Chapter Thirty-Eight
I arrived home to my beautiful Bess. She greeted me with her waggiest tail yet.
‘Hello, sweetheart,’ I said, gently pulling her ears and then giving her a muzzle rub. ‘Did you have a nice snoozy while I was out?’ I went through to the kitchen and dumped my handbag on the worktop. ‘I’ve had such a lovely morning,’ I confided. ‘But before I tell you all about it, I’d first better let you out.’
‘Woof,’ said Bess, her tail going from side to side. I was reminded of a conductor’s baton doing two beats to the bar.
I unlocked the back door and watched as Bess did an impression of a curtsy. She bounded back, tongue hanging out one side of her mouth, then stopped in front of me.
‘What?’ I asked.
She put her head on one side.
‘Do you want to play ball?’
But upon producing the ball launcher, she showed no inclination to play fetch.
‘Would you prefer Mr Squirrel?’ I asked.
I lobbed Mr Squirrel through the air. He landed on the grass with a squeak and zero reaction from Bess.
‘I’m totally out of ideas,’ I told her. ‘Sometimes I wish you could speak and tell me what you want.’
‘Woof,’ said Bess, and licked her lips several times.
‘Ah!’ I laughed. ‘Message received and understood.’
I returned to the kitchen, dog at my heels, and produced a large rawhide bone.
‘Is this more like it?’
The tail wagging sped up. Now the conductor’s baton was overseeing a run of quavers. Bess gently took the treat, then went outside again to chomp peacefully on the lawn in the company of Mr Squirrel.
Feeling like a new mother, I smiled indulgently. Leaving the back door open for Bess, I went inside again. Time to put the chicken in the oven and start prepping veg.
‘Oh well,’ I said, addressing Greg’s portrait on the windowsill. ‘As my pooch currently prefers Mr Squirrel’s company to mine, I’ll instead tell you all about my morning with Dylan. I gather you were there at the beginning – if that stunt with the spilt lager was anything to go by,’ I tutted. ‘But I didn’t sense you around afterwards. And even though I know the thing with the lager was likely a coincidence, I really really would like a proper sign that you’re around. I mentioned it last night, remember? The red balloon. So, keep it in mind, eh?’
I smiled at Greg. He beamed back. For a moment I could’ve sworn he blew me a kiss. And then I told myself it was simply sunlight glinting off the frame and distorting the image.
I went to the fridge and removed the chicken – already pre-basted and in its roasting pot – then gathered up fresh carrots, courgettes, green beans, and a large bag of potatoes. Moments later the pot was in the oven, and I got to work with the vegetable peeler. I briefly glanced up at Greg.
‘Dylan said he likes me,’ I confided, as the peeler whipped back and forth. ‘Really likes me.’ In no time at all, I had a pile of peeled carrots. I picked one up. Held it aloft. ‘And later’ – I whispered to Greg – ‘he kissed me. I gave the carrot a goofy look. ‘It was such a lovely kiss.’ I put the carrot to my lips. Closed my eyes. Puckered up. Hmm. Not quite the same. I tossed the carrot to one side and filled a saucepan with water. ‘And then Dylan asked me to be his girlfriend.’ I turned a dial on the stove. Watched the heat ring turn red. Placed the saucepan upon it. ‘And I said yes!’ I squeaked. ‘What do you think about that then?’
‘I think’ – said a voice that had me shrieking out loud – ‘that it’s time you and me had a proper chat.’
I spun round, eyes wide, to find Ruby standing in the kitchen.
‘G-Good grief, darling,’ I stuttered, clutching my heart and getting carrot stain over my top. ‘What are you doing here so early? You gave me the fright of my life.’
‘I used my spare key,’ she shrugged.
‘I didn’t see your car on the drive.’
‘I walked. I’ve been here a while. I was upstairs in my old bedroom. Hope you don’t mind.’
‘Of course not,’ I said, turning back to my prepping.
‘I’ve met Bess.’ She leant against the worktop. Peered at my pile of peeled carrots. She picked one up and took a bite. ‘Nice pooch,’ she commented. ‘But not a great guard dog. She didn’t even bark at me.’
‘She’s not much of a barker,’ I confessed. ‘Where’s Josh?’
‘Dunno,’ she said flatly. ‘And I don’t care. We’ve had a row.’
Oh no.
‘What about?’ I said carefully.
‘His family.’
‘Oh?’
‘More specifically, his mother.’
I started dicing the courgettes. When Ruby was in one of these moods, it was best to just listen.
Archie’s mother was often a bone of contention with Ruby. She swore that Margaret didn’t approve of her, although Josh denied this. However, I suspected the umbilical cord wasn’t completely severed between mother and son. Ruby was mostly tolerant but objected to playing second fiddle. Their last major row had been on Valentine’s Day – which had happened to be Margaret’s birthday. Rather than presenting my daughter with a dozen red roses, Josh had instead sent a bouquet to his mother.
‘Look,’ I cajoled. ‘We both know that Josh is a bit of a mummy’s boy. However, he’s a nice enough lad. He doesn’t give you the runaround.’
‘I guess not.’ She popped the last bit of carrot in her mouth. For a moment, she crunched noisily, then fixed me with a look. ‘However, now it’s my own mother causing me concern.’
I abruptly stopped dicing.
‘Pardon?’
‘Mum, it’s bad enough that you talk to Dad’s photographs. But how do you think I feel catching you snogging a carrot?’
I reddened.
‘Look, Rubes. I’m sure there are things you do in the privacy of your own home–’
‘Oh, yes, of course, absolutely.’ Her voice dripped with sarcasm. ‘I’m having a passionate affair with a cauliflower, and this Saturday I have a date with an aubergine. Meanwhile my mangetout are so jealous they’ve turned into green beans, and Josh is at his wits’ end about my veggie fetish.’
‘I was mucking about,’ I muttered. The dicing went into overdrive as I let a curtain of hair hide my hot face.
‘Mum, it’s got to stop.’
Oh for…
I flung down the paring knife and plonked my hands on my hips.
‘I have never kissed a carrot before,’ I said defiantly.
‘Stuff the carrot,’ Ruby retorted. ‘I’m talking about Dad. This… this…’ – she jerked her head at Greg’s portrait – ‘this ridiculous one-sided conversation.’
‘Oh, please, Ruby,’ I sighed. I picked up the knife again. ‘Just give me a break, eh?’
For a moment the two of us didn’t speak. The only sound was that of the knife against the chopping board. Ruby was the first to break the silence.
‘Are we having wine with dinner?’
‘Yes,’ I said, glad at the change of subject. Truce time. ‘Shall we have a drink together, before the others arrive?’
‘Okay,’ she said, giving me a small smile.
Was I forgiven? I appreciated it must be unnerving seeing your mother chatting to your dead father, then having a lip-lock with a carrot.
The saucepan of water had since come to the boil. I found a steamer pan, chucked all the veg in, then sealed it with a lid. Behind me, a cork popped. Seconds later came the glug-glug of wine being poured into glasses.
‘Cheers,’ said Ruby, handing me a flute.
‘Happy Sunday,’ I said, clinking my glass against hers. ‘Why don’t you give Josh a ring and tell him to come over.’
‘I’ll text him instead,’ she said grumpily. She reached for her phone, did the necessary, then sat down at the table. She crossed one long leg over the other, then regarded me beadily. ‘And now’ – she took a sip of her own wine – ‘instead of chatting to Dad, you can talk to me.’ She took another sip, then set the glass down. ‘I’m all ears, Mum. Tell me about this stranger who has asked you to be his girlfriend.’