Chapter Seventeen
‘So, your father’s out playing golf again,’ I said.
It was Sunday morning and I was FaceTiming Layla.
She’d been out the evening before with a couple of people from her course and although it didn’t sound like a wild night, returning when the pubs closed because she had a bit of a sore throat, I was just excited that she’d managed to leave the flat for something other than attending lectures or buying groceries.
‘Have you forgiven him?’ Her voice was tired and a little raspy. ‘For the club membership.’
‘Hmm. Well, I suppose it’s important for him to have his hobbies,’ I said, trying to turn this back to her. ‘I mean, most sports are a good way to meet people as well as keep fit aren’t they? So, there’s a useful social aspect to it all.’
‘I thought you said that the people you’d met at the golf social were all absolutely dreadful though.’
‘I’m not sure I said dreadful…’
‘You said some of the wives were the most obnoxious, tedious and thoroughly dreadful women you’d ever encountered.’
‘Well, that’s as maybe,’ I said hurriedly. ‘But the point still stands, sport is a good way to meet people.’
‘Okay, Mum. I get the heavy hint.’ She yawned expansively.
‘I know it didn’t go well with the hockey team,’ I said, recalling what had happened at Freshers’ Fair when she’d approached HockSoc and been told in no uncertain terms that they were looking for girls who played at regional level as a bare minimum, and that there were three stages of trials.
‘But there are plenty of other sports to try where the people might be a bit friendlier.’
‘Yes. I mean, I was thinking I might try the football team. Asmaa, who I was out with last night, said they’re looking for players in the thirds. Training’s on a Thursday so it would fit okay with lectures.’
‘Fantastic!’ I said, far too quickly.
She gave a tiny eyeroll. ‘I said I’d think about it, alright? I’m not feeling up to running around a freezing pitch at the moment, not with this cold.’
‘Of course, of course. No pressure. And great that you went out last night. Asmaa sounds nice?’
‘I’ve literally just mentioned her name. How do you know she’s nice?’
‘Well, yes, but for her to have told you about the football, I’m assuming she’s nice if she’s invited you along…’
‘It’s okay Mum.’ She was laughing at me now. ‘I just meant, you can cool it a bit. If I casually reference someone in passing it doesn’t necessarily mean that I’m going to end up being their chief bridesmaid in fifteen years’ time.’
‘Understood. But I’m glad you went out with a different crew last night.’
‘Crew.’ She stifled another little laugh. ‘Hilarious.’
‘Good. I’m glad I amuse you.’
‘Anyway…’ She shrugged down under her covers and from the angle I guessed she was propping her phone on her knees. ‘How has the rest of the week been at work?’
I started in on a long story about the other members of staff I’d met since Wednesday, how friendly they all were, how much I’d learned already, and how satisfying it was to advise customers.
‘That’s nice,’ she said sleepily.
‘And Malia’s been great. She’s only in for a couple of hours in the afternoon but she does Monday to Friday during term-time and the stories she tells about the kids, it really reminds me of when you were at primary school.
All the constant chat about reading records and doodle quizzes and permission slips for administration of Calpol on school trips.
She showed me one of the parent WhatsApp groups and it’s full of absolute sociopaths.
There’s all these little pass-agg messages like ‘Luca would love to come to Charlie’s party, thank you, especially as it’s going to be at Dino-world, which was where Luca originally wanted to have his own birthday party.
In fact, Luca has been set on Dino-world as a venue for the past six months and I feel sure he’d have mentioned it to all his classmates – maybe that’s where Charlie got the idea from?
’ She puts on this hilarious voice while she’s reading them out and honestly, I was laughing so much yesterday that Ren had to hit me with one of the cushions from the quiet reading corner. ’
I paused, waiting for some response from my daughter but then spotted on the screen that her eyes were closed and she appeared to be snoring gently.
‘Ahh, right,’ I said quietly. ‘You get back to sleep poppet. I’ll call later.’
I closed the app and turned the radio on as I made myself a cup of tea.
Outside the window a grey November fog lingered, the weak wintery sun barely making its presence felt.
As the kettle came to the boil I wondered whether Joe would be able to play golf in this weather.
Perhaps they’d all end up in the bar talking about business deals instead.
I messaged him. ‘Managed to bore our daughter into a coma with my tales from work. She fell asleep during the call!’ and he responded with a laughing emoji saying he’d be back in an hour and did I need anything from the supermarket for dinner (which was code for, ‘what are we having for dinner?’).
I’d already put the potatoes and chicken in the oven and there was a wash going round in the machine, so I put my feet up for a few moments whilst drinking my tea, feeling that I had earned a little rest. That was one of the nice things about going out to work I realised, despite the mountain of chores that still awaited you on your return, the change of scene made home feel a little bit more like a place to relax and unwind.
As I sat there, stroking Clarence, who had come to join me as soon as he realised a warm lap was available, I closed my eyes and breathed in deeply, feeling content and hopeful for the first time in months.
I had a happy husband out playing a sport he enjoyed (at a club we could barely afford, but never mind), a marginally more settled daughter who had at least left her flat once this half term and had a very slim prospect of more socialising to come if the football paid off, and I had adapted to my new job with surprising speed.
Maybe now was the time to savour a tiny moment of calm.
Then the doorbell rang.
I shifted Clarence off my lap and carried my mug of tea to the door, not trusting the cat not to drink it in my absence.
‘Hi Mum,’ I said, seeing her on the doorstep, her shoulders hunched against the cold. ‘This is a nice surprise.’ I ushered her indoors and took her coat. ‘Are you okay?’
Her shoulders seemed to sag further. ‘Not really, Harriet, no.’
‘What is it? Would you like a cup of tea?’
We walked through to the kitchen and I put the kettle on for its fourth round of the morning. ‘Have a sit down,’ I said, pulling out a chair and clearing a space amongst the general debris of books and papers strewn across the table.
‘It’s nothing really,’ she said, regaining some of her usual vigour as she took the cup I handed her. I’d used one of the bone china set that lives in the cupboard and rarely makes it out.
‘Where’s that pretty little milk jug I bought you, Harriet?’ she said, looking pointedly at the plastic bottle of semi-skimmed I’d placed in front of her.
‘Of course,’ I said, whisking it away and transferring the milk to a tiny jug I found on a shelf behind a pot of half-dead basil.
I did have to remove a cobweb from the jug handle and give it a rinse first, marvelling the entire time at my mother’s ability to find my domestic arrangements below par when she had dropped in completely unannounced like some sort of National Trust secret shopper inspecting a stately home.
‘So.’ I pulled up the chair opposite. ‘What is it?’
She surreptitiously wiped a fingertip around the rim of her cup to remove some non-existent speck of dirt. ‘I’ve been stood up,’ she said eventually.
‘Oh?’
‘Last night.’ She took a sip of tea. ‘And to be honest, I felt like a bit of a fool.’
‘You should have called me,’ I said. ‘I’d have come and got you. Where was it? And who was it?’
‘There was no need to call,’ she said. ‘I’m more than capable of getting myself home. It’s just that when I woke up this morning, I felt a little sorry for myself, that’s all. And I thought. Well – I thought I’d come and see you.’
‘I’m glad you did. Now, spill the beans. Who was the dastardly rogue in question?’
‘Roger. Roger Cullompton. At least that’s who he said he was in his profile.’
‘Sounds like a made-up name to me.’
She considered this. ‘Yes, perhaps it does a bit. Anyway. He seemed terribly nice online. We’d been exchanging messages over the past couple of weeks, and he suggested we meet. He was the one who suggested it. Not me.’
‘I get it. He was the keen one.’
‘Well, yes. He certainly seemed it.’ She took another sip of her tea. ‘Anyway, he booked a table at Estrella’s in town.’
‘Ooh! Fancy,’ I said, never having been.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘The décor is exquisite. Unfortunately, I can’t testify as to the quality of the food because I didn’t eat anything there. Instead, I had the most expensive and embarrassing gin and tonic of my life because Roger Cullompton did not turn up.’
‘Oh.’
‘He sent me a message just beforehand saying he was on his way. Look…’ She pulled her phone out of her handbag and took about four hours to open the screen and locate the Roger Cullompton thread.
I reached for my reading glasses, which were buried under a mound of books beside me and read the following.
Just leaving now. Very much looking forward to seeing you in person. Love Roger xx
‘Two kisses,’ I said.
‘Yes. Keen.’
‘And then, what, he just didn’t show?’
She nodded.
‘And no further messages?’
‘No. Nothing.’ She showed me the phone screen again, her voice bitter. ‘You can see my messages to him, increasingly desperate and tragic…’
I could see the messages. ‘They’re not tragic, Mum,’ I said. ‘It’s perfectly reasonable to ask where he is… seven times.’
She pursed her lips. ‘I tried calling him too. I left a few voice messages.’
I grimaced, imagining the content of those voicemails. ‘And nothing?’