Читать книгу Me, You and Tiramisu - Charlotte Butterfield, Butterfield Consul Willshire - Страница 11

Rachel held her hair-straighteners in mid-air, steam curling softly upwards. ‘He wants us to move in with him?’ She paused. ‘Both of us?’

‘Yes, as lodgers. Sort of. He’s got two spare rooms and is a bit short of cash, and thought we might prefer to live in Richmond rather than Twickenham – the commute’s shorter for both of us and the deli’s downstairs so we’d always have food, and he can cook for us, so no more nasty kebabs, and I stay round there most of the time anyway, and I don’t want you to be lonely here by yourself, and … and … I sort of love him. Sort of.’

Rachel started running her GHDs through the length of her bob again, and then smiled at their reflections in the mirror. ‘That sounds bloody lovely. Say yes.’

Two weeks later the sisters sat in the middle of their living room with a screw-top bottle of wine, surveying the emptiness that surrounded them. They’d spent most of the day painstakingly peeling blu-tac off the walls where a map of the world and some Jack Vetriano prints had once been. Their drawers and cupboards had been squashed into brown boxes labelled STUFF R and STUFF J and yet neither of them was in any hurry to lock the door for the last time.

This flat had been the place of their dreams once; the refuge that they’d talked about since their early teens. It was more than just a place to live for them; it was a symbol of their success. Whenever Jayne had passed a new shop with the signage being hoisted up outside, she’d always pictured the hope of the new owners, the moment when they would gather their family and friends outside on the day of opening and proudly unveil the shop front, switching on the lights to delighted ahhs and oohs, to backslapping and chinks of plastic glasses and short speeches about dreams being fulfilled and new beginnings. This poky flat above a takeaway was that place for the Brady twins. On the day they moved in, they’d sat in exactly the same position on the floor, surrounded by very similar boxes, with another screw-top bottle of wine, elatedly rejoicing their escape from a future of no potential.

Moving to Will’s home was a mere postcode upgrade for Rachel, but for Jayne it was huge. Much like those faith-filled shopkeepers who only had a vague plan and blind optimism to help them sleep at night, she mentally ricocheted between gung-ho whooping at her good fortune and rocking back and forth, head in hands, wondering whether she was making a monumental mistake.

It wasn’t that she doubted Will in any way – she knew he was pretty darn perfect from that first cider-swilling afternoon in the park when they were fifteen, but she couldn’t help feeling that things like this didn’t happen to people like her. Surely it would only be a matter of time before the bubble burst, or the other shoe dropped, or some equally baffling phrase that describes the moment it all goes wrong.

But while Jayne waited for that to happen, they had some shopping to do. And that’s how the three new housemates found themselves in Ikea on a Friday night negotiating over how many tea lights is too many and what they were going to put in the hundreds of box photo frames that were stacked in the trolley. Family photos were overruled by all of them on the reasoning of not wanting to be reminded of their genetic origins – through shame and the desire to forget them for the girls, while Will was content keeping his own photos in his memory box under his bed. He didn’t need to walk past pictures of his parents in the hallway every day to know they were with him. So the consensus was to leave much of the décor up to Rachel, who was describing a jigsaw effect she wanted to create by painting a huge abstract, and cutting it up into rectangles that fitted into each individual frame, ‘art that reminds us to look at the big picture,’ she’d said, or something like that.

‘And a peace lily, we definitely need one of them.’ Will said as he wedged a rather sorry-looking plant into the gap between a new toilet brush and a set of six wooden hangers.

‘How the mighty have fallen.’ Rachel yawned, automatically picking up a white wicker basket and tossing it in. ‘It’s Friday night, people. Friday night. I hope this isn’t an indicator of what life with you will be like, Will, because, truth be told, I don’t think I can cope with this level of hedonism.’

‘I wanted to warn you quite how close to the edge I live, but neither of you would have believed me.’ Will put his hand on top of Jayne’s as she steered the trolley past the woks. ‘And if you both behave, I may well treat you to a £3 plate of Swedish meatballs.’

Later that night Will and Jayne were sprawled on his old leather sofa – which was now beautifully adorned with vibrant throws – and Rachel was slumped in a newly acquired Fatboy beanbag when Jayne judged the moment to be right to casually mention that she was heading down to Devon to see their granny the following Saturday and would anyone like to join her. By anyone she meant both of them. By would they like to join her, she meant they would join her. From the stunned silence that ensued you would have thought she’d said, ‘so I was thinking of draping myself in a Union Jack and going camping in the mountainous region between Pakistan and Afghanistan – is anyone keen on tagging along?’

Will purposely didn’t move his eyes from the television, he had very little inclination to revisit the place where his last days with his mum were played out. ‘Um … next weekend? Saturday’s my busiest day in the shop, um … sorry, sweetheart, you know I’d love to otherwise.’

‘It’s okay, I thought of that and Abi said she wouldn’t mind holding the fort for the day.’

‘Oh. Well the pricing system’s quite complicated and the till is a bastard to work if you don’t know how.’ He shrugged apologetically, ‘Sorry, darling.’

‘She’s coming round on Wednesday after work so you can show her how it all works. Next excuse?’ Jayne turned to Rachel, ‘Oi, sharer of the womb, you’re very quiet over there.’

‘Why the hell do you want to go back down there again? Weren’t you only there a few weeks ago?’

‘It was nearly a year ago and Granny sounded a bit quiet on the phone earlier, so I just thought us all going down would cheer her up, and she always asks what you’re up to, and she hasn’t met Will yet, and I thought it might be nice.’

‘Nice? Don’t get me wrong, Granny’s a sweetheart, but I Skype her every week. I don’t feel the need to physically be breathing the same air as her to fully bond.’

‘So I’m going alone, then.’ Jayne looked from her boyfriend to her sister, ‘By myself. Unaccompanied. Flying solo. Bereft of company. Deserted. Abandoned–’

‘Oh for the love of all that’s holy, I’ll come if that will shut you up!’ Rachel growled. ‘Will, you’re coming too. No arguments. If I’ve got to do this, you’re not getting out of it.’

‘Won’t it take ages to get down there?’ Will asked.

‘Three hours or so, or we could stay over somewhere – make a weekend of it?’ Jayne said.

Rachel and Will both chimed a resounding, ‘No!’ completely in sync.

Despite Jayne putting on re-runs of Doc Martin to get them all in the mood for a spot of South West fun and games, a bleak depression had descended over the spruced-up lounge, which even the fourteen new Summer Fruits-scented candles couldn’t disguise.

Today in Talk Devon we are discussing the frightening topic of a new wave of seagulls that are plaguing the seafronts of South Devon, and having a devastating effect on the profits of beachfront ice-cream sellers. We have Keith on the line from Salcombe. Keith, are you there …?

Will idly flicked the volume down on the radio.

‘What are you doing?’ Jayne yelped, reaching for the dial, ‘I want to hear about the killer gulls.’

‘You can talk the girl out of Devon, but you can’t take Devon out of the girl,’ laughed Will. ‘It’s great, though, a whole phone-in for debating ice cream-loving birds. I would say it’s a slow-news day, but I guess this is headline-making stuff down here.’

‘Don’t come over all townie on us Will Scarlet, you were a Devon boy for a while too, don’t forget.’

As the car took the exit at Newton Abbot and began the all-too-familiar descent along the coastal road towards Pine Grove Residential Home for the Elderly, it was as though someone had pressed the mute button – the mood in the car changed from jovial and jocular to silent and reflective. Rachel and Jayne were staring out of the windows, taking in the familiar sights that they’d grown up with – the sea to their right, the numerous B&Bs to their left, with comedy names like Dunromin and ambitious ones like Water’s Edge.

Small shabby hotels with paint peeling and no-smoking stickers in the windows along with AA rosettes from the 1980s and sad sun-faded signs that permanently said ‘vacancies’ flashed past. Boards outside advertised en-suites and colour TVs, the height of decadence once, and still perhaps a source of misplaced pride for the host. Occasionally you’d get a better class of bed and breakfast, one that deigned to call itself a ‘boutique hotel’. These had wi-fi and individually decorated rooms, which were sometimes even themed, because apparently there are people who want to pay money to come to the English Riviera and stay in a suite called Out of Africa. ‘Cheaper than Kenya and not as far,’ one sign read.

Growing up in a seaside town was a strange experience, Jayne thought. Your town is almost like a timeshare – wholly yours for the crappy part of the year and handed over to coach-trippers as soon as the sun shines. They always felt slightly superior to the grockles – as they called them then – watching them squealing while paddling their pasty white legs in the sea or queuing up for overpriced aniseed balls and fizzy cola bottles in the pick-n-mix at The Pavilion in Torquay. Getting their children’s faces captured in pastels by the resident artist sitting on the steps, who worked in Lidl during the winter months. It’s funny how a holidaymaker’s experience of the town you’ve lived all your life in is so different to your reality. Not once in eighteen years did Jayne buy a pick-n-mix bag of sweets, or get her portrait done.

Pine Grove was an imposing, lavender-clad manor house that had once been a beautiful private home before the owners realised in the 1990s that they had wildly underestimated the upkeep costs of such a grand property and sold it to some eager-eyed developers for bulging pots of cash. Home now to twenty of the area’s most affluent pensioners, it was considered The Place to end your days. Morbidly, much excitement was felt among families on the waiting list whenever news of a resident’s demise hit the grapevine.

Helen Brady, the twins’ grandmother, was the daughter of a wealthy fishing family that owned twenty of the area’s trawlers. After her father’s death in the Second World War, her new husband, Tom, took over the business. He’d been one of the ‘lucky’ ones, making that coveted return journey from France, albeit not as complete, physically or mentally, as he had been when he’d left just days after their wedding. He’d suffered the indignity of having tiny shards of shrapnel embed themselves in his thigh and groin, making him, at the age of twenty, in all likelihood infertile. Helen had borne the news with characteristic fortitude. Twenty years later, just as she was coming to terms with early signs of the menopause, the family doctor had told her the news that she was, in fact, expecting a baby.

Helen and Tom had enjoyed a privileged life in Torquay, living in a large villa that boasted expansive views across the whole of Tor Bay. But even though Helen had never intimated such a thing – she wouldn’t – her granddaughters knew that it must have come as something of a shock when her eighteen-year-old daughter interrupted her quiet idyll by introducing a pair of screaming babies into the equation.

Thankfully their grandparents had stoically risen to the challenge of being the only dependable constant in their drama-filled world. Ever ready to practise spellings, subtly prise off stained uniforms to quietly launder them, listen to their pre-pubescent witterings and whimsy and shoulder their teenage angst with good grace and the benefit of experience and learned lessons. Rachel and Jayne had loved standing on the bench at the end of their garden, hair thick with sea salt being whipped around their shining faces, passing their grandfather’s heavy leather binoculars back and forth between them, excitedly spotting dolphins and feeding the gulls that dipped and swooped over the cliff.

As she had got older and, sadly, alone, Helen had become more introspective, pensively reflecting on the childhood the twins could have enjoyed had she and Tom insisted on raising them, and not given Catherine – Crystal – the benefit of the doubt, again, and again. But hindsight was a wonderful, and quietly destructive, thing.

‘Darlings!’ Her warm, plummy tones greeted the trio as soon as they walked out into the gardens, where she was sitting watching some of the other inmates, guests, how would you describe them? Jayne wondered, enjoy a sedate game of croquet. ‘And this must be the handsome Will I’ve been hearing so much about.’ She started to rise out of her chair, knuckles whitening on the arms, when Rachel and Jayne rushed to push her back down.

‘Granny, sit down.’ Rachel eloquently ordered.

Helen let a little laugh escape, ‘Yes, Sir. How was the trip darlings, was it okay? You must be famished, let me ask them to get a tray of something together.’ She started looking around for one of the staff and raised her veined hand slightly to attract their attention as they sat down on the bench alongside her. ‘I’m so thrilled you came all this way from London. I’m very honoured! Now Will, Jayne and Rachel have told me that you are something of an entrepreneur?’

He smiled and dipped his head slightly, ‘I’m afraid you’ve been duped, Mrs Brady.’

‘Please, call me Helen,’ she interrupted.

‘Helen. I’ve got a very small Italian delicatessen in Richmond selling hams and cheese, that sort of thing, hardly Dragons Den material.’

‘And he makes the most delicious chutneys, Granny. We’ve actually brought you a hamper of things – we’ll get it out of the car in a minute.’

‘How wonderful! You needn’t have brought me anything, though; just seeing you down here is such a joy. Now, tell me, Rachel, have you finished that restaurant you were doing at the airport? The drawings you showed me on Skype looked marvellous. What a wonderful way to start your holiday, having supper in a place like that, have you seen it Jayne? Ask to see her sketches, it looks fabulous.’

The rest of the afternoon passed amiably. Helen proved with every sentence that her memory was as sharp as it had ever been; in fact she had no reason to be in a residential home apart from it being an antidote to her loneliness. One of the things Helen had found most difficult to accept about old age was the sad truth that her best days were behind her. She had spent her whole life assuming that tomorrow would be better than today. That this time next year what she was striving for in this moment would be fulfilled and the ambitious prophecies that kept her awake at night would materialise. That one day she would eat dinner from a street cart in Seoul and see the Northern Lights. She would watch Tosca in the Sydney Opera House and hop on a tram on San Francisco’s California Street. Yet, as she attended the funerals of her parents, her siblings, her husband, she began to reach the startlingly bleak conclusion that she’d had her time. For someone like Helen, whose eyes still danced, this was a horrible realisation.

Jayne was tuned into every nuance of her grandmother’s interaction with Will, silently willing her to love him. She knew this was unnecessary; the mutual adoration society had been launched the minute they met.

Helen had actually remembered meeting him back when he was fifteen. Jayne and Rachel had brought him up to visit her and Tom and camp in their back garden one warm July evening. Will had been given a tent by one of his dad’s friends and even if the three teens had put their pitiful money together they couldn’t stretch to paying the exorbitant peak-season ground rent at one of the hundreds of campsites littering Torbay’s coastline, so they pitched it in Helen and Tom’s garden. Helen had even bought them a small disposable barbecue for them to cook some sausages and marshmallows on, while looking endearingly at her granddaughters’ newfound maturity. Nothing says ‘I’m a grown-up’ more than turning raw food into edible food over a naked flame. Jayne had completely forgotten about this memory until Helen brought it up.

‘It was so funny, your grandpa kept watch on and off during the night from an upstairs window and was incensed when he saw you, Will, crawling out of the tent and spending a penny on his petunias.’

Will’s hand shot to his mouth, blushing redder than Jayne had ever seen him, as he stammered, ‘I can only offer my heartfelt apologies, Mrs Brady, Helen, what can I say? I was fifteen, stupid and had a very weak bladder.’

‘Oh, no need to apologise, it’s made me smile quite a number of times since, thinking about it. Now look, as much as I love having you here, it’s nearly tea time and you need to push off if you’re going to be in London before dark.’ Helen had this thing about getting to places ‘before dark’. It might have been the Blitz mentality of nightfall being quite literal. She added quietly, ‘Now, have you seen your mother lately?’

‘No. And we’re not going to now, either.’ Rachel replied before Jayne could interject with a more diplomatic response.

‘I think you should stop in. She’s a little … different recently.’

‘Different how?’ Jayne asked at the exact-same moment Rachel said, ‘Whatever.’

‘Just pop in for ten minutes. It’s on your way back to the motorway anyway. For an old lady?’ They all gave her hugs, and she squeezed Will’s hand, ‘Marvellous to meet you, you seem every bit as fine as Jayne said. Now look after my girls, they’re rather special.’

‘I know, and I will. Lovely to meet you Mrs.… Helen.’

Ten minutes later the Ford Focus they’d borrowed from Will’s friends Duncan and Erica for the day was swerving along the coast again, its windows down, with them all laughing about Helen’s fabulous eccentricities when Rachel shrieked, ‘Hell no! We’re not going to Crystal’s, Jayne. I said I’d only come if we just went to Gran’s; I’m not going to Crystal’s. Stop the car. Will, stop the goddamn car!’

They swerved into a bus stop and Rachel started clawing at the handle, desperately trying to open the child-locked door. Jayne swivelled around in her seat and said, in what she hoped was a soothing tone, ‘Rachel, she’s our mother, just say hi and then we’ll go. Seriously, two minutes tops. In and out. We’re almost there, anyway. We can’t come all this way and not even have a cup of tea with her.’

‘Well, I’m not coming in,’ Rachel replied sullenly, crossing her arms and pouting, ‘I’m staying in the car.’

As they pulled up onto the driveway, a stunned silence filled the car as they each took in the beautiful freshly cut lawn, completely devoid of overgrown yellowing weeds and thistles. Planted borders lay where previously only discarded fag butts had been and gently cascading flowers in hanging baskets framed the newly painted front door. They parked behind a shiny silver Mercedes with a disabled badge in its window. ‘Has she moved, do you think?’ Will asked finally.

‘She must have done. I’ll just go and see.’ As Jayne got out of the car, she reasoned that it wouldn’t be entirely out of character for Crystal to have legged it without telling anyone. When they were five she dropped them off at Helen’s for the night with their teddy bears and Strawberry Shortcake pyjamas and picked them up four months later with a tan and a smattering of Spanish by way of explanation as to her whereabouts for a whole season.

Jayne walked up the driveway and surreptitiously peered in through the kitchen window as she passed it. It had been less than a year since she’d last popped in for a quick coffee with her mother, on her last visit to Helen, and nothing had changed then, but this time everything seemed different. Gone were the crusty dishes that perpetually lived in the sink, and a pristine white Shaker-style kitchen had replaced their grubby cream-and-brown one. A recycling bucket lay next to the front door; in it were empty Granola boxes and plastic smoothie bottles, evidence of a different class of consumer to the cheap wine-swigging previous owner. She rang the bell and turned back to the car, where Will and Rachel were leaning forward in their seats staring and shook her head and shrugged, as if to say, ‘your guess is as good as mine’.

The door was opened by an elderly man, probably in his early eighties, slightly stooped but otherwise sprightly, ‘Hello, hello! How can I help you, young lady?’

‘I’m really sorry to bother you, but my mother used to live here, until recently, and I just wondered if you knew where she went, or if you have a forwarding address for her?’

‘Oh my, are you Jayne or Rachel?’ he boomed cheerfully.

‘Um, Jayne?’

‘Your mother is going to be delighted to see you back in one piece!’ He went to the bottom of the stairs and shouted up, ‘Come down, Jayne is here!’ Turning back to where Jayne stood uncertain and more than a little stunned, he enthusiastically beckoned, ushering her into the living room. ‘Come in, come in.’

She had no idea what was going on, who this man was, or why this house sort of looked like her old one, but after a 60 Minute Makeover. Behind the reproduction Victorian fireplace was a wall covered in a beautiful cornflower-blue-and-cream wallpaper, the type that depicts French scenes – she could never remember the name of it, toile something she thought, Rachel would know – depicting historic country life, delicate sketches of peasants shovelling hay into carts and flocks of geese about to take flight. When she and Rachel lived there with Crystal a broken three-bar electric fire was surrounded by a nasty 1970s brickwork fireplace, Jayne couldn’t even remember what colour the lounge walls were, a sort of nicotine shade, she imagined.

‘When did you land?’ he asked affably.

‘Um … land?’

‘Yes! Is this a short trip back to the UK, or are you back for longer? I don’t suppose you can say too much about it, eh?’ He tapped the side of his nose, ‘Mum’s the word, sorry, no more questions, I don’t want you to have to kill me!’ he chuckled.

‘Darling! How wonderful to see you! I can’t believe it!’ Crystal swept into the living room, but, much like the surroundings, she’d been the recipient of a drastic transformation. Her bleached platinum hair had been replaced by a sleek dark-blonde feathery cut, her make-up was still substantial but looked like it had at least been put on with a selection of task-appropriate brushes rather than a garden trowel. She was wearing some sort of emerald silk kaftan that shimmered slightly as the light caught it and made a faint rustle as she walked. As she enveloped Jayne in a big hug, possibly her very first from her, she was shrouded in a cloud of Issey Miyake. What the hell? On Jayne’s last visit a year ago she’d opened the door a couple of inches, which was as much as the chain would allow, dressed in a stained dressing gown, her hair comically sticking out as if in mid-electrocution, eyes bleary and breath honking of stale cigarettes and last night’s bar bill.

Jayne peered at her, disbelieving, ‘Crystal?’

‘Oh hush, darling, you know I hate it when you call me that!’ She squeezed her shoulders just a tiny bit too hard, ‘This is such a wonderful surprise. Now, darling, sit down and tell your mummy everything!’ Mummy? Jayne looked back at the old man, who was rocking back on his heels, hands in his cardigan pockets, smiling at what looked, for all intents and purposes, like a touching mother-daughter reunion. For a split second Jayne thought that she was either being secretly filmed by a Saturday-night TV show and Ant and Dec were going to spring out from behind one of the new linen drapes that were dusting the floor, or she’d stumbled into some kind of parallel universe. Crystal tapped the sofa seat next to her, ‘Come on, Jayney, and don’t leave anything out!’

‘Um … Rachel and my boyfriend, Will, are in the car … I should go and fetch them.’

Crystal clapped her hands together in delight, ‘Oh my goodness, my Rachy’s here too! And you have a boyfriend? You never said!’ Jayne didn’t quite know during which make- believe conversation she was meant to have relayed this information, seeing as they hadn’t spoken since her last visit, but decided to play along to whatever was going on in her mother’s head.

‘Um, yes, Will, sorry about not mentioning it before, I … er … wanted it to be a surprise. I’ll, um, go get them in, then, shall I?’

‘The more the merrier!’ Crystal and the old man chorused.

During her deliberately slow walk to the car she tried to understand what had just gone on before she tried to articulate it to the two people who knew her best in the world. And what she came up with was: ‘Mum’s gone loop the loop, you better come in.’

Rachel’s arms crossed defiantly, ‘I’ve already told you, I’m not setting foot in that house.’

‘Believe me, Rach, you’re going to want to see this. I think she’s got some sort of dementia, and there’s this old guy, who might be her carer or something, and the house looks like it belongs in Country Living. I don’t know what’s going on, but you have to come in.’

‘Dementia?’ Will slammed his door, ‘does she recognise you?’

‘Yes, but she wants me to call her Mummy and sit on the sofa and, you know, talk to her.’

‘Is she pissed?’

‘No, that’s the weird thing, she seems completely sober. It’s like she’s got a wholesome twin we never knew about and they’ve swapped lives.’

‘Okay, okay, this I have to see.’ Rachel begrudgingly got out of the car and all three of them trooped into the house.

‘Rachel!’ A flash of emerald and a swoosh of silk and suddenly Crystal was hugging a stiffened Rachel, whose arms remained resolutely at her side, one of Crystal’s arms then loosened, drawing Jayne into the embrace too. ‘My babies, my babies are back!’

Rachel mouthed ‘What the fuck?’ over their mother’s head, and Jayne gave a little shrug back. Will was loitering by the door taking in the whole scene; he told them afterwards that he was trying to work out how to take his phone out with no one noticing and start filming the scene in case they needed to use it as evidence to have her sectioned.

Briefly breaking away from her daughters when she spotted Will, Crystal visibly straightened and purred seductively, ‘and who is this?’

In an act that can only be described as pure territorialism, in fact, Jayne couldn’t have been more blatant had she peed in a circle around him, she darted to his side, grabbed his hand and said, ‘Crystal, er, Mum, this is Will, my, er, boyfriend.’

Crystal looked at him, then at Jayne, then back at him in sheer disbelief, her mouth slightly ajar, eyes narrowed, if she had the ability to raise one eyebrow, this would have been the moment that skill would have been used for. ‘Well you’re not the only one to bag yourself a hunk,’ she slowly walked over to the fireplace and slipped her arm around the old man’s waist, who seemed to be leaning against the mantel for support, and said, ‘Darlings, I want you to meet someone rather special to me, my gorgeous Stanley.’ They then kissed in the way only old people can, Stanley with his dry, wrinkled lips pursed together, eyes closed, their mother taking this show of affection to an entirely unnecessary level by putting her hand on his chino-clad bottom.

‘Jesus Christ, Crystal. You’ll give the old man a heart attack,’ muttered Rachel with a disgusted sigh.

‘I think that’s the point,’ Will whispered and flinched as Jayne poked him in the ribs.

‘So, who’s for tea?’ Stanley asked brightly, clapping his hands together.

Before his words had even finished forming, Rachel snapped back, ‘We can’t stay.’

‘I think we can manage a quick cuppa,’ Jayne widened her eyes at Rachel and Will before following Stanley into the kitchen to help. She still hadn’t got a hold of the situation unfolding. There was this arthritic pensioner who Jayne charitably thought seemed very nice, there was her mother, who’d quite clearly been possessed, and this house that resembled the one where they grew up only by the number on the front door. Stanley clattered some Denby cups and saucers onto a tray.

Growing up, all their crockery had the emblem of Little Chef on their bases, which had been slipped into Crystal’s bag when she’d done her first and only shift there. Remnants of those six hours she’d spent employed had been scattered liberally around the house – including salt-and-pepper shakers, a clock, batteries and an extension lead. She would have taken the electrical appliances that had been attached to the lead as well had she brought a bigger bag to work that day. ‘Rookie error’ she’d described it at the time.

Jayne filled up the kettle and started making inane comments about how nice the garden was looking, and was Stanley a keen horticulturist – the type of questions that old people love, but you never thought when you were younger would actually ever come out of your mouth.

‘I do enjoy going round the garden centre, I must admit, choosing what should be planted, although the days when I can bend down, fingers sifting soil, have long gone, I’m afraid. But Crystal’s found this young chap who’s ever so nice, to come round a few times a week and tend to it when I’m out. He’s a bit slow on the old weeding front. Sometimes when he’s been here for an hour or so I don’t really know what he’s done, but Crystal tells me he’s been ever so busy, so I don’t really like to probe.’

He raised his voice over the noise of the boiling kettle. ‘I’ve been so lucky finding Crystal.’

‘Um, how did you two meet again?’

‘Well, she found me, actually, my wife had just passed – we’d been together for fifty-two years – and a little article came out in the Torbay Gazette about Beryl. She was once the Mayoress, you see, so they wrote this lovely piece about her and Crystal wrote to me after that, giving her condolences and passing on a message that Beryl had for me from the other side. She’s terribly gifted, your mother, and we struck up a friendship. She’s like a breath of fresh air to me, so loving, and she could see that I was rambling around in that big old house by myself, seeing Beryl in every room, so when she suggested selling it and moving here with her and using the money to make our own little palace, I thought, what a lucky chap I am!’

Jayne opened the large American-style double-door fridge under the pretext of getting the milk out, but she took the opportunity while her back was turned to close her eyes and take a deep, steadying breath without him seeing. As she closed the fridge door a photograph that was tacked to the front of it with magnets caught her eye. It was a picture of two female soldiers in camouflage gear, grinning through their war paint at the lens, long rifles and cumbersome backpacks slung on their shoulders. ‘Are these your grandchildren, Stanley?’ Jayne asked, thinking it best to try to show the old man any ill will they had was not aimed in his direction. She admired his sentimentality and patriotism, proudly displaying his granddaughters.

He chuckled, ‘That camouflage paint certainly does a good job if you can’t even recognise yourself! That’s the photo of you and Rachel you sent your Mum from Iraq. She didn’t want to put it up, though, official secrets act or something, she said, but like I said to her, Crystal dear, I think Al Qaeda have better things to do than keep an eye on houses in Paignton for clues, I think we’ll be okay! Do any of you take sugar?’

Jayne was stunned; she’d clearly underestimated the depths to which her mother could sink to. ‘Um, yes. Please, one for Will and me. Rachel will just have black. Um, Stanley, what else did my mum say about our, um, time in, er, Iraq?’

‘Oh don’t worry about me, my love, all your secrets are safe with me.’ He mimed zipping up his mouth, locking it at the corner and slipping the imaginary key into his breast pocket. ‘What you girls are doing for our little country, it’s admirable. I was a year too young to fight the Germans, more’s the pity, and so I have nothing but awe for you two.’ His eyes started to look a little watery, ‘We’re just both thrilled that you came today. I know that you only get leave every few years, which is why you couldn’t make our wedding, so this is a really lovely surprise.’

Wedding? ‘We’re really big on surprises in our family.’ Jayne flashed him a smile that hovered between sympathy and commiseration. ‘Shall I carry the tray in? It looks heavy.’

As they walked into the living room the atmosphere was dripping with vitriol. Unpleasantries had obviously been exchanged and the three of them were sitting in stony silence. Will and Rachel, who shared a sofa, were staring at the floor in front of them, while Crystal was flicking the screen on a jewelled iPhone that she tossed under a cushion before flashing Stanley and Jayne a wide smile that ended at the corners of her lips. Will stood up and Jayne thought he was going to take the tray from her, but instead he said, ‘You know what, Jayne, I don’t think we’ve got time for tea, I think we better hit the road.’

Rachel rapidly jumped to her feet, ‘Absolutely, come on, Jayne.’ They both bundled her out of the door, leaving a bewildered Stanley standing in the middle of the lounge holding a teapot and Crystal idly lounging, Cleopatra-style, on her chaise longue, giving a cursory wave to their departing backs.

‘What the hell was that all about?’ Jayne snapped angrily as soon as they reached the newly crazy-paved driveway, ‘that was so rude – Stanley had made tea.’

‘Darling, seriously, it’s much better for us to go now.’ Will slammed the passenger door on Jayne as soon as she’d sat down. ‘Your mother’s not right in the head, and I wanted us to go before she upset you.’

‘Why, what did she say?’ Jayne caught Will flashing warning eyes at Rachel in the rear-view mirror.

‘Nothing in particular, she was just a bit off.’

‘She’s been a bit off all our lives – that’s no reason to just up and leave! I think we should go back in there to apologise!’

‘Jayne, listen to Will, and Will start the sodding engine.’

‘Guys, what’s going on? What did she say?’ Jayne turned around in her seat to look at her sister as the car reversed down the driveway at top speed, ‘Jesus, Rach, I can take it, I’m a big girl, what did she say?’

Rachel sighed and Jayne was sure she detected a note of uncharacteristic embarrassment in her voice, ‘She asked Will how much you were paying him to pretend to be your boyfriend.’

‘What?’

‘She thought I was a gigolo,’ Will added, rolling his eyes to emphasise the lunacy of this suggestion.

‘That’s not entirely idiotic – if I pimped you out we could seriously earn a fortune. None of this teaching and chutney-making, we could make big bucks.’

‘Jayne, you don’t get it. She was serious. She said that there’s no way that you could pull someone like Will, so you must have hired him to impress her. She started naming figures that you’d paid him.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Will snapped, and reached over to put his hand on Jayne’s thigh, ‘she was probably high on something, Jayne, take no notice. You’re gorgeous and fabulous and worth ten of me.’

‘But she needs to know what Crystal said. You don’t need to protect her, Will.’

‘Rachel’s right, it’s okay.’ Jayne shrugged. His reticence was sweet, but unnecessary as far as her mother was concerned. She wouldn’t be surprised at anything Crystal had to say. Her mother’s lack of diplomacy and social niceties didn’t surprise her at all, but Crystal had probably merely said what most people were thinking. She’d seen the double-takes of people in the street whenever they walked by holding hands; that moment that lasted a split second too long between her saying, ‘let me introduce my boyfriend’ and the polite but baffled responses.