Chapter 29
‘Yes, Mum. I’m meeting him in a public place, he’s a fire fighter and we’re only in touch via Instagram, so he can’t stalk me in real life!
’ Jenni rolled her eyes. She knew it was sweet that her mum worried, but really.
‘I mean, yes, I could text a friend to tell them where, but I really don’t think I need to.
We are literally just exchanging clothes! ’
Her mum persisted. ‘I know you think I’m being over the top, but after spending time with Alan’s daughter, my eyes have been opened.
All this spiking business – which reminds me, if you have a coffee, don’t leave it unattended if you nip to the loo or something.
I’m so glad I didn’t know any of this when you left home. ’
Jenni’s mum had returned from New Zealand after a wonderful few weeks away, even if her time with Alan’s daughter – who was enjoying an ex-pat life working hard and partying even harder – had given Annie an insight into what a daughter released from parental supervision might get up to.
She’d even managed to quit smoking – ‘it’s so draconian over there, thank goodness I had the nicotine patches.
I’d never have got through it otherwise’ – and her relationship with Alan had not only survived, but thrived.
They’d returned to their separate homes, but there was talk of living together.
Jenni wasn’t sure what this meant yet – buying a new home together or Alan moving in with her mum or vice versa – but she very much hoped the middle option.
Even if it would be weird to have a man there instead of her dad, the thought of losing her childhood home altogether filled her with a selfish dread.
Whatever happened in her own life, she knew that her room, with her striped wallpaper and her floral curtains, holding all her memories, was always there, and the thought that it might disappear was too much to contemplate.
But for now, there was no talk of selling the house, as her mum was delighted to be home with her garden, although her friend Jane’s tending of it in her absence had been sadly lacking.
‘Honestly, Mum, it will be fine.’
‘I don’t know, darling, those sweet pea seedlings needed hardening off before being put out. Jane should have known better.’
‘What?’ Jenni asked, momentarily confused. ‘Oh. I meant about tomorrow. It’s a very busy café, and I know the woman who works there, too. I can text you when I get back if you really want me to?’
Appeased, Jenni’s mum moved on, and for the next ten minutes Jenni was brought up to speed with all the village gossip, before Annie realised that she’d left the oven on and hung up abruptly.
Jenni rolled her eyes affectionately. Her mum was a one-off and Jenni felt lucky to have her. She remembered how Alex had always tutted at Annie’s absent-mindedness, and had once muttered darkly about how the daughter always turns into the mother, as if that was a bad thing.
Another excellent reason why she was better off without him, Jenni reminded herself.
And if the same was true of sons and fathers, then she was most definitely better off without Alex. She’d never liked how dismissive Frank, Alex’s dad, had been of his wife, Rebecca.
Jenni headed into the kitchen and opened the back door, letting the last sun of the day spread across the floor, highlighting the muddy, raspberry-shaped paw prints tracking from the cat flap to the food bowl.
Ignoring the desire to get the mop out and tackle the dirt, and channelling one of her mother’s motivational fridge magnets – only dull women have immaculate houses – Jenni slipped on the old trainers she kept by the door and stepped into the garden.
It was approaching the time of year when everything looked it’s best – plants in fresh full leaf, flowers coming out, roses in tight bloom, everything perfect before the heat of the summer caused tall stems to flop, petals to brown and even the most reliable perennials to sprawl and sag.
She was particularly proud of the marigolds that were coming up in the tub – their orange petals would be perfect to use for dye, and she was looking forward to experimenting with some of the vegetables she’d grown from seed.
Jenni took a minute to enjoy the birdsong before a loud yowl heralded Oscar’s return, as he clamoured over the fence before dropping down onto the paving slabs.
For a small cat, his landing made quite a thud, and he trotted over to her, picking his paws up high as he hopped over the longer tufts of grass.
She stroked him under the chin, clocking that the note she’d finally plucked up the courage to write was gone, and the string she’d used to secure it no longer attached to his collar.
Oscar had successfully delivered his letter.
Now she just had to wait and see if 66 wrote back.