Laughing, Judith protested. ‘You can’t give change for a good-luck coin, Mum – it’s bound to stop the luck working. Adam put it in there, anyway. You can’t hurt his feelings by refusing.’
Beside their mother, Molly’s dark brows rose in big-sister reproof that Judith was slithering into bigger and bigger lies just as she had when they were children and she wanted to avoid being found out over some misdemeanour.
From across the room, a silver-haired lady in a bobbly oatmeal cardigan demanded, ‘Was that purse really only a pound? My dear, I need a new purse. I don’t suppose you’ll be going to that shop again, will you? Could you get me one?’
‘And me!’ said another lady, reaching stiffly into her pocket for change.
Then a third lady called, ‘And me, m’duck, if you’re sure it’s not too much trouble.’
With a sinking heart and a grinning sister, Judith found herself collecting three one-pound pieces that she was supposed to exchange for three genuine leather purses ‘from the pound shop’.
When the other ladies had drifted off to their rooms or were nodding over newspapers, Wilma grasped Judith’s hand anxiously, her flesh chilly despite the central heating. ‘Were all them purses alike?’ Her whisper was almost a wheeze.
Judith understood instantly. ‘I think the rest were smaller.’
‘Oh.’ Wilma sat back, looking satisfied. ‘They won’t mind theirs being smaller.’
Judith reflected ruefully that her well-meant fibbing was about to cost her somewhere in the region of twenty-seven pounds and left much of the conversation to Molly. Her sister was good at talking trivia, storing up little nuggets of information about her neighbours – people Wilma had never met – what Molly’s son Edwin had told her about his skiing holiday in his last phone call and that Molly might visit him soon, then what seeds she intended to grow on her conservatory windowsill. Molly was working now as a volunteer in a charity shop alongside her part-time job in a café and Wilma was even interested in what knick-knacks came in. She followed all these little details with fierce interest until the residents’ cocoa was ready. Visitors were welcome to join in the nightly cocoa ritual at a cost of thirty pence per cup and Wilma used the pound from the purse to pay for them.
Judith waited until the frothing drinks had been served, then, knowing that once it was drunk visiting hours would be over, decided to break her news about possible travel plans.
Until the moment arrived, she hadn’t given much thought to the actual words she’d use or having to watch Wilma’s face as she delivered them. Faced with the reality her heart began to race. She found that the more she attempted to make her tone casual, the more falsely contrived it emerged and the fewer words she seemed to have at her disposal. ‘I have something to tell you,’ she began. ‘I’m probably going back to Malta, Mum.’
A silence. Molly frowned, her face sharp with disapproval, glancing at Wilma and laying a comforting hand on her forearm. ‘For good?’ Molly demanded.
Judith realised that she’d been too blunt and wished she’d talked to her sister first. Molly would have done something to prepare the ground, used some of the endless comfortingly inconsequential chat she had at her disposal to talk around the subject, how much Judith loved Malta, how she wouldn’t be surprised if Judith went back some day so that the seed of possibility was sown somewhere on Wilma’s narrow horizon. ‘I don’t know,’ she muttered. ‘But I’ve got to see Richard, anyway, and discuss what’s going to happen with Richard Elliot Estate.’
Wilma gripped her hands together. ‘But it might be for good? Just when I’d got used to you again.’ Her words were forlorn, and there was a hint of a tremble about her round chin. Then, hurriedly, ‘I’ve got my new glasses, did you notice? The frames are called “Amethyst”. That means mauve.’ The tremor gaining strength, she removed the glasses to display them, using the manoeuvre to surreptitiously blot her eyes with the back of her hand.
Dismayed, Judith gazed at the teardrop glistening on the soft white skin. Gently, she rubbed it away with one fingertip before taking her mum’s hand, swollen with age, in both of hers. ‘They’re lovely glasses. Even if I stay in Malta, I’ll come back often to see you, Mum.’
‘Of course you will, dear.’ Wilma sniffed. ‘But I just thought … I thought you might settle here, now, so that I could carry on seeing you all the time. Adam’s such a nice man.’
‘He is.’ Judith didn’t pretend not to understand. ‘He’s coming to Malta with me for a couple of weeks.’
Wilma fumbled to push the new glasses back on her face. ‘Lucky for you, he’s patient,’ she observed sagely. But she didn’t smile.
The sisters got a quiet table at The Three Bells in the little dining room. Molly didn’t like to eat in pubs unless it was in a separate dining room so The Three Bells was her choice.
A log fire roared in a stone fireplace ornamented with a companion set, andirons, bellows, horse brasses and a warming pan. The beams were hung with corn dolls and more horse brasses. A young lad with red hair and a serious expression wiped their table and presented them with cutlery wrapped in white paper napkins and a little round pot of sauce sachets.
Usually, Molly seemed to enjoy sitting across the table from Judith and talking about the charity-shop customers, those who came in every week to stretch their budget by trawling the clothes and the middle-class matrons who couldn’t resist Royal Doulton tea services at one-tenth of their value. Normally, Molly would go on to sniff about the man from Brinham market’s thriving antiques corner, because he liked to buy cheap in charity shops and sell dear on his stall.
But today she could scarcely wait for the first sip from her Coke before starting in on her sister with a huge sigh. ‘Just when I thought you’d settled here. But, no, you’re off again.’ She folded her arms with a little huff of annoyance. ‘You can’t keep shuttling backwards and forwards for the rest of your life, you know, Judith.’ She didn’t sound cross so much as anxious.
Judith couldn’t resist jibing back. ‘Actually, I can. I wish you wouldn’t talk as if I need your permission or approval. The days when Mum used to put you in charge of me have gone.’
‘Pity,’ Molly snapped.
‘Come off it, Molly—!’
But then Molly’s eyes glistened with tears. ‘I’m just thinking about Mum.’
Judith sighed and drank half her lager in one swill instead of making it last as she normally did when she was driving. ‘I’m sorry I handled breaking the news badly. I didn’t think she’d take it quite so hard,’ she admitted gloomily. ‘I lived there for over four years before.’
Molly picked up the menu as the red-haired teenager returned with his pad and pen and ordered herself chicken and chips. ‘I’m afraid she’s feeling her age,’ she said when he’d returned to the kitchens. For once she didn’t sound judgemental or bossy. Just sad. ‘Now, every time she sees you, she’ll upset herself over whether it’s the last time.’ She lifted her hand to halt Judith’s attempted interruption. ‘And I know that the same could apply wherever you lived – but when you’re in Lavender Row you’re only ten minutes from her. Malta, in Mum’s mind, is an inconceivable distance away. She can no longer grasp the reality of it, a little country in the middle of a big sea. The longer you’re away, the further it seems to her. And don’t waste your breath trying to convince me otherwise. I spent those four years you mention being cheerfully comforting when all she wanted was to see you.’
Judith sank into guilty silence.
Molly unrolled her cutlery from the paper napkin to inspect it for water marks. ‘How much was that purse?’
Judith groaned. ‘£9.99.’
Molly burst out laughing, Schadenfreude diverting her momentarily from worrying about her mother. ‘£9.99? And you’ve got orders for three more? You’ll have to pretend they’ve sold out, won’t you?’
‘No, I’m not disappointing those ladies.’ Suddenly, Judith wanted to cry at the thought of old ladies watching other people’s visit
ors and waiting for their wonderful one-pound purses.
Or was the indigestible lump of emotion lodged in her throat at the memory of Wilma trying to blot her tears?
Chapter Twenty-Three
But it was a week until Judith’s tears finally fell.
She’d been with Adam on a photoshoot, capturing images of twin brothers who’d married twin sisters. Now the sisters were each expecting babies – single births, disappointingly – during the forthcoming summer. A magazine was doing a feature on this convoluted family branch and intended follow-ups in one year and two years, keen to see how alike or unlike the children would prove to be.
The shoot had been an easy one and they returned to Adam’s flat by mid-afternoon to download the images. When the last had saved, Judith shut his machine down. ‘I’ve got the ingredients at home for a Thai green curry, fancy joining me?’
Adam took off the glasses he’d begun wearing sometimes for close work and rubbed his eyes. ‘You get me where I’m most vulnerable. You know I love Thai curry.’
‘Play you at paper-rock-scissors for who’s going to cook it?’
Adam studied his right hand thoughtfully. ‘I can only make a rock.’
Judith grinned. ‘Don’t try that stuff on me – we’ll both play left-handed.’
Adam still lost, leaving him to cook a curry in an iron wok in Judith’s kitchen while, free of domestic responsibility, Judith switched on her computer to download her emails. She clicked on send and receive, and watched four messages download. A message from Richard. One from Microsoft. And from her book club. Then an unfamiliar email address.
[email protected].
It was a moment before it made sense; a moment of her mind hunting for the right memory to tune into like a hound circling for the scent. Kiery Cake Eater. Her heart kicked into a gallop as she was assailed by a memory of playing a silly, raucous game of chase around Tom’s sprawling house, she roaring, troll-like, ‘Where is Kiery Cake Eater?’
Kieran, breathless from giggles and the delicious panic of the pursued, ‘Eating all the cake!’
The silly nickname had been used only between her and Kieran in the days when Kieran was young and life was simple and Judith always knew his whereabouts and that he was safe, her greatest problem likely to be how to prevent him from sneaking a third slice of cake. The scalding tears welled as she fumbled over the two simple clicks it took to open the message. She had to swipe the moisture away before she could read.
Hey Mum,
Me and Beth are fine. We live in a house we rent from a bloke. I got a job and Beth’s doing her A-levels at a college next year so she can go to uni. She’s temping till then.
Impatiently, she used her sleeve against her eyes again so she could read the rest.
Sorry I haven’t been in touch, I could’ve emailed u earlier, but we needed 2 get our heads round things. U know how it is! Clearing off and coping on your own is sometimes the only way. I know all the things u r going 2 ask, so here are the answers:
1) Yes, Bethan has sent a letter to her parents so they know she’s ok. But she posted it when we went away on a coach trip two days ago so they won’t know where she is. They should receive it today or tomorrow.
2) Leaving was her plan but I wanted the same.
3) No, I haven’t contacted Dad. If you want to tell him I’m ok, that’s up 2 u. He’ll be completely peed at me, anyway.
C u again,
Love you, Kieran x
Judith wiped her cheeks with the backs of her hands and then dried her hands on her jeans. C u again! It didn’t matter so much when, just so long as it happened. So long as she knew he was safe and one day she’d see his brown hair sticking up at the front and his lip creasing when he smiled.
Shaking, she began to type a reply, careful to let him know how much she loved him, how much it meant to hear from him and know him to be out of harm’s way. Not giving even a hint that her cheeks were wet and her fingers rubbery with emotion, as she ended: I shall certainly let Dad know that you’re OK, darling. He was distraught when you left. I’m glad Bethan wrote to her parents – they will be so relieved … Any chance of you doing the same for Dad? Please? Tons of love forever, Mum xxxxxxxxxxx
And then Adam arrived beside her, sliding his arms around her and pulling her head onto his shoulder, not asking any questions, just stating gruffly, ‘I don’t like it when you cry.’
But she only sobbed harder. ‘He’s OK. Adam, he’s OK. He’s living in a rented house and he’s got a job …’
He rocked her while relief shuddered through her, stroking her hair and letting her tears soak his shirt while the curry stuck and burnt and the rice he’d been watching like a mother with a baby, boiled dry.
They ordered a takeaway while the pans containing the ruins of Adam’s green curry steeped in hot soapy water.
Adam watched as she ladled rice from The Oriental Garden – never as fluffy as his – and creamy green curry out of the foil cartons and onto hot plates. ‘Are you going to ring him?’
Judith didn’t have to be told that ‘him’ meant Tom. She blew on a steaming, fragrant spoonful of curry that she was by now ravenous for but which scorched her lip when she approached it. ‘He’ll hang up on me before I can tell him why I’m calling.’
Adam nodded, annoyingly managing a spoonful of succulent chicken and plump sultanas as if it wasn’t hot at all. ‘And if you knock on his door?’
Judith sucked air into her mouth in inelegant whoops as she put the curry sauce in anyway and it stung her tongue. ‘Big risk of having the door slammed in my face. I’ll have to write the stupid man a note.’
‘Perhaps then he’ll thaw. He’ll realise that you didn’t have to put yourself out to give him information about Kieran.’
Blowing gustily on her second spoonful, she shook her head. ‘Not Tom. He bears a grudge. But at least if he doesn’t want anything to do with me, I won’t have to worry about him any more. It’ll be a relief in a way.’
‘You haven’t had to worry about him since you separated.’ Adam put the slightest emphasis on the ‘had’.
‘True. Maybe I should’ve accepted that sooner.’ Then she added, honestly. ‘I hope Kieran does write to him, though, and that they make up at some time in the future. Tom ought to be happier than he is.’
Adam got up to grab a cold can of Strongbow from the fridge, cracked it open and shared it between two glasses. ‘I hope you still worry about me when I’m as old and grouchy as Tom.’
‘Of course.’ Warmed by the hint that they might have some kind of relationship going forward, she took the glass up and toasted him. ‘To the coming of your grouchy old age.’
He clinked his glass with hers. ‘But not too soon.’
Old age that was occasionally grouchy had already come to Wilma and Judith was glad Adam was with her on her visit that evening because Wilma wasn’t in one of her sunnier moods. She awaited them in her pink-and-white room rather than in the lounge, her walking frame before her chair like a barrier.
Her first words were, ‘Did you get them purses?’
Judith was ready for the question. Experience told her that Wilma wouldn’t want the shine being taken off her lovely – cheap – new purse by her companions getting newer ones the same. Petty jealousies and one-upmanship seemed to feature large in her life now she was living communally. ‘Well, I have, but they’re not as nice as yours,’ she said with faux regret and displayed three purses without the section for cards or the stitchery design on the front that Wilma’s boasted. ‘Do you think the ladies will mind?’
Wilma bridled. ‘I’m sure they won’t have to. Goodness me, if they send you out for their shopping, they’ll have to put up with what you bring them, won’t they, duck?’ Wilma took a purse in swollen hands, turning it over and slowly unzipping compartments. ‘Smaller than mine, aren’t they? Same price?’
‘That’s right,’ Judith agreed, feeling that one more lie in the Great Purse Deceit was scarcely important.
They had been £7.99.
Wilma looked sharply at Adam. ‘You haven’t put a pound coin in all of these, have you?’
Looking slightly surprised but forbearing to enquire why the devil he should, Adam shook his head. ‘No, Wilma.’
‘I put two pence in each, that’s all.’ Judith dropped the purses back in the carrier. ‘Shall I hand these out, or will you?’
Wilma became more gracious. ‘I will, duck, to save you the bother.’
Hiding her grin, Judith handed the carrier over, knowing Wilma wouldn’t be able to resist reminding all her friends that they must remember to thank Judith.
‘So,’ Wilma turned to Adam. ‘You’re letting her go off back to Malta, then?’
Adam raised a rueful eyebrow. ‘I’m afraid I have no power to let her or prevent her.’
Rattling her dentures around her mouth, Wilma looked thoughtful. ‘I thought you might try.’
He raised both eyebrows this time and seemed to consider carefully. ‘I don’t think there would be much point.’
Wilma sighed. ‘No, there never was.’ She shook her head dolefully, folding her knobbly hands over the buttons of her maroon cardigan. ‘But you’re going with her, aren’t you?’
Adam nodded. ‘For a couple of weeks.’
Wilma went on discussing Judith as if she wasn’t there. ‘You’re a good man. I hope she’ll let you look after her.’
‘Shouldn’t think so.’ Adam gave Wilma a big wink.
Judith perched on the corner of Wilma’s bed, listening with rising irritation. ‘I’ve lived in Malta before – it’s a safer environment than Brinham,’ she pointed out.
Wilma lifted her stick and used it to push her Zimmer aside as if it might interfere with her fixing Judith with a level look through her glasses. ‘Do you miss Kieran?’ she demanded.
Taken by surprise at Wilma’s swerve to another subject, Judith hesitated. Why would she ask that? Judith hadn’t told her mother that Kieran and Beth had run off, wishing to be in possession of a happy ending in the form of hard information of Kieran’s whereabouts first, as she now was. Kieran’s visits had always been sporadic and Wilma hadn’t complained about not seeing him lately. ‘Yes,’ she agreed, cautiously.
A Home in the Sun Page 24
