Chapter Thirty Secrets and Lies
I wake after around four hours’ sleep and feel worn out. In the sleepless hours, I veered from wondering whether I’m destined to be alone for the rest of my life to deciding that it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. I made the mistake of flicking on my tablet and scrolling through the social media accounts of inspirational single women who’re travelling the world with a campervan and a dog. They look deliriously happy staring out at sunsets with their mug of coffee nestled in their hands and their dog sitting calmly by their side. I guess they’re all trying to demonstrate that it’s the simple things in life that count, but after scrolling several of them, I wonder why they all use the same image? And who is taking the photo? Is it on a timer? If so, then it seems that they’re going to an awful lot of effort to prove to people that they’re happy alone. And how is their hair perfect if they live in a campervan? Do hairdryers work off grid? Then I wonder what these people smell like if they’ve been living in a van for several weeks. And how does the van smell with a dog living in it? Would the dog not rather be in a comfy basket at home? Interrogating their lives did take my mind off my own situation but didn’t make for a restful night. At least I know that I won’t be heading off to the motorhome shop any time soon.
Patty is positively fizzing when I get downstairs and into the kitchen. She’s holding up the calendar, which has every day of the month so far crossed out in a thick blue ink.
‘Oh my God, it’s getting closer,’ she says, pinning it back up on the wall. ‘It seemed so far away when I got the call but here we are — four weeks to go.’
Of course she’s talking about her imminent departure and seeing ‘CRUISE!!!’ written in highlighter pen with heart shapes all around it on the same page as my dentist appointment makes it very, very real.
‘You’re going to be okay, aren’t you?’ asks Patty. ‘I won’t be away long, so you won’t have time to miss me too much. You might even be more comfortable inviting David round if I’m not here sticking my size sixes in. How did last night go?’
I keep it simple and tell her that over the course of the evening, I realised that we really did have nothing in common so I told him we’d just be friends. It’s mostly true.
‘Wow, Bo — I’m really proud of you,’ she says. ‘It takes courage to trust your own instincts. Well done.’
Patty gives me a suffocating hug and I stay where I am until she’s finished squeezing the life out of me.
‘So what now?’ she asks as I sit down at the kitchen table. ‘You haven’t exactly had a great start to the year when it comes to men, have you?’
I’ve never actually known Patty to be understated before but on this occasion she most certainly is and I tell her so.
‘It’s Michael that I don’t understand,’ she says, making us both a coffee. ‘He seemed so friendly at New Year and then again when you got back in touch.’
‘But then he stood me up, never gave me a reason why and I followed up on what Sarah said and confirmed it; he really is seeing another woman.’ I grimace as I realise I’ve given away the new snippet of information I have.
‘Really?’ Patty of course leaps on it as she puts cups down in front of us and sits down with me. ‘When did you do that?’
I could lie and say someone else told me the same thing (although this technically wouldn’t be a lie as the neighbour told me) but I decide to get it all out in the open, that I went round to see what had happened.
‘After all, Sarah might have been wrong and he could have been injured or in hospital.’ I wrap my hands around the warm coffee and wonder if I look like one of those social media women. No dog, unfortunately.
‘Although they do have phones in hospital,’ Patty says. ‘Unless, of course, he’s had a head trauma and forgotten you completely. I advise you to cut your losses now, Bo.’
‘You’re all heart.’
‘Do you have any clue who this woman is?’ asks Patty, opening up Facebook on her phone. ‘Does he have a social media profile?’
I genuinely don’t know so she has a search but can’t find anything. Then she looks up his company account but it’s all very official with no personal photos at all.
‘I don’t like a man you can’t stalk,’ she says, putting the phone down.
‘Let’s take the advice you’ve just given me and drop it.’ I sigh and, getting up, head to the cupboard, where there is crusty bread that might distract her. I cut a couple of slices and pop them in the toaster then gather together the butter and marmalade, bringing it back to the table.
‘If he’d wanted to say anything to me, he’d have found a way.’
Breakfast is a slow affair this morning; after one round of toast we’re on the second cup of coffee and I’ve managed to change the subject.
‘Only a few weeks to go. Are you as ready as you can be?’
‘I think so.’ Patty nods. ‘And the audience never minds if there’s a little cock-up; we’re all good at improvising.’
‘Is there anything you want to do before you go?’ I ask.
Patty gives me one of her looks, pulls up something on her phone and pushes it across to me.
‘SeniorLove?’ I say, looking at the happy septuagenarians staring out from the page.
‘We still have one more item on your mum’s bucket list, and as this one was my responsibility, I’d like to try and tick it off before I go,’ Patty tells me.
‘You want to tick off my mum having an affair?’ I exclaim. ‘It’s not like making sure you have enough pairs of knickers, you know.’
‘Which reminds me...’ Patty is trying to make a joke of it, but sees the annoyance on my face. ‘You said you’d trust me on this.’
‘Only because I thought you wouldn’t go through with it.’
‘We have to, Bo,’ says Patty, standing and clearing everything away. ‘You know what it’s like having an itch you can’t scratch. If I thought for one moment your mum would ever leave your dad I wouldn’t do this, but she won’t. She’ll get all excited at the thought of an affair and then want to be back home for her cocoa.’
‘I hope you’re right.’ And that does sound like my mum.
‘Now, call her and tell her we want to come and see her,’ Patty instructs me firmly. ‘Tell her that your dad has to be out for the duration.’
She heads upstairs to get dressed and I make the call. We’re instructed to go after she’s been to the supermarket because that’s when Dad will be heading over to his friend’s house to watch the motor racing.
‘I can’t bear all that noise here,’ she tells me. ‘It’s like a hundred cats screeching over and over again.’
* * *
We arrive at Mum’s late afternoon just as Dad is heading out of the driveway. He gives us a wave from the car and tells us to have fun. I feel like a complete traitor as I wave back. I might as well have the dagger in my hand.
Mum is standing in the doorway yelling that Dad should stay out all afternoon, that we have girl things to discuss. I’m devastated by the huge smile on her face.
‘Come on in,’ she says, pushing us through the doorway. ‘The supermarket had loads of yellow stickers this morning. We’re in for a treat.’
My mother is the queen of the bargain and her favourite hobbies are hoovering up free samples in food stores and loitering in aisles waiting for the assistants to mark down short-dated goods and give them a yellow ‘reduced’ sticker.
‘I hope you haven’t had dinner,’ she says. ‘There’s a choice of Thai curry, fish pie or spaghetti carbonara — oh, listen to me, I’m like a gastropub with an exotic menu.’ She holds up the single-portion ready meals.
I’m not sure I can actually eat with the guilt forming a lump in my throat, but Patty has no such qualms and opts for the curry. Mum picks the carbonara, leaving me with my least favourite dish of all time.
‘You snooze, you lose,’ Mum says to me, putting them all in the oven then directing us into the living room. ‘They’ll be twenty minutes, now tell me what this is all about.’
Patty sits down on the sofa beside Mum, shows her the dating app and explains what needs to be done. Basically, Mum needs to choose a photo that she’s happy with and answer the questions about what she’s looking for.
‘Friendship or romance?’ asks Patty.
‘Definitely romance,’ says Mum.
‘Dark or blond?’
‘Dark,’ replies Mum. ‘He has to have hair on his head but not in his ears.’
Patty snorts and says that there isn’t really a section to input that.
‘We’ll say “well-groomed”,’ she suggests. ‘That way he’ll know he has to get any ear or nose hair trimmed.’
Mum is adding that he can’t bite his fingernails or have a ponytail as I stand and head into the kitchen. I check on the progress of the delightful gourmet meals that seem to be bubbling along in their tinfoil containers.
‘Ten minutes,’ I shout from the doorway, looking in to see how they’re doing. Mum and Patty seem to be having a deeply secret conversation and that worries me.
‘What are you two conspiring about?’ I ask, coming up behind them. They both jump out of their skins and rush to hide something.
‘Nothing that need concern you,’ says Mum. ‘Why don’t you set the table for us?’
She rubs my arm and stares up at me, letting me know that I’m expected to leave them to it. I shake my head and head back to the kitchen. I feel like Cinderella being banished by the ugly sisters.
The timer on the oven pings, so I shout that things are ready and risk third-degree burns extracting these floppy foil cases. I upturn each dish into a bowl and muse how very similar they all look upside down. Patty’s curry is less yellow than Mum’s pasta but the overall consistency is pretty similar.
‘Would you like a glass of wine with this?’ asks Mum, reaching into the fridge and pulling out a bottle of white. ‘I think I will.’
‘It might make it more edible,’ I say, poking through mine in search of the one prawn that is so clearly depicted on the packaging photo. I feel an enormous sense of victory when I find it and spear it with my fork.
Mum pours us both a small glass and gets Patty a sparkling water as she’s driving home, then sits down and starts eating.
‘I think you did the right thing last night,’ says Mum as she pats the edge of her mouth with a napkin. ‘He wasn’t your sort really.’
So that’s what they were talking about; Patty has told Mum that I called it a day with David.
‘I know.’ I’m trying to sound like a grown-up. ‘And it’s not as if it had progressed beyond a couple of meals.’
‘Well, if this dating app works for me then you might be able to give it a go.’
‘It’s for “seniors”,’ I reply. ‘I’m not quite one of those yet.’
‘You might be by the time you find a man,’ says Mum with a huge laugh, getting a round of applause from Patty.
‘Thanks a bunch, you two.’ I smile. You really cannot wallow for too long with this pair.
‘And trust me,’ Mum continues, ‘you had a lucky escape getting rid of a golfer. My neighbour three doors down went out with a golfer once and she said it was awful.’
‘Why was that?’ asks Patty. She really should know by now not to encourage Mum’s tales.
‘She was always up for hours before one of his tournaments.’ Mum gives a weary shake of the head. ‘That man had her up all night polishing his balls. He was never satisfied.’
Both Patty and I choke on our mouthfuls, trying to keep them down. Mum, of course, looks at us in all innocence but she knows what she’s said.
We just can’t stop laughing and every time one of us gets hold of herself, she looks at the other two and collapses into hysterics again. My sides and cheeks are aching when Dad comes back in through the door.
‘It looks like you’ve had fun,’ he says, kissing the top of Mum’s head.
For a moment I’d forgotten the reason we came here and now I feel terribly guilty all over again.