by Fiore, Rosie
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Yes, for some years.’ He paused, and carefully set his teacup back on the saucer. ‘The thing is, Holly – may I call you Holly?’
‘Of course.’
‘Well, the thing is, until … some months ago, I would have said Judith and I were rather more than acquaintances. Or friends.’
Well, well, well. Holly was dying to ask a million questions, but instinctively she sensed the best way to proceed was to nod and let Mr Benton tell the story at his own pace.
‘Judith and I met eight years ago, when I joined the church. I started to come to the services after my wife died. I liked the music, and the company, and I found it made a bit of a change in my routine. Everyone was very kind and welcoming, but when I first got to know Judith – it was during a Lent course of lectures about a year after I first joined – well, I felt I had met a kindred spirit. Someone with similar values. Of a similar … class.’
Holly could see why he would think that. Judith’s genteel manner and quiet grace would certainly have appealed to an old-fashioned gent like Mr Benton. He continued. ‘After we had known each other for a year or so, I ventured to invite her to a concert at the Wigmore Hall. And she accepted. We had a lovely time, and a week later, I invited her to another event, and that was most pleasant too. And so on.’ He took a careful sip of his tea. ‘We began to go out in the evening about once a fortnight, and to meet for a coffee or lunch once in a while. I liked to think we were … courting.’ He managed a weak smile. Holly had never heard someone use the word ‘courting’ in an actual real-life conversation before. ‘That sounds lovely,’ she said encouragingly.
‘Well, I thought so,’ he said. ‘But then, about eight months ago, everything changed. Judith suddenly began turning down my invitations. She kept making excuses. For example, she’d say that she had other things to do, or that she didn’t want to see a particular film … I let it go for a while, and then one day, when she’d finally agreed to meet for a cup of tea, I asked her if she had been avoiding me, and she said … well, she said her daughter was coming back from South Africa – I assume that’s you …’
‘Yes,’ said Holly briefly, not wishing to interrupt his flow.
‘And that she didn’t think it was appropriate for her to be … “dating”, she called it, with her daughter in the house. She told me not to ring her up any more, and that we would just see each other at church.’
‘Oh,’ said Holly, really just to say something, and then she closed her mouth, which had been hanging open in shock.
‘Well, yes. I was rather surprised, and I couldn’t see that an adult child would object to their widowed parent having a companion—’
‘I wouldn’t have objected at all. Of course not. I would have been thrilled for her,’ said Holly.
‘Well, that’s what I thought. And I must confess, I was rather upset and hurt. But then, when I heard about her illness … well, first, I wanted to see her and say how sorry I was. And secondly, when I thought about it, I realised that might have been why she broke it off. Not because of you at all, but because she knew she was ill.’
Holly nodded.
‘I hadn’t seen her at church for some weeks, but then her name cropped up in the prayer list for the sick. I went to ask the vicar, but he said he couldn’t give me any details … but then, when we were having coffee after the service on Sunday, I overheard Angela Joba saying she’d been here, praying for your mum, and I suspected that her illness must be serious.’ He looked to Holly for confirmation. She nodded.
‘I thought that might be the case,’ he said. ‘And I thought long and hard about it, and I thought that even if she thinks she doesn’t want me here, I want to be here. I want to offer my support. Even if she won’t see me. Perhaps I could do some errands for you both. Shopping, or driving maybe.’ He brightened suddenly. ‘Perhaps I could do a little in the garden. I imagine you wouldn’t have had time for that.’
‘Oh, Mr Benton,’ said Holly, ‘that’s very kind of you, but I wouldn’t dream of—’
He cut her off. ‘I would like to do something,’ he insisted. ‘Judith brought a ray of light into my life, and I’ve missed it very much. If she needs help, it would mean a great deal to me to be able to give it.’
Holly paused. ‘Well, you’re absolutely right. I haven’t had time to do anything in the garden, and Mum does like to keep it neat.’
He nodded, satisfied. ‘I’ll come by with my gardening tools at the weekend, shall I? With spring on the way, there’ll be plenty to do.’
He stood up then, happy to go, and thanked Holly very much for the tea. She saw him off down the path and watched him get into his car, a gleaming little dark green Rover, which he obviously kept in impeccable condition. He drew on his driving gloves and pulled slowly and carefully into the road. Holly waved him off, but as soon as he rounded the corner, she dashed back into the house and grabbed her mobile. Miranda answered on the second ring.
‘Oh my God!’ Holly began, without bothering even to say hello. ‘Did you know Mum had a boyfriend?’
‘A what?’
‘A gentleman friend! A beau! A bit on the side!’
‘No, she didn’t!’
‘She did! I just met him! He came over here!’ Holly knew she sounded like an excited nine-year-old, but this was the first hint of fun, light-hearted news she’d had in ages. ‘His name is Christopher Benton and he’s a … what’s the word? A very dapper gentleman. She knows him from church, and they’ve been going to films and concerts and dinner for years. He says he was “courting” her.’
Miranda gasped. ‘Oh my word! Mum’s often mentioned she was going out, but she always said, “I’m going with my friend from church,” and I never asked who the friend was. I just assumed it was one of the ladies from the Mothers’ Union.’
‘Oooh, she’s a dark horse.’ Holly giggled.
‘So what’s he like?’
‘Very trim, very, very smartly dressed, a little older than Mum, I’d say. Apparently about eight months ago, she broke it off. She told him it was because I was coming back from South Africa to live with her. But he thinks – and I agree – it’s because she knew she was ill.’
‘That makes sense,’ said Miranda. ‘She’s very private.’
‘Well, he wants to do stuff for her, even if she won’t see him. He’s offered to sort out the garden.’
Miranda sighed. ‘That’s so romantic … him toiling outside, gazing up at her window …’
‘It’s quite sad though, isn’t it? I hope she will see him. He’s obviously smitten with her.’
‘Well, it’s her choice; she might not want him to see her when she’s so thin and ill-looking. She’s very proud.’
‘I know, but …’ said Holly, and at that moment her phone bleeped. ‘Randa, I’ve got another call coming in. Can I ring you back?’
‘Not to worry. I’ve got things on the cooker. We can chat later,’ Miranda said, and rang off.
Holly took her phone from her ear and was surprised to see that the incoming call was from Fraser. So surprised that she fumbled answering it and cut him off. Damn. She tried to ring him back, but it went straight to voicemail, no doubt because he was leaving a message for her. She waited impatiently for her message tone to bleep, so she knew he’d rung off. She didn’t bother listening to his message, just rang him straight back.
‘Sorry, being a phone klutz,’ she said.
‘You sound cheerful,’ he said, and she felt a little fizz of excitement at his deep voice and the smile she could hear in it.
‘Ah, I was just having a good gossip with my sister about our mother’s secret boyfriend.’
‘Sounds intriguing.’
‘So, Dr John, what can I do for you?’ Holly let her voice sound slightly flirtatious. Why the hell not?
‘I was just ringing to check up on you. See how it was all going.’
‘Well, it’s going like terminal cancer, really,’ said Holly bluntly. ‘We’re taking it one day a
t a time. She was struggling with pain, so she’s staying at the hospice for a few days while they sort out her medication.’
‘Sounds like a good idea,’ said Fraser. There was a pause.
Seize the day, thought Holly. It wasn’t as if she often had a free evening.
‘So are you busy this evening?’ she said casually. ‘Fancy a bite of dinner?’
‘You didn’t listen to my message, did you?’ said Fraser.
‘No, I just rang you straight back.’
‘I rang to ask you out for dinner. So great minds, obviously …’
Holly smiled to herself. ‘Well, then we’re in agreement. Dinner it is. Where would you like to go?’
‘Also mentioned in my message. I thought if you’d spent time in South Africa, you might appreciate the little bistro near me, where they do traditional South African dishes, Malay curries and so on, and some lovely seafood. I don’t know if you like seafood …’
‘I love seafood, but you had me at Malay curry,’ said Holly.
‘I can pick you up,’ said Fraser. ‘Is seven okay? Are you up in East Finchley? Shop or flat?’
‘I’m at my mum’s place in Ealing, so not too far from you at all,’ said Holly checking her watch. It was six already. ‘Give me a bit of time to sort things out in the house though. Can we make it eight?’
Fraser agreed, she gave him the address and they rang off. Holly would have to move fast. There was nothing in the house for her to sort out, but any amount on herself that needed doing. Her personal grooming of late had left rather a lot to be desired. She needed to wash and blow-dry her hair, pluck her eyebrows, shave her legs … and as for her bikini line … Not that Fraser would be seeing her bikini line, but it didn’t hurt to be neat and tidy.
She was lightning quick in the bathroom, and her hair, for once, was relatively well behaved. But finding something to wear was another matter. She hadn’t been paying much attention to food, so she’d lost weight, and a few of her standby outfits designed to dazzle hung loose on her, especially around the boobs. Not a good look. She didn’t have time to whip out the sewing machine and take anything in either. In the end, she went for jeans (her skinniest jeans, she was pleased to note), and a soft turquoise cashmere jumper. Her feet hadn’t changed size, so she could go to town on the shoes. She didn’t want to wear massive heels, as Fraser wasn’t all that tall, so she went for her favourite soft brown leather boots, a gift from Damon when he went on a business trip to Florence. She had thrown out pretty much everything he’d given her, but the boots had been too beautiful to part with. She kept her make-up subtle and simple, and with ten minutes to spare, she went into her mother’s bedroom to check out the ensemble in the full-length mirror on Judith’s wardrobe door. It was odd being in Judith’s room without her there. Holly resolved not to look at the bed, with the dent from Judith’s head still in the pillow, or at the bedside table, which was laden with pill bottles and medical paraphernalia. It looked and smelled like the bedroom of a sick person. In a funny way, it was worse, because for as long as Holly could remember, her mum had always been very private about her room. The children weren’t allowed in if she wasn’t there, and she had always kept it neat and clean. Now it was the centre of the house and any number of people trooped in and out every day. That must be hard for her, Holly thought, and resolved to be firmer about keeping people out and keeping it tidy, as her mum would like it. She looked herself up and down one more time. She looked slim, well groomed and casual … a definite improvement on the last two times Fraser had seen her. The outfit was rather plain, though. It would definitely be enhanced with a piece of jewellery – not something quirky or gaudy, just a simple gold chain. Judith had just such a thing, and she had let Holly borrow it in the past. Holly was sure she wouldn’t mind if she took it for the evening. She’d mention it to her mum when she visited her in the hospice the next day.
Holly went over to the dressing table (noting with sadness that it was dusty) and opened her mum’s jewellery box. Holly’s own jewellery was a crazy tangle of strings of beads, earrings and oddments stuffed in an old tobacco tin; Judith’s jewellery collection was the opposite. On the top tray she had all her earrings neatly paired and lined up in straight rows, with her bracelets on a roll of velvet. Necklaces lay in the tray beneath. Holly lifted off the top tray and quickly found the fine gold chain she’d been thinking of. She put it on and glanced in the mirror. It was the right choice and finished the outfit perfectly.
She lifted the earring tray back into place and went to shut the box, but the lid would not come down flush so she could close the clasp. She opened it again and jiggled the top tray, to make it sit evenly, but she could feel that it and the tray below were rocking, as if there was something big and awkwardly shaped in the box below. She lifted both trays out, expecting to find bulkier costume jewellery or something similar in the bottom section, but she was surprised to see that it was full of letters. She could see the top one was addressed to Mrs Judith Evans. It had been opened but was still in its envelope. The handwriting was rather beautiful and old-fashioned, written with a fountain pen, with an even, forward slope, as if the person who wrote it was used to writing a lot by hand. The postmark was recent. Holly lifted the letter and saw another one below addressed in the same handwriting. She riffled through the pile and there were a lot of letters, perhaps thirty or forty, all clearly from the same person. Holly had seen plenty of examples of her father’s handwriting so she knew the letters were not from him, and besides, the most recent postmark was just a month or so ago. Who was her mother’s correspondent? Judith had never mentioned a friend that she wrote to regularly, but then she had also never mentioned that she’d been dating someone for some years. Maybe they were love letters from Christopher Benton? It seemed Judith was a woman with hidden depths. Holly couldn’t bring herself to read any of the letters. It would be a dreadful invasion of Judith’s privacy. She carefully aligned the letters again, making sure the most recent one was on the top, just as she had found them. Then she gently replaced the trays in the jewellery box and closed it, successfully this time. Just as she took a step back, she heard the doorbell ring. Fraser. Speculating about her mother’s secret life would have to wait.
The bistro was lovely, a homely, warm place with mismatched chairs and scrubbed wooden tables, and old South African advertisements printed on tin framed on the walls. It was run by a couple from Cape Town, who had brought a little taste of the open sociability of their countrymen to London’s suburbs. Fraser had clearly done his homework, or been there before, because as soon as they arrived, he ordered a bottle of an outstanding South African Pinotage that Holly remembered drinking with Damon. African jazz played softly, and the host lit the old paraffin lamp that stood on their table.
‘This place is amazing,’ smiled Holly. ‘It makes me homesick.’
‘Homesick?’ Fraser asked.
Well, it was my home, for ten years. I haven’t been back here long enough for this to feel like home.’
‘Wait till you taste their bo-bertie.’
‘You mean bobotie?’ said Holly. ‘Curried lamb mince and egg topping? They do that? Wow. I love that.’
‘Save some space for the milk tart,’ cautioned Fraser.
‘Oh, I think I’m in heaven.’ She grinned. ‘I didn’t have lunch either, so I’m starving. I hope you’re not one of those blokes who thinks girls should pick at a lettuce leaf, because I’m likely to stuff my face like one of those competitive eaters.’
‘You say the sexiest things.’
‘Wait till I undo the top button of my jeans to make more room. You won’t be able to resist me.’
If the time they’d met in the coffee shop had not been a first date, Holly began to think that this definitely was. Fraser was acting differently around her. He no longer seemed to be the concerned doctor (or boomerang hurler). He seemed to be taking the role of an attentive man, clearly showing interest in her as a woman, and she was enjoying every minute of it
. It was the best date she had been on in years. Come to think of it, it was the only date she’d been on in at least five years. She had moved in with Damon pretty much the day she met him, so they’d never really dated, and there hadn’t been anyone for a while before Damon, and definitely no one since. She knew she should feel awkward and shy, but Fraser was such fun to spend time with. He was quick-witted and funny, well informed on topical issues but not a bore, interested in her and her life, and happy to chat openly about himself too.
On their second glass of wine, she plucked up the courage to ask about his marriage.
‘We were university sweethearts,’ he said. ‘We dated from halfway through the second year. She’s also a doctor. We worked well as a team, and marriage seemed the obvious next step.’
Holly couldn’t help thinking that was a terribly unromantic thing to say about your wife. He carried on. ‘Both our careers went well, and we worked very hard. She was a GP; I worked at the hospital. Then Finlay was born, and … well, don’t ever let anyone tell you that having kids will save a relationship. It won’t. And it’s hard. She really struggled, giving up work to look after him when he was tiny, and then when she went back, we fought all the time, about work and childcare and housework … everything became about scoring points: who’d worked the most hours that week, who’d changed the most nappies, who’d had the most broken night … it was like this awful, awful competition where we both had to prove how hard our lives were. Then I got offered a better position at the hospital in Hammersmith, and I decided to take it. I think that was the last straw. I woke up one day and I just thought, I have so little time with Finlay, and I want to enjoy it. I don’t want to fight any more. So I moved out. That was about six months ago.’
‘And she was okay with that?’
‘She was furious at first. I think she thought I was supposed to stay there so she could be angry with me all the time. But we started having counselling together and things are getting better now. Having Christmas together was a big step, and it seemed to go okay.’
