Chapter Four
Four
But as i sit on the train down, I resolve that this time will be better.
I was watching a Cindy Blaine show the other day, all about reuniting long-lost daughters with their mothers, and it was so moving I had tears running down my face.
At the end, Cindy gave this little homily about how our families are far too easy to take for granted and that they gave us life and we should cherish them. And I felt really chastened.
So these are my resolutions for today:
I will not:
Let my family stress me out.
Feel jealous of Kerry, or let Nev wind me up.
Look at my watch, wondering how soon I can leave.
I will:
Stay serene and loving and remember that we are all sacred links in the eternal circle of life.
(I got that from Cindy Blaine, too.)
Mum and Dad used to live in Twickenham, which is where I grew up. But now, since Dad’s retirement, they’ve moved farther out of London to Stanning St. John, which is a village in Hampshire. Dad used to work for a textile company, and he took early retirement when he didn’t get on the board.
He made lots of jokes about it at his retirement do, and everyone kind of winced.
Especially the guy who did get on. I almost think Dad was hoping they’d suddenly offer it to him.
But they didn’t. So he and Mum decided to “get out of the rat race”—even though Twickenham isn’t exactly inner city—and bought a big golden brick house with a half-acre garden, which Dad calls “land.”
I arrive at the house just after twelve, to find Mum in the kitchen with my cousin Kerry. She and her husband, Nev, have moved out, too, to a village about five minutes’ drive from Stanning St. John, so they see one another all the time.
I feel a familiar pang as I see them, standing side by side by the stove.
They look more like mother and daughter than aunt and niece.
It’s not that their faces are similar. Kerry’s is all pointy nose and jutting chin, whereas Mum has the same dimples as me.
But they’ve become similar in other ways.
They’ve both got the same feather-cut blond hair—although Kerry’s is highlighted more strongly than Mum’s.
They’re both wearing brightly colored tops that show a lot of tanned cleavage and probably came from the same shop.
And they’re both laughing. On the counter, I notice a bottle of white wine already half gone.
“Happy birthday!” I say, hugging Mum with a thrill of anticipation. I have got Mum the best birthday present. I can’t wait to give it to her!
“Hiya!” says Kerry, turning around in her apron. Her blue eyes are heavily made-up, and around her neck she’s wearing a diamond cross, which I haven’t seen before. Every time I see Kerry, she has a new piece of jewelry. “Great to see you, Emma! We don’t see enough of you. Do we, Auntie Rachel?”
“We certainly don’t,” says Mum, giving me a hug.
“Shall I take your coat?” says Kerry as I put the bottle of champagne I’ve brought into the fridge. “And what about a drink?”
This is how Kerry always talks to me. As though I’m a visitor.
But never mind. I’m not going to stress about it. Sacred links in the eternal circle of life. “It’s OK!” I say, trying to sound pleasant. “I’ll get it.” I open the cupboard where glasses are always kept, to find myself looking at tins of tomatoes.
“They’re over here now,” says Kerry, on the other side of the kitchen. “We moved everything around! It makes much more sense now.”
“Oh, right. Thanks.” I take the glass she gives me and sip my wine. “Well done on your award, by the way.”
“You’ve got quite an array now!” pipes up Mum. “Haven’t you, Kerry love?”
“Five.” Kerry smirks. “Seven, including the regional ones.”
“That’s fantastic!” I force a smile. “Really great. So…can I do anything to help?”
“I don’t think so…” says Kerry, looking critically around the kitchen. “Everything’s pretty much done. So I said to Elaine,” she adds to Mum, “ ‘Where did you get those shoes?’ And she said M & S! I couldn’t believe it!”
“Who’s Elaine?” I say, trying to join in.
“At the golf club,” says Kerry.
Mum never used to play golf. But then when she moved to Hampshire, she and Kerry took it up together. And now all I hear about is golf matches, golf club dinners, and endless parties with chums from the golf club.
I did once go along, to see what it was all about.
But first of all, they have all these stupid rules about what you can wear, which I didn’t know, and some old guy nearly had a heart attack because I was in jeans.
(Mum said she thought Kerry had told me what to wear.
But she hadn’t.) So they had to find me a skirt and a spare pair of those clumpy shoes with spikes.
And then when we got onto the course, I couldn’t hit the ball.
Not that I couldn’t hit the ball well: I literally could not make contact with the ball.
So in the end they all exchanged pitying glances and said I’d better wait in the clubhouse.
“Sorry, Emma. Can I just get past you?” Kerry reaches over my shoulder for a serving dish.
“Sorry,” I say, and move aside. “So, is there really nothing I can do, Mum?”
“You could feed Sammy,” she says, giving me a pot of goldfish food. She frowns anxiously. “You know, I’m a bit worried about Sammy.”
“Oh!” I say, feeling a spasm of alarm. “Er, why?”
“He just doesn’t seem himself.” She peers at him in his bowl. “What do you think? Does he look right to you?”
“Er…” I follow her gaze and pull a thoughtful face as though I’m studying Sammy’s features.
Oh, God. I never thought she would notice. I tried as hard as I could to get a fish that looked just like Sammy. I mean, he’s orange, he’s got two fins, he swims around…what’s the difference?
“He’s probably just a bit depressed,” I say at last. “He’ll get over it.”
Please don’t let her take him to the vet or anything, I silently pray. I didn’t even check if I got the right sex. Do goldfishes even have sexes?
“Anything else I can do?” I start sprinkling fish food lavishly over the water in an attempt to block her view of him.
“We’ve pretty much got it covered,” replies Kerry kindly.
“Why don’t you go and say hello to Dad?” A cloud of steam rises as Mum sieves some peas. “Lunch won’t be for another ten minutes or so.”
—
I find Dad and Nev in the sitting room, in front of the cricket.
Dad’s graying beard is as neatly trimmed as ever, and he’s drinking beer from a silver tankard.
The room has recently been redecorated with stripy wallpaper, but on the wall there’s still a display of Kerry’s swimming cups.
Mum polishes them all regularly, every week.
Plus my two riding rosettes. I think she kind of dusts those, too.
“Hi, Dad,” I say, giving him a kiss.
“Emma!” He puts a hand to his head in mock surprise. “You made it! No detours! No visits to historic cities!”
“Not today!” I give a little laugh. “Safe and sound.”
There was one time, just after Mum and Dad had moved to this house, when I took the wrong train on the way down and ended up in Salisbury, and Dad always teases me about it.
“Hi, Nev.” I peck him on the cheek, trying not to choke on the amount of aftershave he’s wearing.
He’s in chinos and a tight white roll-neck that shows off his thick, muscular chest and glares off his reddened skin.
Around his wrist is a heavy gold bracelet, and on his ring finger is a wedding ring with a diamond set in it.
Nev runs his family’s company, which supplies water coolers all around the country, and he met Kerry at some convention for young entrepreneurs.
Apparently they struck up conversation admiring each other’s Rolex watches.
“Hi, Emma,” he says. “D’you see the new motor?”
“What?” I suddenly recall a glossy new car on the drive when I arrived. “Oh, yes! Very smart.”
“Mercedes Five Series. Forty-two grand list price.”
“Gosh.”
“Didn’t pay that, though.” He taps the side of his nose. “Have a guess.”
“Erm, forty?”
“Guess again.”
“Thirty-nine?”
“Got him down to thirty-seven-two-fifty,” says Nev triumphantly. “And free CD changer. Tax deductible,” he adds.
“Right. Wow.”
I don’t really know what else to say, so I perch on the side of the sofa and eat a peanut.
“That’s what you’re aiming for, Emma!” says Dad. “Executive level! Think you’ll ever make it?”
“I…don’t know! Er, Dad, that reminds me. I’ve got a check for you.” I awkwardly reach into my bag and get out a check for three hundred pounds.
“Well done,” says Dad. “That can go on the tally.” His green eyes twinkle as he puts it in his pocket. “It’s called learning the value of money. It’s called learning to stand on your own two feet!”
“Valuable lesson,” says Nev, nodding. He takes a slug of beer and grins at Dad. “Just remind me, Emma—what career is it this week?”
When I first met Nev, it was just after I’d left the estate agency to become a photographer. Two and a half years ago. And he makes the same joke every time I see him. Every single, bloody—
OK, calm down. Happy thoughts. Cherish your family. Cherish Nev.
“It’s still marketing!” I say brightly. “Has been for almost a year now!”
“Ah. Marketing. Good, good!”
There’s silence for a few minutes, apart from the cricket commentary. Suddenly Dad and Nev simultaneously groan as something or other happens on the cricket pitch. A moment later they groan again.
“Right,” I say. “Well, I’ll just…”
As I get up from the sofa, they don’t even turn their heads.
—
I go out to the hall and pick up the small carton I brought down with me. Then I go through the side gate, knock on the annex door, and push it cautiously.
“Grandpa?”