Chapter Six
By the time I was ready to leave, James still hadn’t surfaced. I left a note taped to the fridge telling him to make himself some toast – or a sandwich if it was getting on for lunchtime – and that I’d see him later.
I then tapped on Joy’s bedroom door before peering within. She was sitting cross-legged on her bed, mobile clamped to one ear and talking softly, while twiddling a strand of hair around one finger. I mouthed goodbye and blew her a kiss. Upon seeing me, her manner changed.
‘Just a minute,’ she said abruptly to Conrad. Joy’s spine straightened as she covered the phone’s mouthpiece with one hand. ‘You look nice,’ she said stiffly. ‘Very nice.’ My daughter’s eyes narrowed. ‘Who are you trying to impress?’
‘Oh for…’ I pulled a face. ‘No one,’ I protested.
‘No one, eh?’
‘I’m off to the meeting.’
‘The meeting, eh?’
‘At your suggestion,’ I reminded. ‘To become a fully paid-up member of the protestors.’
‘The protestors, eh?’
‘Is there an echo in this room?’ I said, my lips pursing. I hurriedly unpursed them. After all, I didn’t want scarlet lipstick imprinting on my teeth.
‘You’re all dollied up. In fact, you look like you’re off for a night out. Are you, perchance, hoping to wow Mr Liam Lancaster?’
‘I’m not trying to wow anyone,’ I spluttered. Liar, said my inner voice. ‘And if I was, then surely I wouldn’t wear jeans.’
‘Your best jeans,’ Joy countered. ‘Those are Designer.’
‘Jeans with a t-shirt,’ I added.
‘Yes, and I know how much you paid for that t-shirt.’ She arched an eyebrow. ‘I was with you at the time. And let’s not ignore the glam heels and snazzy clutch accessorised with a natty little cropped jacket.’
‘Why wouldn’t I wear a jacket?’ I objected, conveniently ignoring the words glam, snazzy and natty. ‘After all, we’re only just into the month of May. My grandma always used to advise never cast a clout until-’
‘Yeah, yeah, yeah.’ Joy flapped one hand dismissively. ‘So why not wear your denim jacket from Zara instead of something that smacks of Karen Millen?’ My daughter didn’t pause long enough to allow me to answer. ‘And are you walking to the Starlight Arms?’
‘Obviously,’ I replied. ‘The pub is just a five-minute stroll along the lane.’
‘A muddy lane,’ Joy emphasised. She put the phone back to her head. ‘I’ll call you back,’ she growled into the handset, before tossing it to one side. Her eyes, like laser beams, were once again boring into mine. ‘Why not wear your trainers? Or wellies?’ she added. ‘Those shoes will get dirty.’
‘So? I’ll wipe them when I’m back home.’
She gave me a measured look.
‘And what’s with the makeup and hair?’
‘What’s with all the questions?’ I countered irritably.
‘Listen, I simply felt a bit down, so I put on some lippy to cheer myself up. As for the hair, it went frizzy after being in the shower, so I ran my flat irons through it. Is that okay with you? Or do I need to ask my daughter’s permission to abandon my habitual tracksuit bottoms and scruffy tops? ’
Joy opened her mouth to say something, then shut it again. She was suddenly contrite.
‘Sorry, Mum. I sometimes forget that you need to perk yourself up, especially after the way Dad treated you and-’
‘It’s fine,’ I said, cutting off her words.
‘No, it’s not. I’ve just behaved like a right cow, questioning your motives for looking lovely when your self-esteem is probably on the floor.’
‘It’s fine,’ I repeated. ‘What about’ – I waved my own olive branch – ‘you come with me? Afterwards, we could have a pub lunch. I can text James to join us.’
‘Thanks, but I’ll pass. I’m not up for listening to Cilla droning on about Starlight Hall. To be perfectly honest, the building is an eyesore compared to all the other properties in the village. Would it truly be so awful if the thing was demolished to make way for some houses with pretty gardens?’
Privately I agreed with Joy. But if a whisper of that got back to Cilla and co, there would be more verbal bombs going off than fireworks on New Year’s night.
‘You’d better get a wiggle on,’ said Joy.
‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘Truce?’
‘Of course,’ she said, leaping off the bed and flying into my arms.
My daughter hugged me tightly and I clasped her to me.
As I breathed in the scent of her skin and hair with its echoes of a soap that reminded me of baby shampoo, I was instantly transported back in time.
In my arms again, but as an infant. Needy, dependent, and me experiencing a fierce urge to protect.
But when had the parental role reversed so that my child felt it necessary to interrogate not so much my movements, but my motive for going somewhere?
Joy wasn’t daft. She knew there had been a spark of interest on my part over Liam Lancaster. But it had only been a bit of admiration. Surely it was no different to appreciating Brad Pitt in his heyday. It didn’t mean I wanted to whisk the guy into a motel and shag him senseless.
Joy disentangled herself and gave me a little push.
‘Go, Mum. Hurry. Otherwise, you’ll be late.’
‘You’re right,’ I agreed, pulling the lapels of my jacket together. ‘Starlight Society, here I come.’