by Annie Lyons
‘Wow, very Downton,’ said Fran impressed, taking a seat on an elegant beige sofa.
Jasmine smiled. ‘So, here’s a list of all our menu options. And of course, in addition to the vegetarian option, we can offer vegan, gluten-free and dairy-free choices as well,’ she said with just a hint of smugness.
‘Do you have halal options?’ asked Charlie earnestly. ‘For Heather’s Muslim friends?’
‘Erm, I can check,’ said Jasmine uncertainly.
‘That would be kind. Thank you, Jasmine,’ said Charlie.
‘I’ll be right back,’ said Jasmine, standing up.
After she’d gone, Fran turned to her daughter. ‘Charlie, you’re being a little bossy. Remember that this is Heather’s wedding.’
‘I’m just trying to be helpful,’ said Charlie. ‘Heather hasn’t got a mum or dad to help her with all this after all.’
Heather put her hand on her heart. ‘Thank you, Charlie. I think you’re being wonderful. I’m glad you’re here. And I think you’ve got a promising career ahead of you as a wedding planner.’
‘See?’ said Charlie, raising her eyebrows at her mother.
Fran shrugged. ‘Fine. To be honest, I think Jasmine needed to be brought down a peg or two. So are you going to book it?’
Heather sat back in her chair and sighed. ‘It is lovely but I sort of wanted Luke to see it first.’
‘How could he not love it if you do?’ said Fran. ‘Anyway, in my experience, it’s always the bride who makes the final choice so I’d go with your heart.’
‘You sound like Pamela.’
‘Pamela Trott knows a thing or two and plus, I haven’t always been a jaded cynic.’
Heather smiled. ‘Where did you get married?’
Fran felt a stab of longing. ‘We did the usual church and fancy reception thing. It was lovely,’ she said casually.
‘That overfriendly squirrel ran up your dress,’ reported Charlie. ‘I used to love it when Daddy told that story.’ Fran shook her head in amusement. ‘Apparently, Mummy went mental, flapping her arms about but she didn’t spill a drop of champagne. Daddy thought that was funny. I think it’s clever.’
‘Me too,’ said Heather, fixing Fran with a meaningful look. ‘Happy memories.’
Fran nodded. She could see that Heather understood and she appreciated it. ‘Happy memories. But anyway, this is about you.’ Fran enjoyed the memories but she didn’t like to linger over them for too long. They were like expensive items of jewellery – lovely to look at for a while but things she couldn’t afford to have all the time. ‘So would you like to have your wedding here?’
‘Yeah, I think it’s perfect.’
Jasmine reappeared. ‘We can source halal meat if required,’ she told them with a smile.
‘Good,’ said Charlie. ‘Because we’d like to go ahead and book please.’
Heather put an arm round Charlie’s shoulder and grinned. ‘My wedding planner.’
Fran lay back on the couch and tried desperately to get comfortable.
Jude’s onto me, she said.
How so?
Let’s just say that he made it very clear I should be moving on.
Is that what he said?
Sort of. We were discussing grief with Heather.
Heather?
Yeah. I met her on the course. She lost her parents when she was a teenager.
So she knows what she’s talking about.
I guess, although she’s a few years further on.
What does she say then?
Fran sighed and shifted in her seat. Reckons you need to create new memories. Something about not letting your grief stop you from living.
You don’t sound convinced
I’m not. I am living.
What about making new memories?
Today’s bacon sandwich was very memorable.
Mmm, don’t take this the wrong way but I think you need to aim a bit higher.
Fran folded her arms. I’ll try but I can’t promise. Although I get the feeling that Jude’s not going to let this go.
He is his mother’s son.
‘Oi, shut it, you,’ she laughed. And damn your insight.
It’s why you love me, he said.
Yes, said Fran. It is.
Chapter Nine
Pamela
My Happiness List
1. Just bake
2. Dinner with Matthew and Barry – be in the moment!
Pamela cast a critical eye over the dining room and felt satisfied. The table looked lovely with its crisp white linen cloth and matching napkins, along with a vase of butter-yellow narcissi and the silver candlesticks, which had been a wedding present all those years ago. She wanted everything to be perfect for Matthew’s birthday dinner. She’d invited Laura but didn’t get the reaction she’d hoped.
‘Sorry, Mum, I’m working that night. Anyway, since when did we do family birthdays?’
She had a point. They didn’t. But for once Pamela wished they were one of those families that did.
‘It was just a thought, if you were free. Simon’s so far away and I thought it would be nice for a change.’
‘Sorry, Mum, I can’t this time. I hope Matthew appreciates it.’
‘He will,’ said Pamela hopefully. She wasn’t sure how she’d ended up with her family being spread so widely and she wished that they could get together more than once a year at Christmas but it wasn’t to be. Her friend, Janet, was forever hosting birthday parties for everyone from her aged mum to her newest granddaughter.
‘I’ve had to bake three cakes this week,’ she said, rolling her eyes as if she was exasperated when in reality she was over the moon. Pamela did her best to smile and swallow down her envy. It was foolish to wish for something that was so far out of her control – she knew this and yet, she still nurtured a vision of the dining room filled with her children and maybe a couple of grandchildren too. Ah, the thought of grandchildren was almost too much sometimes – another chance to cherish the young by showering miniature versions of your own children with pure indulgent love. What could be more wonderful than that?
She went to the kitchen to check on the lamb stew – it had always been Matthew’s favourite – served with dumplings and mashed potato. Not the fussy food they liked to eat now, all vegan this and chia seeds that – no, this was proper old-fashioned food that made you happy and possibly a little overweight. She stopped in her tracks when she found Barry humming to himself whilst he cut a large slab of chocolate cake.
‘Barry Trott! What on earth do you think you’re doing?’
He spun round in shock. Rumbled. ‘Pammy, you nearly gave me a heart attack!’
‘And a heart attack’s exactly what you’ll get if you carry on like this. That’s Matty’s birthday cake for tonight. I told you that.’
Barry looked confused. ‘Did you?’
‘Yes, of course I did,’ said Pamela, wresting the plate from his grasp and trying to slot the stolen piece back into place.’
‘I’m sorry. I must have forgotten.’
‘Mmm,’ muttered Pamela, doing her best to smooth over the dishevelled cake.
‘Do we have any biscuits?’ asked Barry, opening the cupboards.
‘No, we do not,’ said Pamela, shooing him away with a tea towel. ‘Have a piece of fruit. Honestly, I’ve got a big dinner planned for Matthew later so you can just wait.’
‘Fine. I’ll go and divide my perennials,’ he said huffily.
‘Make sure you leave yourself enough time to have a shower and get changed – we’re eating at seven.’
‘Anything else?’ asked Barry. ‘I mean am I allowed a cup of tea or is that forbidden too?’
‘Now don’t you take that tone with me, Barry Trott. I want us to have a nice dinner with Matty to celebrate his birthday – you’re not to ruin it.’
‘Yes, Oberstumpfenfuhrer – anything for the golden boy,’ muttered Barry under his breath as he headed out the back door.
‘C
heek of the man,’ murmured Pamela, standing back to appraise the cake. She had managed to patch it as best she could. She might just whip up another batch of chocolate fudge icing though to be sure.
The truth was that she just wanted Matthew to feel loved. She couldn’t help fearing that he was a bit lost these days. He’d been such a dear boy growing up – her ‘little helper’. She could remember him at Christmas, carefully opening the dark wood canteen of cutlery that had once belonged to her grandmother and polishing each knife, fork and spoon before laying the table for her. Laura had always wanted to help her mother with the food so Matthew had been permitted to take on this role by his bossy older sister, whilst Simon would trail after his brother, laying out the Christmas crackers. She smiled to herself now as she remembered them together, all gathered in the lounge whilst she and Barry watched them open present after present.
‘You spoil those children, Pamela,’ her mother had remarked as she sat in the corner, sipping her gin and orange, casting judgement on everything she saw. Her mother had never been a well or happy woman. She was widowed relatively young and had no time to indulge Pamela or her younger brother, Ernie.
Pamela couldn’t change this but she did make up her mind early on to follow a different path when it came to her own children. She would indulge them whenever she could and, above all, they would always know that they were loved. She was never sure if she’d been successful at this but she tried her best. Barry didn’t always help, of course, particularly when it came to Matthew. It was as if he was waiting to criticize, ready to be disappointed.
She heard a key in the door shortly after six-thirty and from the length of time it took for the door to be opened it was clear that Matthew was a little worse for wear.
‘Mummy, I’m home!’ he cried, before chuckling at his own hilarity.
Pamela went to greet him in the hall, smiling indulgently. ‘Are you all right, Matty?’
‘All right?’ he said. ‘All right? I’m more than all right, Mummy because I have you for a mother and I can smell something delicious cooking.’
She giggled like a teenager. ‘It’s your favourite.’
‘Is it, by jingo?’ he asked, putting an arm round her shoulder and kissing her on the cheek. She could smell beer and possibly whisky but she didn’t mind. He was an affable drunk.
‘Can I just say that you look peachy today, Mum.’
Pamela giggled again. ‘Peachy?’
‘Yeah.’ Matthew grinned. ‘Peachy and beautiful and about seventeen years old.’
‘Oh, get away with you.’
‘Watch out, he’s after something,’ warned Barry, walking down the stairs.
Pamela felt her shoulders tighten with irritation. ‘Oh for goodness’ sake, Barry. Why do you have to come out with comments like that? I told you I wanted this to be a special night.’
‘Dad’s a fun sponge,’ declared Matthew.
‘A fun sponge?’ Barry frowned.
‘Yes, Dad – you drain all the fun out of everything.’
‘I’d rather be a fun sponge than a sponger.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
Barry fixed him with a look as he reached the bottom of the stairs. ‘You know exactly what it means.’ He sniffed the air. ‘And you’re drunk. What kind of respect does that show your mother, who’s been slaving over a hot stove for you all day?’
‘Enough!’ shouted Pamela throwing up her hands. ‘That’s enough. You both need to stop arguing. I have cooked a birthday meal for Matthew today because he’s going out with his friends on his actual birthday and I would like us to sit at the table and have a civilized evening. Do you think we can manage that?’
Barry and Matthew exchanged hostile glances before looking sheepishly at Pamela.
‘Sorry, Mum.’
‘Sorry, Pammy.’
The meal started off quite well as Pamela dished up and everyone oohed about how good it looked and then ahhed about how good it tasted, but there’s only so many times you can compliment the chef on the quality of her mash.
‘Shall I open a bottle of wine?’ asked Matthew, standing up.
‘Haven’t you had enough?’ muttered Barry.
Pamela shot him a warning glance. ‘I’ll have one,’ she said. ‘Thanks, Matty.’
Matthew fetched a bottle of red wine and poured two glasses. Pamela lifted hers in a toast. ‘Happy birthday, Matty.’
‘Don’t I get one?’ complained Barry.
Pamela rolled her eyes. ‘Here,’ she said, handing him her glass and pouring another. ‘So as I was saying, happy birthday.’ She smiled and tapped her glass against Matthew’s.
‘Cheers, Mum. Cheers, Dad,’ said Matthew. ‘This stew is amazing, Mum.’
‘Thank you, dear. I’m glad you like it. So how’s it going at Doly’s shop?’
Matthew nodded. ‘Yeah, good. It’s just a couple of mornings but it all helps.’
‘So when are you going to get a proper job?’ asked Barry. Pamela frowned at him but he kept his gaze fixed on his son.
‘Erm, probably when hell freezes over,’ said Matthew with a shrug. ‘I mean that’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it, Dad?’
Barry adopted a look of angelic innocence. ‘I never said that, Matthew. I’m just curious, seeing as we’re the ones giving you board and lodging while you disappear off to God knows where and come home drunk. It would be good to know if there’s a plan.’
Matthew fixed him with a look. ‘Oh yeah. There’s a plan, Dad, but I don’t think you’d get it.’
‘Try me.’
Pamela wasn’t even aware that she’d thrown the plate until the meat, gravy, dumplings, mash and greens were sliding down the wall. ‘You can’t stop, can you?’ she shouted. They stared at her in horror. ‘Oh, you’re quiet now, aren’t you? You should listen to yourselves – all you do is argue and I’m sick of it, do you hear? Sick. Of. It.’ She threw down her napkin for added drama and made for the door. ‘You two can clear this lot up. Oh, and there’s cake if you want it!’ Pamela fled into the hall, hurrying upstairs to the box room. She slammed the door behind her and leant heavily against it, feeling her body shaking with anger.
Where had that come from? She never got angry. With anyone. She kept calm and carried on. Now she was losing the plot and chucking plates. She was surprised that she didn’t cry – she didn’t feel the need to dissolve into rivers of self-pitying tears. She just wanted them to stop arguing with one another and start noticing her again – to realize that she was still here and bloody well appreciate her a bit more.
She took out her albums and leafed through. Where were these people? What had they become? Why couldn’t life be as it was all those years ago? Look at those smiling faces. Life seemed so much simpler back then when all she had to do was wipe a face and receive a tight hug in return. She looked at the photo of her with Barry on their honeymoon – love’s young dream. She was smiling out of the photograph whilst Barry gazed at her with total adoration. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had looked at her like that, except Fran’s dog Alan maybe.
Pamela sighed. As far as she was concerned, she was staying up here with her memories for as long as possible – the past seemed far preferable to Barry and Matthew’s war zone.
A while later there was a tapping at the door. ‘Who is it?’ she demanded.
The door opened and Matthew’s face appeared wearing a decidedly sheepish expression. ‘I thought you might like a cup of tea,’ he said, holding out her favourite bone china mug.
‘Thank you,’ she said, taking it from him.
‘What are you looking at?’ he asked with a tentative smile.
‘Just the old photos.’
‘Wow, check out those flares,’ laughed Matthew, leaning over to look.
‘I made those at my dressmaking class, would you believe?’ said Pamela.
‘You’re a talent, Mum.’
‘Am I?’
He stared at her. ‘Of course you are,
you’re amazing.’ Pamela kept her gaze on him. ‘I’m sorry about earlier. Dad and I, well…we don’t always see eye to eye.’
‘You can say that again.’
Matthew laughed and sat down next to her on the bed. ‘Understatement of the century, eh? Sorry, Mum. I’ve cleaned up downstairs.’
Pamela winced. ‘Did it make a big mess?’
Matthew see-sawed his head from side to side. ‘A bit. But it’s fine.’
‘Sorry I lost my temper.’
‘No, it’s okay. It was our fault.’
‘What’s your dad doing now?’
‘Watching Gardeners’ World, I think.’
Pamela nodded. Same old, same old. ‘Mmm well, thanks for making me the tea.’
Matthew smiled. ‘I’m just going to pop out. I realize that Doly didn’t pay me today.’
Pamela glanced at her watch. ‘Don’t bother her now, she’s got three little girls and they’ll be in bed. How much do you need?’
Matthew screwed up his face. ‘Are you sure? I’ll pay you back.’ Pamela nodded. ‘Fifty should do it.’ He leant over to kiss her. ‘Thanks, Mum, you’re the best.’
Yes, thought Pamela as she went downstairs to find her purse. I am the best doormat in the whole world – welcoming, accommodating and happy to be trodden all over.
‘What’s up?’ asked Fran looking concerned as Pamela flopped down in the chair next to her when they met at the course a few days later.
‘Families,’ sighed Pamela.
‘Happiness is having a large, loving, caring, close-knit family in another city.’ Fran smiled.
Pamela snorted with laughter. ‘Very true – can I quote you on that?’
Fran held up her hands. ‘I can’t lie, George Burns said it first but I’m sure he won’t mind if you use it.’
‘Evening, shiny happy people,’ said Heather, taking a seat next to Pamela. ‘How are we all?’
‘Well,’ began Fran, ‘I finally persuaded the octogenarian, whose book I’m editing to tone down the sex scenes, rescued Alan from a tree after a cat chased him up there and refereed a disagreement between Jude and Charlie about…actually I’m not sure what that was about in the end, sweetcorn possibly.’