Chapter Fourteen
Tumbling out of the car, I looked fondly up at the front of the house, with its ancient wisteria curling around the front door. Wellies and trainers littered the large porch and I picked my way through them as I hurried into the house pushing open the door, yelling, ‘Hello. We’re home.’
Heading straight to the kitchen, kicking off my shoes as I went, I padded across the parquet floor past the wide staircase. We’d lived in this house for as long as I could remember and at this time of day I was guaranteed to find my parents in the kitchen.
I paused in the doorway enjoying the familiar sight of Mum sitting at the huge pine table with a glass of wine, peering at the Telegraph crossword, with Dad reading the sports section, a half-pint glass of his favourite bitter in hand.
Mum pushed her glasses onto the top of head. ‘Hello, darling. Good trip?’
Enveloped in her arms I breathed in her familiar Rive Gauche scent.
‘Hi, Mum.’ I relaxed into the hug. She squeezed me tight.
I leaned over and kissed Dad on the top of his bald head.
‘Hi, Sweetie,’ he said. ‘How are you?’
Mum immediately grabbed me a glass, and without asking poured me a generous slug of wine.
‘John, have you eaten all those crisps already?’ She tutted affectionately.
He blinked with surprise at the empty bowl, giving the room a perplexed once over as if to check that some alien hadn’t sneaked in and pinched them all.
Dad was a crisp monster. Every night, except for the first few weeks in January — his official post-Christmas diet detox — there would be nibbles on the kitchen table which he would absently hoover up, hand on the paper propped against the table, the other making regular forays to a misshapen home-made bowl. Mum kept all of her pottery disasters.
Taking an eager sip of wine, I sank into the padded cushion on my seat at the table.
My place was laid, complete with my own napkin ring, an ornate O engraved into the silver.
We all had our own napkin rings, each one different, collected over the years by Mum’s incessant foraging at flea markets and antique shops.
I was lucky to have an O, Kate’s was a C.
As a child learning to read this had confused her no end, but Mum said it was the closest she could find.
Placid Ben never questioned the W on his.
‘Ah, bliss. I love Friday nights,’ I said, taking another slurp of wine.
‘So how’s work? Kate said you were so busy on a new account.’
At the sound of Kate’s name I immediately felt guilty and prayed I looked innocent as I enthusiastically told Mum about my promotion.
‘Well done, darling. A car as well. That’s great isn’t it, John?’ She prodded Dad who was hidden behind his paper.
He peered over the top. ‘What, dear?’
Rolling her eyes she turned back to me. ‘I’ll be glad when this cricket match is over and I get a bit of sense out of him.
He’s been on the phone all week, pestering poor Daniel.
Stop that, John.’ She slapped Dad’s hand away, which was now stealing nuts from my little bowl.
‘You’ll never get into your whites if you keep that up. ’
‘No, dear.’
I laughed. ‘Team’s all sorted then, Dad?’
‘Yes, dear. Your Daniel has been very efficient and organised. ’
‘Dad, he’s not my Daniel. He’s just a friend. He’s going out with Emily. Remember, my flatmate.’
Mum snorted and I glared at her. What had Kate been saying to her about Emily? Dad hid behind the paper again. I was far too knackered and dispirited to tell Mum the full story about the resignation note tonight, even though I knew I’d get bucket loads of sympathy and maternal indignation.
‘How did it go with Kate at the airport?’ I asked idly, deliberately not letting on I’d spoken to her earlier.
Mum groaned, ‘The usual torture. Every alarm clock in the house had to be set as well as your father’s mobile phone. We have to leave it in the garden shed every night.’
‘Why?’ I asked.
‘Because we haven’t a clue how to switch the alarm off. It beeps every morning at four thirty. In fact, John, you might as well go and put it out now, otherwise we’ll forget later.’
This was typical. My family are complete Luddites.
‘Why don’t you read the manual or ask Ben?’ I asked. Mum looked blankly at me. Neither had occurred to her. ‘Hand it over. Let’s have a look.’
Reprogramming the phone, I handed it back.
‘So did she get upgraded again?’
It was a standing joke. Kate always got up impossibly early before a flight, not because she was worried about missing it but because she was convinced that appearing at the check-in desk immaculately groomed and accessorised would secure her a place in business class.
‘Yes she did but you can’t tell her it’s pure fluke and most likely because she’s travelling solo. She insists it’s because she looks the part.’
I smiled. The biggest irony was that Kate’s much-loved Louis Vuitton luggage probably cost more than a first-class return to Australia.
‘She said your date went well.’
I looked startled. That was news to me. Kate must have been talking to Barney again. ‘She did, did she?’
‘Kate says this chap is very nice,’ said Mum, full of confidence, quoting the gospel according to my sister. ‘Barney thinks he is very smitten.’
‘Really? Maybe we’re going on another date — I must ask Barney and Kate what they’ve arranged,’ I said sarcastically.
‘Oh dear . . .’ Mum looked worried. ‘Is Barney being a bit . . .’ she trailed off.
Barney was being a lot . . . but I didn’t expect anything else of him. ‘It’s all right, Mum. I’ve been out twice with Ned. He’s nice enough but I’m not really interested.’
‘Twice, that’s not . . . You could give him another chance.’
‘I am. We’re going to see a football match next week.’
‘Football, you!’ said Dad, looking up in surprise.
I shrugged. ‘Got to try new things. Thought I’d give it a whirl. We’re going to the Emirates Stadium to see—’
‘You’re going to see Arsenal.’ Dad’s face had the same meaty bone expression as Gram and Midge’s.
‘So you do you like him then?’ chipped in Mum.
‘I don’t know. The timing’s not been great, what with my arm and—’
‘Sweetheart,’ she cried. ‘How is it? Let me have a look.’
Mum was an alternative health and wholefood freak, so we’d grown up on a diet of lentils and pearl barley. Peeling off the dressing, I resigned myself to Mum’s experimental prodding.
‘Vitamin E oil. That’s what you need.’ She stood up and crossed the kitchen to the medicine cupboard, which Dad referred to as ‘Mrs Quack’s Cure-All Medicine Trunk’. I could hear bottles clinking as she rummaged.
‘I’m sure I’ve got some from the time your father stood on the bread knife.’ When she disapproved, he always became my father.
Poor Dad rolled his eyes.
‘I didn’t stand on the bread knife.’
‘Really, dear. So how did you get stabbed in the heel?’
‘My foot slipped on the knife block when I was painting the ceiling.’
Mum tutted. ‘Serves you right. You should have used the decorating stool instead of clambering all over my kitchen units.’
‘Yes, dear.’ Dad sighed winking at me.
There was a triumphant squawk. ‘I knew I had some. Come here, Olivia. We’ll do it over the sink. It’s messy stuff.’
Arguing with her would have been totally pointless. If it came from the health food shop, it was a magic elixir. The minute she took the lid off the small glass bottle, the smell almost overpowered me — a combination of rotting mushrooms and seaweed.
‘That smells awful, Mum,’ I complained, screwing my face up as she massaged the oil around the wound.
‘Do you want a nasty scar? This will help it heal. Trust me, I’m not a doctor.’
‘I know that,’ I said teasing her, but Mum’s attention was elsewhere.
She has bat ears, probably due to years of listening out to make sure Kate, Ben and I all got home safely in our teenage years. ‘John, there’s someone at the door.’
* * *
Bloody hell. It was Bill. Could my life get any more complicated?
‘Hello, Mrs M. Hope you don’t mind me popping in?’ Bill said with a grin, as he ambled in to give Mum a kiss on each cheek. He is the sort of person you can take anywhere and from Mum’s point of view, perfect potential son-in-law material.
‘Don’t be silly. It’s always lovely to see you, but I’m afraid you’ve missed Kate. She’s gone back.’
I shot a sharp glance at Bill but his gaze over the top of Mum’s head was completely innocent. Too innocent.
‘No, no. I . . . em . . . thought she’d probably gone back. No. I was passing. Yes, just passing. Thought I could, you know, save a phone call.’ He turned to Dad. ‘What, er . . . yes . . . er, what time does the game start tomorrow?’
I turned back to the sink to hide my face. Poor Bill. He was so sweet. Although sweet probably isn’t the word most people would use for someone verging on six foot five, with the breadth to match.
‘Hello, Olivia,’ he said, suddenly acknowledging me. ‘Sorry didn’t see you there.’
No because you were too busy looking for Kate I thought, smiling at him.
‘How are you?’ He shifted on the spot, his head narrowly missing Mum’s shelf of cookery books over the door. ‘Heard you had a spot of bother. Daniel was telling me about vandals in Earlsfield. Not good.’
‘I’m fine thanks, Bill. Just a scratch,’ I said warmly.
I really didn’t understand my sister. When I first met him, like a lot of people, I made the mistake of assuming from his heavy-lidded, sleepy blue eyes that he was slow and plodding.
But I knew that wasn’t the case at all. Aside from learning that he had a first from Cambridge, I’d seen him in action.
He was like a canny fisherman, biding his time before reeling someone in.
It had crossed my mind more than once that he was playing the same game with Kate, deliberately cultivating a laid-back approach by ignoring her spiky comments.
‘Excuse the smell. Mum’s playing doctors and nurses.’
‘Really?’ Bill’s voice brightened with enthusiasm before he remembered where he was.