The First Mistake(47)

‘Oh no, I didn’t mean . . .’

‘So, you don’t think it’s because she plays his organ every Sunday?’ he said.

‘That’s outrageous,’ I shrieked, hitting him with a pillow. ‘You know what I mean.’

‘She must be getting a return somewhere. It wouldn’t make sense to leave it lying dormant.’

I shook my head. ‘It’s all in a building society, earning a pittance in interest. It could be put to work, so that she makes money without losing any of her capital, but she’s a tough nut to crack.’

‘She should invest in the wine business,’ he said, laughing.

‘What, and give all her money to a shady character like you? No chance.’

‘I’ll try not to take that personally,’ he said, through a smile. ‘I’d do it as a favour.’

‘And what would you get out of it?’

He smiled. ‘Well, normally I work on commission, but for you . . .’ He moved himself down the bed, his lips setting my skin alight as he went. ‘For you, I could do a special deal.’

‘What kind of special deal?’ I asked, my back arching involuntarily.

‘Well, if you keep letting me do this to you . . .’ A breath caught in my throat as I felt his tongue. ‘Then I’d be very happy to take payment in kind.’





20


‘Mum, you’ve got more of a social life than me!’ I was looking at her calendar hanging in the kitchen, the bottom of it moving ever so slightly in the draught coming through the windows.

‘What, dear?’ she asked absently as she disappeared into the larder. Tyson waited patiently outside, knowing that a treat was likely to come his way.

‘How are there possibly enough hours in the day to get all this done?’ I asked, as I surveyed the colour-coded event listings. ‘What does this all even mean?’

‘Well, it’s quite simple really,’ she said, pretending to sound put-out. ‘Blue is for the church, orange is for friends, and pink is for me.’

‘How does that help?’ I asked, unable to understand her system.

‘It just means I can prioritize at a glance,’ she said. ‘So, if a blue event comes in and there’s already a pink event scheduled at the same time, I know that I can move it to accommodate the blue event.’

She really is that selfless, but I still felt the need to double-check. ‘So, if there was a blue event and a really important pink event came in, what would you do?’

‘I can’t think of an important enough pink event that would take precedent,’ she said, leaving me in no doubt.

I shivered and pulled my coat around me as I felt the draught again, and was unable to stop myself picking at the flaking paint on the wall.

‘Mum,’ I said carefully, ‘I think the house is in need of some work.’

She stopped stock-still, her hand in mid-air, holding a teaspoon of sugar. ‘Why do you say that?’

I didn’t think I’d need to explain the obvious but attempted it anyway. ‘It’s too cold in here. Look – the curtains are moving. And we ought to get those damp areas looked at – they can’t be good for your chest.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with my chest,’ she said indignantly.

‘No, but there will be if that wall stays like it is.’

‘It’ll cost too much,’ she said.

‘But it will be worth it,’ I said, putting an arm on her shoulder. ‘It’s not as if you’re doing anything else with the money. It’s just sitting there.’

‘Well, that’s where I like it,’ she said, bristling, and I couldn’t help but laugh.

‘What are you saving your money for?’ I asked, suddenly serious.

‘For a rainy day,’ she said, moving away from me to put a pan of sweet-smelling berries on the Aga. ‘And for whatever you may need in the future, when I’m no longer here.’

‘But I don’t want you to provide for me, I want you to spend your money on you. On making sure you’re fit and healthy, safe and warm . . . I want you to enjoy living here.’

‘I do enjoy living here,’ she said, her voice wobbling ever so slightly. ‘Of course, it’s not the same house that it once was, when you and your father were here, but . . .’

‘Do you want to stay here?’ I asked, knowing that if I looked up, she’d be staring at me, horrified that I even needed to ask.

‘Of course,’ she exclaimed.

‘But what about buying something smaller, something more manageable?’ I asked.

‘Oh no,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘The only way I’ll be leaving this place is in a wooden box.’

‘Okay, so if that’s the case, then perhaps we could get some work done, not only to make it more comfortable for you, but to make it look really lovely again,’ I said, over-enthusiastically. ‘We could get all the walls watertight and paint them in bright colours. Maybe even take one or two of them out. Imagine this as a great big space with an island and a new oven.’

‘Oh, I’ll not be getting rid of my Aga,’ she said, defensively. ‘And you can’t take that wall out, because of the wine cellar behind.’