Chapter 30
N ora was in the front room, frantically comparing three-for-two wrapping paper deals online. She looked frazzled and cross. Mirren saw her before she let herself back into the house.
‘Mirren!’ said her mother. ‘Where have you been? Seriously. Do you KNOW how much there still is to do ...’
Mirren ignored this, went up and gave her mother a huge hug.
‘I have a new plan for Christmas Day,’ she said.
‘What???’ said her mother.
‘Don’t argue,’ said Mirren. ‘I’ve spoken to the boys. They’re cool with it.’
‘WHAT???!!!’
‘We’re going to spend it with Violet. It’s her last Christmas. We’re going to go there. The local restaurant caters – apparently, it’s excellent. And you won’t have to lift a finger.’
‘But . . .’
‘Although they’ve said if you want to volunteer in the care home kitchen, you’re more than welcome – they can always do with the extra hands. You could probably be in charge of the others,’ said Mirren. ‘You know they need six hundred roast potatoes?’
‘NO,’ said Nora, hands to her mouth. ‘How on earth do they manage that?’
‘With a LOT of fuss and organisation, I imagine,’ said Mirren.
Nora thought about it for a long time. ‘Well,’ she said eventually. ‘Perhaps I’ll give them a call.’
‘I’ve WhatsApped you the number already,’ said Mirren. ‘They’re waiting to hear. It’s going to be great. Violet’s friend is down staying from Scotland. They’ve let her check in for a few days into an empty room. She says it’s like a holiday.’
‘Goodness,’ said Nora. ‘I thought all Violet’s friends were dead.’
‘So did she,’ said Mirren, thinking happily of the two women she’d left nattering – Violet, of all things, out of bed on the chair, chatting away nineteen to the dozen, catching up on two long lives and sharing memories of the fathers they had lost long ago; the stories they had shared.
‘A letter came for you,’ said her mother. ‘Imagine! A letter.’
Mirren went and looked at the envelope. It was beautiful; the envelope was heavy cream and it had been addressed with a fountain pen and a copperplate hand. Mirren wondered how Theo had figured out where her mother lived, then remembered she should probably turn off her Snapchat map.
She didn’t touch the letter, didn’t pick it up. She’d nearly slept with him. She’d listened to all of it, just as she had with Rob, before she’d given him all her money and he’d vanished. And then a pretty boy had come along and planned to do exactly the same thing. Ugh. No.