Chapter 11
ELEVEN
‘Hello, love, are you okay?’ Dad kisses me on the cheek.
‘I’m fine, Dad.’ He follows me into the kitchen where I pop the kettle on.
It’s the next morning and Dad has turned up with his friend in tow carrying a pane of glass. In no time at all, my window has been replaced and I breathe a sigh of relief.
‘That’s a bother with the burglary, there are some right toerags around these days, are you sure you’re alright, love?’ Dad asks, a concerned look on his face as he sips a cup of tea. ‘Maybe you should ask your mother to come and stay for a bit,’ he suggests.
‘I wouldn’t want her to do that, although of course it would be lovely, but she has her own life. And Dad, I’d prefer it if you didn’t say anything to Mum about the break-in.’
‘Don’t worry, we don’t really speak socially,’ he tells me. ‘Not that we’ve fallen out, but our paths don’t really cross.’ He shrugs. ‘I won’t say anything if you don’t want me to, love, but if there was anything serious to report, then I’m afraid I would,’ he says decisively. ‘We are still your parents after all.’
I look at Dad, his complexion ruddy from his gardening career and with a thick head of grey hair. He still tends to several gardens a week, retirement not being for him, as he was still so active when he was old enough to claim his state pension. Thinking about Sue and her husband, maybe there are a lot of retirees that feel that way. Especially as people seem to be living longer these days.
‘Of course, Dad, I get that. I wouldn’t ask you to keep anything secret that was serious.’
‘I’d maybe think about getting an alarm,’ says Dad. ‘Or a big dog.’
‘I don’t think Tony would be too impressed by that.’ I laugh. ‘I have actually ordered one of those camera doorbells though, I’ve ordered one for Eileen next door too, as she’s on her own.’
‘Well that’s a good start, although maybe an alarm is a good idea too. I can sort that out for you.’
‘Okay, thanks, Dad, if it’s not too much trouble.’
‘Nothing is too much trouble for my only daughter. And I know someone who can give me a good price,’ he says.
‘I thought you might.’ I giggle as Dad seems to know a lot of people who can supply just about anything ‘for a good price’. He got to know a lot of people in his gardening days, chatting to householders who were often tradesmen who could help him out if he ever needed anything, which has come in very handy over the years.
As my dad and his friend sip a mug of tea before they head off, I think of the forthcoming party. Checking my list, I realise we don’t have any Christmas crackers. I also think of Mum’s face when she saw the price tag on the ones we stock in Bentham’s, so they will be from a discount shop, unless I can persuade the manager to donate some. He did last year, but things have been a bit tight this year, with sales targets not always being reached. Let’s hope the pre-Christmas sales will boost things a little. The town needs a store like Bentham’s.
After Dad and his friend leave, I apply my make-up for work and my finger glides over the tiny lump on my cheek. I’m a bit old for teenage spots, which I thought it was initially, but it isn’t, and doesn’t appear to be going away. I’d read an article recently in a magazine about skin cancer, which concerned me enough to get it checked out which I will do, of course, but I’ve just been so busy at work, especially in the run up to Christmas. I’m probably worrying over nothing, although I will see a doctor after Christmas.
‘Oh my goodness, why didn’t you call me?’ asks Gemma as we replenish some lipsticks on a make-up display and I tell her all about last night’s burglary. ‘That must have been awful walking into the house and seeing it like that.’
‘It was a little. I’m sorry I didn’t call, but it was getting late. Eileen next door gave me a brandy and the use of her guest room for the night,’ I explain.
‘That’s good. Although I would have come over and stayed the night if you’d called, you know that.’
‘I know you would.’ I lean over and give her a hug. ‘You’re a good friend.’
‘So are you.’ She smiles at me.
I’m sat in the staffroom at lunchtime when I receive a call from Sue.
‘Hiya, honey, are you okay to talk?’ she asks brightly.
‘I am. I’m on my lunch break, so good timing,’ I tell her.
‘Great. I was just calling to see if you wanted any more decorations for the centre. There was more stuff in the loft where the giant snowman came from apparently. They are a bit old-fashioned, crêpe lanterns and that sort of thing, but hey, it’s a pensioners’ party I guess, so it might be to their taste.’
You would never think to listen to her that Sue is actually a pensioner herself, albeit still in her sixties.
‘I think that would be wonderful! And, yes, I’m sure they would love them and they might bring back lots of memories,’ I say, suddenly thinking of the chat I had with my mum. I also recall making those paper chains in red and green with Gran, and a snowman I’d made at school, made from a kitchen roll and covered in cotton wool. It stood proudly on the fireplace at Christmas time. I heard recently that kids aren’t allowed to bring toilet roll tubes in to school now, something to do with health and safety I think, which is baffling, especially as they’re allowed to play in mud in outdoor areas that are known to be teeming with germs and bacteria.
I’ve thought about Mum a few times recently, wondering if she is happy living alone, although I’m sure she would tell me if that wasn’t the case. Or would she? She’s always protected me from worrying about her and Dad, believing that parents shouldn’t burden their children. I guess that’s what parents do.
‘Old decorations do make you feel a bit nostalgic,’ agrees Sue. ‘Oh, and there is also some of those three-dimensional plastic reindeer and rosy-cheeked Santas that can be displayed on windows. We could really go to town with the decorations this year,’ she says excitedly.
‘Can you imagine what the council would have to say about us climbing ladders and hanging things from ceilings if they knew. They would probably insist we do a risk assessment first,’ I say, laughing, but thinking that they most definitely would.
‘I won’t tell if you don’t.’ She laughs. ‘Right. I’m off to have my lunchtime Slim Shake now. They taste like pond slime, but I need to shift a few pounds before Christmas.’ She chuckles again.
‘I’m sure you don’t need to worry about your weight,’ I say.
‘I don’t usually, it’s just I bought a dress in the sales a size smaller than I am. It was too much of a bargain to resist so I am determined to get into it. It’s hard work though, and your mince pies at the Christmas party won’t help. I simply can’t resist them.’
Sue, still raven haired with regular trips to the hairdresser to keep the grey at bay, has a shapely figure. I could imagine her being one of those young women with a really tiny waist.
‘Right, I’ll keep the decorations,’ says Sue as we are about to wrap up the call. ‘Oh, by the way, who won the gingerbread house competition?’ she asks. ‘I couldn’t make it last night.’
‘It was a young lady called Audrey. Her house was out of this world, it looked really professional,’ I tell her, recalling how perfect Audrey’s house had been and wouldn’t look out of place in a confectioner’s window.
‘Oh, lovely. I’m glad there is a bit more competition now. Do you remember when the old postmistress won it year after year, before it turned into such a big event?’ asks Sue.
‘That was maybe a little bit before my time, but I did hear about it, yes,’ I reply.
Before Jo opened the bakery in town and offered a masterclass for the winner, the prize was simply a silver trophy, which was displayed on a shelf behind the post office counter for all to see. My mum often told me stories of the formidable postmistress who won the competition annually, back in the day.
‘She was crushed the first time she didn’t win the competition, but I won’t lie, I was secretly chuffed,’ confesses Sue. ‘Do you know, I once saw her turn the door sign to closed on a lady with a parcel in the rain, because it was one minute to closing time,’ she tells me, and I can imagine her shaking her head. ‘And carol singers at her door were given short shrift too, she was like bloody Ebenezer Scrooge. Anyway, I’m off, speak soon.’
‘Bye, Sue.’ I hang up with a smile on my face, as I always do after I’ve had a chat with her.
It’s a busy afternoon, and a promotion on half price Christmas candles is pushing sales along nicely. At this time of year we all pull together and take varied items at all the tills, rather than our specialised ones as the manager doesn’t want people waiting in queues. The staff from the lighting department upstairs are suddenly rushed off their feet. ‘And earning their money, instead of standing around with their thumb up their arse,’ according to Gemma. Maybe she has a point, as every time I’ve popped upstairs the staff are rearranging displays and chatting. Christmas time definitely keeps them on their toes.
‘Have you got any plans for this evening?’ asks Gemma when there’s a rare lull in sales.
‘Actually, no,’ I say, watching a young woman practically give herself a free makeover with the cosmetic samples on display. As it’s Christmas time I don’t want to approach her with the hard sell, so I leave her to it. She’s probably on her way out to a Christmas party. And to be fair, some of the products are pretty expensive in here.
‘What, no jobs to tick off the list this evening? Ironing the tea towels, maybe?’ she teases.
The young woman makes eye contact with me before smiling and darting out of the shop. I hope she has a good evening.
‘I’m not that bad.’ I laugh. ‘Am I? And actually, I was just going to watch a film. Maybe try out a cocktail in the cocktail shaker I got in the Secret Santa. What are you up to?’
‘Coming to yours for a screaming orgasm, if you have the recipe,’ she says, and has me laughing out loud.
‘Of course I do, the cocktail shaker had a little recipe book. I have all the ingredients, apart from amaretto for that particular cocktail.’
‘I’ll grab a bottle on the way,’ she says, and I am more than happy to have my friend’s company this evening.
‘Great, it’s a date, then. I’ve got some chilli in the freezer I can defrost for dinner, if you like?’
‘Sod that, let’s order a takeaway. How about Indian?’ says Gemma. ‘Not something I’m likely to have much of over Christmas.’
‘Me neither, I suppose.’
I think of my ex, rifling through the kitchen drawer and shouting the takeaway options through to me in the lounge, and I wonder whether I should have tried harder with him? Don’t sweat the small stuff, and all that, although I quickly remind myself that it wasn’t in fact small stuff. He could easily squander hundreds of pounds a month on gadgets and takeaways. It wasn’t as though we even had to save for a mortgage as I own the house, but he might have shown some interest in at least saving up for a wedding. I’d been wearing his engagement ring for two and a half years, having been together for four. I realise it’s been over a year since I treated myself to a takeaway, the thought of it triggering painful memories. Maybe it’s time to grasp the nettle and get on with things. And I do miss the occasional takeaway, truth be told.
‘You’re on. A curry with all the trimmings sounds just perfect,’ I say as we grab our bags from the cloakroom.
‘Great, see you at seven,’ says Gemma. ‘I’ll bring the menu from A Passage to India.’
‘Oh my goodness, I’d forgotten how good this tastes.’
I devour some of the delicious lamb curry before taking a long sip of Indian beer. The banquet is spread out on the kitchen table, with pakoras, bhajis and dips all vying for space and some nineties music playing in the background.
‘Do you want me to stay over tonight?’ asks Gemma as she dips some naan bread into a dip.
‘I don’t mind. Do you want to?’
‘I wouldn’t mind.’ She shrugs. ‘I just thought you might like some company.’
‘Do you mean after the break-in?’ I ask.
‘Yeah, suppose. Although with it being Sunday tomorrow, I thought we could have a late night and sit up chatting like we used to. I can download some Take That to listen to.’
‘Gosh, remember listening to them?’ I say, recalling being at a disco where everyone was raising their arms in the air and singing ‘Never Forget’ at the top of their voices.
I think of my plans for tomorrow then as the day of the community centre party draws closer. There are sausage rolls to make and freeze, as well as a Christmas toy drop-off at the children’s refuge. And someone is coming tomorrow afternoon to steam clean the curtains in the lounge.
‘I mean, I won’t if you don’t want me to,’ says Gemma, noting my hesitation as I think of my plans for tomorrow and I feel like a bad friend. ‘I just thought it might be nice, that’s all.’ She shrugs.
‘Of course it would be nice. In fact, not just nice, it would be lovely. I do have a few things to do tomorrow, but we can still enjoy this evening together.’
‘Great!’ Gemma clicks her beer bottle next to mine, before she leans in close and glances at me.
‘Is everything okay, Lauren?’
‘Yes, fine why?’ I ask, backing away slightly.
‘I just… I’ve noticed you being a bit preoccupied lately. I’ve known you long enough to notice that. I hope there isn’t anything you aren’t telling me. I have noticed you stroking your cheek a lot too lately.’
‘Well, I thought it was nothing at first, just a spot but it won’t go away.’ I sigh. ‘I haven’t had spots since I was a teenager, even then it was rare that I got one. But it isn’t a spot, it’s a clear bump. I’m sure it’s nothing though.’
Gemma is quiet for a moment before she speaks.
‘Look, I don’t want to frighten you, but you ought to get that checked out,’ she says gently. ‘Moles and lumps shouldn’t just appear out of nowhere.’ She frowns.
‘Yes, I’ve thought about that too. I’ve just been so busy with everything lately. I’ll make sure I get it checked out after Christmas.’
‘You will not.’ She places her beer bottle down firmly on the coffee table. ‘You will make a doctor’s appointment on Monday.’
‘It’s literally just over a week until the new year. Besides, I wouldn’t get any results until after Christmas, so let’s just enjoy the holidays.’
‘Okay, but promise me you will get it checked. I am sure it’s absolutely nothing but, well, you were a bit of a sunbed fanatic when we were young, as I recall,’ she reminds me, as if I hadn’t already thought about that myself.
‘I know.’ I sigh. ‘Okay, I promise I will get it checked, let’s not put a downer on the evening and fire up some more tunes.’
I reassure myself that there is no history of skin cancer in the family and there is probably nothing to worry about.
As I listen to the music, Gemma’s comment makes me think of a holiday to Spain, headphones plugged into my Sony Walkman, soaking up the sun on a beach on the Costa del Sol wearing the lowest factor of sunscreen. I was determined to impress my friends with a tan when I got back, instead of heading to the local sunbed shop, which was essentially a room at the back of a general store. It was called Golden Days, which, thinking about it, would probably have been a more suitable name for an old folks’ home. The shopkeeper would hand us a bottle of lotion and take our money, never restricting our visits. It was big business then, and there was always a queue of girls, desperate for a tan before they donned their glad rags, ready for night out on the town. If anything, I’m surprised I don’t have any more sinister moles.
We chat about the old days as we always do when we play our favourite nineties songs, and as midnight approaches, my eyes feel heavy with tiredness.
‘Time for bed then, is it?’ asks Gemma, who I get the feeling would be happy to sit up all night chatting.
‘Gosh, I think it is, yes, I can’t take the pace anymore.’ I smile as I collect our plates to take to the dishwasher.
‘I wish I could feel sleepy at bedtime, but it takes me hours to get to sleep,’ reveals Gemma.
‘Does it?’ I ask, surprised.
‘Yeah, the minute my head touches the pillow my brain goes into overdrive,’ she admits. ‘It’s so annoying. The other night, I found myself googling Jennifer Aniston films at one in the morning. Why on earth would I do that?’
‘You never said you were having trouble sleeping. Is something bothering you?’ I ask.
‘Not especially. I just don’t like being in the flat on my own sometimes. Only lately, that is. And maybe you having a break-in has made me a bit nervous, even though I didn’t think it had,’ she admits.
Which probably explains why she offered to stay here tonight, and, of course, the other night, thinking about it. It never occurred to me that she might be the one who is feeling anxious.
‘Aw, I’m sure you’re perfectly safe, especially being on the second floor,’ I reassure her. ‘And you have secure entry downstairs. Unless you imagine someone shinning up the drainpipe.’
‘Well, I hadn’t thought of that, but I am now, thanks.’ She widens her eyes at me.
‘That’s hardly likely it, is it? Just keep your windows locked though.’
‘I do anyway.’ She laughs. ‘I don’t like the thought of spiders getting in.’
‘You should put some lavender along your windowsill. That will keep them out apparently.’
We head to bed, and I remind Gemma there is a TV in the guest room, if she can’t quite get to sleep.
‘I’ll probably sleep better with you in the next room,’ she says, and I wrap her in a hug. ‘Although I might just stick it on for the drone in the background as that usually sends me off.’
‘Okay. Night then.’
‘Night, Lauren.’
Despite Gemma’s assurance that everything is okay, I can’t help wondering if I am not the only one with something playing on their mind. I guess I will find out when she is ready to talk. We always do in the end.