Chapter 15
JESS
Easter Sunday and the opportunity to have a fabulous going-away lunch for Sorrel.
My little sister might not actually be starting at the Susan Yates School for several days, but Kamran had offered to drive both Mum and Sorrel down to London before this, staying at some fancy hotel in Hyde Park – the Peninsula, apparently – taking in a show and ensuring Sorrel was clothed and equipped with all the new things she would need at her new school.
I’d googled the hotel, shocked – yes, actually shocked – that anyone had enough dosh to pay two and even three thousand pounds for a room for the night. And that didn’t even include breakfast.
I concentrated on grating stale bread into crumbs before mixing them with garlic, chilli, lemon and prosecco for the lamb stuffing.
‘I can’t believe you’re allowing Kamran to fork out for all Sorrel’s new stuff,’ I said, looking up as Mum let herself into the kitchen, freshly laundered and starched tablecloth and napkins to hand.
‘He’s not,’ Mum said calmly, starting to lay the pristine white cloth on the table at one end of my tiny kitchen.
‘Oh?’ I actually turned round at that. ‘You raiding your savings then? Mind you, I suppose now that you’re going to be living the high life as Lady Frozen, you can afford to squander them a bit.’
‘Stop it, Jess.’ Mum continued at her task, fetching and polishing glasses with a tea towel. ‘It really doesn’t become you to be so dog in the manger.’
I bit my lip. Jesus, what the hell was wrong with me? I was turning into an unpleasant, caustic piece of work and I didn’t like myself one bit these days. ‘I’m so sorry, Mum, really…’
Mum walked over to me, taking me in her arms like she’d always done for all us girls when we’d been upset as kids.
‘I know, Jess, I know, darling. But we all need to move on up a little. Would you rather I was next door, spending my days waiting for both Jayden, as well as the bloody awful porphyria, to put in an appearance?’
‘No, of course not. It’s just, you know, I feel as if everyone I love is going away. Moving away.’ I felt the tears, which were never too far away these days, pricking at the back of my eyes and had to make a conscious effort to breathe deeply in order to stop them in their tracks.
‘Well, obviously Sorrel is,’ Mum soothed.
‘But Robyn and Fabian are here in Yorkshire. Just at the other end of the village and, as far as I can see, here for the duration now that The White House is a reality. I mean, if not for this new restaurant – and especially with St Mede’s closing down as it inevitably will – then I’m sure the pair of them would have been hotfooting it back to London asap. ’
‘I know, I know… but Mum… I feel so… so… lonely.’ There, I’d said it, actually come out with the ‘l’ word.
‘Darling, I’m going to be twenty minutes up the road.
You know you’re welcome there any time. And let’s get one thing straight: Kamran might be treating Sorrel to a posh hotel this week, as well as tickets to Phantom – you know she’s always wanted to see it – but there’s no way I’m letting him pay for anything else for her.
He gave the London outing and theatre tickets to her for her sixteenth birthday in February. ’
‘OK, OK!’ Well and truly told off, I put up both hands and moved away from Mum, reaching into the pantry for an extra-large bag of carrots.
‘Here, let me,’ Mum ordered. ‘I might not be the best cook, but I can aways peel a few carrots.’ She paused. ‘I’ll go and fetch that extra mint you want in a minute as well.’
‘It can’t be cheap kitting Sorrel out with all she needs.’
‘It most certainly isn’t.’ Mum paused once more. ‘Your father came up trumps.’
‘Jayden did?’ Surprised, I turned to face her.
‘I don’t know why you’re so surprised, Jess,’ Mum admonished. ‘Jayden might have spent most of your growing-up years not here, but who do you think paid all the bills? We may not have had a great deal,’ Mum went on, ‘but you didn’t need free school meals, you always had new shoes and uniforms and—’
‘OK.’ I attempted to cut Mum off mid-sentence once more.
‘—and you were loved. You were safe and secure and loved, Jess. That’s the important thing, I reckon. Far more important than material things.’
‘Well,’ I said, trying to smile, ‘it would have been nice to have had a father around.’
‘I know.’ Mum began to systematically peel one carrot after the other. ‘How many do you want doing?’
‘There’s seven of us,’ I replied. ‘But, you know, that’s why I’ve tried so hard to hang on to Dean, slippery as he is,’ I went on. ‘For Lola’s sake.’
‘I reckon Lola’s turning out pretty well.’ Mum smiled. ‘As did you.’
‘If I’d felt a little more grounded growing up, then maybe I wouldn’t have needed or wanted the security I felt Dean would give me. I’d have gone off to university and had the confidence to branch out on my own, becoming a professor in food sciences and…’
‘Steady on!’ Mum laughed. ‘Listen, Jess, you’ve got the opportunity to move on up now with The White House. You can do what you want; meet new people, be independent.’
‘The thought terrifies me.’
‘I know it does. So, why not start by using those gym passes George gave you?’
‘The gym? What the hell’s the gym got to do with anything? And how d’you know about it?’ I looked at Mum. ‘Who’s been talking about me?’
‘No one’s been talking about you,’ she soothed. ‘Stop being so damned prickly, Jess.’
‘Well, they obviously have.’
‘So, I’ll come with you. You know how anxious I was at starting to swim again. But honestly, I love it.’
‘You’ve not got a big behind.’
‘Neither have you, Jess. So, how about it?’
‘Might do.’
‘And then the hockey,’ Mum continued, seeing a chink in my armour. ‘You love hockey. George said—’
‘Oh, bugger George!’ I almost exploded. ‘Standing there in his pinstriped suit watching us all. Creepy!’
‘Don’t be so daft, Jess. He just loves all sport. He must have been at some meeting the other day or he’d have had his kit on. Kamran says he just can’t get over not playing tennis at international level any more…’ Mum broke off, obviously hoping to impress me with this little snippet. It didn’t.
‘Yes, I heard he was a Wimbledon wannabe.’
‘Won everything as a kid, apparently. I was watching some old clips on YouTube the other day. He was sensational on court.’
‘What happened?’
‘When?’
‘I mean, why did he give up?’
‘Oh, I see.’ Mum finished the carrots and moved to the sink to add water to the pan. ‘Some sort of skiing accident I believe. Broke his leg in several places. Once something like that’s happened to you, there’s no going back.’
‘S’pose.’
‘So he went into Frozen with the other brothers. He’s in charge of assets.’
‘Assets?’ I put a tentative hand towards my own backside. ‘What does that mean?’
‘Getting his hands on St Mede’s, I guess.’
‘I think he’d like to get his hands on Robyn.’
‘What?’ Mum started to laugh. ‘Don’t be daft. As far as I know, he’s got enough on his hands with Mina. You know, the supermodel? She’s from Leeds and—’
‘Oh, spare me George Sattar’s love life,’ I snapped. ‘Right, mint sauce or onion sauce? Or both?’
‘Both, I think.’ Mum frowned. ‘You need to show Kamran just how fabulous a cook you are.’
‘Don’t say that or I’ll get nervous, Mum. It’s just a simple Easter Sunday roast.’
‘Darling, when you cook, it’s never simple. You’re good, you know you are.’
‘Where’s Sorrel?’ I asked, going to the window.
‘Clearing out stuff from drawers. And deciding what she’s taking with her. It’s quite possible she’ll never come back to actually live next door.’
‘Well, she won’t if you’re insisting on selling the place,’ I said mildly.
‘And then she said she was going out somewhere. She’s sixteen, Jess.
’ Mum gave me a look. ‘I can’t monitor her all the time.
You were already seeing Dean at her age, you know.
Right, mint? There’s a fabulous patch just coming into its own up by the back fence.
I wonder if I can transfer it to Kamran’s garden,’ she mused, pulling on her gilet and heading for the door.
* * *
Three hours later and I was ready for the shower.
The stuffed and marinated leg of lamb was in the oven, the long loaf of chicken and black olive and truffle terrine with baby leeks was waiting simply to be sliced and decorated in the fridge as were the two puddings I’d been working on for the past couple of days.
I sniffed both at my hair – shades of garlic and chilli – and at my armpits – pure working woman in the kitchen – before glancing at my phone.
Lola should have been home now. I frowned, dithered, wondering if I should ring Dean.
I’d dropped Lola off at Dean’s mother’s place the previous evening with Dean promising not only to take Lola to the cinema to see the new Ghostbusters film, just released, but to have her back here – I glanced at my phone once more – twenty minutes ago.
I really couldn’t afford the half-hour round trip to get Lola from my mother-in-law’s.
Sighing, I picked up my phone and called Dean but it went to voicemail.
I left a terse message demanding the speedy return of my daughter.
‘Yes, my daughter, Dean,’ I muttered in Arthur’s direction, pointing at myself just so the dog at least would be fully aware as to whom Lola belonged.
He wagged his tail sympathetically, looking hopefully at the leash hanging up behind the door as I headed for the shower.
* * *
‘There, not bad. Not bad at all, Jess Butterworth. Or is it Jessica Allen again? Shall I revert back to my maiden name? I’ve always preferred it to bloody Butterworth…’
Surveying myself in the bathroom mirror, running a hand through my mass of wet, dark curls, I critically surveyed my body: my ample breasts and behind, tempered with the slimmest of waists.
I pulled in my stomach, as well as my cheekbones, and peered at the reflection of my back and bum in the mirror as I turned.
Had I lost weight? Had all the nervous tension over kicking Dean out, leaving Hudson House and about to start this new venture at The White House, helped to shed a few pounds?
I reached into my side of the wardrobe (‘all mine now, Dean,’ I sang, trying to muster up pleasure that I really was, once again, by myself), scrolling down the rail and batting away the mundane to find the one skirt that was a marker of where I actually was in the fat stakes.
Oh, all right, I wasn’t actually fat. Never had been really: just a size or two up on the slim women that were my mum and sisters.
The skirt was nothing but beautiful, a fitted pencil design in the finest cream gaberdine that I’d bought a couple of years previously, guiltily splashing the cash that Jayden had sent for my birthday.
I’d worn it to some party Dean and I had been invited to and I knew I’d looked good, better than good, hoping it would turn Dean’s head away from the affair I was beginning to suspect him of having with some woman from the golf club.
It hadn’t, and I’d carefully and methodically placed the skirt in its plastic protective bag back in the wardrobe, gone downstairs and eaten the cake – yes, all of it – I’d made for myself to actually celebrate the birthday Dean had forgotten about. Again.
Standing in my underwear (I really could do with some new stuff), I removed the skirt from its protective polythene, breathing in the very faint hint of perfume Robyn had sent from London for that particular birthday two years previously and which, failing to lure my husband back to my side, had gone the way of the skirt, thrown into a drawer, and it had not seen the light of day since.
I slipped the skirt from its hanger, caressing the soft fabric, unzipping the back and sucking in everything possible before stepping into its depths.
I stared. This wasn’t my skirt! It couldn’t be!
Or maybe this wasn’t actually my body! The skirt caressed my hip bones without a hint of tightness, the fabric smooth and sexy and just utterly, utterly gorgeous.
I must have lost a couple of pounds. I made my way to the airing cupboard, scrabbling around until I found the scales I’d hidden in there years ago.
‘Bloody hell.’ I actually said the words out loud as I stared down at the dial, stepping off and back on again, lifting the scales and giving them a bit of a shake before repeating the whole performance.
I was more than a stone lighter than what I’d thought I was.
‘Oh, bloody hell,’ I whispered again. ‘Am I dying of some awful disease? Not Mum’s porphyria? ’
‘Woah, you are looking good, Jess.’ Robyn was standing next to me looking at my reflection in the mirror.
‘Jesus, you made me jump.’
‘You left the back door open.’
‘For the dog,’ I said vaguely, smoothing my hands down the sleek lines of the skirt.
‘You’ve lost weight. Not that you needed to. I keep telling you, you’ve a figure to die for, Jess. S’pose Dean kept telling you otherwise?’ Not waiting for an answer, she went on, ‘I’ve come up to warn you…’
‘Warn me?’ My eyes met Robyn’s in the mirror.
‘Hope you’ve done lots of veg. There seems to be one hell of a lot of people downstairs.’