by Katie Fforde
Leo didn’t answer for a while. ‘I think I don’t want things to change between us. If you hook up with someone – Jack – they will.’
Lorna realised this was true. ‘But not necessarily in a bad way. You don’t want your old mother dependent on you when you’ve got a family of your own. You’d prefer to have her being happily looked after by her toy boy.’
Leo became very serious. ‘Do you think he’ll do that? Do you think he’s your forever one?’
Lorna sighed, suddenly despondent. ‘I really don’t know.’
‘I just don’t want you to get hurt,’ said Leo. ‘That’s all it is. Honestly.’
All the euphoria of the previous day had melted. By the time she’d parked outside Jack’s house, ready to pick him up to drive them both to the airport, Lorna felt she was on the path to destruction. Why on earth did she think a man like him would like a woman like her in the long-term? She was mad! She doubted the relationship would last the week they’d agreed to be away for. But because she really wanted it to work, and she really wanted a romantic break with Jack in France, looking at stone, drinking café crème in little bars, eating at lovely restaurants, generally being on holiday, she took a deep breath, locked the car, picked up her handbag and knocked at the door.
The sight and smell of Jack, fresh from the shower, was extremely reassuring. He swept her into his arms, into a bear hug that reminded her he worked with heavy objects. He was strong and he hugged her tightly. And then he planted his lips on hers in a kiss that gave a lot and promised more. She felt weak with relief.
‘Come and have a cup of coffee. I’ve just got to send a couple of emails before we go.’
‘Actually, I’d love to visit the loo first,’ she said.
‘No problem.’ He ushered her into his bedroom. ‘The en-suite is the only one I’ve got, I’m afraid. But I hope I left it reasonably respectable.’
She realised his flat was even smaller than her house and that if living together became a possibility, they would have to live in hers. Then she stopped her thoughts in their tracks. Why on earth was she thinking about that?
She washed her hands and came out into the bedroom, looking for a towel. There was one on the bed, damp from the shower. As she dried her hands her attention was caught by a drawing, framed and hung on the wall. It was of a nude woman and it was good. So she put down the towel and went nearer to inspect it.
Then she gave a little stifled scream. Her knees gave way and she staggered back to sit on the bed. Jack, presumably hearing her scream, came rushing in. ‘What’s the matter? Are you all right? Oh. You’ve seen the drawing.’
Lorna nodded. Her head was swimming and she felt sick. The naked woman in the drawing was her, when she was about eighteen years old. When she had a body she could be proud of. ‘Where did you get it?’ she whispered.
‘I bought it. The artist is very well respected. Didn’t you know that?’
She shook her head. ‘I was an art student. I did life modelling for the money. I didn’t know who was in the class drawing me.’
‘You look terribly shocked. I don’t understand?’
Lorna wasn’t quite sure herself why she felt so terrible but for some reason she felt like a teenager who’d sent her boyfriend a naked selfie. He had a picture of her, naked, on his wall. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Her voice was shaking.
‘I didn’t mean not to tell you. But when I worked out how I knew you from somewhere, it felt a bit awkward.’
Lorna was feeling more than a bit awkward. He had this picture of her, in his bedroom. If it had just been her body, that wouldn’t have mattered so much, but it was identifiably her. How could she ever take off her clothes in front of him now, when he was used to looking at her teenaged body? She was well over fifty, and older than he was. She couldn’t do it. Not now.
‘Look, let’s go and have a cup of coffee.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘We’ve plenty of time.’
‘I can’t come with you,’ said Lorna.
‘Don’t be silly. A cup of something will sort you out.’
She looked at him. ‘I’m not being the slightest bit silly. And how could you think a cup of coffee would “sort me out”?’
‘You’re overreacting. It’s just a drawing.’
‘Of me. On your wall.’
‘I don’t know why you’re making such a big thing of it. It’s because of the drawing I was so attracted to you.’
Lorna caught her breath and managed to choke back a rising sob. ‘Well, you’re attracted to the wrong version of me! You were probably still in junior school when that was drawn.’
‘Maybe – I don’t know. But why does it matter?’
She realised he would never understand that for her, the fact that he had her at eighteen imprinted on his mind, and would see her body, nearly forty years older, meant she couldn’t go through with this trip.
She had thought she was in love with him, she fancied him as much as she ever had anyone, but she could not sleep with him. And she certainly couldn’t go on holiday with him.
‘I’m sorry, Jack, I really am. But this has all been a horrible mistake. I’m going home.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake, Lorna, it’s a piece of art, not a porno movie! You’re not ashamed of being a life model, are you? Why on God’s earth should you be?’
But she was, and the fact that he didn’t understand why it mattered so much somehow made it even worse.
‘I’m going, Jack,’ she said. ‘Goodbye.
Without waiting for him to react, she walked out of the house and got into her car, picking up her handbag on the way.
Setting off for home didn’t seem possible, not if Leo might be there. She needed somewhere she could cry, undisturbed, and then have time to disguise the fact that she’d been crying. She drove until she found a lay-by and then parked.
She realised she felt too numb to cry. She felt so stupid. What had she been thinking of? She had been about to go off to France with a man several years younger than herself. She had even been thinking about moving in with him. If it wasn’t so heartbreaking it would have been almost funny.
She switched on the radio. Maybe Radio 4 would help her see sense. She closed her eyes and tried very hard not to think about Jack.
She opened them again shortly afterwards, disturbed by someone banging on her car window. It was Anthea.
‘What on earth are you doing here? I thought you were off to France with your toy boy?’
Lorna wound down the window. ‘Oh, Anthea, I’ve been such a fool.’
‘There’s no fool like an old fool!’ said Anthea gaily. ‘Come to my house and I’ll feed you gin until you feel better. Good excuse not to go to this wretched washing-up meeting that Kirstie has called.’
As Lorna didn’t have a better plan, she followed Anthea’s car to her house.
‘Now,’ said Anthea, sitting her down at the kitchen table with a gin and tonic strong enough to anaesthetise an elephant. ‘Get that down you. You can tell me all about it later.’
Lorna allowed herself to take a couple of sips of gin before she spoke. ‘It’s a bit early for gin, isn’t it?’ she said shakily.
‘The sun is over the yardarm somewhere.’
‘I suppose it is.’
‘Now I’m going to make you a sandwich. Did you have breakfast?’
Lorna remembered the toast she’d tried to eat when talking to Leo. ‘Not really.’
‘You’re lucky. I’ve got some smoked salmon.’
A few minutes later, one sandwich down and half the gin, Lorna said, ‘I’m not going to be able to drive home.’ The thought of walking back to her house, bag in hand, having to explain to Leo that, actually, she wasn’t going to France made her have another sip of her drink.
‘Seamus would run you back if I asked him, or you could stay the night. Now, tell me what happened.’
When Lorna had finished, Anthea said, ‘So, you’re turning down the chance of a fling with a rather gorgeous man because he’s got a
picture of you naked?’
‘Put like that it does seem silly but I felt betrayed. He’d had that picture all the time we’ve known each other and he never told me. And I was eighteen when that drawing was done; I’m not eighteen now. He’d have got the saggy, wrinkly, dyed-hair version. He’d have been revolted. I couldn’t bear it.’
Anthea’s raised eyebrows indicated just how neurotic and silly she thought Lorna had been. Lorna persisted. ‘Honestly, Leo was disgusted at the thought of me and Jack being together.’
‘Not at all the same, dear. But you feel like you feel.’ She narrowed her eyes at Lorna. ‘So what do you want to do now? Go home and pick up the pieces? Or, may I suggest, as you’ve got a bag packed, that you go away somewhere else? Tell Leo, obviously, although why one’s children feel they have to know all about one’s private life I do not understand.’ She said this so vehemently it made Lorna wonder for a moment if she was speaking personally.
‘Well, I’m not looking forward to going back to do a walk of shame when I’ve done nothing to be ashamed of. Apart from being a bloody idiot.’
‘Find somewhere nice to go, either a good B & B or an Airbnb. You can mope about where no one knows you and come back refreshed. Then get in touch with Jack and tell him it was all a huge mistake.’
‘I don’t know about that. Agreeing to go away with him was a huge mistake but breaking up with him wasn’t. But I do like the idea of a holiday.’
‘Splendid. Let’s find you something.’
To Lorna’s surprise, Anthea produced a laptop from under a pile of newspapers and opened it up. ‘Now, where do you fancy? What about the seaside? Nothing like the sound of breakers on shingle for bringing on a good self-pitying howl. Devon suit you?’
By the time Lorna had finished her drink and refused a second one she was booked in to a very charming-looking B & B near Salcombe. Anthea had telephoned Kirstie and made some excuse for not being at the meeting and then turned to Lorna. ‘What now? I’m busy this afternoon but what would you like to do? A boxed set of something on the telly? I’ve got quite a good selection. Or there’s Netflix.’
Lorna had a sudden vision of Anthea curling up of an evening in front of Breaking Bad and almost smiled. ‘You’re very up on the latest technology. I’m impressed.’
‘I’ve taken to it in my old age. So, what do you fancy? I’ve got Brief Encounter if you really want to cut your throat.’
Lorna shook her head. ‘What I’d really like to do is some weeding. Have you got a bed that needs clearing? Preferably full of convolvulus? I find digging up bindweed very therapeutic.’
Anthea looked thoughtful. ‘Can’t promise bindweed but I’ve got frightfully behind on the weeding lately. If you want to get stuck in, I’ll find you my gardening gloves. The tools are all in the shed.’
That evening, when Lorna had had a relaxing bath after a hard afternoon’s digging and they were eating omelettes at the kitchen table, she said to Anthea, ‘I’ve been wondering, what goes on behind all those self-sown ash trees? At the end?’
Anthea shrugged. ‘To be honest, Lorna, I don’t know. I’ve always just ignored it. I’ve got enough garden to look after without investigating new bits.’ She picked up the bottle. ‘More wine?’
17
Philly perched on the edge of a chair at the kitchen table, drumming one heel and picking up cake crumbs with her finger. Her grandfather sat opposite, looking at her with a mixture of amusement and bafflement.
‘Can you not just calm down, child?’ he said. ‘You’re jumpy as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs. Is it the young fella coming back that’s eating you?’
‘Yes. No. I don’t know. It seems such a long time since he won all that money at Newbury.’
‘Credit to him that he went straight off on another cheffing job. He could have just come back and made bread,’ said Seamus.
Philly agreed with her grandfather but she’d missed him horribly. ‘I know. He’s so determined to get as much money as he can, he works all the hours.’
‘So, he doesn’t even know how well the garden opening went? What a triumph it was for you all?’
‘I wouldn’t say it was a triumph, exactly.’
‘Why not? The garden looked great, you sold all your plants and it made the papers. What’s not a triumph about that?’
‘Well, if I could have produced all the plants myself and if I hadn’t been left with nothing to sell so I’m now having to work my socks off, filling the new polytunnel with seed trays so I’ll have plants to sell again—’
‘You text him, don’t you?’
Philly nodded. ‘Little bit.’
‘And are you walking out together?’
Philly smiled, knowing he was using this outdated expression to amuse her. ‘Well, he was quite friendly after Newbury, but he’s been away since then. And…’ She paused for dramatic effect but also because she was worried. ‘…will he have gambled away all his wages?’
Her grandfather, who was shaving off another slice of cake to give to Philly, didn’t answer immediately. ‘I understand why you’re worried. It only needs a couple of lucky wins on the horses and people think they can work the system and end up losing everything. But I think he’s more sensible than that. He’s a hard worker. He wouldn’t want to go throwing it away.’
Philly accepted the cake. She and her grandfather had agreed long since that several very thin slices of cake weren’t nearly as fattening as one ordinary slice. ‘I do hope you’re right.’
‘So what are you going to feed him on? The feast for the conquering hero? I’d offer but I know you want to do it. Besides I won’t be back till six.’
‘Oh, God, Grand, I can’t cook for him!’ Just the thought of it made her shake with nerves. ‘I’ll get a ready meal. He’ll complain but he’ll understand.’
‘Not at all. I’ll ask Anthea if she’s got an easy recipe. Simple home cooking is always acceptable.’
‘Yes, but you know how busy I am.’
‘You need a break from the polytunnels. You’ve spent so much time in them recently I’ve been checking you for powdery mildew. Out of the plastic, into the kitchen. It’ll be good for you. Besides, cooking’s not that hard.’
‘Says you, who only makes cakes.’
‘Many people say baking is harder than cooking,’ said her grandfather. ‘Your young man is coming home and you need to make him a meal. He’ll be hungry.’
Philly sighed. What he’d said was a bit old-fashioned, but it was also true. It was just she was panicked at the thought of cooking for such a demanding diner.
‘OK,’ she said reluctantly. ‘You get me the recipe and I’ll give it a go.’
Some hours later, she was just shutting the oven door, having made sure all was well, when she heard Lucien’s van. She had a moment or two to feel excited and nervous, fluff up her hair and smooth it down again, and wish she hadn’t put on a dress – he’d think she’d made a special effort and know she cared. She stepped away from the cooker.
He came in carrying a bottle of champagne and wearing a big smile. He put the bottle on the table and came over to Philly and hugged her, tucking her into his arms so her head was under his chin. She couldn’t breathe but she didn’t mind.
He let go of her and stepped back to look at her. ‘God, I’ve missed you! And you look so pretty! You’ve put on a dress. Wow! Actual legs!’
Philly couldn’t stop smiling. She was so happy to see him, so happy that he was so happy. ‘Hi, Lucien,’ she said and hoped she didn’t sound squeaky. ‘How are you?’
‘Super good now I’m back home with you. I have missed you so much! Have you missed me?’
She shrugged, hoping just how much she’d missed him wasn’t written all over her face. ‘I’ve hardly had time to miss you…’
He waited, looking just a bit worried.
‘… but I have,’ she finished, still smiling.
He relaxed. ‘Let’s put this bottle in the freezer and then I’ll get m
y things in. You won’t believe how much I’m looking forward to sleeping in a bed – even if it’s on my own.’
When he came back, his hair was damp and his shirt sticking to him in places. ‘I had to have a quick shower. I must have been stinking when I arrived.’ She hadn’t noticed him stinking, precisely, but now he smelled of something lemony and a little bitter: it reminded her of lemon balm and artemisia and maybe some vervain. It was fresh, clean and sophisticated. While he was fetching the champagne from the freezer she decided to grow more of the unusual herbs, just for their smell. She found her brain was frantically distracting itself from the matter in hand. She was so happy but also nervous.
Lucien found two wine glasses and opened the bottle. ‘No champagne flutes?’
She shook her head. ‘Paris goblets or tumblers, you know that.’
He nodded and handed her a glass. ‘I’d drink it from your shoe if it came to it but I don’t think you’d fancy drinking it from mine.’
She smiled. ‘Not your trainer, no.’
‘Here’s to being home,’ he said, and they clinked.
‘Here’s to you being home,’ said Philly, delighted that he referred to her home as his home.
‘What’s for dinner? Something smells good.’
Philly put down her glass, some of her euphoria dispelled by anxiety. ‘Stew. Anthea’s recipe. I hope it’s all right.’ She frowned. ‘I don’t suppose I’ll ever dare call Anthea that to her face.’
‘Why not?’
She shrugged. ‘She scares me.’
‘Why?’
‘She’s so – well – posh.’
‘Don’t say that. I mean, I’m going to need you to be brave.’
‘Why? Please don’t tell me you really have lost all your money on the horses.’
‘No! Of course not. Why would I do that? I’m not an idiot.’
Philly sighed with relief. ‘Then why—’
‘I’ll tell you later. Is Seamus going to be with us for dinner?’
‘Yes. He said he would be.’
‘Good.’ He watched as she got the casserole dish out of the oven and took the lid off. Then he could bear staying on the sidelines no longer and joined her at the stove.
