by Jane Gilley
In fact, Marjorie was so fixated on the word ‘Gracie’ that she forgot who had said what to upset her. But that wasn’t a particular good thing because now Marjorie was starting to worry about whether Gracie would ask her to move out so she could move her new boyfriend into their flat.
Snapped out of her reverie by Eva blustering into the canteen and shooing everyone back to class, Marjorie was pleased to discover she’d got herself out of a potentially awkward moment with Stacy by saying they’d talk later. More importantly, the doctor’s advice had worked on this occasion. She hoped it would continue to work when she came across other instances she felt stressed by.
‘Right, class, so what we’re going to do until the end of this lesson and each subsequent lesson, I might add, is to draw something you’ll be amazed you can actually do. Something, in fact, you’ll be proud to take home to your adoring family. So for today’s lesson we’re going to draw a building from memory – something you’re familiar with or really care about. Like your home or a favourite school or church. Anything, really, and I’ll be coming round helping you all out. Small classes are the best because I get to give everyone premium learning time. Okay, Stacy, let’s start with you, shall we?’
At the end of the lesson, however, Marjorie didn’t think Dora would be proud to show her mother the picture of their hotel with the chimney, looking like a giraffe poking its head out.
‘Not quite a chimney pot, is it, Dora!’ Eva had said.
Nor Stacy who, in a fit of annoyance with herself, had torn her paper into a zillion pieces because Eva had said, for the second time, ‘No, it’s not quite right. Start again and just draw from the heart.’
Stacy said she hadn’t been in touch with her heart recently. Plus they only had fifteen minutes to go and she certainly didn’t have the heart to start over.
As they all left the premises, looking somewhat glum, Marjorie wondered if anyone would be attending the drawing class, again, next month.
Chapter 15
Marjorie was fidgeting with her sleeve. She’d wanted to look fresh and relaxed but it was another of those clammily hot July days and whilst her pale blue jacket, edged in silver, looked the epitome of summer, the synthetic fabric made it feel a tad damp around her shoulders. She was also sure she’d put on weight because it didn’t seem to hang the way it used to, over her matching dress, which – in turn – made her feel uncomfortable with her choice of outfit.
She’d asked for a glass of water to take her mind off things. Things being that she’d arranged for Gracie and her new boyfriend Steven to meet her for lunch in one of the light and airy restaurants near the waterfront because she felt it was the right thing to do. She knew she had to meet Steven before things progressed further between him and Gracie, as she suspected they might, but she didn’t want to meet him in their home. That would’ve been a step too far. To Marjorie it would have felt as though he was intruding on their life, and she wasn’t ready for that kind of intrusion between herself and her daughter in their own environment. She’d deemed it far better to meet up ‘off site’, as it were, in a more controlled environment and sincerely hoped it wasn’t going to turn into an ordeal for her, rather than a pleasant afternoon out.
Marjorie glanced at her watch. They were late. What was Gracie thinking? Surely she’d realise her mother would be highly anxious about the whole situation and its implications? Gracie was never normally late, unless they couldn’t find anywhere to park? She checked her mobile phone to see if Gracie had sent a text. Nothing. Or maybe the lateness was down to this new boyfriend? Maybe he wasn’t the punctual sort. Maybe he wasn’t even the right sort of person for her lovely daughter. Marjorie’s mouth felt dry. She took a large gulp of water and then realised she had hiccups.
Oh no!
Marjorie didn’t normally drink alcohol but this wasn’t a normal situation. It was fast deteriorating and she hadn’t even met the chap yet! ‘I need a drink,’ she said to herself but it came out rather loud. Oh boy, did she need a drink. Maybe just a little one, like a sherry, to calm her nerves. It’s what she’d used to drink when Oliver was alive. Oh, please stop thinking about him, Marj. That’s what her doctor told her to do when thoughts of him popped up from the depths. (Push them back down again.) Oh no! Now she couldn’t stop thinking about him. Right, that’s it. She needed alcohol to calm her frayed nerves.
She was about to call for a waiter, when she felt a hand on her shoulder and she turned.
‘Hello, Mother,’ Gracie began, with a wide smile. ‘This is Steven!’
Marjorie, nervously, glanced up at the tall young man by her side, wearing a light-coloured suit; his dark hair was short, his face freshly shaved. He, too, was smiling, genially. It was also a smile that reached his dark grey eyes, Marjorie noticed, as he extended his right hand and gave a slight bow.
‘Very pleased to meet you, Mrs Sykes. Or may I call you Marjorie? Gracie has told me so much about you …’
***
Stacy had always wanted to be loved, she realised. But the relationships she’d had so far hadn’t yielded the feeling she associated with the word ‘love’. Love was what she’d felt for her cats; a cuddly, peaceful feeling. Well, apart from Pooch and Chater. And there was that chap on the telly she used to fancy on one of the TV programmes, although she couldn’t remember the programme nor his name.
She stared absentmindedly out of the window as she chopped the cucumber and the peppers and prepared the salad. Her mother had told both her and Peter to never expect too much of anything from life because life wasn’t usually kind. She had felt badly let down by Mike. They could’ve taken the world by storm the way she’d felt about him all those years ago. And she’d never met anyone else since, mainly because of her cats. She’d let the cats rule her life. That way, she hadn’t needed to feel pressured about meeting anyone new or having a fabulous social life because the cats always served as an excuse as to why she never had time for all that.
Her work colleagues asked if she’d come to their Christmas staff party, every year, but she’d always refused. Elsa had once asked if she wanted to go on holiday with her and her family because she said it would’ve been great to have Stacy with her instead of just her mum and dad. But she’d turned the offer down because she said there was no one to look after her cats for the week. Perhaps that’s why Elsa had started pulling back from their relationship and had never been at home when Stacy had rung? Perhaps that was why people had stopped asking her out? Was she even worthy of being asked out?
She’d been so pleased – and also relieved – that Peter had been thrilled to hear from her.
‘Wow, sis! Is that really you? Oh wow! Hey, Marvin, my sister Stacy’s on the phone. I can’t believe it!’
They hadn’t communicated in over nine years, but they’d never been close as siblings. Maybe it was different when you got older; maybe you just felt differently about things, she’d thought. His boyfriend, Marvin, even spoke to her on the phone that day. They’d already moved in together and couldn’t speak highly enough of each other, putting the phone onto speaker, so they could all have a proper conversation together.
‘Thanks, princess,’ Marvin said hoarsely when Stacy invited them over. ‘We’d simply lurve to come over for the afternoon to have a meal so I can meet you. Wouldn’t we, Pete?’
It had seemed like a great idea at the time. Or was she being naïve? But Stacy couldn’t wait to see either of them. Would Peter’s good looks have changed? Perhaps he might have filled out more. And what would Marvin look like? Oh well, she’d soon know. She’d invited them both for a late lunch that Saturday, being as there was nothing on in her Afternoon Tea Club diary for that weekend.
She’d already decided it was going to be a lovely weekend. She was going to watch as much TV as possible and she was going to go into the city centre to have a stroll around the park tomorrow. People did things like that at weekends, she knew. And she’d even booked one of her holiday days off, from the library, on Tues
day because a) it was usually very quiet on a Tuesday and b) because she was going to spend some money on revamping her wardrobe for once. She hadn’t done anything like that in years. Yes, life was certainly starting to look a lot better for her now; even though she did feel guilty about the cats not having the benefit of her care. But her mother was right. It had to be done because it had all got out of hand.
She’d had another conversation with her mother only last night and she’d invited her parents over for Saturday lunch too. She knew things could be quieter on the farm on Saturdays and from what her mother had told her when she was last there, they rarely did anything with their Saturdays. In fact, her mother had jumped at the chance to visit her.
‘Oh, Stacy, I’ve been waiting for you to ask us over. I can’t wait to see what the flat looks like now. I came with your dad when that John rang us about your fall, you see. I saw how awful it was. So it’d be lovely to come and see you tomorrow. Wouldn’t it, Jerry?’
Stacy couldn’t hear her father’s response in the background.
‘Okay then, Mum, I’ll see you around 1.30 p.m. tomorrow. Bye then.’
It was almost that time now, Stacy noted as she put the salad bowl on the table. But they might all be late. Lots of things could hold them up, she knew. She’d rarely been bang on time for work when she’d had the cats.
There! All done. The table looked nice, anyway.
She didn’t have enough chairs but someone could sit on the sofa if they wanted. She’d put slices of ham and cheese and chicken pieces on serving platters and there was the salad and cold potatoes and some olives and some bread and butter – all things she’d got from the supermarket that morning. She’d taken ages in the supermarket just picking things up and marvelling at how much choice there was. She’d even managed to pick out a bottle of red wine. She hoped they liked red wine. Well, the assistant in the supermarket had said most people liked red wine best. But they could have lemonade if they didn’t like red wine or if they were driving. She didn’t want to get anyone into trouble with drink-driving. And for afters there was lemon mousse or chocolate cake, which was her favourite. Plus she had some whipped cream if they fancied that as well.
So that should be it.
The tring-tring of the doorbell made her jump and as she opened it, Peter bounded in followed by his boyfriend Marvin. Peter was much taller than she’d remembered him. Yes, he’d filled out more but he was still good-looking. He lifted her up in the air and hugged her. And when he put her down again, Marvin gave her a kiss on the cheek.
‘How are you, sister-in-law-to-be? And, oh wow! Just look at that spread, Pete! Tickles my taste buds, it does. And here. Do you like flowers?’
Stacy liked Marvin immediately. He was full of energy and the perfect opposite of her lean, blonde brother, with his dark hair, beefier build and his zany personality.
‘Nice flat too!’ he said after he took himself off for a quick look-around whilst Stacy was looking for something to put the yellow roses in. ‘Oh, Pete, honey. Who’s driving? I fancy a swig or two of that wine over there.’
‘Just help yourselves, guys,’ Stacy called as she went to answer the door again.
And there stood her mother with a gleeful smile on her face as she spotted Peter down the hall, chatting to Marvin. Her father was ambling along the dark corridor. The lights still hadn’t been fixed, despite the landlord being notified.
‘Oh, Peter, my darling boy!’ her mother cried, racing down the hall to him. ‘Oh how wonderful to see you. I didn’t know you were invited. Oh, how you’ve grown. Oh, isn’t this wonderful, Jerry? The whole family’s together again. We should’ve done this, Jerry. We should’ve been the ones to have done this.’
‘Mum! Hi!’ Peter yelled, happily opening his arms to her and lifting her off her feet.
She hugged Peter, tears in her eyes, as he hugged her back, burying his face in her hair.
‘Well hi there, mother-in-law-to-be. I’m Marvin!’
Stacy’s mother broke away from her son long enough to shake hands with the person he intended to marry.
‘Oh my goodness, Marvin. I’m so pleased to meet you finally!’
But as Stacy’s father reached the front doormat, he visibly recoiled as he spotted Marvin and then his face turned thunderous as he saw Marvin put his arm round Peter’s waist.
‘Well,’ he barked. ‘I didn’t realise you’d got us here under false pretences for a bloody charade!’
***
Raymond looked at his watch again. She’d been gone almost twenty minutes. Why would any woman need to be in the toilet that long unless she had an upset tummy? He’d have to give it a little longer, though. Or should he ask someone to go and check she was all right?
They’d had a very nice starter of poached eggs on what they called smashed avocado; a rather aggressive description for something that merely looked like avocado paste, he’d thought. And for their main course they’d both opted for the same choice, again, entrecote steak with roast veggies and chips, although he’d liked his well done and Coralia had liked hers rare. Too rare, he’d thought; put him off his own meal, it had, all red and runny like that. So if it was an upset tummy that sent her running to the ladies, maybe it was because her steak hadn’t been cooked well enough? Or maybe she’d got a bug? Or maybe she’d eaten something dodgy the night before?
Coralia was a lady his son had introduced him to. She was one of the counter staff at his place of work – someone his son felt his father might gel with.
‘You know how I worry about you, Dad. Plus I’ve just met a new lady myself so I’ll be spending more and more time with her. You and I will still be close, of course. But life has to move on.’
So Raymond had taken the phone number his son had given him and rung Coralia, and they’d chatted by phone, a couple of times, until Raymond felt confident they would get on really well. Then he’d asked her out. He’d decided on dinner at a nice restaurant Simon had recommended.
Coralia was a buxom Jamaican lady with a big personality, much to Raymond’s delight. But as the evening had worn on she’d become less engaged and less chatty. Then she’d excused herself and gone to the ladies.
Raymond looked at his watch again. Hmmm. Twenty-six minutes since she’d left.
They’d been on their dessert course, so Raymond finished his Black Forest Gateau and asked to speak to his waiter.
‘I’m sorry to ask but could you get someone to see if my date is all right? She went to the ladies half an hour ago and I haven’t seen her since. She might have a poorly tummy or something but I didn’t think it right to go in there myself. Thanks.’
‘Ah,’ the waiter began sheepishly, ‘I’m sorry. I should’ve told you. But I’ve been busy serving, you see. She, er, asked me to tell you she was going home because she didn’t feel so well. She, um, passed me this note, which I should have given you earlier. Sorry, sir. Here you are.’
Raymond took the little scrap of lined paper, torn from a larger sheet of paper – probably from the restaurant – and read the hastily scribbled note, as the waiter hovered nervously nearby. ‘Not feeling too great, Ray. Decided to go home. Thanks for the meal. Coralia.’ A tear escaped down his cheek and he quickly wiped it away, embarrassed.
‘Um, excuse me?’ he said to the waiter. ‘Right well, could I have the bill now please? I-I don’t much feel like coffee now.’
The waiter hesitated. ‘Yes, of course. I’m so sorry, sir!’ he whispered.
‘Erm, thank you for your concern. I guess some things don’t work out, do they.’
The waiter shook his head, vehemently.
‘They do not. But then true love, so they say, does not run smoothly either.’
Raymond thought about that.
Oh, but he’d experienced true love once; Dianne had been the love of his life. These other women were not a patch on his poor wife. How could he ever have expected to replace her? But perhaps he wasn’t trying to replace her. Maybe he’d just been trying t
o find some kind of reprieve at a time of his life when any kind of affection would have been greatly appreciated. Yet it wasn’t what he’d really wanted to do, despite Simon’s best efforts on his behalf. The other dates, if he could call them that, had also been hit-and-miss affairs.
As he rose to go, with a heavy heart, he vowed he would bow out gracefully from any further attempts on Simon’s behalf to secure meetings with women who probably wanted a bit of company for the night, instead of cherished companionship in the long term.
Besides, he thought sadly to himself, how could he entertain going out with anyone else when he was still very much in love with his beloved Dianne?
Chapter 16
‘Okay let’s try it again, boys! Don’t pull that face, Marcus. It will all be worth it in the end because your mum will love you even more and probably spoil you even more if this goes according to plan!’ Veronica informed them from her wheelchair, her arms waving as if she were conducting an orchestra. ‘Right, so it’ll be you first, Marcus, because of that attitude of yours. Tell me what you’re going to do and then I’d like to see you do it.’
Marcus scowled and tutted like a child. He looked at his notes.
‘I put the clothes in the washing machine.’
‘Is that the first thing you do?’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Gran! I go get them from wherever we’ve put them and stick them in – no, I don’t! I go get them. Then I open the door by first releasing the catch to open said door and stuff ’em in! Then I get the powder or the tabs or um—’
‘Or?’
‘Or the liquid. We have powder, Gran.’
‘I think liquid is best, actually, but anyway, go on.’
