine,’ she gasped, and took another sip. ‘Really. Sorry. A crumb caught in my throat.’
‘So, what do you think about my suggestion? It would be for three nights. You could sleep in the spare bedroom, it’s really pretty, and I’d make sure the fridge was packed with delicious food. And of course, you could bring your sketchbook with you and paint out on the beach all day long.’
Biddy stared at Terri, aware that her mouth was actually hanging open. She could hardly believe what she was hearing. Terri wanted her to live at Cove Cottage while she was away! Actually live here, here, and for three whole days. Apart from the one night she’d spent at Brook House, the night on the mountain and the weeks afterwards in hospital, in her thirty years of life, she hadn’t slept anywhere else but her damp, dreary bedroom at number 17, Stanley Street.
She shook her head, but in disbelief, not rejection.
‘That’s fine, Biddy. If you’d rather not do it, I understand. Honestly. It’s a big ask. Don’t worry about Bertie, I can ask . . .’
‘No,’ Biddy shouted. ‘No. No. I mean, yes. Yes please. I’d love to. Honestly, I’d really love to.’
‘Oh fabulous,’ Terri clapped her hands together. ‘Fabulous. This is wonderful, Biddy. You don’t know how relieved I am. Do you hear that, Bert old boy?’ She ran her hand along the cat’s back as he stretched out on the ground at her feet. ‘Biddy is going to take care of you, my darling. Isn’t that wonderful? Thank you, Biddy. Thank you.’
No, thought Biddy, thank you, Terri. Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Her heart was thudding loudly in her chest. Her eyes were stinging with tears, and she felt that she might cry: but she didn’t know why, as this was quite simply the best, most glorious, wonderful thing that had ever happened to her.