Chapter 15
Celia has almost reached home, head bent against the fine rain, when she sees a taxi pulling up outside her block. With her anorak hood up she hurries past and lets herself into the flat, calling to Logan that she’s back.
‘Hey, Mum.’
He doesn’t emerge from his room, which stings her a little. But then he probably needs time on his own to come to terms with stuff, just as she is having to do. She’s tried to talk to him, and been rebuffed, and she’s not going to force him if he really can’t bear to discuss things right now.
Instead, she tugs off her wet jacket and then flinches when the doorbell rings.
Is that Geoff? Was that him pulling up in a taxi?
No, Geoff has the car. It was at the caravan site. Celia saw it with her own eyes. A houseplant customer, then? Has she forgotten an appointment? Maybe it’s that pleasant man with the droopy cactus and the frankly rather rude wife. For a moment Celia freezes, wondering what to do.
Enzo, his name was. She remembers that now, although she doesn’t think his wife’s name was mentioned. Better deal with it, she decides, going to answer the door and reeling back at the vision before her.
‘Hi, darling!’
‘Amanda!’ she exclaims. It’s not just Amanda. It’s Amanda with an enormous suitcase on Celia’s doorstep. Is she hallucinating now? But no, the hug is real, virtually knocking the wind out of her as Amanda babbles an explanation.
‘Thought I’d surprise you! Only decided to come up yesterday. Thought, if I mentioned it, then you’d start to plan, and I don’t want to put you to any trouble…’
‘Oh, it’s, er… it’s no trouble?—’
‘It is okay, isn’t it? To surprise you like this?’
‘Um, of course it is,’ Celia fibs, wondering which parallel universe she’s landed in as Amanda follows her in and Logan emerges, looking confused with hair all askew, from his room.
‘Hi! You won’t remember me,’ Amanda gushes, forcing a hug on him too. ‘It’s been years since I saw you. I’m Amanda, Celia’s best friend.’
* * *
If Amanda is amazed that Logan isn’t a teenager called Laurence, then she conceals it very well. And now Terri has popped in after her shift, clicking straight into tea-making mode once introductions are over. In challenging times, the kettle is her go-to appliance.
‘I remember you when you were in nappies, Logan,’ Amanda announces, at which Logan cringes visibly, backing up against the fridge.
Terri shoots Celia a quick look. Does she really?
her expression says. In fact, Celia remembers the couple of times Amanda had visited – at the tiny one-bedroomed flat, where they’d lived before this place – when Logan was still at the nappy stage.
The bottom-cleaning business had clearly appalled her and she’d acted as if it had been quite rude of Logan not to hold it in until she’d gone.
‘And look at you now,’ she enthuses. ‘You’re a big, handsome man. So tall and grown-up! And so like your dad…’
Celia gasps, momentarily stunned, and Logan gawps at Amanda as if she has morphed into a bizarre amphibian.
Doesn’t she remember that Geoff isn’t his biological father?
Logan knows. Of course he does. Celia had told him, as soon as he was old enough to understand – that there was ‘a relationship that didn’t work out’.
But of course Geoff was his real daddy and it made no difference at all, she assured him.
He loves us and that’s all that matters.
‘’S’cuse me,’ Logan says quickly and zooms off to his room.
Perhaps realising her faux pas, Amanda switches tack. ‘Anyway, it’s lovely to be here, Celia. And your place looks great. So homely!’
‘Er, thanks…’ Celia catches her appraising the worn-out kitchen, the ancient fridge and antiquated cooker.
‘So, are you up here visiting family?’ Terri asks.
‘Not really, no.’ Amanda’s smile seems to congeal, and no further information is supplied.
So why are you here? Celia wants to cry out.
Although she knows it’s wrong, that perhaps she should be delighted by this surprise visit, she is already willing her to leave.
After all, she was sent home early from work today and she is definitely not up to making polite chit-chat.
‘So what do you do, Terri?’ Amanda asks. Of course, Celia reflects, no one asks TV presenters what they ‘do.’
‘I’m a nurse,’ she replies.
‘Oh, what kind?’
‘Psychiatric.’
‘So you’re a psychologist?’
‘No, I’m a nurse ,’ Terri reiterates, ‘in a psychiatric hospital.’ Celia is conscious of her back teeth jamming together.
‘Oh, right. You mean people with mental illnesses?’
‘Well, it’s a secure facility,’ Terri starts.
‘What does that mean?’
Terri regards her levelly. ‘They can’t go out.’
‘You mean it’s like jail?’
‘It’s a hospital ,’ she explains, flashing Celia another quick look, which has the effect of triggering a wave of shame in her. As if this is somehow her fault; that Amanda seems to have no idea how to behave beyond her fashiony circles. ‘Our patients have secure care needs,’ Terri adds firmly.
‘Why’s that?’
‘Well, there are murderers…’
‘Murderers!’ Amanda exclaims with some glee. ‘Wow. Any famous ones?’
Terri bites into a custard cream with a sharp snap. ‘I can’t talk about individual patients.’
‘Oh, of course. No, I understand. But I really admire people like you.’
She’s acting like she’s on Look for a Lifestyle , Celia realises, picturing the last time she saw her on morning TV.
Amanda was interviewing a woman – a firefighter, she remembers now – who’d come on to the show for a style makeover.
It’s amazing, the kind of work you do, Linda.
And you’re obviously used to dressing practically and that’s great!
That’s amazing! But shall we try a more flattering silhouette?
Celia couldn’t understand what was wrong with Linda’s silhouette.
Now Terri offers Amanda the plate of biscuits. She waves it away dismissively.
‘No thanks. Aren’t they terrifying?’
‘I like custard creams,’ Terri quips, and Amanda laughs.
‘I mean the murderers.’
‘Well, all jobs have their challenging parts, don’t they?’ Terri remarks.
‘You’re right,’ Amanda agrees, nodding. ‘We had difficult women on the show sometimes. Oh my God, so tricky!’ Another boisterous laugh.
‘Ones who’d suddenly refuse to wear this colour or that colour or a dress or a skirt.
Nightmare!’ As if that might be on par with the daily medical care of a convicted serial killer.
‘Or they’d have a panic attack and refuse to be filmed.
We always had a back-up person in reserve… ’
‘Well, that sounds wise.’ Terri clonks down her mug on the table. ‘But look, I’ll let you two catch up.’ She turns to Celia and gives her a quick hug. ‘Anything you need – anything at all – just let me know, okay?’
Celia nods. ‘Thanks so much, Terri. I will.’
‘Lovely to meet you, Amanda,’ Terri adds.
‘You too!’ Amanda grins, and Terri calls out to Logan through his closed bedroom door as she leaves.
‘Bye, darling. You know where I am, okay?’ Don’t worry , is her silent addition. That crazy woman will be gone soon.
Now Amanda exhales forcefully as if relieved that all the niceties – being pleasant to civilians – are done, and she flops down onto a kitchen chair and exhales loudly. ‘It really is so good to be here,’ she announces.
Celia looks at her, still baffled as to why she’s shown up like this, and where she plans to stay tonight. Not here, surely? Wouldn’t she have checked if it was convenient? No, she must have popped in on her way to somewhere far more interesting. ‘So… are things okay with you?’ she ventures.
‘What, with me?’ Amanda frowns, seemingly taken aback by the question. ‘Oh, yeah. Everything’s great.’
‘And married life’s good, is it?’
‘Yeah, it’s, uh… it’s fine!’ She reaches for a custard cream from the plate and then pulls back as if remembering that she doesn’t consume such low-rent snacks. ‘Me and Jasper… Well, he’s great. He’s a funny thing, but hey!’
Celia blinks at her as she takes the seat opposite.
Is something wrong, and that’s why Amanda has shown up unannounced?
Surely, if that were the case, she’d have plenty of people in London she could turn to?
‘I just need a little bit of time away from it all, you know?’ she adds, sweeping a hand through lustrous golden tresses.
Celia nods, although she doesn’t know. ‘What about your work?’ she asks. ‘How’s that going?’
‘Um, well, I’ve just lost Look for a Lifestyle but that’s fine?—’
‘You’re not doing that any more?’ Celia exclaims.
‘No, but that’s perfectly okay,’ Amanda insists. ‘It had run its course for me, really. No point in flogging a thing after it’s peaked.’
‘No,’ Celia murmurs. ‘No, definitely not.’ Had her marriage ‘peaked’?
The sudden thought overcomes her. Should she have done something before they hit that stage?
If so, what? Now Amanda is telling her about Jasper giving up acting for painting, and getting a tiny splash of paint on her guest room curtain, and Celia is finding it impossible to figure out whether this is a significant marriage wobble or simply an amusing anecdote served up for her entertainment.
She can’t imagine it’s anything serious.
It feels like only last week that Amanda’s wedding guests were sniggering at Celia’s busted wheelie case, and she was being patronised for not knowing anything about classical music.
Yet on and on her old friend goes, babbling about this and that – how ‘Ollie’ (whoever Ollie might be) will come up with something because he’s a ‘darling’ and ‘manages everything amazingly.’ Of course, Amanda is unaware of what happened to Celia just two days ago, which would certainly stop her mid-flow.
Yet Celia can’t bring herself to go into it all right now.
She just wants to be alone. Alone, tucked up in bed, knowing that Logan is close by and that the most vulnerable among her houseplant charges are perking up nicely.
And then, just as happened in the shop today, her eyes fill with tears and she can’t take it.
She can’t sit here being bombarded with all this information about Jasper’s abstract art and something about him stabbing a cheese.
What’s that all about? She doesn’t care, that’s the thing – and clearly, Amanda doesn’t either.
She seems to have forgotten that Celia had abruptly cut off their phone call on Saturday.
Isn’t she even slightly curious as to what might be happening here?
Suddenly the tears spill over and a sob escapes.
Amanda stops abruptly. ‘Celia!’ She grasps for her hand across the table. ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’
She shakes her head. ‘Just some stuff I’ve got going on. That’s all.’
‘Oh, darling, I’ve been ranting on. I’m so sorry…’
‘No, I’m sorry,’ Celia murmurs, pulling her hand away and getting up, hoping that will transmit the signal that it’s time to leave.
That this really isn’t the time for cosy table chats.
Amanda jumps up too and goes to hug Celia, but Celia shrinks away.
‘I’m sorry, Amanda. It’s lovely to see you.
But I have to tell you, this really isn’t a good time… ’
‘No, it is ,’ she exclaims, eyes wide. ‘If there’s some life stuff happening, we can talk about it.
’ Life stuff? Is that what this is? ‘Don’t worry about being on form for me or any of that,’ Amanda continues.
‘If something’s going on…’ She breaks off, glancing around the kitchen as if Geoff might leap out of a cupboard.
‘Well then, obviously,’ she adds, ‘I’ve come at exactly the right time. ’