The Woman Who Turned Her Life Around

Prologue

You know all that Tupperware you have with the lost lids? My mouth’s like that – gaping open – when I spot him.

Shane Calvert. My heart stops and I almost drop the samosa I was about to bite into.

So he’s here – all grown up and sipping a beer out there in the Kapoors’ back garden. Frozen at their kitchen window, I try to wrestle my faculties together.

It’s been thirty-seven years since we last saw each other.

Of course he’s grown up! Time hasn’t stopped – although it feels as if it has.

I lurch away from the window and gaze down at my food, realising I can’t eat any of it.

Pam’s cooking is amazing but right now, I might as well be clutching a plate of stones.

Panicking, I mentally race through my options.

Shane knows I planned to come to the party today (Pam was adamant that it would be a party – a joyous celebration for Ravi – and not a wake).

But I don’t have to go out there and talk to him.

Instead, I could do another quick round of the Kapoors’ family and friends, all chattering loudly in the living room, then quietly slip away.

I looked for you but didn’t see you. Already, I’m formulating my message to him. So many people there. So busy. Sorry we missed each other!

Still alone in the kitchen, I creep back to the window to spy on him a bit more. He’s standing a little apart from the group of men who’ve gathered beneath the blossom-laden cherry tree. It was a tiny, spindly thing last time I was here. Now it’s almost the height of the house.

The early evening light is fading fast. I watch as Shane wanders down to the bottom of the garden, parks himself on the ancient wooden bench and looks around expectantly.

He’s still handsome, dammit. Age suits him.

He still has a twinkle about him: a kind, open face, a full head of dark, wavy hair, peppered with only a little silver, and that full, sensuous mouth that I loved to kiss—Stop it!

My heart is thumping now, my mind flooding with all the stuff that happened between us so long ago.

I’m aware that he could easily see me – a staring maniac at the window, nice! – but now I can’t tear myself away. He’s so near, I have to at least go out and say hello.

Just get it over with, I tell myself. Like when I was pregnant with Cora and one of my teeth rotted – one of the big buggers at the back – and my dentist explained, without one iota of sympathy, that he’d have to extract it (with pliers, basically) without anaesthetic. Do it then! Pull the fucker out!

My chest is tight, my mouth sandpaper-dry. I take a swig of white wine for fortification. Gripping my glass and laden plate, I stride purposefully to the back door. Molar! Pliers! I remind myself. Just get it over with!

I step outside and inhale deeply. In contrast to the Kapoors’ overheated house, the evening is still and cool. Affecting a casual demeanour, as if I have just popped out for a breath of air, I gaze in rapt attention at the cherry tree.

How beautiful it is, this immense pink confetti cloud!

Without even looking over, I can sense Shane sitting up, paying attention.

Shit, I’m not ready yet. Onwards I glide, towards the wooden bird table I remember Ravi’s dad, Kamal, constructing with immense care when we were teenagers.

When I loved Shane madly. Oh God. He’s standing up now.

I can see him in the periphery of my vision as I examine the bird table forensically.

It’s a little mossy and the roof looks as if it’s been nibbled.

By squirrels, maybe? But look how well it was made, to have weathered all these years—

‘Josie?’

I swing round and he’s right there in front of me. ‘Shane! Hi! My God!’ We laugh in a bewildered, is-this-really-happening? way and hug awkwardly.

‘So good to see you,’ he exclaims, smiling.

‘You too.’ I grin stiffly and sense the thermostat connected to my cheeks turning up to maximum heat. ‘I mean, I wish it wasn’t because of this,’ I add quickly.

‘Yes, same here.’ He nods.

A small silence hangs and I scramble to fill it. ‘So, how was your journey?’

‘Oh, good, thanks. Great. How was yours?’

‘Really good. No trouble at all.’

‘You weren’t on the 7.30, were you?’ he asks.

‘You mean the train?’ What d’you think he means, idiot – the hovercraft?

‘Er, yeah—’

‘No. I, um…’ I start.

‘I did arrive a bit early,’ he says with a small grimace, perhaps to highlight his ineptitude at journey planning.

‘Better than being in a panic.’ As I am now, as I sense what will be his next question.

‘Did you drive up?’ he asks.

‘No, I decided to, er…’

‘Quite right. It can be a nightmare, the motorway around Birmingham…’

‘Absolutely,’ I agree, wondering when we might tear ourselves away from our respective modes of transport and move on to the reason we’re here, back in our West Yorkshire home town. Because our friend Ravi – Pam and Kamal’s beloved daughter – died.

‘So, which train did you get?’ Shane asks.

‘Oh, I actually got the bus,’ I say brightly.

‘From London?’

‘Yes.’ I smile to demonstrate how great it was. ‘I actually prefer it,’ I add.

‘Right. Yeah.’ He nods uncertainly and sips his beer, his green eyes catching the late evening light. ‘Buses can be, erm… really pleasant.’

‘And they’re so comfy these days!’ Now I’m a resurrected Victorian lady entranced by the Megabus.

They have engines now! They’re not drawn by horses!

‘And we stopped at Donington Park services,’ I babble on, ‘which was great as I hadn’t brought any food or drink with me.

Nothing at all. Stupid, huh? It’s an awfully long way to survive on your own saliva’ – Shane’s eyes widen – ‘and I hadn’t realised we’d stop, that we’d get a proper leg stretch… ’ Shut up, you loon!

‘At the, erm… service station?’ Looking wary now, Shane has taken a step back.

‘Yes,’ I enthuse.

‘Oh, yeah. They’re better than they used to be, aren’t they?’

‘Definitely…’

‘Much more choice now.’

I nod, not quite understanding.

‘Of food places,’ he clarifies. ‘There’s Burger King, Costa…’

‘The Cornish Pasty Company,’ I chime in.

‘It’s a dilemma!’ Nearly four decades since we last saw each other and we’re discussing motorway food options.

And never mind saw. It’s not as if I merely glimpsed him in passing that last time.

We were nakedly entwined in a lumpy little single bed, having just had sex.

Don’t even think about it! I tell myself.

It’s a spent conviction, wiped from your record.

It no longer counts. My entire body tenses as I try to stop the image flooding my brain.

But it bursts through anyway and now it’s all I can see.

And somehow this causes my hand to spasm and my plate tips forward, and as I try to grab the tumbling pakoras and samosas, my glass flips towards me and empties all over my chest.

‘Christ!’ I cry.

‘Oh no.’ Shane looks aghast. ‘Let me get you something to dry off with.’

‘No, no, I’m fine,’ I insist. ‘Thank God it was white.’

‘Yes, lucky, that—’

‘Terrible waste of wine, though!’

Shane laughs uncertainly and his gaze flickers around the garden. He could be admiring the cherry blossom, but I suspect he’s willing someone to come and take me away. Help me! is the message beaming out from his panic-stricken eyes. Get me away from this crazy woman—

Then his attention is snagged, and a small miracle happens. Pam has appeared at the back door, dinging a glass with a teaspoon. ‘Everyone?’ she calls out. ‘Would you mind stepping inside now, please? We’re having a little bit of a speech.’