Chapter Nine All By Myself
‘They were a great bunch of people, weren’t they?’ says Patty over breakfast the Sunday morning after Mum’s bike ride.
I nod through a mouthful of toast. I’ve often suspected that my best friend only asks questions when I have my mouth full so I won’t answer and therefore interrupt her flow.
‘It’s such a worthwhile charity too,’ she continues. ‘The chapter raises money for that charity as well as taking people out on the bikes, so I was wondering about offering to do a fundraising concert for them — what do you think?’
My mouth is still full but I note that she’s actually paused and is looking directly at me, waiting for an answer. I gulp down my slice of granary as quickly as possible and have a swig of tea to moisten my throat afterwards.
‘I think that would be a great idea,’ I say truthfully. ‘It would give you the chance to rehearse your new numbers too.’
‘Hmm, that’s what I was thinking; but we’d need a venue. I can’t see our usual crowd being happy in a biker bar.’
‘And I can’t see the chapter singing along to “Material Girl” either,’ I add, laughing.
Patty starts singing the lyrics as she tops up our coffee cups.
‘I could ask Michael,’ I suggest. ‘He must have information about all sorts of buildings and venues, mustn’t he?’
At New Year, one of the things I found out about Michael is that he runs a property maintenance company. He and his team have contracts with many of the halls, social clubs and theatres in the area.
‘Oh yes,’ says Patty, ‘I’d forgotten — today’s the day you two actually get together. Do you want me to make myself scarce when you get back? I suppose you don’t have to bring him back here at all, do you? He has his own love nest.’
She stands up and does that ridiculous thing that schoolboys do — with her back to me she wraps her arms around herself and makes smooching noises.
‘How were you ever in charge of a team of people?’ I ask, tutting at her and putting my used crockery in the dishwasher. I leave her in the kitchen while I go upstairs to get dressed and clean my teeth, checking for any wayward seeds that might still be stuck. When I get back downstairs Patty has fortunately stopped snogging herself.
‘Just jesting,’ she says. ‘So what’s the plan for today?’
‘I’m keeping it simple,’ I tell her. ‘We’re meeting at a tea shop and we’ll go for a walk before coming back for cake.’
‘Sounds very chaste. I’m picturing you with your chaperone, early nineteenth century — you in a long dress and him looking like Mr Darcy.’
‘I could certainly go for that — the Darcy part anyway.’
‘Well, I hope he emerges from the lake wearing a wet see-through shirt for you,’ says Patty. ‘Although he’d probably catch his death during January in Cheshire and that’s not a great start to a relationship.’
‘I just didn’t want there to be any pressure on us,’ I continue, ignoring her. ‘The way we met wasn’t exactly conventional and for all I know, he may have decided he just wants to be friends. A walk means we can simply chat and there’s no awkward staring across a dinner table at each other.’
‘I hope it works out for you, Bo, I really do.’
‘It’s either this or I find a nunnery with a vacancy.’ I smile, although as I say the words I wonder if there are any nearby.
* * *
I’m trying not to worry too much about today. We’ve just met and he’s just a friend. A very new friend. Okay — a handsome, friendly, funny new friend but just a friend nonetheless. Have I built him up too much in my mind? After all, we had one afternoon at the vet’s and one New Year party — is that enough time to decide how you feel about someone? I’ve read somewhere that you know within six seconds or something ridiculous like that. True, I looked into his eyes when he opened his front door to me for the first time and wondered why on earth we hadn’t met earlier, but wasn’t that just the dopamine talking?
‘You’re overthinking it again, aren’t you?’
Patty’s voice stirs me from my thoughts and I realise that I’m still standing in the kitchen with one boot on and the other in my hand, poised to be placed on my foot. I shake myself back to reality and put on the second boot then my coat and scarf. I’m dressed for a walk but the scarf is a bright paisley design, which I hope says I’ve made a bit of an effort.
‘You’re going to be very early.’ Patty is looking at the clock on the wall.
‘I’m popping in to see Zoe first,’ I tell her. ‘I want to ask her about her gran’s list to see if she knows any stylists who might help with the 10 Years Younger part.’
‘And ask her if she needs any acts for events,’ adds Patty with a hopeful note. ‘They do weddings and celebrations, don’t they? Tell her we’re happy to perform at short notice.’
I promise that I will while also envisaging the bride’s face when she learns that the Granny-Okies are performing at her wedding. Horror is the first expression I can imagine.
* * *
My daughter Zoe is the manager of a big hotel and doing extremely well in her chosen profession. She works all hours, which is why she’s probably doing so well, and she’s dating a lovely man called James, who is older than her and who works just as hard. The time they do have free is quite precious and I don’t like to intrude on it, but when I rang to tell her about her gran’s bucket list, she said she wanted to help out. I’ve been invited over today to see how she can be involved.
‘Hello, Mum.’ She opens her front door wearing a beaming smile. ‘Come on in, we’ve bought pastries.’
This is going to be one of those days where I eat too much of the wrong stuff and end the day still feeling famished — toast for breakfast, pastries for brunch and cake for tea. I can already feel the sugar crash lining itself up for tonight. Of course I could say no, but that would mean being impolite to Zoe and then to Michael — so, as Patty would say, I have to take one for the team.
James is in the kitchen dressed in running kit and he tells me that he’s going for a jog to keep out of our way. He gives Zoe a peck on the cheek as he heads out.
‘You’re both looking well,’ I tell my daughter, then ask for a herbal tea because I might have to eat pastry but I can’t face more coffee.
‘We’re happy.’ The smile on her face reaches right up to her eyes, which are gleaming.
I begin by showing Zoe some of the photos from Mum’s biker evening, including one of her straddled across the huge Harley trike, throwing the horns sign with her hands. An apple-cheeked lady attempting to look rebellious is as funny looking as it sounds.
‘You have to send that to me,’ says Zoe. ‘I’m having it as my screensaver. So, being a biker and looking ten years younger, is there anything else on her list?’
‘Everything seems to have come from something she’s seen on TV but we’re tackling one thing at a time.’ I wasn’t lying. Neither was I revealing what I’d rather not think about let alone discuss.
‘Okay, well, I’ve had some thoughts,’ says Zoe.
The hotel hosts weddings most weeks of the year; as a result, Zoe knows many of the hair and make-up artists who operate locally.
‘I’m thinking that we could perhaps have a spa day so Gran gets spoiled rotten,’ she says. ‘I’ll book her and Grandad into a suite for the evening and treat them to dinner. I’ll get James to take Grandad out while we work miracles on Gran — when he gets back, his wife will look simply amazing. How does that sound?’
‘It sounds wonderful. Although I’m not sure one afternoon will get Mum looking a decade younger.’
‘Trust me, these make-up artists can work miracles.’ She laughs.
Zoe gets out a large diary and flicks through the pages, looking for a free date.
‘I’m surprised you don’t have everything stored electronically,’ I say.
‘I have both. On a weekend off I don’t like to go online or I’ll look at my emails and then the time vanishes. Plus, this one has lots of the business cards I collect.’
There’s a Perspex wallet clipped to the back of the book with lots of cards, on which I can see a list of cake specialists, stylists, florists and beauticians. It’s a paper Wikipedia of exactly what we need.
‘Ohhh,’ Zoe says, looking up with an excited look on her face. ‘There is another option — it would be even better than a spa day.’
She swizzles the diary around so that I can read the entry; I check that I’ve correctly guessed what the idea is and she nods.
‘I think that would be incredible,’ I tell her, and my daughter and I high-five in excited anticipation.
Zoe will check that the idea is possible and get back to me. If not, she’ll contact some beauticians to action Plan B.
‘I’m really looking forward to this,’ says my daughter. ‘It’ll be such fun conspiring together.’
I feel lifted by her words and am delighted that having this task to do together means that I’ll get to spend more time with Zoe. Perhaps Mum is a genius after all.
James gets back from his jog just as it’s time for me to leave. I explain where I’m going and Zoe tells me that she hopes it goes well, that I deserve to meet someone nice. It’s quite ironic because only a year or so ago, I was telling her that she needed to meet someone. They have their arms around each other as they stand in the doorway waving me goodbye; Zoe has most definitely met someone more than nice.
* * *
I reach the park a little bit early, so rather than bide time outside I go into the tea shop and see that Sarah from the book club is working today. After waiting for the queue to die down, I head to the counter to say hello.
‘You came,’ she says with a smile. ‘I’m so glad — are you on your own?’
‘I’m meeting someone shortly,’ I tell her. ‘So keep back some slices of your best cakes.’
Sarah is about to take her break so suggests we sit down and have a cuppa while I’m waiting. To be polite I do just that, take off my coat and sit down close to the door where I’ll be able to see Michael. I’m trying not to but I can’t help checking the time on my phone.
‘I’m sure he’ll be here soon,’ says Sarah. ‘We’ve a bathroom out the back if you want to freshen up. I’ll look after your things.’
I take up her suggestion rather than sit nervously waiting. I check that I don’t have pastry crumbs in my teeth now and splash water on my face. When I head back out Sarah gets up from the table saying she has to mind the counter but that I’m welcome to wait for as long as I like.
I sit until the tea shop looks to be filling up and I get glances from families who need a table to sit at. It isn’t fair for me to be taking up the space, so I tell Sarah that I’ll wait outside.
And I do. I wait and wait. He’s ten minutes late, then quarter of an hour then twenty minutes. I should call him, I know I should, and Patty will give me such a dressing down when I tell her about this. But he has my number, and if you’re the one running late then surely you’re the one who should call?
At the forty-minute mark it starts to rain and I know it’s the sign I was waiting for. I have to stop pretending that he’s coming — I’ve been stood up.