Don’t be, because my life is upside down right now. ‘Thanks,’ I smile meekly. ‘Ready?’
‘Yep.’ He bends and we lift, negotiating the table out of the store and setting it down on the ground in the courtyard. We wander back inside. ‘God, I forgot how much junk your Dad hoarded,’ David says, looking around, a little bewildered.
I laugh a little, completely unoffended. It’s like I can’t be angry with anyone right now, except Becker. Even my ex, who royally turned me over, and, technically, sent me to London and into the clutches of Becker Hunt. Yet as I’m standing here, in my father’s store, doing something I should have done weeks ago, I feel almost at peace. Anger’s eluding me, and in its place is acceptance.
‘What are you doing with it all?’ he asks as he casts his eyes over the clutter.
‘I have a clearance company collecting it later.’ I point to a cabinet and David moves in, taking one side and lifting as I take the other.
‘And what will they do with it?’
‘Skip it, I suppose.’
‘That’s such a waste.’ We both go red in the face as we lift and start shuffling along. ‘My company is doing a community drive incentive,’ he puffs. ‘Would you mind if I take some of it for the homeless shelter?’
I grin through my straining. ‘Since when did you become a saint?’
David hits the doorframe with his elbow, the thwack loud. ‘Fuck!’
I laugh, having to quickly lower the cabinet before I drop it on my toes. ‘That’s karma, that is.’
He grimaces and releases his end of the cabinet, rubbing at his elbow while I continue to titter to myself, the laughter rolling from me in waves. It’s not even that funny, but this laughter? It feels good. And this moment, this distraction? It’s masking everything I need masking.
I fall through the door later that afternoon looking like I’ve been rolling in cobwebs and dusted in flour. I brush myself down as I wander into the kitchen.
‘I was just going to call you,’ Mum says as she stirs a pot on the stove. ‘Thought you might have got lost in a worthless vase.’
I dip my finger in the stew and suck off the gravy. I’m famished. ‘David helped me.’
Mum’s stirring stops and she looks at me gone out. ‘He did?’
I dump my bag on a chair and get a glass of water. ‘It’s not like that. He apologised, I accepted. End of story.’ I take a quick swig of my water, parched. ‘We’ve left a few pieces in the store that David wants to donate to a homeless shelter through his company. I’ve given him the keys so he can let himself in to collect it all. The rest is in the yard ready to be collected.’
She smiles. ‘Thank you.’
‘Don’t thank me.’ I finish my water and set the glass by the sink, falling into thought. Empty. Dad’s store is empty. But my heart is full of the memories. I smile, feeling warm inside. Like a weight has been lifted.
‘I’m going for a few drinks this evening,’ Mum says, returning to her pot. ‘Coming?’
‘I was thinking of going back to London tomorrow,’ I say quietly. I’m on a roll. May as well keep up the momentum.
‘Then tonight can be your leaving party.’
I glance down at my bedraggled form. I feel manky. ‘I have nothing to wear.’
‘Then we’ll pop into town and find something.’
I gape at her. ‘I doubt I’ll find anything in town, unless I fancy a trip to the local bingo hall.’
‘Don’t be such a pessimist,’ she scolds, pouting. ‘There’s a new little boutique store. I bet they’ll have something.’ She looks down at her watch. ‘It’s four o’clock. We have an hour before they close.’ She whips off her apron and wipes her hands on a tea towel. ‘Come on.’ I’m claimed and guided out the door, Mum grabbing her coat and purse on the way. ‘My treat.’
‘No, Mum,’ I argue. She’s not exactly flush with money. I won’t have her splurging it on me.
She pulls the door closed behind her and links arms with me. ‘I know my daughter is a hot-shot in London, but I would like to treat her.’
A hot-shot in London? I inwardly snort. Maybe an idiot in London. ‘Mum, you really don’t have to.’
‘No, but I want to. And that will be the end of that.’ She pouts, an overexaggerated gesture that’s meant to make me feel guilty. It works. I sag, defeated, as she leads us towards town. I should be supporting her newfound spirit, not raining on her parade.
‘We’ll drink wine while we get ready, too,’ she adds.
I laugh to myself, thinking this woman is a flipping stranger. And, actually, I quite love her.
I gape as Mum sashays into the kitchen, totally astounded by what I’m looking at. A fox. ‘Jesus, Mum.’
She giggles and performs a carefully executed twirl. ‘What do you think?’
What do I think? I think she’s going to the local pub, not to the Royal bloody Opera house. ‘Amazing,’ I say instead, because she really does. Her curvy body is encased in a beautiful deep blue wrap-around dress with a silver shrug. ‘Heels?’ I look down at her feet that are graced in a pair of stilettos. I’ve never seen her in heels. She has always blessed her feet with squidgy-soled flats.
She points to her toes and admires them. ‘I’m getting used to them now.’
I felt okay until a moment ago, when my stranger of a mother flounced in. Now I feel a little underdressed. ‘Sorry, you did say we are going to the Saracen’s Head, didn’t you?’ I glance down at my simple black dress, a surprising find on our shopping trip.
‘Yes.’ She takes her wine glass and sips, all ladylike. ‘Paul bought me this dress.’ She brushes down the front, eyeing me closely for my reaction. ‘A man’s never bought me a dress before.’
I half melt, half wince. She looks so pleased. She should be lavished like she deserves to be lavished, but I can’t help feeling like I’m betraying my father’s memory by being happy for her. ‘You look beautiful, Mum.’
Her cheeks flush and her red lips stretch into a wide smile. ‘Thank you, darling.’ She scrunches her dark-blond hair, boofing it up. ‘Ready?’
Every head turns as we enter the Saracen’s Head. Mum marches to the bar like she owns the place, setting down her purse and smiling brightly as Paul drops everything to tend to her.
‘A glass of your best house white, landlord,’ she says confidently, resting her bum on a bar stool. I join her, unable to stop myself from cringing as Mum and her new boyfriend flirt outrageously.