Bess harnessed the moment and tried to recapture some of her old sass, tried to emulate the woman who remembered fun. The woman who was enough. ‘Well, just what you’d expect, really. What he likes and dislikes for his breakfast, how he doesn’t like the lady groomer who nipped his leg that time with the clippers, his views on Brexit – that kind of thing.’
‘Talking of breakfast, how about I make you something special before I go?’ Mario rubbed his hands together, keen and eager, as if he could take this upturn in the atmosphere and spin it into something bigger, something more – a net that might cover them and keep the sadness from their backs.
‘Like what?’ she smiled, touched at the thought.
He opened the cupboard over the fridge. ‘I know you always do pancakes for our birthdays, but I don’t know how to make batter. But I can do you a bowl of Crunchy Nut? Or sugar-free muesli? Or . . .’ He ran over to the bread bin and peered inside. ‘. . . half a toasted teacake?’
It wasn’t quite her definition of ‘special’. ‘Actually, Mario, think I’ll just stick to my toast and marmalade.’ Her day wasn’t right if not started with a slice of toast and a zingy dollop of bitter marmalade with bits of shredded peel dotted about the toast. ‘Just a coffee’d be lovely.’
She peeled the cellophane from her new plant and let her fingers tickle the delicate silken-headed, bell-shaped flowers that were so perfect and beautiful they looked like they might be fake. One dropped as she touched it. Catching it, Bess scrunched it into her palm and shoved it in her dressing-gown pocket.
‘How about we do a chippy run tonight for your birthday?’ Mario said, adding milk to the black coffee and passing her the mug.
‘Yes, it’ll be nice not to have to cook. Why don’t we do that?’ She sipped her drink, as Chutney scratched on the back door. Mario let him in.
‘Maybe the kids’ll come over?’ he asked.
‘Maybe. I’m seeing Nats later; she said she’d pop in on the way to work. I’m not sure if Jake’ll be let out – it is a school night, after all, and they’ll be tired after travelling back from Scotland.’ She pulled a face to make her husband laugh.
‘I hope they’ve had a nice time.’ Mario sipped his tea. ‘I thought they might go further afield for their honeymoon. I’m sure Dan gets money off flights, as he’s with the airline.’
‘Mmm.’ It was apparently just one of the many, many perks of her son-in-law’s job as an air steward. ‘Well, I shall look forward to my fish and chips. I have a day of cleaning and laundry ahead, and a quick lunch with Mum and Dad.’
‘Not much of a day off, is it?’ he said, making his way to the bottom of the stairs.
‘Day off? What does that mean?’ she smiled.
‘When that lottery win comes in, eh?’
‘Yep.’ She sat at the table and drank her coffee, reading her birthday text from Natalie one more time. If she ever did win the lottery, Bess wouldn’t be fussed about the acquisition of gold and diamonds, nor would she visit one of the flashy garages on the outskirts of town and lay down bundles of cash for a shiny sports car or a massive four-by-four. No, all she wished for was the ability to wake naturally every day and for someone else to clean her house and do the laundry. Her fantasy lottery wishes, however, were varied and ever-changing. Some days, she pictured opening an orphanage in a hot country and feeding hundreds of kids who might be more grateful for her efforts as a dinner lady than the children of the Evergreen Academy. Not that her job wasn’t without reward: she liked what she did, helping to prepare and dole out food, and she loved to cater for the pale, allergy-riddled kids who broke her heart, unable to imagine what it must be like to have to check and double-check against the real possibility of every single morsel they forked into their young mouths sending them into anaphylactic shock.
Once again, she thought about Leonard Bethelbrook, the boy in the year above her at school, who, with an undiagnosed peanut allergy, accepted a bite of his mate’s sandwich and dropped to the ground. He died right there on the edge of the football pitch, where his peers were using jumpers as goalposts. She had only been eleven when it happened but remembered the day – the sound of the ambulance arriving at speed through the school gates, the blue light of the emergency vehicles bouncing around the walls of the classroom, casting everything and everyone in a lilac glow.
‘Funny the things that stick in your mind, even after all these years,’ she said to Chutney, who ignored her.
Bending down, Bess picked up a small blue piece of confetti in the shape of a heart, which had been hiding around the leg of the kitchen table despite her best efforts with the vacuum cleaner and feather duster. That darned wedding confetti hid in the folds of cushions, nestled on top of the laundry basket and even clung to the lounge curtains. It taunted her as it fell from the creases of clothes and dropped from light fittings. It wasn’t only the irritating littering of her home that bothered her, but also what it represented. Not that she would tell a soul – how could she? Jake, twenty-eight, was now married to the love of his life – what was not to like? But the truth was, there was much she didn’t like: the feeling that she had been supplanted in her son’s affections, the way it aged her, having a son old enough to marry, despite this being the case for many a year, and the finality of it. Are you jealous, Bess? She silently asked herself the unpalatable question.
It wasn’t that she disliked Daniel, exactly, but there were certain things about him that . . . he just . . . It was as if . . . he was a bit . . . It seemed like Mario wasn’t the only one having trouble finding the right word this morning. Her son’s hastily planned wedding and absolute joy at setting off on his new life adventure had made her realise that her adventure had ceased to be joyous some time ago now, and the lurking confetti, the untouched tier of wedding cake now taking up a disproportionate amount of space on the kitchen worktop and the stack of beribboned gifts piled high on the floor of Jake’s old bedroom stoked something close to rage inside her. She couldn’t help it.
Where Jake and his husband were concerned, she walked a delicate, winding path where rocks tumbled from a great height, the way ahead was obscure and all she could do was keep her head down and keep moving forward. Her son-in-law was a gatekeeper and it bothered her how every plan, every celebration, every thought had to be run past Daniel. She hated the way Jake deferred to him and privately had to admit that yes, this feeling was rooted in jealousy. She used to be the person he came to. She had secretly christened Daniel ‘The Jake Whisperer’, not that she would ever tell them, as that would be mean. And one thing she hated was mean.
She heard Mario whistling upstairs and looked at the orchid sitting in all its vibrant glory on the draining board.
‘I hate orchids,’ she whispered to the dog, who gazed up at her. ‘Best not tell him, Chuts.’
CHAPTER THREE
August 20th 1984
Bessie pressed play on her tape recorder, then pulled down her cheek with one finger and closed her eye, the lid of which was already painted with bright metallic-blue eyeshadow. With her other hand she ran the creamy tip of the dark green kohl pencil over her upper eyelid, close to her lashes. She blinked and studied the effect in her little make-up mirror with the iridescent back. It felt important to look as fabulous as possible today. Whenever possible, she and Michelle liked to match outfits and make-up, so it was absolutely clear they were best friends.