Let Me Lie(41)

I have never been so relieved to see anyone as I am to see Laura.

‘I just dropped by to see how you were, after yesterday.’ She surveys me. ‘Are you all right? You look a bit manic.’ I drag her inside and into the kitchen, shutting the door.

‘You have to stay for supper.’

‘I can’t, I have plans.’

‘Laura, please! You have to save me. I love Billy dearly, and I love Mark – obviously – but I’m fast coming to the conclusion that they can’t be in the same place at the same time.’

‘Are they arguing again?’

‘No, but it’s only a matter of time.’

Laura laughs. ‘It’ll cost you.’

I hold up the bottle of wine in one hand, an empty glass in the other.

‘Done.’

Sure enough, when we walk into the sitting room, the men are in full flow.

‘There was no such thing as mental health in my day. Therapists, counsellors, mumbo jumbo claptrap. You just got on with it.’

‘Which is probably why we’re seeing such a huge fallout from it now.’

‘Do you think World War Two pilots called in sick with stress? With depression?’

‘I think we’re only now starting to understand the—’

‘Bloody snowflakes.’

I cut in. ‘Look who I found!’ I present Laura as though she’s just jumped out of a cake. ‘Now it’s a proper dinner party.’

‘Laura! You with us for Christmas, love?’

‘Not this year. I’ve got a boozy lunch booked with some mates. Four Bridget Joneses and as much Prosecco as we can handle.’ She grimaces, but I know she’s looking forward to it. She slides onto the sofa next to Billy. ‘Talk cars to me. Mine’s on its last legs and I don’t know what to replace it with.’

‘I’ve got a three-year-old Skoda I could do a good price on.’

Laura wrinkles her nose. ‘That wasn’t quite the look I was going for.’

‘There’s an MX-5 that might be more up your street, although it depends on your budget. Tell you what – try a few out for size. Take the Skoda for a day or two, and anything else you fancy, and see how they drive.’

With the conversation safely steered away from the value, or otherwise, of Mark’s job, I return to the kitchen.

Wine blunts the barbed edges of Billy’s and Mark’s comments, and by the time we’ve finished eating, I finally relax.

‘I see your neighbour’s going for planning permission again.’ Billy is mellow, no longer looking to point-score over Mark. I’m grateful to them both.

‘He’s made a few changes since he was knocked back. It’s a bit less Grand Designs now.’

‘It was the light Caroline was worried about.’ Laura points to the window, where the outside light illuminates the patio and the fence between our garden and Robert’s. ‘It’ll completely overshadow your garden. You should put in an objection.’

‘I wouldn’t want to fall out with Robert.’ He might be irritating, but he was very kind when Mum and Dad died, and I don’t want to cause any awkwardness.

‘The system’s there for a reason,’ Laura says. ‘It doesn’t have to get personal. You just fill out a form and say why you oppose the plans.’

Mark frowns. ‘Maybe we should, Anna. A big extension will make it very dark in here. That could really affect the market value.’

‘But we’re not selling,’ I say.

I don’t care about next-door’s extension. Mum had an argument with Robert over it when he first applied. Dad had only been gone a month, and Mum’s responses to everyday situations were – understandably – a little erratic. When the corner shop ran out of bread she launched into a verbal tirade that had the poor girl behind the counter shaking. I led Mum away and put her to bed. The girl from the shop was very sympathetic when I went back to apologise. Everyone was. Robert, too. Mum became obsessed by his planning application. She latched on to it like it was a life raft, reading up on conservation areas and listed buildings, and gathering support from other residents in the street. I don’t even know how much she really cared about the extension. It was another project for her to get her teeth into, like the fundraising appeal for the Cypriot dog rescue charity, or the Brexit rallies she’d tagged along on. When Mum found a project, she stuck with it. I couldn’t have cared less if Robert had been building a football stadium in his back garden. We were dealing with our grief in different ways.

‘We’re not selling now, but eventually …’

‘Not ever!’ I push my chair back with unnecessary force.

The silence that ensues would be uncomfortable, were it not for Ella, snoozing in her bouncy chair, who screws up her face and grunts out a loud and exceptionally noxious fart. Everybody laughs. The moment passes.

‘We should put her to bed, I suppose,’ Mark says, making no move to do so.

‘Leave her. I don’t think it matters where you sleep when you’re two months old.’

‘Two months already!’ Billy says.

‘I know. It goes so fast.’

‘About time you made an honest woman of Anna, isn’t it, Mark?’

I start clearing the plates.