Chapter 57
There are a lot of things I will miss when I move to London, but the twice-weekly commute I’ve been making for the last few weeks is not one of them.
Still, on the day when the team are playing the last match, the journey to deliver my big presentation to the board could be worse.
Indeed, it has been. At least this time I’m not stuck next to the woman who ate boiled eggs like they were chocolates, or the man so eager to garnish his sausage sandwich that he ripped open his ketchup sachet and pebble-dashed my keyboard.
We’ve just passed Stafford when a text arrives from Lisa.
‘Are you absolutely sure you can’t make this match? Last chance. I’m very happy to step aside if you change your mind! x’
Having shown no signs of nerves all season, she is suddenly feeling the pressure.
Anyone would. And although nobody would blame her if she lost tonight – we all know that any player can only do their best – there’s so much riding on this, given that our only chance of having a team next year is if absolutely everyone pulls this off.
‘I really can’t, Lisa. But you don’t need me anyway,’ I type back. ‘You’ve been fantastic lately. Just keep doing those lobs! I’ll be keeping everything crossed and I’ll be there hopefully before the end of play with a glass of Prosecco ready for you x’
Once I arrive in London, I take the tube to a café near Ed’s mum’s house where we’ve met a few times before over the years.
It’s only as I get there that I realise it’s under new management.
Gone is the old-fashioned little place that used to serve builders’ tea and doorstep toast. Instead, you can smell the new paint over the scent of designer cold brews and cardamom-laced Thai coffee.
I’m ten minutes early, so I order a drink and find a seat outside in the sunshine, until Terri arrives and I stand up to give her a hug.
We spend a lovely hour together, chatting about the family and comparing notes about some of the more entertaining texts Frankie has sent us both.
‘Is Gilbert still doing his art classes?’
‘Oh, you couldn’t keep him away,’ she laughs. ‘He’s no Picasso, though, believe me. I think we all know he only goes for the opportunity to get out of the house and see his little gang of friends.’
‘Well, I get that. It’s the same with me and the tennis. Don’t get me wrong, I love the game. I’m possibly addicted. But mainly it’s an excuse to have a laugh with some really nice people.’
‘How was your trip to Spain by the way?’ she says.
‘I haven’t seen you since you got back.’
‘Amazing. We had such good fun. A few sore heads, of course. . .’
‘I’d expect nothing less,’ she grins, taking a sip of her coffee.
When it’s time to leave, I pay the bill and thank the waiter before I stand to help Terri with her coat.
‘Well, that was nice but I think I preferred the old place,’
I whisper.
She pauses and looks at me doubtfully. ‘No. Really?’
‘Yes,’ I shrug. ‘I thought it was charming.’
‘I thought it was tatty,’ she says, which makes me chuckle.
‘Maybe a bit.’
‘Things do have to move on,’ she says.
‘True,’ I say, but then we fall silent as her words seem to hover in the air, with more meaning than I suspect she intended.
‘I must say, I was surprised when I heard you were coming back here,’ she says, eventually, a coaxing tone in her voice. ‘I always got the impression you were happy in Manchester.’
‘I have been,’ I shrug. ‘But I need to move for work. It’s all happening now, anyway. I’m waiting for a call from the solicitor today to say contracts have been exchanged. There’s no going back then.’
She pauses for a moment as if considering her next words carefully. ‘I hope you don’t mind me asking this, darling, but . . . have you never met anyone else?’
My mouth parts, guppy-like. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, I just wondered if you’ve ever got yourself a nice boyfriend?’
Others might have asked this repeatedly over the last few years. But not Terri. I never expected it from her.
She shakes her head and puts her hand on my arm. ‘You don’t need to answer that if you don’t want to.’
‘Has somebody said something to you?’
She doesn’t answer the question. Instead, she picks up my hand and looks me directly in the eye.
‘All I want you to know,’ she begins with a slow, gentle voice, ‘is that if you have met someone, or even if you do in the future, then you have my complete blessing.’
There is a glaze on her eyes now. Just the sight of it makes my throat burn.
I squeeze her hand. ‘Terri. I’m sorry, I—’
‘You have nothing to be sorry about, Jules,’ she scolds me gently. ‘That’s exactly the point I’m making. Like I say, you have my blessing.’
A smile pushes through behind the tears now. ‘And I know you would have Edward’s too.’