‘Can I buy us a takeaway or something on the way home, to save you cooking? I mean, the kids are staying with Jacob tonight now after all, aren’t they?’
They are. I rang him shortly after we arrived at the hospital and he agreed that it’s best if they stay where they are tonight, just in case. And I really don’t feel like cooking. It’s been quite a day.
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘There’s a fish and chip place just down the road. We’ll stop there. Good idea. Thanks, Mum.’
‘Great,’ she says. ‘And don’t worry. John’s tough. He’ll come through this, you wait and see.’
She reaches out a hand and pats my knee, and instantly I feel a little better. I’m still a little jittery after thinking I saw Mike still following me, earlier, but things could be so much worse. My dad might be sick, but he is tough and he’ll rally. And my mum is back. She’s back. And we’ll get through this together, won’t we?
Chapter 12
‘I can’t find my keys. Where are my bloody car keys?’
I’m rummaging frantically through the pile of envelopes and fast-food delivery leaflets on the hall table. I’m sure I left my keys here when we got back from the hospital last night but they seem to have vanished and I should have left for work fifteen minutes ago, so I’m starting to panic. I have so much to do today, and I need to go and see Dad at lunchtime too. I haven’t even called the ward yet to see how he is this morning, and …
‘Oh for goodness’ sake, where are they?’
Exasperated, I stomp into the kitchen. There’s every possibility that in my current distracted state of mind I’ve put the damn keys somewhere ridiculous, and I rush from microwave to mug cupboard, scanning their interiors and swearing under my breath. Robin, who arrived twenty minutes ago because I completely forgot to call her last night to tell her the kids would be staying with Jacob and therefore she wouldn’t be needed for the school run this morning, watches me with a bemused look on her face.
‘Erm … aren’t your keys more likely to be in your handbag, or on your bedside table, Beth?’ she says, as I peer into the fridge, slam the door shut and open the oven.
‘Already looked there. I’ve looked everywhere, Robin.’
I stop opening random doors and sigh.
‘Oh sod it, I give up. I’m calling a taxi. I’ll find the bloody things later. Mum will be here to let me in this evening and she has the spare front door key in case she wants to pop out. The kids won’t be back until later. Jacob’s going to pick them up from school and feed them so you can get off as soon as you’ve finished the cleaning Robin, thank you.’
She nods.
‘OK. And I’ll try to find your keys for you, don’t worry. They’ll turn up. Call your cab and I’ll make you a quick cuppa to drink while you wait. It’ll calm you down a bit.’
She turns to switch the kettle on and I take a deep breath.
‘Thanks, Robin. You’re an angel.’
I bring up the local taxi app on my phone and quickly book a cab. By the time I’ve finished, she’s handing me a mug.
‘I’m so sorry again about your dad,’ she says. ‘But it’s such insane news about your mum. No wonder you’re all over the place.’
I smile and nod as I sip. Robin still looks a bit shellshocked herself; I noticed her hand shaking a little as she scooped the teabag out of my drink. But as I wait for my taxi, I ponder the fact that it was actually her who made my day start badly. Mum had suggested that maybe I’d dropped my stupid missing keys on the driveway when I’d nipped down to the front gate to put some rubbish in the bin earlier, so I’d gone out to retrace my steps, and that was when I’d seen her, about twenty metres away down the street. My first thought had been: bugger, I completely forgot to call Robin last night! There’s no school run. She could have come later, dammit …
But as I quickly scanned the pavement by the bins, searching for my keys, and then looked down the road again, preparing to apologise, I stopped dead. Robin, in her running gear, was standing talking to a man, and laughing. And the man … oh come on, seriously? It was him, wasn’t it? I wasn’t imagining it, not this time. It was Mike. It was. The private detective. What on earth was he still doing here, hanging around? He was in running gear too this time, dark knee-length shorts and a black T-shirt with a black beanie covering his hair, but it was him. I was certain of it. I’d seen him often enough over the past few months to recognise his build, the general shape of him. So what the hell was he still doing in Cheltenham? And, more to the point right now, why was he talking to Robin? Did she know him? Or …
A cold hand of fear suddenly clutched at my heart. Had he stopped her in the street because he knew she worked for me? Was he telling her something? Passing on information? Passing on what he knew about me? I stood motionless, staring.
Please, no. Please.
And yet … they were both laughing now. It looked … Well, it didn’t look as though a serious conversation was going on. Quite the opposite in fact. It looked friendly, casual. Did she know him? Then, as I watched, I saw Robin hand something to him, something small and square that I couldn’t see properly. OK, what on earth was going on? Unexpectedly, the anxiety vanished, just like that, and instead I felt a rush of anger. Enough, now.
‘OI!’ I yelled. ‘YOU! What are you doing?’
They both turned, wide-eyed, and I started to jog down the street towards them. For a moment, the man stood still, watching me approach. Then he turned abruptly and ran off down the High Street. By the time I reached Robin, he’d disappeared round the bend in the road.
‘Beth? What’s wrong?’
Robin was frowning at me and I looked at her and then down the road again, trying to catch my breath, panting even after such a short run.
‘HIM!’ I shouted, pointing in the direction he’d gone. ‘Him. What did he want? How do you know him?’
She took a step backwards, looking startled.
‘That bloke? I don’t know him. I was running up the road to yours and he was coming in the other direction and as he passed me, he dropped his wallet. I called him back and gave it to him. That’s all. Why? What is it, Beth?’
‘No, you were chatting. Laughing. What was that all about?’ I’d stopped shouting but I was still agitated, still breathing heavily. Did she think I was stupid? I’d seen them.
Robin’s cheeks flushed.
‘Nothing! He was kind of cute, that’s all. And he’s a fellow runner. We were just talking about how annoying it is to have to carry stuff, finding places to put everything so you don’t lose it, you know? I don’t understand, Beth. Why does it matter? Do you know him?’
I stared at her for a moment. Was I being paranoid? I hadn’t slept well again last night, worrying about Dad, still trying to process the reappearance of my mother. Was it not Mike, after all? Was I going mad? I shook my head.
Oh hell. Robin must think I’m delusional.
‘Robin, I’m so sorry. I just thought … there’s been a bloke hanging around a bit, that’s all. I never mentioned it to you. I didn’t want to freak you out … I just thought it was him again. But I was obviously wrong. I’m really sorry. I’ve had rather a lot going on over the weekend. Actually, that’s a bit of an understatement. Come on, let’s go in and I’ll tell you all about it. There’s someone I want you to meet.’
We’d walked back to the house together and I’d apologised again, feeling like an idiot as I explained that the kids weren’t even around today, and then filled her in. She’d been appropriately sympathetic about Dad, immediately telling me she’d be more than happy to take on extra childcare or whatever I needed while he was ill. And then we’d gone into the kitchen where Mum was drinking coffee at the island, and I’d introduced them. Robin nearly fell over with shock.
‘Your … your mum? But …’
She was wide-eyed, staring from me to my mother and we looked at each other and laughed.
‘Think you’re going to get this a lot over the next few days, love,’ Mum said wry
ly.
‘I think I am! Are you OK, Robin?’
Robin swallowed and nodded, clearly trying to pull herself together. She knew, of course, that I hadn’t seen my mother for thirty years; I’d briefly told her the story of Mum’s disappearance as we drank tea together one day not long after she started working for me. It was bound to be somewhat surprising, therefore, for her to come to work on a Monday morning and find said runaway mother sitting in my kitchen.
‘I’m fine, gosh. It’s just … well, it’s a bit of a shock, isn’t it? Lovely to meet you, Mrs … erm …’
She held out a hand and Mum smiled and shook it.
‘Alice is fine,’ she said.
‘Of course. Lovely to meet you, Alice.’
Now, as I wait impatiently in the hall for my cab, I wonder if the two of them will be OK here in the house together while I’m at work. For the first few minutes Robin had simply stared at my mother; then, although she isn’t usually one for long conversations, she began to bombard her with questions.
‘So … where do you live now? And how did you track Beth down? And how long has it been since you’ve seen each other?’ I heard her say as I went into the downstairs loo for a quick pee, making me wonder if I should have sent Robin home today and let Mum have some space for her first full day alone in Cheltenham. I don’t want her to feel overwhelmed, although I suppose it’s only natural that people are going to have questions. I certainly did. I still do. But should I tell Robin to go home?
On the other hand, it’s so nice to have a clean house on a Monday evening, and she’s here now …
I hear the toot of a car horn outside. It’ll be fine, I think.
‘Got to go! Have fun you two! See you this evening,’ I shout, and there are answering yells from upstairs, where Mum’s now gone to brush her teeth, and from the kitchen, where Robin’s already started cleaning. So, still wondering where on earth my flipping keys are, I head for the taxi and work.
At lunchtime I rush to the hospital to see Dad, who I’ve been assured is stable and comfortable. He’s asleep for my entire twenty-minute visit, but I chat quietly to him anyway, telling him about Robin’s shock at meeting Mum, and the saga of my lost keys. I don’t mention Mum coming to visit again though, as that, it seems, is a no-no. Over our soft-shell crab and chips last night I’d tentatively asked her if she wanted to see Dad again and about how she’d felt when she saw him.
She’d taken a bite of a large chip and chewed it slowly, contemplating her answer.
‘It felt … weird, to be honest. He looked so … so old, Beth. I mean, I know he’s got twenty years on me, but he seemed even older than that, you know? Like a really old man. I mean, I know he’s sick and everything, but … well, I’m not sure what I felt. It was just strange. And sorry, but I don’t think I will go and see him again. I don’t think it’s a good idea, for either of us. I came back for you, not for him. I hope you understand that? And I hope you don’t think it makes me sound cold, or unfeeling, or anything. But I have to be honest, you know?’
I nodded. I did understand. I wished things were different, but I got it. It was what it was.
And so I just promise Dad I’ll pop in again on my way home this evening and race back to work, where I wolf down a ham sandwich in the staffroom while I hastily finish off the notes I’ve made for a meeting later with two of the GPs. We’re hoping to redecorate some of the consulting rooms later this year and we need to discuss timescales and budget and all sorts of other details. The meeting’s scheduled for 3pm, but at five to Dr Johnson sticks her head round the door.
‘Beth, I’m so sorry but can we delay a bit? I’m snowed under. Is four OK? I’ve asked Paul and he’s fine with it if you are?’
‘Of course. Any time this afternoon is fine by me, Gabby.’
I smile and she grins broadly, gorgeous white teeth flashing; she gives me a thumbs-up and disappears again. Gabrielle Johnson is probably my favourite of our five doctors, if I’m honest, although I’m rather fond of all of them. But Gabby is lovely. Born in Jamaica, she came to the UK with her family as a teenager and we always say she brought that Caribbean sunshine with her. It’s rare to see her without a smile on her pretty face, and the patients adore her. I’m loving her even more now after my hectic morning, breathing a little sigh of relief that I’ve got some extra time before the meeting. I’m just about to start updating the surgery Facebook page – another one of my jobs – when Ruth walks in.
I sat her and Deborah down first thing this morning when I got in and told them the news about Mum – and Dad, of course – too, and their reactions were similar to Robin’s. Sympathy and offers of ‘anything we can do’ for Dad, and: ‘WHAT? But … how? When? How on earth? But I thought …’
This was Ruth, who had leapt from her chair when I described how I’d found my mother on my doorstep, and was clutching the chunky faux pearls at her throat as she gaped at me, wide-eyed. Deborah, meanwhile, was sitting stock-still, open-mouthed with surprise.
‘Wow,’ she said. ‘Your … your mother?’
‘Yep. My long-lost mother,’ I replied. I was rather enjoying all these reactions. I’d told them a bit more then, about how she’d found me, and about my sister (my sister! I’m still trying to take that in myself, and I can’t wait to speak to her, to see her, when we FaceTime later this week). They’d both quickly recovered from their shock, hugging me and saying how excited they both were for me, how thrilled they’d be to meet Mum, before Ruth had to rush off to unlock the front door for early surgery. Meanwhile, Deborah had, to my amusement, got up and almost walked straight into the wall before wandering off back to her room still shaking her head and muttering under her breath, ‘How extraordinary …’
Now Ruth waves a battered thermos flask at me.
‘This is Nadia’s. She’s over in her doorway again and I said I’d fill it up for her. I’ve got a packet of Hobnobs in my drawer. I’ll give her a few of those too. Do you want one?’
I shake my head.
‘No thanks. I’m not the biggest fan of Hobnobs. But listen, let me take those out to her. I haven’t met her yet and Gabby’s just moved our meeting to four, so I’ve got a bit of spare time.’
She shrugs.
‘Yeah, if you like. She’s a sweetie, but she might be a bit cagey with you at first. She’s a tad wary, you know?’
‘OK. I’ll be nice. I just feel so sorry for her, even more so now that I’ve got both my parents again, for some reason. She must have nobody if she’s living a life like that. It’s tragic.’
‘It is. But talking of parents, how are you feeling, really, about your mum suddenly coming back? I know it’s fantastic and all that but … well, it must be so weird too. Are you OK?’
She picks up the kettle, shakes it, and walks to the sink to top it up. I think for a moment and then say, ‘I think so. It’s really weird, yes, and honestly, if you told me this time last week that my mother would be back and staying in my spare room I wouldn’t have believed you. I’d have said there was far too much water under the bridge to just let her back in. I’d have said I was way too angry and too upset about what she put us through … but, I don’t know. Somehow, when I saw her – well, it was just joy, Ruth. I’m not angry; I’m not anything negative really. That might change down the road, who knows. Maybe I’m kind of in a strange sort of honeymoon period. But right now, I’m just happy. I’ve got my mum back, and that’s all that matters.’
Ruth nods slowly, and grins.
‘Well, that’s wonderful. It really is. I’m bloody delighted for you,’ she says. ‘Now, go and spread some of that happiness. I’m sure Nadia could do with a bit, bless her.’
As I cross the road to Nadia’s doorway clutching the filled flask and three biscuits wrapped in tinfoil, I can see that she’s engrossed in a book, a grubby paperback she’s holding close to her face.
As I approach her, I call out, ‘Nadia! Hi. I’ve got some tea for you!’
She looks up, a startled expressi
on on her face. She’s wearing the same brown felt hat I saw her in the other day, pulled low over her forehead, and although the day is mild she’s bundled up in a thick padded jacket, fingerless gloves, and a tatty knitted scarf which is wrapped around her nose and mouth. Dark greeny-grey eyes squint up at me and she shrinks back a little, looking alarmed.
‘Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,’ I say gently. I bend down and put the flask and biscuits on the step next to her.
‘I’m Beth, from the surgery?’ I wave a hand vaguely in the direction of our building.
‘I work with Ruth – you know Ruth? I said I’d come over with these. I was supposed to be in a meeting but it’s not until four now, so … Anyway, we’ve filled your flask, and there’s some Hobnobs too … Is there anything else I can get you? Anything you need? More books maybe? I’ve noticed you read a lot. Or maybe …’
I pause, feeling uncomfortable. I’m waffling, and she’s just staring at me.
‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘I’ll leave you in peace.’
I turn to leave, but as I start to walk away she calls after me.
‘Beth? Thank you. It’s nice to meet you. And some new books would be lovely, ta.’
Her voice is hoarse, as if she’s smoked for decades, but her tone is polite – kind even. I turn back and smile.
‘Of course, no problem. What sort of stuff do you like to read? What’s that one? Oh, Agatha Christie, fantastic.’
I’m a big Christie fan myself, more at home with her cosy mysteries than with the darker, more violent crime novels some of my friends love. I peer at the cover of the book that’s now resting on the blanket covering Nadia’s legs. It’s The ABC Murders, one of my own favourites.
‘I’ve got loads of her books, if you want to borrow a few,’ I say. ‘What about Crooked House, or Endless Night. Have you read those?’
‘Not for years, and I forget. That would be kind,’ she says, and although I can only see her eyes, I can tell she’s smiling.
The Happy Family Page 7