Chapter 25
25
‘Natasha tells me you have a new young man in tow,’ Mum says down the phone. ‘When are we going to meet him?’
‘He’s not “in tow”, Mum. We’re just friends.’
‘That’s what she said you’d say, but I have a mother’s instinct for these things.’
‘I’m not sure that’s a thing.’
‘Of course it is. It was the same with Greg. I remember saying to Andy and your father that he was the one for Natasha the first time I met him.’
‘Umm, Mum. I was there, remember? I distinctly remember you saying he was altogether too smooth and you didn’t trust him as far as you could throw him.’
‘I didn’t. I’ve always loved Greg. Anyway, the point is that I was right about him and I’m sure I’m right about this young man of yours too. What’s his name?’
‘Will,’ I tell her with a sigh.
‘So you admit it? I knew it! Oh, darling, I’m so excited for you.’
‘Mum,’ I begin firmly. ‘Me telling you his name doesn’t mean we’re seeing each other. It just means I know who you’re talking about.’
‘Yes, but you had a funny tone in your voice when you said his name. Say it again.’
‘Will.’
‘See?’
‘No.’
‘You sounded wistful.’
‘And you’re imagining things.’
‘It’s not just me. Natasha agrees with me.’
‘Then you’re both delusional. There’s nothing going on. We’re just friends.’
‘But you want more.’
‘Let it go, Mum.’
‘You could bring him at Christmas.’
‘Mum!’
‘OK, OK. Have it your way, darling. I’ll factor him in for Boxing Day, just in case.’
There’s no reasoning with Mum when she’s like this, so I grit my teeth and let her chatter on. The thing that riles me most is that Will has occupied a surprising amount of my headspace ever since our day out with Isaac. I haven’t seen him since as I was working the Sunday afterwards, but I’m heading over there for lunch as soon as I’ve finished talking to Mum, and I’m trying very hard to convince myself that the feeling in the pit of my stomach is nothing more than anticipation of one of Jonathan’s fabulous roasts. I’ve run all sorts of scenarios through my mind to try to figure out what the reason for Will suddenly closing down might be and, although I haven’t yet come up with anything plausible, I think I’ve managed to rule out any major red flags. My plan today is to try to get Jonathan to open up a little more with some gentle questioning.
‘What are you wearing?’ Mum asks, bringing me back to earth with a bump.
‘For what?’ I daren’t admit that I’ve tuned out the last few minutes of the conversation.
‘For lunch with Will,’ she says, as if it were completely obvious. ‘You need to make a bit of an effort, darling. You can be quite pretty when you try.’
‘I haven’t really thought about it,’ I tell her, electing to let the not-so-subtle jibe pass me by.
‘Really, Matilda, you do make me despair sometimes. If you want to catch this boy, you need to set out your stall. Show him what a prize you are.’
‘I’m not sure I do want to catch this boy, as you put it, and even if I did, I’d want to catch him as me, not some artificial version of myself.’
‘Well, it’s your life, darling,’ Mum says with a theatrical sigh. ‘We all just want to see you happy.’
‘I am happy just as I am,’ I tell her strenuously. I do love my mother, but she drives me up the wall when she’s like this. Thankfully, she gets the message and the call wraps up pretty swiftly.
Typically, however, her words have hit home more than I want them to, and I’m now paralysed with indecision. Should I make more of an effort? I’ve always just turned up in jeans and a hoodie before, but maybe it wouldn’t do any harm to up my game a little. It might help with the charm offensive I’m planning to mount. With a sigh, I open my wardrobe and start flicking through.
‘Is this for lunch?’ Sarah asks as I parade my first combo in front of her and Mike, having told them about the conversation with my mother. My wardrobe is hardly jam-packed with exciting outfits but, after trying a few things on, I’ve gone for a long checked shirt over a mid-thigh-length skirt and tights, which I thought still looked fairly informal, just dialled up a bit.
‘Yes.’
‘I think it’s a tiny bit much, if you don’t mind me saying,’ she observes. ‘I like the shirt, but I’ve never seen you in a skirt before, so it stands out.’
‘Isn’t that the point?’ Mike asks from his station behind the stove. I’m not sure what they’re having for lunch, but it smells amazing.
‘Tilly needs to strike the right balance,’ Sarah explains to him. ‘She wants Will to notice how good she looks, without making it obvious how much effort she’s gone to for him.’
‘What?’ Mike looks totally bemused.
‘It’s not for Will,’ I clarify. ‘I just thought it might be nice to dress a bit more smartly, given how much effort Jonathan goes to with these lunches.’
‘It’s like make-up,’ Sarah tells him, completely ignoring my protest. ‘You want it to make you look your best, but also be subtle at the same time.’
‘God, it must be tiring being a woman,’ Mike says with a laugh. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever put that much thought into my appearance.’
‘I know,’ Sarah replies. ‘Your biggest dilemma is whether to shave or not. Anyway, jeans, Tilly.’
‘Make-up?’ I ask, still thinking about her previous remark.
‘Do you normally?’
‘No.’
‘Minimal then. Would you like me to do it for you?’
I laugh. ‘Is that part of the oncology training?’
‘No, but my sister’s a beautician, so I know a few tricks.’
I look at her suspiciously.
‘Trust me. If you don’t like it, we can always take it off, OK?’
‘Does this mean we’re actually admitting to being interested in this guy?’ Mike asks.
‘Tilly’s testing the water,’ Sarah says before I have a chance to shut him down. ‘Like her mum said, give the guy a glimpse of the prize and see if he takes the bait.’
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake!’ he exclaims. ‘Apart from the fact that you’ve mangled your metaphors beyond recognition, what does that even mean?’
‘It means that Tilly is going to carefully test whether Will is interested without revealing her hand,’ Sarah tells him archly. ‘If he is then great, but she doesn’t make a fool of herself if he isn’t.’
‘It’s not for Will,’ I repeat strenuously.
‘Of course it isn’t,’ Mike soothes unconvincingly before turning back to Sarah. ‘Does it really have to be this hard though? I’m pretty sure I just told you I fancied you from the outset.’
‘Yes, but the context was different and subtlety has never been your strong point, has it?’ she replies. ‘This is more like a game of poker. We slowly up the stakes until he either reveals his hand or folds.’
‘What if he doesn’t notice?’
‘He will.’
* * *
By the time Sarah has finished with me, I’m on the verge of being late when I pull up outside Jonathan’s house, but I have to admit she’s done a great job. We stuck with the checked shirt, which is tied in a knot at the base, but I’m wearing fitted blue jeans and, having discovered that we have the same shoe size, some brown leather boots that she’s lent me. I have no idea what they cost, but the leather is idiotically soft and comfortable, and I’ve already resolved to try to find a similar pair when I get time. I was initially worried by how much make-up she applied to my face, but the end result is every bit as subtle as she described. My eyes are just a little more defined, without the dark circles underneath that I normally have for a couple of days after night shifts, my lips look a fraction fuller, and my normally slightly sallow skin has a healthy glow. I can’t help taking a look in the rear-view mirror and smiling as I unfasten my seat belt; I have to admit that I do like this version of me. I’ll ask Sarah to show me how to do it myself, I decide as I ring the doorbell.
‘Hiya,’ Will says with a smile as he opens the door, and I’m embarrassed to admit that I feel a little nervous all of a sudden. His expression is giving nothing away as he steps aside to let me in, which doesn’t help. Has he noticed the difference? If he has, does he like what he sees? Why does that suddenly seem to matter to me? I can feel myself going into full-on overthinking mode as Jonathan comes out of the kitchen to greet me.
‘Tilly!’ he booms enthusiastically. ‘You’re just in time. We’re having a simple chicken roast today, is that all right?’
‘More than all right,’ I tell him. ‘How are you?’
‘Good. Did Will tell you about my day at flying club yesterday?’
‘No. He said you’d enjoyed it last week and you were going again.’
‘Bernard’s taken Dad under his wing,’ Will tells me, and I’m relieved to see he seems completely back to his usual relaxed self. ‘Dad’s started practising with a battery-powered helicopter, and rumour has it that the fearsome Audrey might be airborne within the month, weather permitting.’
‘Aren’t all these things battery powered?’ I ask.
‘Oh, no,’ Jonathan explains. ‘Audrey is powered by a miniature jet engine. That’s why I have to be so careful with her and why I want to get lots of practice in before I try to fly her. Mess it up with a small battery-powered helicopter and you learn a valuable lesson. Mess it up with Audrey and it’s both expensive and potentially dangerous.’
‘Thinking of which, have you had any luck tracking down the real Audrey?’ I ask Will once Jonathan has disappeared into the kitchen to put the final touches to lunch.
‘I haven’t tried,’ he replies, looking puzzled. ‘Why?’
‘No reason. I just got the impression, last time she was mentioned, that you were going to look for her, that’s all.’
‘I’m not sure I’d know where to start,’ he admits. ‘That kind of thing isn’t really my area of expertise.’
‘I’d start by googling Audrey Carmichael and see where it takes you.’
‘I’ll take your word for it.’
I’m a little surprised by Will’s lack of enthusiasm for a simple task that I’m pretty sure was his idea, but I’m more concerned by the tension that has suddenly reappeared in his face. Whatever’s up with him has evidently not resolved itself after all, and my heart sinks a little. Before I have a chance to dig any deeper though, Jonathan calls us to the table, where his ‘simple’ chicken proves to be anything but. As well as the gravy, crispy roast potatoes and vegetables, there’s bread sauce, stuffing and pigs in blankets.
‘The thing I like about chicken is you can add all the traditional Christmas trimmings at any time of year,’ Jonathan says with a smile as he starts to dish up. ‘Thinking of which, what do you normally do for Christmas, Tilly?’
‘Well, if I’m working, I tend to spend it picking tinsel out of bodily cavities it has no business being in, or dealing with other bizarre festive injuries, but I’m off this year so I’ll be spending it with my parents.’ It takes me a while to explain our blended family set-up, and how both houses are overrun with step-siblings, friends and other hangers-on for pretty much the entire period from Christmas Eve until New Year’s Day. ‘Tash and I generally go for the day on Christmas Day and Boxing Day if we can, and steer clear for the rest of it,’ I conclude. ‘What about you?’
‘It’ll just be the two of us,’ Will tells me. ‘First year without Mum and all of that.’
‘If you want to escape the mêlée, you’d be more than welcome to pop in at any time,’ Jonathan adds. ‘It’s always a pleasure to see you.’
I glance at Will, but his face is still inscrutable. Something is definitely not right with him and I’m starting to wonder if I’ve read him all wrong.