by Lucy Diamond
Caitlin came to the end of the diary, to find Christmas shopping lists scribbled on the back cover and various jottings, including a diagram of Jane’s spring-planting plans. She was just about to close the book when something occurred to her and she flicked back to the entry for New Year’s Eve. Her mum had always loved her New Year’s resolutions, hadn’t she? What had she promised to do this time?
The last entry was a full one:
December 31st: The year’s almost out, just a few hours left, and then it’ll have been another twelve months without Steve. How I miss him still. I went to the church today, just to have a chat with him. He always loved this time of year: feet up with the tin of Quality Street, a glass of port and the Bond film on TV. But anyway, I’m trying not to get too down-in-the-dumps. Next year will be better, won’t it? Next year it won’t hurt so much; I’ll stop feeling sad whenever I hear the football scores, I won’t cry when a Bruce Springsteen song comes on the radio, I’ll get the vegetable patch going again in a way he would have approved of!!
Also – here’s the big one. I’m going to tell Caitlin the truth. I’m really going to do it this time. I can’t keep putting it off; she has the right to know about her birth mother, etc. I am ashamed of myself for being such a coward all these years. Steve always said we should have told her, right from the start. It was the only thing we ever really argued about. I just wanted her to love me, though. I didn’t want to hurt her or make her feel rejected. I know it was selfish. I wish I had been braver before now.
A sob burst from Caitlin’s throat and she had to look away from the pages, the words almost unbearable to read. Oh, Mum, she thought, the room blurring as tears filled her eyes. It was like discovering a secret message, an apology – as if Jane had guided her to the diaries right when she needed to read this page most.
But this year I’ll pluck up the courage. I’ll do it for Caitlin, AND for Steve, the two people I’ve loved the most in my life. I’ll make things right, I promise.
That’s it for 2004 . . . going to get my glad rags on now and meet Maggie and the girls for drinks in The Partridge. Here’s to a smashing 2005. x
Caitlin closed the diary and sat back on her heels, a wry smile on her face. So much for New Year’s resolutions. Her mum had never stopped becoming choked up at Bruce Springsteen songs (Steve’s favourite), and the vegetable patch had long since turned into a flower-filled border. As for her main resolution . . . well, clearly she hadn’t managed that, either. But she’d wanted to. She’d had the best intentions about doing so. And she’d loved Caitlin so much that it was love, not thoughtlessness, that had held her back.
Caitlin pressed the diary against her chest and took a long, raggedy breath. ‘Thanks, Mum,’ she whispered.
Saffron arrived the next day, just in time for lunch, and over slices of flaky spanakopita and salad – Caitlin was fast becoming the Larkmead Deli’s most loyal customer – she, Gemma and Caitlin shared their news: the continuing success of Hourglass Designs, Saffron’s delight at having left her job and then, best of all, the gossip about Max.
‘So – you’re dating? You’re back together?’ Caitlin asked hopefully.
Saffron looked as if she was fizzing inside. ‘We’re not exactly dating,’ she replied. ‘It’s all very tentative so far, a few chaste kisses and that’s been it.’ She giggled. ‘It’s a bit weird really, we’ve done everything the wrong way round. Now it’s as if we’ve started completely over – first dates and getting to know each other; even though: hello, I already happen to be pregnant with his baby.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘My mum doesn’t know whether to be disapproving or thrilled.’
Gemma frowned. ‘Hang on a minute, though. I thought he was dating someone else?’
‘That was just a fling, apparently. They’re not together any more.’ Saffron could not have looked happier to be divulging this information. Her smile could hardly have been broader.
‘So it’s full steam ahead for you guys then?’ Caitlin asked, pouring glasses of elderflower pressé. ‘He’s in it for the long haul?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ Saffron replied. ‘I don’t think he knows yet, either. But we’re going to muddle along for the time being and see how it goes.’ She shrugged bashfully. ‘I really like him, you know. I liked him from the start. And for him to say, “Let’s not have the amnio” – this might sound weird, but it actually felt really romantic. And brave. And strong. I mean . . . Who knows what’s going to happen? It’s all still completely up in the air. But right now I feel positive about the future. We’re having a baby, we’re in it together and he’s a good person. I don’t think he’s going to bail out on me.’
Gemma hugged her. ‘That all sounds pretty bloody great,’ she said. ‘I’m pleased for you.’
‘Me, too,’ Caitlin said. ‘Good for you both. And it’s fab to have you back here with us, too. Maybe we should go out tonight? Toast the Dream Team being together again?’
Saffron smiled. ‘That would be lovely,’ she said. ‘Hey, and I can pass on Bunty’s regards to Bernie, too. She still talks about him a lot.’
‘Sounds good,’ said Gemma, ‘although I’ll need to make sure my mum can babysit the kids.’ She speared a cherry tomato and popped it into her mouth. ‘I know, why don’t you two come over to mine for dinner tonight? That way we get to hang out for some of the evening, and hopefully Mum won’t mind holding the fort afterwards, so we can go on for a drink.’
Dinner! Whoops. In all her bedroom-clearing kerfuffle, Caitlin hadn’t even thought about actually feeding her new guest – let alone a pregnant guest, who would need superhealthy nutritious food, and plenty of it. Left to her own devices, she was used to existing on bowls of porridge, apples and whatever the deli had in that day. The cupboards were bare, she realized with a jolt. Some hostess she was! ‘Well, if you’re sure . . . ’ she said, with the guilty relief that she might just have got away with it. She would go out first thing and do a massive Tesco run, she promised herself.
‘That would be great,’ Saffron said. ‘I’d love to meet your kids.’
‘That’s settled then,’ Gemma said. ‘I’m afraid the decor at our place hasn’t moved on very much since you were here at New Year, but if you can ignore the Anaglypta and disgusting carpets, there’s plenty of food up for grabs. Does seven o’clock sound okay?’
Seven o’clock did sound okay. Seven o’clock sounded great. Besides, Caitlin was curious to see what Karen was really like, after all the damning things her friend had said about her. Nobody’s mother could be that bad, surely?
As Caitlin and Saffron rang the bell at Gemma’s that evening and waited to be let in, Caitlin found herself thinking back to New Year’s Eve, and how she’d envied Gemma and Spencer their perfect life. The big house, the happy couple, the photos of family holidays and children with smart school uniform and neatly brushed hair . . . all things she didn’t have in her own world. Gemma was a proper grown-up, she’d thought, feeling self-conscious in her Febrezed top amidst the sea of cocktail dresses and high heels. Gemma had achieved all this, while Caitlin had nothing, except an inherited cottage and a broken heart.
Stepping over the threshold this evening, though, it quickly became apparent to Caitlin that this dream life of Gemma’s had unravelled at an alarming rate. Spencer had been gone for ten days now, suffering some kind of midlife crisis, and the house was untidy and unkempt, compared to the fairy lights and disco-ball sheen of the New Year party. Added to that, there was Karen in the mix now, too: a tall, strapping woman with a husky laugh and lots of glittering eye make-up, dressed for the beach in a flowing tie-dye dress and flip-flops, even though there was a clear sky that night and the temperature had already plunged.
‘Have a seat, let me get you a glass of something,’ Gemma said, once she’d introduced everyone. She looked rather flustered, with her hair making a break for freedom from her ponytail and her cheeks flushed with high colour. ‘Will!’ she yelled. ‘Come and set the table, please, it’s your turn.’<
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‘Lazy bugger,’ Karen said, pulling a face at them. ‘Gets it from his dad.’
Caitlin gave a quick polite smile to Karen, but felt disloyal in doing so. ‘Gems, what can I do to help?’ she asked, as her friend rushed around, lifting one saucepan lid and then another to check the contents, a hot cloud of steam pouring forth each time.
‘And me,’ Saffron volunteered.
‘Um . . . ’ Gemma seemed distracted. ‘WILL!’ she shouted again. ‘TABLE!’ She turned back, wiping her hands on her jeans. ‘Sorry. We’ve had a bit of a row; he was late home again and . . . ’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Would you mind helping yourself to a drink, guys? Mum can show you what we’ve got.’
‘Well, I can tell you all about the wine collection – or what’s left of it, anyway,’ Karen said with a wink, leaning back in her seat. ‘Is there any other kind of drink?’
Caitlin smiled politely. ‘Wine would be lovely, thanks.’
‘Just something soft for me,’ Saffron said. ‘Water’s fine.’
Karen snorted. ‘Water? You sound like my ex-husband, PC Sensible.’
‘She’s pregnant, Mum,’ Gemma added, opening the oven door and taking out a red casserole dish.
Karen looked at Saffron as if seeing her for the first time. ‘Ah! So you are. First one, is it?’ She gave a short, barking laugh. ‘Good luck with that.’
Caitlin saw a muscle tighten in Saffron’s jaw, but she said nothing. ‘Sit down, Saff,’ she instructed. ‘I can sort out drinks.’
‘What is that boy doing?’ Gemma muttered. ‘Will! WILL!’
Lanky Will shambled in just then, his hands up in surrender. ‘All right, all right, keep your hair on,’ he muttered. He looked like his dad, with his mop of dark hair and broad shoulders, although he was pale and glowering. Caitlin smiled brightly as he went by, but he blanked her.
Karen gave Saffron a meaningful look. ‘This is what you’ve got to look forward to,’ she said in a stage whisper from behind her hand. ‘Teenagers – complete and utter nightmare. Aren’t you, darling?’
Will grunted, crashing a handful of cutlery down on the table and stomping out again.
‘Let me do that,’ Saffron said, laying the knives and forks.
‘Thanks,’ Gemma mumbled. ‘Don’t take any notice of him. We’re going through a tricky patch right now.’
Caitlin, pouring the wine, was starting to feel as if they shouldn’t be there at all. Perhaps the loneliness of a night in on your own wasn’t quite as terrible as she’d thought.
Karen was hooting and slapping her thigh, though. ‘Tricky patch? You wait! Darcey’ll be next, and it’ll be even worse. Girls!’ She pulled a comical face at Caitlin and Saffron and shook her head.
Gemma turned back to the hob, but not before Caitlin caught sight of the slapped expression on her face. Karen was not exactly tactful when it came to family dynamics, moaning about girls in the presence of her own daughter. And she still hadn’t got off her bum to help with anything, either. No wonder Gemma looked as if she was at the end of her tether.
‘Dishing up! Wash your hands!’ Gemma called to the children, plonking the casserole dish in the middle of the table and removing the lid to reveal a fragrant, still-bubbling chicken chasseur. Then, and only then, did she give Caitlin and Saffron wan smiles. ‘Sorry about this madhouse.’
‘No! Don’t apologize – it’s lovely to be invited,’ Saffron said at once.
‘It smells amazing, thanks so much,’ Caitlin added. Someone had to appreciate Gemma around here, she thought with a sidelong glance at Karen, still sat doing her Lady of the Manor impression at the head of the table. Someone had to notice what a great job she was doing, keeping the family going like this. Caitlin had a feeling that appreciation and attention had been rather lacking in her friend’s life for a while, and put the largest glass of wine in front of Gemma. ‘Here you go,’ she said pointedly. ‘I reckon you’ve earned this.’
‘This one’s definitely on me. What can I get you, ladies?’ asked Saffron.
By some kind of miracle, Karen had actually agreed to babysit her own grandchildren – shock! Kindness klaxon! – meaning that Gemma could join Caitlin and Saffron for a post-dinner drink in the pub. Caitlin had never been so glad to get out of a house before. Not that the food hadn’t been delicious – it had. Not that she didn’t appreciate being cooked for, and having a meal with friends – she really did. But oh, Karen was the most toxic woman alive. She was a monster. Everything Gemma said, she laughed at or crushed. Everything Will said, she took the mick out of, leaving him scowling and murderous-looking. She even rounded on Darcey at one point, when the little girl complained that Will had more pudding than her.
‘Someone’s sounding like a spoiled little madam who needs a smacked bottom,’ she said, draining yet another glass of wine.
Then, and only then, did Gemma lose her cool. ‘Nobody’s getting a smacked bottom in this house, and that’s that,’ she’d said. ‘And if you were any kind of a grandmother, you wouldn’t be saying that, either.’ She lowered her eyes, looking as if she regretted her outburst. ‘Sorry,’ she mumbled in the next moment. ‘But I don’t smack my children. Nobody does.’
Karen merely raised her eyebrows and said, ‘Jeez, love, there’s no need to be uptight. No wonder Spencer left you.’
Will slammed both hands down on the table. ‘For fuck’s sake, leave Mum alone,’ he shouted and stormed out of the room.
Gemma didn’t speak for a moment. ‘I am so sorry about this,’ she said eventually.
Caitlin couldn’t bear seeing her look so vulnerable. ‘Don’t worry,’ she began, although Karen was already chipping in again.
‘No bloody manners – that’s your son’s problem,’ she said snippily.
‘And your problem is that you don’t know when to butt out and be quiet,’ Gemma snapped in reply. She drained her own glass of wine and put her head in her hands.
‘Don’t cry, Mum,’ Darcey said, sounding scared and leaning over to pat Gemma’s arm, as Caitlin and Saffron exchanged glances. Poor Gemma, the glances said. Poor, poor Gemma.
Anyway they had made it out now, thank goodness, and were sitting down with a round of drinks, the mortified flush gradually leaving Gemma’s face. Some people just aren’t cut out to be good mothers, Caitlin remembered her saying, back at the time of the terrible adoption discovery. Well, that was certainly true. What if Alison, her own birth mother, was a woman like Karen? The sort of woman who did a bunk and abandoned her children; a woman who didn’t know how to speak to them with any kind of empathy or compassion?
At least Jane had been kind and motherly. At least she’d shown nothing but love for Caitlin. She and Steve had always been there for her, giving Caitlin the best and safest childhood possible. Thank goodness they were the ones who’d chosen her for their daughter and that she’d been able to grow up feeling wanted and adored.
‘Oh my God,’ Gemma said just then, elbowing Caitlin so violently she nearly fell off her chair. ‘Do you see what I see?’
Was it Harry? Caitlin wondered immediately, glancing around the pub with trepidation. She hadn’t seen him around, since the devastating settling-down-with-pregnant-girlfriend conversation – and thank goodness, too, because every time she thought about what a tit she might have made of herself, she wanted to crawl into the nearest cupboard and stay there for a whole month. She couldn’t see him anywhere, though. There was Bernie Sykes, holding forth with a group of red-nosed cronies; a group of blokes with pints, who were staring up at the snooker match on the wall-mounted TV; a loud, pissed collection of women screeching over cocktails together; but no lovely Harry.
‘What?’ she asked, feeling confused.
‘Don’t stare, but over there in the corner is Jade Perry, completely langered. She and her mates have just lined up a row of tequila slammers and necked the lot – and now she’s tucking into a margarita.’
‘Who is she?’ Saffron asked nosily.
The full heft of wha
t Gemma was saying finally percolated through, and Caitlin’s breath quickened. Jade Perry? Oh my God. Whoa. So did this mean . . . ? ‘Last time I heard, she was pregnant with Harry’s baby,’ she explained to Saffron, feeling jittery. ‘Only . . . well, if she’s doing tequila slammers and cocktails, I’m guessing she might not be any more.’ Did Harry know? Was he single again?
Saffron instinctively draped her arms across her firm, round belly. ‘Poor woman,’ she said, and Caitlin felt like the most selfish cow alive for thinking only of herself.
‘That’s if there was even a pregnancy at all,’ Gemma said drily. ‘She’s got history, has Jade. This wouldn’t be the first time she tried to trap a bloke into something.’
‘Look at Bernie’s face,’ Saffron hissed, and Caitlin turned to see an unfamiliar coldness in the jovial landlord’s expression, as he looked over at the cackling group of women.
Gemma raised an eyebrow. ‘He’s probably counting his lucky stars that he’s escaped having her as his future daughter-in-law anyway.’ She sipped her wine. ‘Sorry, I know that sounds really bitchy, but I can’t help feeling protective of Harry. He always goes for these women who are just completely wrong for him.’
Caitlin felt her face flame and didn’t know where to look.
‘Apart from you, of course, Cait,’ Gemma said, catching her eye. ‘You’d be good for him.’
‘He’s the one who was in the cowboy hat, wasn’t he?’ Saffron remembered. ‘Yes, I liked him. Nice guy.’ She leaned forward mischievously. ‘So perhaps he’s single as well these days,’ she added. ‘Interesting . . . ’
Caitlin laughed, her cheeks turning hotter than ever. ‘Oh, stop it, you two,’ she said. ‘I don’t know why you’re both looking at me like that.’ But she did know, and her tummy was turning somersaults at the prospect. Harry Sykes back on the eligible-bachelor list? Well, well, well. She crossed her fingers under the table and sent up a little prayer to Cupid himself.
