The Couple at No. 9(13)
‘Tom!’ Mum exclaims, running over to him and enveloping him, her jangle of bracelets almost catching his ear. He glances over her shoulder at me with raised eyebrows and I stifle a laugh.
‘Lovely to see you. Good flight?’ he says, removing himself from her embrace.
She waves a hand dismissively. ‘Cramped. I was squashed between two very large people but,’ she shrugs, ‘I’m here now. And I have to say the weather is nicer than it is in San Sebastián at the moment.’
I watch as Mum climbs inelegantly into the back seat while Tom takes her suitcase and puts it into the boot. We’ve said, with the baby coming, we should really change the car to a four-door. But with the extension, money is tight.
‘I’m excited about seeing the cottage,’ Mum says, sitting forward and holding on to the back of Tom’s seat as I drive out of the car park. ‘After I spoke to you on the phone I found the deeds and gave the solicitor a quick ring …’
Of course she did. I bet Mum was on to it the minute I ended our call. But I’m grateful I didn’t have to do it.
‘Apparently your gran bought the cottage back in March 1977 and she lived there until she rented it out in spring 1981. Then she bought the house in Bristol.’ She says all this without pausing for breath.
‘So you would have lived in the cottage for a bit?’ I ask, surprised. ‘Can you remember it?’
‘Hmm … No, not really. I would have been three when we left. But maybe seeing it again will jog my memory.’
‘Well, it’s a bit old-fashioned inside,’ I explain. ‘Especially the kitchen, although Tom’s making excellent progress on the rest.’ I flash Tom a smile. ‘Unfortunately the spare room still has bright yellow walls.’
Mum laughs. ‘That will suit me down to the ground. So tell me more about your gran.’
I glance at Mum in the rear-view mirror. She’s taken her hat off and her dark brown eyes are bright with excitement, but there’s something else too, a pain that she’s trying to hide. I wonder what’s really going on with her and Alberto. I always get the sense that my mother is running away.
I open my mouth to speak, hoping I’m not interrupted this time. ‘I had a call from a detective last night. A DS Matthew Barnes. He sounded nice enough but he said he’s spoken to the manager of the care home, Joy. She advised the police that it would be better for Gran to be interviewed at Elm Brook, a place where she feels safe. And that either you or I should be there too. They deem that she’s able enough mentally to be interviewed because she has some lucid moments and seems to remember a lot from the past so it might be helpful.’
‘I’ll come too,’ she insists.
‘Okay, great. Um … how long are you planning on staying? What about work?’
Mum makes a phut noise through her mouth. ‘I’ve taken a week off. I think this would be classed as extenuating circumstances, don’t you?’
‘I … well, yes … but it’s only a formality. They have to speak to everyone who occupied the property during those twenty years.’
‘I know. But it would be lovely to spend some time with you, honey. I haven’t seen you properly since Christmas.’
And what a nightmare that was, I think. And to be fair it wasn’t Mum’s fault. It was more that moron she calls a boyfriend, who was rude, dismissive and acted like he’d rather be anywhere else, preferably on a beach in Spain, than spending the day in our tiny flat in Croydon. And in the past when I’ve spent time with Mum she always gives me the impression she can’t wait to go back to her hectic life.
Out of the corner of my eye Tom is staring straight ahead with a keep-me-out-of-it expression on his face.
I turn onto the Long Ashton bypass. There’s nothing I can say. And it’s not like I don’t want to spend time with Mum, but at the moment I just don’t have the energy for her … well, energy. She never says it, she doesn’t have to, but I know she disapproves that I’ve settled down so early. When Tom and I moved in together a few years ago she tried to talk me out of it. And when I told her we were saving for a deposit to buy a house she warned me about ‘tying myself’ to a mortgage ‘too young’. It’s obvious that having me at sixteen had ruined her teenage years. Something she certainly seems to be making up for now, judging by her Facebook photos.
‘You can stay as long as you want,’ I say, trying to ignore the dragging feeling in the pit of my stomach.
Forty minutes later we’ve arrived in Beggars Nook.
Mum draws breath for long enough to gaze out of the window at the Cotswold-stone buildings. ‘What a stunning place. Strange name. Kind of eerie. I dunno, though, it’s familiar but that could be because it reminds me of those pretty villages in Agatha Raisin. How far away is the nearest town?’
I mentally roll my eyes. Trust her. She’s probably already planning a day out shopping. This village will be too remote for her. ‘Chippenham, seven or eight miles away.’
‘Eight miles. Wow.’ She glances around with a slightly panicked look in her eyes, like a pony that’s on the verge of bolting.
We head through the centre of the village, and as we pass the main square she gasps. ‘What’s that?’ she says, pointing to a cube-shaped stone construction with open sides and a roof with a spire on top. It sits to the edge of the square, where the three main streets converge, and in front of the church. It’s a very striking landmark, with stone steps surrounding all four sides.