by Liz Davies
‘It probably isn’t,’ Ron agreed. ‘But I’m not the one who didn’t know my wife had bunked off work yesterday. I’m also not the one who’s waiting for her to start work today. It makes me think there’s something wrong.’
Ron had got that right – there certainly was something wrong.
‘What’s she said?’ Brett asked.
‘She told me about the two mothers coming to stay for Christmas and the dog stealing the joint of meat. The way she told the story made me laugh.’
‘But?’
‘She wasn’t laughing, not deep down, I could tell.’
‘There’s more isn’t there?’
Ron heaved a sigh. ‘I don’t like breaking confidences, but she was talking about going away.’
Brett gulped, his coffee going down the wrong way, and for a few moments he coughed and spluttered. Ron patted him on the back, until he’d regained control of his throat.
‘Where?’ he squeaked.
Ron said, ‘No idea, mate.’
‘Why?’ It came out as a wail.
‘I’m taking a bit of a guess here and I might be wrong, but I think she feels undervalued.’
‘But I worship her!’ he protested.
Ron gave him a wry smile. ‘Have you told her recently?’
He bit his bottom lip. He often told her he loved her. Didn’t he? Come to think of it, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d said those three little words to her, and he’d certainly never told her he worshipped her.
He assumed she knew how he felt about her.
‘There is something,’ Ron said, as Brett tried to gather his thoughts and make sense of what he’d just heard. ‘When I asked her where she’d go if she ran away, she said the south coast. I told her Brixham was nice. She might have gone there.’
Brett stared at him. He had no idea where his wife might have gone, but Brixham sounded as good a place to start looking as any.
‘She’s gone away, hasn’t she?’ Ron said, rolling his sleeping bag up and wrapping it in a piece of plastic.
Brett nodded, miserably. ‘I’ll hang around here for a bit and see if she shows up for work. If I give you my number, could you phone me if you happen to see her?’
Ron shook his head sadly. ‘No mobile, mate. And there’s no phone boxes around here, neither.’
‘Well if you do see her, will you tell her I love her very much?’
‘Not on your nelly. You’ve got to tell her that yourself. Good luck, mate, and thanks for breakfast.’ With that, Ron was off down the street, carrying his every possession with him.
Brett watched him go, feeling humble. He knew nothing of Ron’s story, but just speaking with him had made him feel immensely grateful for his family and his home.
He just wished Kate was by his side now, so he could tell her exactly how much she meant to him.
Chapter 31
With a selection of shopping bags piled at her feet, Kate sat in a little tea shop which was hidden in a small side street, a pot of tea in front of her and her fingers curled around the handle of a fine, bone-china cup, and stared into space.
She’d had a strange morning, she mused, unable to remember when she’d last spent a couple of hours alone browsing in shops. The last time she’d gone clothes shopping, it had been for school uniforms – hardly a delight – and had involved several arguments about shoes and a stroppy Portia complaining that the regulation school skirts were too long.
Ellis was easier to shop with in some ways, because there wasn’t a uniform code in college, but the fuss she made over what she bought was epic. To be honest, the only reason Kate had been allowed to accompany her daughter at all, was to pay for and carry the purchases – she’d had felt like a packhorse with a credit card.
She hadn’t gone clothes shopping for herself in ages, possibly years. She tended to buy practical clothes that lasted, and wore them on a rotational basis, with a few outfits which were for “best”, but which hadn’t seen the light of day in aeons, because she’d not gone anywhere to wear them.
Today had been a revelation. Brixham was hardly the fashion capitol of Devon, but it did have a couple of lovely little boutiques, where she was left alone to browse and try on to her heart’s content. She’d even taken some things into the changing room which she wouldn’t normally have given a second glance at; there was a good reason for that, she discovered, as she tried the more daring items on and concluded that they weren’t for her, but at least she’d given them a go.
She’d treated herself to a couple of skirts, some thick winter tights, a pair of gorgeous leather boots, and some pretty tops. A pair of black slim-fit jeans (her old ones weren’t black anymore, but a washed-out shade of grey) completed the bulk of her purchases. She’d added a pack of knickers and some toiletries, and had bought two books. Two! She sincerely hoped she’d manage to read them both.
In fact, she was contemplating starting one of them now, (anything was better than staring out of the steamed-up window and trying not to think of the chaos at home) when a quavering little voice asked, ‘Do you mind if I join you? It’s just that there aren’t any tables free.’
Kate looked up to see a tiny woman of possibly ninety years old wobbling precariously as she tried to manoeuvre herself between a chair and the table, while clutching a shopping bag in one hand and a walking stick in the other.
‘Here, let me,’ Kate said, jumping up to move the chair so the elderly lady could sit down. ‘Have you ordered?’ she asked her.
‘They know what I want,’ the woman said. ‘I ’as the same thing every day, excepts when I don’t,’ and she cracked a crinkle-faced smile. ‘This is my second home.’
‘It is nice in here,’ Kate agreed. ‘Cosy, and the cake looks lovely.’ She hadn’t wanted any herself, still full of the huge breakfast she’d devoured, but the scones, cakes, and pastries looked delicious.
‘I’m Mrs Trent, but you can call me Essie,’ the old lady said. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Kate.’
‘Got a second one?’
‘Peters.’
‘I’ve not seen you in here before.’
That’s because I’ve never been in here before,’ Kate said.
‘Eh?’
‘I said, that’s because—’
‘I heard what you said. There’s no need to shout; I’m not deaf yet, and I’ve got all my marbles, too.’
‘I’m sure you have,’ Kate said with a smile. She loved old people. The charity shop had its regular elderly contingent and they were always a hoot. Although, there were currently two elderly ladies in Kate’s life who she wasn’t all that keen on right now...
‘Why haven’t you been in here before?’ Essie wanted to know.
‘Because I only arrived in Brixham yesterday.’
‘On holiday, are you?’
‘You could say that.’
‘I am saying that,’ Essie countered, glancing around and tutting. ‘They’re slow today. I could die of old age before I get my cuppa.’
Kate smiled again, trying not to let her amusement show in case she offended the old lady.
‘Where’s your husband?’ Essie wanted to know, focusing on Kate once more.
Kate raised her eyebrows in surprise.
‘Your rings,’ Essie said. ‘I’m not blind either, although I do need my specs for reading.’
‘In work, I expect,’ Kate replied.
‘Don’t you know?’
‘Not really.’
‘You gotta keep an eye on fellas. If you don’t, they have a habit of straying. About time,’ she said, as a waitress arrived with an espresso and a biscotti. ‘Ta, love.’
The waitress gave the old lady a fond pat on the shoulder and winked at Kate. ‘When this one says jump, we all ask how high. You wouldn’t believe she’s ninety-seven, would you?’
‘Oi! It’s rude telling people a lady’s age.’
‘Get on with you,’ the waitress said. ‘You love everyone knowing how fantastic
you are for your age.’
Essie simpered, picking up her tiny cup wit gnarled fingers. ‘I even have some of my own teeth,’ she announced, to Kate’s amusement. ‘And I do all my own washing and ironing. I have a woman in to clean, but she’s not that good. No one wants to do cleaning anymore – it’s too much like hard work. Leaves a ring around the bath, she does. A wipe and a spit, and she calls it done.’ Essie peered at Kate over the rim of her cup. ‘Don’t want a job, do you?’
‘No thanks, I’ve got one.’
‘Doing what?’
‘I work in a charity shop.’
‘Which one?’
‘Wyvern Hospice.’
‘Never heard of it. Where is it?’
‘They’re based in The Midlands.’
‘Like it, do you, working in a shop?’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘I used to work in a shop. I’ve worked in an office or two, a bank, an estate agent, and on a fishing boat during the war.’
‘Wow, you’ve certainly worked in a lot of places.’
‘That’s not the half of it,’ Essie said, dunking her biscotti in her coffee then popping the soggy end in her mouth and chomping enthusiastically. ‘It’d make your hair curl if you’d worked in some of the places I have. Mind you, when I got married, my Frank insisted I got a proper job, so I worked in the doctors as a receptionist for years. Used to come in handy when I had trouble with me water works. Didn’t have to wait for an appointment, see. The doctors were on tap, so to speak.’ She laughed so hard, Kate worried that the old woman was going to fall off her chair, and she guessed Essie had made that particular joke more than once.
‘Right, back to your husband,’ Essie said, stuffing the rest of her biscuit into her mouth. ‘I take it he’s not staying with you in Brixham?’
Crikey, but this lady was nosey, Kate thought. ‘No, he’s not,’ she replied, mildly.
‘Got any kids?’
‘Three.’
‘What sort?’
‘Teenagers, more or less.’
‘I meant, boys or girls.’
‘Oh, two girls and a boy.’
‘Are they here with you?’
‘Er... no.’
‘Why not?’
‘It’s complicated.’
‘Life often is, girly; that’s what makes it so interesting.’
Kate shook her head. Essie was a character, all right, and a nosey one at that.
‘Do you love ’em?’ the old lady demanded.
‘Of course I do!’
‘There’s no “of course” about it. You get to choose your husband, but you don’t get to choose your parents or your kids. You gets what you’re given, like it or lump it. I have the feeling you’re lumping your lot right now.’
‘You have?’
‘You’ve got a face like a wet weekend in August. Take my advice – not that you’ll listen to an old biddy like me – whatever has got you looking like you’ve lost a shilling and found a sixpence it’s got to be better than not having a family at all. I lost my Frank when I was seventy-three. Been without him nearly twenty-five years, I have. We never had any kiddies and both our parents went years and years ago. Well, they didn’t last long in them days; not like now, when sixty is the new forty and everyone expects to live to a hundred. Well, let me tell you, old age is a bitch. So is being lonely and on your own.’
Essie stood up and reached for her walking stick before Kate had a chance to hand it to her.
‘Let me see you to the door,’ Kate offered.
‘Nonsense, I can see my own self to the door, ta very much. Now, mind you heed my words. No matter how bad they are, they’re still family. Unless they’re really, really bad, like murderers or the likes, and then you might have to wash your hands of them.’
Kate watched as Essie toddled towards the door, giving the young man who opened it for her a beaming smile, and Kate shook her head. She had a feeling if she’d opened the door for Essie, she’d have got a scowl instead of a smile. Mind you, the man who’d opened it for Essie was quite a hunk. No wonder Essie had smiled.
‘Is she all right going home alone?’ Kate asked the waitress who came to collect the cups.
‘She’s not going home,’ the woman said. ‘If I know Essie, she’s off to the betting shop. Then she’ll pop into the pub for a port and lemon afterwards.’
‘She seems a handful, but lovely with it,’ Kate said, with a laugh.
‘Oh, she’s a handful all right. Leads her husband a merry dance, she does.’
‘She told me her Frank had died twenty-odd years ago.’
The woman rolled her eyes. ‘He did. This is her second marriage, and this one is alive and kicking and is a good fifteen years younger than she is.’ The waitress lowered her voice. ‘Essie says she only married him for sex.’
Kate barked out a laugh. ‘Dear God, the woman is incorrigible.’
‘She certainly is. She’s like one of the family though, and everyone looks out for her, especially since she hasn’t got any children.’
Meeting Essie had brightened Kate’s morning, lifting her mood from her sombre musings.
The old lady was right, Kate realised. Family was everything, but the longer she stayed in Brixham, the longer she understood just how dysfunctional hers was, especially considering no one had anything to be dysfunctional about. It wasn’t as though she and Brett had split up and gone on to have other relationships and other children as a result. There were no step-parents or step-siblings, and the nuclear family was a single unit, with all of its members living under the same roof. So why was everyone so darned miserable all the time?
Kate wanted to return home, she really did. But not just yet. This trip had gone from running away before she’d totally lost it, to teaching them all a lesson – herself included. Now that she had some space (both physically and in her head) she could see things a little clearer. Maybe she wouldn’t wait until Boxing Day before she went home. It would be nice to be there when the children opened their presents. She’d never missed that, and she was positive she didn’t want to miss it now.
That was it – she’d stay here until tomorrow and drive back in the morning.
She only hoped someone had thought to pick up the turkey from the butcher, otherwise they’d be eating whatever was in the freezer for Christmas lunch.
Chapter 32
Home might be where the heart is, but Brett wasn’t feeling it when he walked into his hall after his worrying chat with Ron, to be met with a bouncing, hyperactive Pepe, three demanding children, and two equally demanding elderly ladies.
‘Will someone please put this dog outside?’ he yelled, as the daft animal mounted his leg the second he opened the front door. He hadn’t even managed to take his coat off before the silly creature had gripped his calf with its front paws, while wearing an expression of intense concentration.
Trying not to hurt Pepe, Brett gently shook his leg, hoping to dislodge him. When that failed, he prised the dog’s front paws from around his leg and stepped away, only for the poodle to launch itself at him again.
‘Beverley, will you see to your dog!’ he yelled, hoping his mother-in-law was in shouting distance.
‘She’s in the bath,’ his mother said. ‘That ghastly beast has been humping everything in sight since I got up. Beverley needs to get it seen to by the vet. Nasty thing.’
Brett, finally free of the over-excited dog, bent down to pick it up.
Pepe growled.
Brett flinched back.
The little sod – he was good enough to hump, but when it came to picking Pepe up the dog didn’t want anything to do with him.
‘Pass me one of the tea towels from the kitchen,’ he said to his mother, as Pepe continued to growl and show his teeth. Brett was quite impressed that such a little thing had the balls to stand up to him. Ah yes, talking of balls, Brett agreed that it was Pepe’s bits which were causing the problem – he might be a much calmer and more obedient dog without them.
Helen threw him a tea towel; Brett caught it and threw it over the dog.
Pepe, as Brett expected, didn’t appreciate the manoeuvre, erupting into a frenzy of squirming and growling. Gingerly, careful to keep his fingers away from the bitey end, he wrapped the dog’s head as firmly as he could without being savaged through the cloth, picked the poodle up and made a dash for the back door. He opened it quickly and thrust Pepe outside, still with the cloth over the poodle’s head.
Brett peered through the glass to check that Pepe had worked himself free of the tea towel, satisfied that the mutt was in no immediate danger of throttling himself as he shook the offending fabric off and launched his irate little self at the door in a flurry of high-pitched barks and frantic scrabbling of claws. Brett winced, hoping the door could withstand the onslaught. The dog might be small, but he had a darned big attitude.
When he turned back to face the kitchen, his mother was wearing an expression of dissatisfaction. ‘She’s not come back, yet,’ she said, her lips a thin line.
‘No.’
‘Out gallivanting, I expect.’
What the hell was gallivanting, Brett wanted to know, but he couldn’t be bothered to ask.
‘I’m not surprised,’ his mother continued, following him into the lounge as he hunted for the laptop.
‘Dad?’ His eldest was already in there.
‘Hello, Ellis. Have you seen the laptop?’
‘I can’t get hold of Mum. I want her to drop into Boots in Worcester and pick me up some foundation – I’ve run out.’
‘Why can’t you get it yourself? You’re not exactly doing anything.’
‘I am, I’m meeting Riley. I don’t have time to go into Worcester.’
‘And you think your mother has?’
Ellis gave him a belligerent stare. ‘What are you doing home?’ she asked. Then a calculating look spread across her elfin features.
‘No,’ Brett said. ‘Before you ask, I’m not going to fetch it for you. I’ve got other things to do.’
‘Like what?’ she demanded, as if he couldn’t possibly be doing anything more important than running errands for her.