The First Mistake(48)

I peered around the door to the windowless store room at the end of the corridor, its bare brick walls housing indistinguishable bottles.

‘What have you got in there?’ I asked, walking towards it. Mum followed me, both of us ducking our heads to clear the low joist.

‘That stuff hasn’t been touched since your dad . . . I don’t know why I keep it really, it must be well past its best.’ She attempted to laugh, but I could feel her pain.

‘Oh my goodness, Mum, I can’t even read what these are, there’s so much dust on them.’ A cough caught in my throat and I battled to stop my eyes from watering as I picked up a bottle at random.

‘Well, this one is a cognac,’ she said, taking it from me and wiping it with the tea towel in her hand. ‘Your dad used to love his cognac. We’d have all his suppliers over for a dinner party, and they’d all know to bring a bottle of this or a fine whisky. You would have been too young to remember, but they were very glamorous affairs.’

I vividly recalled sitting at the top of the grand staircase, peering through the banisters at the women in their furs arriving with well-turned-out men who seemed far older than them. Even then I could see the divide in their relationships; the bonhomie between the men, who would disappear into the drawing room, and the wives who seemed happy to be left to make small talk in the entrance hall. Only my mum would look wistfully after her husband, wishing she was with him instead.

‘We might be able to do something with these,’ I said, pulling out another bottle that had a 1966 seal.

‘What do you mean?’ she asked.

‘They could be worth something,’ I said. ‘I know someone who might be able to sell them. Only if you’d want to, of course.’

‘Who would want this old stuff?’ she asked.

‘You’d be surprised.’

‘Well, if you think it’d be worth doing . . .’ she said. ‘More importantly, who’s this friend?’ She looked at me with a naughty glint in her eyes and I felt my cheeks flush. ‘Oh goodness, I’ve not seen you go like that in a long time.’

I bowed my head. ‘It’s nothing,’ I said, fooling no one, especially my mother. ‘He’s just a friend.’

‘Well, feel free to invite him round,’ she said. ‘See if anything takes his fancy.’

I smiled and followed her back into the kitchen.

‘Do you want a piece?’ she asked, as she took a lemon drizzle cake out of the oven and set it down on a cooling rack.

‘I’ll take a slice with me if that’s okay. I don’t want to ruin my appetite before Maria’s barbecue.’

I didn’t tell her that Thomas was coming with me to said barbecue and that I felt sick to the pit of my stomach at the thought of him meeting my friends. And indeed them meeting him. I really wanted it to go well.

I knew something was wrong the minute I opened the door. Whilst I was dressed up as if I was going to the Queen’s garden party at Buckingham Palace, Thomas was wearing a pair of jeans and a worried expression.

‘You okay?’ I asked, concerned.

‘I’m really sorry, but I’m going to have to bail out of the barbecue.’

‘What? Why?’ I said, fighting the disappointment that was slowly working its way around my body.

He looked at his feet. ‘It’s mum.’

‘Oh God, is she okay?’ I asked, ushering him into the hall and closing the door.

‘She didn’t have a very good night, and is very disorientated and confused today.’ He looked at me with sad eyes. ‘I’m sorry, I just feel I need to be there.’

‘Of course,’ I said, rubbing his back, though what good that ever does I don’t know. ‘Of course. You should go.’

‘I’m really sorry to let you down,’ he said. ‘I was looking forward to meeting your friends.’

‘It doesn’t matter – we can do it another time.’

‘Will you still go?’

I was taken aback by the question. It hadn’t occurred to me not to. Should it have?

‘Well, yes,’ I said.

‘Ah, okay, it’s just that I was wondering if you wanted to come with me.’ He looked down at his feet, shuffling from one to the other.

‘Go with you?’ I said, in surprise. ‘What, now?’

‘This is going to sound really weird, but I don’t know how long she’s got left, and as different as she is to the person I knew as my mum, I’d still really like you to meet her, before . . . well, you know . . .’

I felt like I’d had the wind taken out of my sails as the magnitude of what he was saying sunk in. In the space of just a few minutes, I’d gone through a whole plethora of emotions from excitement to selfish disappointment, and concern to utter surprise. I had no idea which of those my mouth would choose to convey.

‘I . . . I . . . Well, of course, I’d love to,’ I faltered. ‘If you think it’ll be okay.’

His eyes seemed to light up as he nodded.

‘I wouldn’t want to cause her any more anxiety though.’

‘It’ll be fine,’ he said, through the tiniest of smiles. ‘You’ll brighten up her day.’





21


‘It’s best to keep conversation simple,’ Thomas said as we pulled up in the car park of the care home. ‘And it’s always wise to agree with her, no matter how absurd it sounds.’ He attempted to laugh but it didn’t sound real.