16. Carly
Chapter 16
Carly
I ’m sitting in the pub garden again with Suze and Fran, after work. We’re into September now and it’s not so warm these days, but I’m not prepared to let summer go just yet. A woolly cardigan over my fancy top, and a pair of thick jeans, are enough to stave off the effects of the cool breeze that’s rustling the serviette tucked under our almost empty plate of chips and blowing a wisp of Fran’s curly hair straight into her mouth and dousing it in ketchup.
‘You did what?’ Suze has got it out of me about my visit to the Clarion with Jack and my near-miss kiss, and she’s going for the jugular. ‘Carly Young, I despair of you. What did we say about married men?’ If she wasn’t sitting down, she’d have her elbows stuck out and her hands on her hips by now, her face is looking so stern.
‘Not to go anywhere near them?’
‘Exactly. So, what did you do the minute my back was turned? You not only went out drinking with the man, you damn near sucked his face off!’
‘But I didn’t actually go through with it. I might have wanted to. Well, yes, I admit I definitely did want to, but I didn’t, okay?’
‘No, it’s not okay. He’s got a wife, for God’s sake.’
An image of her pops into my head. Faceless, naturally, as I still have no idea what she looks like. She hovers in my peripheral vision, like a wishy-washy painting, all pale and mysterious, and much as I try to brush her away, I just can’t do it.
‘I know he has a wife. I know it only too well, but she’s away at the moment.’ As soon as I say it, I know I’ve only gone and dug myself into a deeper hole.
‘And that makes it all right, does it? Look, I know he’s gorgeous and you fancy him rotten, and I can’t blame you for that. He is a very good-looking bloke, but he’s off-limits. Carly, watch my lips. Do… not… go… there.’
‘I won’t. Not again. I promise.’
‘Good. Now, let’s change the subject, shall we? Romance, sex, men… I’m sick of all of it. Let’s have a man-free evening, okay?’
‘Things not going well with what’s-his-name then?’ Fran says. That’s the thing about sisters. Brothers too, come to think of it. They know how to push each other’s buttons.
‘I said let’s change the subject. And his name’s Sean, as you very well know.’ Suze does that face of hers, the one that says enough is enough. She rolls her eyes and lifts her chin so her nose is stuck up in the air. ‘Is it just me or is it getting a bit cold? Shall we go inside?’
I’m actually quite enjoying the breeze, but I know Suze well enough to realise there’s something gone wrong in her already rather rocky fledgling relationship with Sean that she doesn’t want to talk about, and not to argue when she’s got a strop on, so we all pick up what’s left of our drinks and walk through into the pub.
Somehow, shifting position has given us the chance to start again when it comes to conversation and both Jack and Sean have been instantly wiped out of our invisible list of topics.
‘I like that top,’ Fran says, leaning forward to have a feel of my hem, rubbing the fabric between her fingers and thumb. ‘Is it silk?’
‘Only the cheap fake kind. I got it in the market, would you believe?’
‘I don’t suppose they do it in my size,’ Fran says with a sigh. ‘All the fashionable stuff seems to stop at a sixteen, if it even goes that far. Do you know, there’s one place in town that calls a size twelve extra large!’
We make sympathetic noises, but she does have a point. There are plenty of women who weigh in at the heavier end of the scales but still want to look good.
‘You could always have a go at making your own clothes,’ Suze says, a bit unhelpfully as she knows as well as I do that Fran is no needlewoman. She tried to knit a bobble hat once and it came out with so many holes it could have doubled up as a tea cosy, with the handle and the spout free to stick out just about anywhere they needed to.
Fran shakes her head and turns her attention to the bag of crisps she has just bought at the bar, ripping it open and offering it round before diving in.
‘So, how are the driving lessons going?’ Suze is digging for something to laugh at and I’m not going to be the one to give it to her.
‘Very well, according to Syd. I’ve only been out three times but I haven’t hit anything yet – well, not since the infamous three-point turn in lesson one. And I did what he called a textbook reverse around the corner the other night. And I’m working on the Highway Code. It’s not quite as riveting as reading the latest Milly Johnson, not much in the way of plot, but I’m persevering. Road signs, stopping distances and all that. You can test me if you like!’
‘Okay, what’s that sign that looks like a pair of 48 double H cups lying down in the road?’ Suze has the light back in her eyes now, and has switched back to naughty mode.
‘You mean Fran when she’s had one too many vodkas?’
Fran bashes me on the arm in indignation, but she’s laughing along with us, and I know she doesn’t mind. She makes enough jokes about her own size, after all. ‘I’m only a 42E, I’ll have you know,’ she says, as if to prove my point. ‘And I can never have too many vodkas!’
‘I know we’re not talking about men tonight…’ Suze says, looking pointedly at her sister, ‘but that doesn’t stop us talking about your love life, does it?’
Fran stares straight back at her. ‘What love life?’
‘My point exactly. Look, Frannie, I can’t pretend to know much about gay romance…’
‘No, you can’t, so don’t ask, okay?’
‘Nobody on the scene then?’ Suze never seems to know when to stop.
‘I have met someone, actually.’ I don’t often see Fran blush but her cheeks are looking a lot redder than they did a moment ago. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if she’s making it up, just to get Suze off her case. ‘But it’s early days, and none of your business, so can we just leave it, please?’
‘Suit yourself, but come on, Fran. You’re one of the first to stick your ears up whenever there’s even a hint of gossip. And if Carly and I are fair game, I don’t see why you shouldn’t be. And, besides, what are sisters for, if not to share a bit of the intimate stuff from time to time? You know, marks out of ten, and have you kissed her yet?’
‘You never know when to just leave it, do you? Some things are private, okay?’
Suze looks at me and does a ridiculous exaggerated wink. ‘That means she hasn’t!’ she says, dodging out of the way as Fran swipes at her with her hand.
‘Well, I don’t see you spilling all the latest on that Sean of yours.’
‘Not mine, as it happens.’ Suze clutches at her glass so hard I think it’s going to break in her hand, and takes a long swig. ‘Seems he’s been seeing some girl he met on a bus.’
‘Oops, sorry. Sore point?’ Fran’s anger subsides in an instant and she shuffles up closer to Suze and puts an arm across her shoulders.
‘He’s lucky he didn’t end up with a sore point of his own when I found out. There was a very tempting rolling pin nearby at the time, but I resisted. Very good of me, I thought, considering. And it doesn’t matter, not really. She’s welcome to him.’
‘Plenty more fish in the sea, eh?’
‘Okay, that’s enough of the clichés, Fran. Seeing someone else behind my back? No, there’s no way I’m going to put up with that, or forgive him. He’s denying it all, of course, but you know I can’t tolerate cheats.’ I’m sure she’s looking straight at me as she says that. ‘At least it means I’m free again, ready for when the right man does come along. Assuming someone else hasn’t claimed him first, of course.’ Now I know she’s definitely aiming her comments at me. And she’s right. I know she is. Right man, wrong time and all that. I have to stop obsessing over Jack Doherty and move on with my life.
We don’t stay long after that. Somehow the fun has leached out of the evening, and by eight o’clock we’ve called it a day. I decide to call in on Mum on my way home. A third of a plate of chips and one of Fran’s cheese-and-onion crisps – there was no way she was letting either of us take more than one – haven’t quite managed to fill the hole and I’m hoping Mum’s cooked one of her fabulous big family dinners, knowing that Sam is usually starving after football practice, and there might be some left for me.
I let myself in at the back door as usual but there’s nobody in the kitchen, and sadly no sign of any cooking going on either, unless it’s already been washed up and cleared away.
‘Hello! Anyone home?’ Well, I know there must be because the back door wasn’t locked and Mum would never go out without at least double-checking that.
I walk through into the hall. There are voices coming from the dining room, and some music which sounds too loud to be the background noise from the TV.
I pop my head round the door and there they are. Mum and that man from the allotments. Anthony. And no sign of my brother. There’s a pile of takeaway containers in the middle of the table, two mucky plates, not three, and an open bottle of something that looks decidedly fizzy. And they’re dancing. Oh, not all lovey-dovey cheek to cheek, but they do have their arms hooked around each other, in a jiggy-jiggy sort of way, and they’re flinging themselves around the room and laughing fit to burst.
They don’t spot me for a minute or two, but then Mum skips around and is suddenly facing me. I see the laughter drop from her face, and it’s replaced by a mixture of shock and what looks suspiciously like embarrassment. ‘Oh, Carly,’ she says, her feet grinding to a halt and her hand reaching out to turn the music down. ‘You should have said you were coming. Anthony and I were just…’
‘Dancing. Yes, Mum, I can see that. Don’t let me stop you.’
‘Oh, I think we were probably about ready to take a breather anyway.’ She flops into a high-backed dining chair and wipes the back of her hand over her brow. Is that sweat? ‘Come on, Anthony, sit back down for a while and I’ll go and make some coffee.’
‘That would be lovely, Joyce.’ Anthony flops down and makes himself look far too comfortable for my liking.
‘Fancy one, Carly?’
I nod wordlessly and sit down in what was always Dad’s chair at the head of the table. At least she hasn’t suggested Anthony sit there. ‘No Sam tonight?’
‘Off out with some mates. He said he might be late.’
‘Right. Mind if I help myself to some food?’
‘Of course not, love. Anthony always buys too much.’
Always? Did she say always? Just how often do they share these cosy little get-togethers?
I dip a serving spoon into what looks like chicken korma. It’s already a little congealed and not quite hot enough, but I eat a spoonful anyway, straight from the carton. Going in search of another plate would mean following Mum into the kitchen and I’m not sure I’d know exactly what to say to her just yet. Anthony sits there smiling, almost shyly, but he doesn’t speak. Does he feel as awkward as I do? There was me thinking Mum was doing her best to match me up with him, as unlikely as that seems now, and all the time she’s been seeing him herself. I can’t quite get my head around it. The age difference, for one thing. He must be, what? Ten or fifteen years younger than her. Still, he was a good ten or fifteen older than me and that hadn’t stopped her feeble attempts at matchmaking, had it?
‘You remember Anthony, don’t you?’ Mum says, as she comes back, carrying a tray of coffees and a plate of chocolate biscuits. What is this? Let’s-pretend-we’ve-never-met time?
‘Of course I do.’
She pushes a few foil cartons aside and places the tray on the table before sitting down in an empty seat between us. I wait for her to say more, to tell me why he’s here, but she doesn’t. She just hands the mugs round, the milk and sugars already taken care of, so she clearly knows just how he takes it.
The CD comes to an end and all I can hear is Dad’s old clock ticking on the wall and Anthony blowing vigorously and noisily across the surface of his coffee to cool it before taking a tentative but equally noisy sip.
‘Go on, love,’ she says, smiling at me. ‘Tuck in before the rest of that curry gets cold. Or is it already? I can always microwave it for you.’
‘No, it’s fine, Mum. All fine.’ And I eat what quite possibly warrants as one of the most awkward meals of my life as the two of them sit there comfortably, chatting about parsnips and dahlias and plain versus milk chocolate digestives and whether they prefer Cliff or Elvis, almost as if I’m not there.