by Daisy Tate
‘As such,’ Katie’s smile grew ever brighter, ‘We were wondering if you would like to join us and the children for a week in the Canaries!’ She sang ‘The Canaries’ in the way one might sing ‘a million pounds’. Sue waited. Katie had a way of putting forward propositions then following them up with the inevitable small print. ‘You’ll be sharing bunks with Jayden in case she has one of those nightmares she’s prone to and Zac’ll get the single. There’d only be a night or two when Dean and I would be going out alone and the children would need someone, you know, you, to look after them. Other than that … it’s a free holiday! We’ve booked the first week of May. Bought and paid for and just waiting for you to say yes! What do you think Sue?’ She gave her shoulders a dramatic little shimmy. ‘Have we put the right amount of icing on a pretty nice cake?’
Of all the things Sue disliked, having the spotlight on her was definitely one of them. Particularly when she felt as though someone had already made the decision on her behalf. It was the way her life worked. Perhaps more so now that she didn’t have her husband beside her to make up something that would get her out of it. Her future rolled out before her minus the red carpet. She would say yes. Katie and Dean would have an underpaid nanny for life. Raven would most likely move out, because she’d never be home and who wanted to be home alone in a house where a man whose wife didn’t know him well enough to prevent his suicide had once lived?
Raven cleared her throat and gave Sue a little nudge. ‘Ummm … isn’t that the week of the cycle ride?’
Sue frowned.
‘The charity ride we’re going to do?’
‘You going on a bike ride, Suey?’ Dean looked genuinely interested. ‘Cool. What’s the charity?’ He popped a grape in his mouth, not noticing the daggers Katie was throwing in his direction.
‘LifeTime.’ She threw a panicked look at Raven who nodded encouragingly. ‘It’s a mental health charity.’
Raven picked up the baton. ‘It’s going along Hadrian’s Wall. Coast to coast.’
Sue didn’t have a clue why she was going along with this. Desperation, she supposed. She had been shoring up her resources to try and find a way to politely tell Flo (and Raven if she’d been waiting for Sue to say something first) that doing the ride really wouldn’t be her cup of tea. Today? It felt like a lifeline. A chance to show her family she was capable of making decisions on her own and putting herself on a new course in life. She had to be, really, didn’t she? Gary was never ever coming to Sunday lunch with her again.
Bev made a couple of little indecipherable noises then suddenly, ‘Is that the one Kath off the telly is doing in memory of that deadbeat brother of hers?’
‘He wasn’t a deadbeat, love,’ Katie’s father gently corrected. ‘He were a soldier for over ten years. Served his country, he did.’
‘Found himself at the bottom of a bottle fairly sharpish if the Mail is anything to go by.’
Martin shook his head and gave the table a patpatpat before saying firmly, ‘We can’t fault him for coming back with a screw or two loose with all of the muck he must’ve seen.’
Bev made another noise and finished off the rest of her Cabernet.
‘Sounds fun, Suey. Go for it!’
Katie glared at Dean. ‘Wouldn’t coming to the Canaries for a nice relaxing holiday with her family be more fun?’
‘Maybe Sue doesn’t want to come on a nice relaxing holiday with her family.’
Sue’s eyes widened. Was Dean disagreeing with Katie? In front of everyone?
‘C’mon, love.’ He filled up Katie’s wine glass even though her lips were already purple with the cheeky Cab Sav they’d opened after realising they had ‘company’ rather than plain old family for lunch. ‘Maybe we’re bulldozing her. We don’t want to push you, Suey. It’s your decision to make. We were just trying to think outside the box. Let you know we’re here for you.’ He said this whilst rising, indicating his wife should sit down then murmuring to her that he’d collect the dishes and something Sue couldn’t quite make out about the Nordic au pair she’d always talked about wanting.
Gosh.
Katie’s two front teeth rested atop of her bottom lip, poised for action, as she worked out how to respond.
Sue rose and also started picking up plates and cutlery.
‘I’d support you, Suey,’ Sue’s father said. ‘What do you need? A tenner? Twenty? I could put one of those sheets up down at the council if you like. Bev, how about you talk to the folk down at Asda’s and see if—’
Sue’s mother shut him down with a look that, shockingly, didn’t kill, then hoinked her chair round so she was angled, like a lady in waiting, towards Katie.
‘Not to impose, Katie, but I do hate waste and if there’s a free ticket going …’ she cast her eyes down to her hands then back up at Katie, ‘I’m always willing to help. I’ve never been to the Canaries.’ She flicked a quick glance at Sue that weirdly translated as, I’ve got this. Not strictly a show of support, but going to the Canaries hadn’t exactly been an offer of a free holiday, either, so … Sue let natural selection take its course. Granny Nanny was all over this.
Katie ignored them, sending twitchy little signals to Dean to intervene. It appeared her well-laid plans were being kyboshed by a Bev-shaped spanner. Hmmm. Perhaps Granny Nanny hadn’t gone down quite as well as expected in Florida.
Out of the corner of her eye, Sue caught Raven fastidiously finishing the remains of her meal, presumably trying to avoid the awkwardness of it all— no! Raven was covering her mouth with her serviette (cloth, because Katie didn’t ‘believe’ in paper) trying her best not to laugh. And then, just like that, Sue saw the funny side of it all.
The most genuine smile Sue had had in weeks bloomed upon her lips.
Gary would’ve loved this.
She could picture him perfectly, clutching his stomach as he tried and failed and tried again to tell the lads down the pub how Katie’s Perfect Plan was left in ruins by Raven and Granny Nanny.
‘Well, then.’ Dean clapped his hands together. ‘That’s settled that, then. Mum, you’ll be coming to the Canaries and Suey will be on her cycle ride. And while we’re at it, were you actually interested in looking after the children after school, Suey, or did you have other plans?’
‘Oh, I—’ Sue felt the daggers Katie was throwing her way, but all of a sudden, with her mother, father, brother and now Raven having offered these wonderful little gestures of support – her dead husband winking at her from who knew where … heaven? – she felt as though she could finally say what she should’ve said years ago when ‘a little favour’ turned into something quite different. ‘I have other plans actually. If that’s okay.’
‘Course it is,’ Dean said before Katie could say otherwise.
‘Now that that’s sorted,’ Sue’s mother was swiftly moving on, ‘Katie, if there’s any more of that lemon tart left …’
Chapter Thirty-Four
‘Sometimes I worry you love that dog more than you love me,’ Stu laughed, shuffling out of his slippers and folding back a triangle of bedding, as Flo gave her customary evening cuddle to Captain George before he curled up on his mammoth cushion on her side of the bed.
For the first time in her life, Flo lied to her husband.
‘Course not, darling. You’re my number one.’
For whatever reason, she knew it wasn’t true. The dog was. Stu was up there, of course. In the top two. Top four if she counted the children, but really they were their own people now and the closeness so many women spoke of with their adult children simply didn’t exist between her and her own offspring. Captain George, though. Captain George wasn’t just any old Irish wolfhound. He was special. He played up a loyalty to Stu when she was out, but Flo knew he really loved her most. Didn’t judge. Didn’t discourage. Didn’t force her to sit through another carvery luncheon down the club with the Springfields and the Jones’s who were unable to discuss anything beyond their upcoming cruises.
George
nuzzled into her neck as if acknowledging the unspoken truth. They were kindred spirits. She’d throw herself in front of bus for him. A train. Anything really, if it meant prolonging his life. Captain George never said no. Never urged caution. He was a champion of ‘yes, yes, yes.’
Stu tapped his wrist, then pointed at Flo’s own which was happily weighted with her bells-and-whistles exercise watch.
‘How’re you going to work in your training with your work schedule? It’s an eight to four you’re on tomorrow isn’t it?’ Stu liked to memorise the weekly rota she taped to the fridge. ‘You can’t head off to the hills of Northumberland with nothing but a handful of dog walks as training.’
Ah. Yes.
She still had yet to explain about the work thing. Take the rota down. Flo looked Captain George in the eye then made another split-second decision. ‘Oh, it’ll all work out. I’ll ride in my lunch break. Anyway. As I understand it, there are quite a few flat bits. Along the river and such.’
Stu quirked an eyebrow.
Captain George blinked.
What was this about? Lying to Stu as easily as she made a sandwich. She hadn’t even so much as googled the route. Didn’t know a thing about it other than that it was up North. A zip of frisson whipped through her nervous system. Who cared? A little white lie wasn’t going to make a difference to the foundation of their marriage. She was grabbing life by the horns. Taking control of her future instead of resigning herself to the inevitable.
Stu slipped off his watch and set it on the left-hand side of the lacquerware tray she’d bought him for their twenty-third wedding anniversary (Tokyo-Singapore-London). ‘And you’re happy with the bicycle you chose?’
‘Love it.’ She hated it. Was already trying to figure out how to return it, but that lad down at Halfords hadn’t half riled her. (Why hadn’t she gone local??) When he wasn’t flirting with the poor uninterested girl in auto parts, he kept directing her towards those ridiculous adult trikes and electric bicycles. Said they might be more suitable.
Suitable? How on earth did he know what was suitable? He’d barely spent a quarter of a century on earth! She wasn’t a doddery old woman. She was a vital, mostly fit, seventy-two-year-old woman. A vital, mostly fit, seventy-two-year-old woman who refused to be jammed into a demographic. So she’d asked him which of the bikes would be best suited to the Tour de France then bought it. It had been easy enough to pop into the back of the Land Rover, anyway. Light as a feather.
‘And you’ll set me up with a few meals before you go? Leave instructions and everything?’
‘Course, love.’ She gave Captain George a look.
Honestly. Her husband, a man capable of flying hundreds of people in an over-sized sardine can across the world’s oceans, no longer seemed able to open a tin of soup for himself. He didn’t have Alzheimer’s. Or any other affliction as far as she knew. He had … retirementitis. A slow and invasive erosion of everything that had made him the man she had once ached to marry.
She glanced across at him, all tucked in for the night, cracking open his book to read the solitary chapter he afforded himself before turning in. It would take five to ten minutes and then off went the light, down went Stu’s head and he’d be asleep before you could count down from ten. Eight hours later, he’d wake up. The same triangle of bedding he’d just smoothed into place would be folded back so that he could slip his feet into the corduroy slippers he’d wear into the pre-dawn light of yet another day of exactly the same.
Well screw that.
Stu was going to have to up his game. Go to battle with Campbell’s cream of tomato. Drive to the shops himself for that matter. Tactics overtook frustration. He could look at feeding himself for a week as a real-life puzzle. A way of keeping his wits intact beyond the morning paper. She loved Stu. Hated watching him disappear into the soft, doughy recesses of pensionville. She wouldn’t let him go downhill. Not on her watch. And she wasn’t going down without a fight. Bums to Rachel Woolly and her ‘not in the best interest to go off script.’ This was about lives! The precious commodity of time and how it was spent. The bodies they inhabited and making the most of them. There wasn’t a script that worked for each and every human. No tried and true prescription for happiness and good health. Everyone was different and, as such, everyone had a different path to follow. Even her and Stu. It didn’t mean their love was diminished. Or that it would falter because of a white lie or two. It meant change. And in this case, change was a good thing.
She’d tell him in the morning. About the job. About having to change bicycles. About spreading her arms wide open to whatever the next twenty or so years of their lives had in store.
The time limit hit her like a wrecking ball.
Twenty years if she was lucky. She’d long since whizzed past both of her parents’ lifetimes. Her mum passed at fifty-eight (heart attack). Her father at sixty-one (snap). Neither of them had ever set foot outside of England unless you counted an accidental diversion into Wales that lasted, at most, a tense half hour, during which her father executed an impressive u-turn in the middle of a flock of sheep.
George rested his furry chin on her shoulder.
The poor old chap had outlived his ‘sell by’ date, too. A ripe old ten and a half. Positively ancient for a Wolfhound.
A wash of looming grief doused the flames of excitement. She and Captain George were living on borrowed time. Not Stu, though. His parents had both lived well into their nineties. Died within days of one another, peacefully, in their sleep. Stu had years of puzzle pages ahead of him. Decades.
She gave George a final kiss then climbed into bed, determined to wake up without worrying about when she was going to die. She’d pop in to the call centre tomorrow on the way to Halfords. Invent an excuse about trying to find a misplaced jumper in lost property. Accidentally on purpose arrive at break time and have an inspiring chat with Raven and Sue, to ensure they would join her. (Yes, she’d taken a picture of the schedule before she’d left so she knew when they were on next. Mischievous, she knew, but she wasn’t going to let Rachel Woolly get one over her.) Once they were on board, she’d pop into that lovely little shop down the village and get herself a proper bicycle and any other accoutrements she might need. She gave Stu a pat on the shoulder then turned off her bedside lamp. She’d not sleep for a while yet, but she had too much to think about to read. Ready or not, Flo was going to ride her bicycle across the country.
Incident No: 38928901
Time of Call: 02:43
Call Handler: SUE YOUNG
Call Handler: You’re through to the NHS 111service, my name’s Sue and I’m a health advisor. Are you calling about yourself or someone else?
Caller: I just … I was wondering if you were free for a minute?
Call Handler: May I have your name please?
Caller: My name’s Becky.
Call Handler: Hello, Becky. My name’s Sue. Can you tell me why you’re calling tonight?
Caller: Oh, god, I …
Call Handler: Are you hurt, Becky?
Caller: No. Not unless you count loneliness.
Call Handler: Oh, well, I – you know we do, Becky. We do count loneliness.
Caller: You do? Can you send a doctor?
Call Handler: Are you registered with a local GP?
Caller: Yes. [Muffled swearing] Forget it. You’re the same as everyone else. A jobsworth. Don’t worry. You won’t be able to do anything. Just like the rest of them.
Call Handler: No, Becky, wait. Let’s talk for a minute.
Caller: What?
Call Handler: I mean, I can recommend some numbers, where there will be trained people who can talk …
Caller: [Bitter laugh] Like I said. You’re a jobsworth. What makes you think ringing anyone else will make a difference?
Call Handler: It could. You don’t know until you try …
Caller: I’ve tried it all love, believe me. And just so we’re clear? I was trying to score. Not to talk. So well done for not
succumbing to the ploys of your local crack addict.
Call Handler: I – sorry – hello? Has anyone ever—? She was trying to get drugs. Do you think she mean to ring someone else? Ooop—
Chapter Thirty-Five
Kath would never admit it, but she was absolutely terrified.
‘Thirty seconds.’
Her producer gave her a grim nod. Things were not going according to plan.
Kath mouthed ‘ready?’ to Fola.
He nodded. This meant as much, if not more, to him as it did to her. ‘Alright, lads.’ His deep voice rang out over the higher pitches of his young football team. ‘Everybody gather round and zip it until you’re asked a question, yeah?’ Astonishingly, the dozen or so jumble of twelve-year-old boys did exactly as they were told. The thirty or so who’d gathered to watch proceedings did not.
Through her earpiece, Kath heard Kev wrapping up his piece on keeping your figure on an all-you-can-eat cruise. ‘Note to self … avoid the deep-fried Mars bars!’ Kev har-har-har’ed, no doubt sharing a fist bump with the perky fitness trainer sitting in her spot on the couch. His voice turned serious. ‘But tell me, Kylie. If that dessert bar is too tempting to resist, what can our viewers do to make sure they fit into their bikini the next morning by the pool? I know I like to have my cake and be poolside ready, too.’
Oh, good grief. He was flirting. You give a man an inch …
Kev loved days like this. Being on his own in the studio. Said it made him feel like the all-powerful Oz. So much so, it sometimes made her wonder why he hadn’t tried to wheedle her into retirement rather than plastic surgery. Get someone young and perky like Holly Willoughby to bounce around the studio and give the set that extra zing he was after.
Something in her hardened.
He wanted zing?
She’d give him zing.
‘Ten seconds and we’re ready for you, Kath.’
It suddenly struck her as odd that Kev had agreed to this segment so easily. It wasn’t in the Brand New Day remit at all. Normally he would’ve savaged it at the pitch meeting and yet, when she’d put it forward a few days back, he hadn’t put up the slightest bit of a fight.
