nag me about celebrities.
‘You’d be doing me a favour. It was my idea, and we’re not fully booked yet, so I need
to fill the tables. I’ll give you a discount. And,’ she continued, before I could reply, ‘if it will
help tempt you, I can offer you a staff discount at the spa too. How about a massage and a facial
– shake off the winter pallor?’
How bad did she think I looked? I was about to refuse, when Cheryl smiled at me and
carried on.
‘Go on, treat yourself. We all need to be kinder to ourselves, don’t you think?’
It was as if her words cast a spell over me, with the echo of Caitlyn. Before I could give
it another thought, my mouth opened, and I heard myself agreeing to it all.
*
Caitlyn took two days to return my latest call, during which time I’d convinced myself that she
was lying at the bottom of the Seine – and that was the least disturbing scenario I’d come up
with.
‘Hello!’ I bellowed when I heard her voice at last. She could probably hear my relief –
if she could hear anything; the phone was practically vibrating with a deep thrumming sound
at her end. ‘Where are you? Are the children at band practice or something?’
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Band practice! How old was I? I’d clearly been spending too much time at The
Chestnuts. Caitlyn must have been distracted, as she wouldn’t normally have let me get away
with such a clanger.
‘I’m off duty tonight,’ she said. My imagination rapidly filled in the rest of the sentence
in ways that I didn’t want to dwell on.
‘How have you been?’ I asked. I meant, ‘Are you okay and why did it take you so long
to ring back?’ and I should have known that with Caitlyn’s language skills she wouldn’t have
any trouble with the translation.
‘Everything’s great. You don’t need to worry about me.’ She sounded great – there was
none of the artificial brightness in her voice that I could hear in mine. Of course, that only
strengthened my worries. What was she up to, now that she was away from my watchful eye?
‘I’m behaving perfectly well,’ she added, laughing, translating my silence as easily as
she had my words. ‘Good as gold. Squeaky clean. An absolute angel.’
‘Okay, I get the picture.’ I laughed, determined not to let my anxiety spoil these
precious minutes. ‘Tell me what you’ve been up to.’
She did – or what I suspected were the edited highlights, at least. Perhaps she would
have told me more if I had merely been her aunt; perhaps then we would have had the sort of
relationship where she would have confided in me about things she couldn’t share with a
parent. I felt a pang of regret about what we had missed – as if I needed anything else to mourn.
‘How are you getting on with the vouchers?’ she asked, sharply changing the subject
when my questions must have veered too close to a sensitive subject. ‘Are there any more on
the way?’
‘There will be soon. I’m taking Gran Gran out to a posh hotel next weekend for
afternoon tea, and I’m booked into the spa while I’m there.’
‘That sounds more like it. Is Gran Gran not joining you in the spa?’
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‘I asked if she wanted to. She said she used to enjoy a bit of man-handling, but those
days have long gone.’
‘Urgh, I’m not sure I wanted that image in my head … But while you’re talking about
man-handling, has Rich moved in with you yet?’
Rich moving in? The notion had never occurred to me.
‘No, and he won’t be doing. Our house is a man-free zone. Anyway,’ I continued,
exercising my own sharp turn in the conversation, ‘you know I told you about the sponsored
walk to raise funds for The Chestnuts? Someone suggested selling T-shirts with a logo on to
raise extra cash and I wondered if you’d have time to draw something for us? It doesn’t have
to be anything fancy.’
‘No problem. Anything for you and Gran Gran. I’ll email something over in the next
couple of days.’
And then she was gone, back to her noisy, busy life, while I trundled on with my quiet,
empty one.
*
‘… and I’ll show you the design she’s come up with later,’ I said to Tina. ‘She’s an artistic
genius, like Faye. The T-shirts will probably sell so well that we needn’t bother walking up the
hill at all.’
Tina was proving herself a true friend, and had given up a day of her Easter holiday to
help me paint my living room. It wasn’t a massive room, and I could have easily managed it
myself, but when she’d offered to lend a hand, I hadn’t been able to resist accepting. It was the
boring tasks like this that allowed the regret at living alone to creep in: I’d fought hard to
become independent, but sometimes it was a treat to choose not to be.
‘You’re not seriously wasting one of your vouchers on this, are you?’ Tina asked, as I
poured paint into two roller trays. ‘This is hard work. How is that being kind to yourself?’
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‘It’s a fresh start. I haven’t painted this room for years. There are still nail varnish marks
on the wall from when Caitlyn had a sleepover for her sixteenth birthday.’ I glanced around
the room, taking in the scuffs and scratches that told the history of our time in this house: the
marks that would look like blemishes to some, but represented precious memories to me. If I
thought about it too long, I would never paint this room again. I shook off the maudlin thoughts
as I grabbed a pile of old newspapers and taped a few sheets down around the edges of the
room to protect the carpet.
We knuckled down to the painting, listening to the radio as we worked. The local station
was full of Easter adverts, encouraging us to spend our money at the sales or go on days out.
‘What are your plans for the weekend?’ Tina asked. I had hoped she wouldn’t bring it
up, and so far, had managed to skilfully change the subject whenever it appeared to be heading
this way. It was another drawback of the single life; no one questioned a couple if they wanted
to stay at home alone.
‘No particular plans,’ I said. ‘I might spring-clean the kitchen cupboards.’
I probably deserved the disparaging look Tina gave me. All I needed was a cat to make
my spinster status complete. It wasn’t that I was a neat freak – far from it – but I hated to sit
still and be idle. Idle thoughts had an unnerving habit of going where I didn’t want them to go;
such as back in time to last week’s conversation with Paddy, and the painful revelation that our
relationship had been a sham for longer than I’d realised.
‘And I’m going to afternoon tea at Fairlie House and visiting the spa on Saturday,’ I
added, belatedly remembering that I was doing something exciting after all. ‘Caitlyn was
impressed. It was exactly the sort of thing she had in mind for the Be Kind to Yourself
vouchers.’
‘Yes, but you’re supposed to be choosing things for yourself, not to please Caitlyn.
You’ve spent the best part of twenty years arranging your life around her. Quite
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understandably,’ Tina added, waving her roller at me when I started to object. ‘But how is it
freedom if the doors are open but you still walk round the edge of your cage?’
That was harsh – too harsh for me to want to hear it – and I turned my back on Tina
and concentrated on my painting until every wall had been covered with the first coat and we
escaped to the kitchen for a break.
‘How are the plans coming along for the sponsored walk?’ Tina asked, as we settled at
the table with our cups of tea – ginger and lemon for me, builders for her. I wrote out the latest
voucher for Caitlyn.
BE KIND TO YOURSELF
VOUCHER THREE
I, Eve Roberts, have been kind to myself by painting the living room!
‘Amazingly well,’ I replied, pushing the voucher to one side. Perhaps it didn’t sound
such a treat, when I saw it written down. ‘Winston is an organisational whizz. Every tiny detail
is on the spreadsheet, and if it’s on the spreadsheet it gets done. I feel like a spare part most of
the time.’
‘Sounds like you’ve met your match.’ She raised her eyebrows in a suggestive way.
‘Shame he’s married.’
‘And totally besotted with his wife and daughter … and far too young for me, even if I
were looking, which I’m not …’
‘Blinded by lust for Rich?’ We both laughed, although I wasn’t sure why I joined in; it
was hardly loyal. ‘If you were looking, what would your type be? And don’t say Rich. We all
know you can do better than that. You’ve settled for him, not chosen him. I mean, physically I
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can see the appeal, but I thought you would have looked deeper than that. I’m not sure what
else he has going for him.’
I recoiled in my chair as if Tina had slapped me. Had the paint fumes got to her? She’d
never expressed an opinion on Rich before; not a good one either, now I came to think of it.
Her invitations to dinner or Sunday lunch had never included Rich, but I hadn’t minded. He
wouldn’t have fitted in. And what was that ‘we’ about? Who had Tina been discussing me and
my so-called love life with? Anyway, she was wrong: this was exactly the relationship I had
chosen. Another topic that I preferred to steer my idle thoughts away from. Introspection was
rarely a good idea.
‘We know what your type used to be,’ Tina continued, taking her third digestive biscuit
and dunking it in her tea. ‘Tall, dark and Irish …’
‘Half Irish,’ I corrected her, and could have kicked myself when she grinned; of course,
I should have pretended not to know who she was talking about. ‘If I had a type now, it
wouldn’t be based on physical things. It would be someone who was honest, kind and
dependable.’
‘You’re telling me you’re immune to twinkly eyes and a roguish smile?’
‘If you’re talking about Paddy Friel – and I’m not admitting he has either of those things
– then yes, I’m fully immune and he administered the vaccination himself.’
‘So there’s no chance he’s going to be the celebrity opening the sponsored walk?’
‘None at all.’ I rewound. ‘Who said there’s going to be a celebrity, anyway?’
‘It’s all round town. I heard it yesterday from Bob the butcher.’
Bob the butcher, whose father was a resident at The Chestnuts. I was going to kill Gran
– unless she was the death of me first.
‘We have no plans to invite a celebrity,’ I said firmly. ‘And if we did, it wouldn’t be
Paddy. He’d be the last person I’d ask. From what I’ve seen, he pimps himself around the
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country and would open a jam jar if there was money and a photograph in it. He hardly needs
more publicity. He uses it quite shamelessly.’
‘All the more reason to ask him.’ Tina smiled. ‘If he doesn’t scruple to use his celebrity
for his own ends, why should you scruple to use it for yours? It’s for the good of The Chestnuts.
You can swallow your pride, can’t you?’
Could I? I hadn’t come any closer to swallowing it by the time Saturday came round,
and I could only hope it wouldn’t ruin my ability to enjoy afternoon tea. I picked Gran up from
The Chestnuts late in the morning, ready for the twenty-minute drive to the Fairlie House Hotel.
She was waiting for me in what had been the reception hall of the manor house, wearing a
bright pink dress that bordered on neon and a flowery hat. The look was only slightly marred
by the thick white surgical stockings.
‘Hello,’ I said, kissing her cheek. My eyes smarted at her pungent perfume. ‘You didn’t
need to wear a hat. It’s not that posh a place.’
‘I hope not, given as you’ve made precious little effort.’ Gran pulled a face as she
looked me up and down. ‘Any road, it’s not a hat, it’s a fascinator. I’ve borrowed all this
clobber from Mrs Pike. She wore it to her grandson’s wedding four years ago.’ I smiled, but
Gran hadn’t finished. She could have given the best comedians a masterclass in perfect timing.
‘And then to the christening two years later.’
I didn’t take the bait.
‘Only just a great-grandma? Poor Mrs Pike. She’s years behind you. The way you’re
going, you’ll live long enough to become a great-great-grandma. I bet Mrs Pike can’t hope for
that, can she?’
Gran conceded the point and, trouble averted, allowed me to lead her to the passenger
seat of my car.
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‘Pooh! What a pong!’ she said, as I switched on the engine and a faint scent of floral
air freshener began to waft around the car. I was amazed she could smell anything over her
perfume. ‘What do you need that for? Have you got a dicky tummy? I won’t offer you a butty
then.’
She reached into her shopping bag – I’d wondered why she had needed such a huge bag
– and pulled out a foil parcel, which she unwrapped with as much care as if it were expensive
wrapping paper, while I drove away from The Chestnuts and on towards the road that would
take us to the Fairlie. I felt like borrowing the ‘what a pong’ line as a stench of egg invaded the
car.
‘Ham and egg,’ Gran said with satisfaction. I caught her lifting up one side of the crust
before giving a hearty sigh. ‘Processed ham. Who’s ever seen a square pig?’
‘You haven’t forgotten that we’re going out for afternoon tea, have you?’ I asked. ‘You
didn’t need to bring food.’
‘I can’t miss my dinner. I might end up as scrawny as you. In my day, ladies had curves
not angles, and we were all healthier for it.’
Conversation continued in this vein as I drove along the country lanes, with Gran and
the sat nav seemingly vying to see which could nag me the most. I didn’t mind – or not Gran,
anyway. She could nag me, call me any names she wanted, because I adored her and because
she was here. She was alive. The last seventeen years would have been impossible without her.
When my mum had packed her bags and moved to Spain, Gran had packed hers and moved to
Inglebridge to be near me and Caitlyn, selling the preciou
s house she had occupied for almost
half a century, and in which she’d enjoyed married life and raised my dad. A cut-price
afternoon tea could never repay what she had done for us.
The Fairlie House Hotel was a gorgeous stone mansion with high, even windows
revealing its roots in Georgian times. Sitting amid luscious parkland at the end of a long drive,
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it reeked of luxury and exclusivity and … romance, whispered my heart, although it had been
so long, I wasn’t sure how my heart still remembered what that was. As I pulled up in the car
park, even Gran was silent. It couldn’t last.
‘At least one of us is dressed for the occasion,’ she said. She patted my knee – clad in
a cord skirt and tights, because I had made some effort, even if it wasn’t up to Gran’s standards
– and grinned. ‘Don’t worry, our Eve. They’ll be so dazzled by my outfit, they’ll barely notice
yours. We can pull this off.’
Laughing, I took her arm and led her into the hotel. The silence in reception was
overwhelming, our steps muffled by the thick carpet and our voices absorbed by the plush
fabrics hanging at the windows and covering the chairs that formed a pleasant lounge area.
Gran made a beeline for a sofa next to a table scattered with magazines.
‘This’ll do me,’ she said, rifling through the magazines before sitting down.
‘Are you sure?’ I hovered. ‘Perhaps I should skip the spa. It doesn’t feel right
abandoning you here.’
‘I’ll be right as rain,’ Gran said, dismissing me with a wave of her hand. ‘You go and
enjoy the poking and prodding. It’s a treat to read up-to-date magazines for a change, and I’ve
got a flask of tea. I can keep an eye on all the comings and goings from here.’
She’d miss nothing, I was certain of that. Putting my misgivings to one side, I followed
the directions to the spa and allowed myself to be whisked away to a scented, darkened room
where I lay on a plinth in trepidation of what was coming next. It wasn’t the thought of the
A Dozen Second Chances (ARC) Page 10
