The Day She Came Back(21)
They both smiled at the idea of the elderly equivalent of a party bag.
‘Thank you for seeing everyone out, Daks. I just crashed. It was like someone pulled my plug out.’
‘I did notice. Anyway, don’t thank me. Mum went into overdrive; you know how she loves a drama and mass catering. This was two of her very favourite things combined.’
Again she managed to raise a smile.
Daksha began spooning large mouthfuls of pavlova into her mouth with a serving spoon.
‘Didn’t want it to go to waste!’ She grinned by way of explanation as she swallowed and reloaded the spoon.
‘You are all heart.’ Victoria filled the kettle and reached for a mug from the hooks on the underside of the shelf on the dresser.
‘I am all heart, and in my quest to reduce waste, last night I polished off a wheel of Brie along with half a jar of chutney and this morning I have already consumed a Portuguese custard tart, washed down with three cups of coffee.’
‘I thought we were on a healthy eating plan so we could be in the best shape for our travels?’
Daksha put the spoon down and swallowed her mouthful. ‘Are we still going? I mean, I want to! I just didn’t know whether it was appropriate to mention it or ask. I completely understand if you’ve had a change of heart – no pressure from me, none at all. Only you know how you feel. Of course I still want us to go. I really, really want us to go, but it’s got to be what’s right for you and I will understand either way. You know that.’
Victoria stared at her rambling friend, who had a blob of cream and a tiny puff of meringue on her chin. She poured the hot water into the mug. It felt somehow easier to go with the flow and not disappoint her mate than voice her utter paralysis when it came to thinking about going travelling, or even next month, next week or tomorrow . . . in fact, such was her sadness it was hard to see beyond the now.
‘I will need to organise something for the house – I can’t just abandon it for however long we are away – but I do still want to go, I think, and it’s not like we leave next week. We have nearly six months.’ She noticed the smile that split Daksha’s face, remembering how the trip had meant as much to her only a week or so ago. ‘Can you imagine Prim’s reaction if she thought she might be the reason for us cancelling our big trip?’
Daksha extended her arms and lifted her pudding-smeared chin. ‘Darlings! Don’t be so utterly ridiculous, go and have fun! Dance in the moonlight. Meet boys! Swim in every ocean and eat lobster whenever you have the chance!’ Daksha stopped talking and looked at her friend, seemingly unsure now, when it was too little too late, if her impression was a comfort or something insensitive.
‘Exactly.’ It was bittersweet for Victoria, touched by the sentiment she knew Prim might well express but still too grief-stricken to hear her name, let alone a muted version of her voice, without feeling swamped by sadness. She sloshed milk into her drink. ‘That is exactly what she would say. We should go.’ She hoped that by making a decision it might help her move forward, a plan of sorts.
Daksha leapt from the chair. ‘Yes! Yes! Yes! We are back on track and we’re going to have the best adventure ever!’
‘I hope so.’ Victoria chose not to share her fear that, weighed down by sadness, it was hard right now for her to see herself feeling happy or enjoying an adventure ever again. She noticed the pristine surfaces, shiny floor and sparkling sink. ‘The place looks great.’
‘Mummy and I did it after everyone had left.’
‘Thank you. Your mum’s wonderful. She has been so amazing to me; your dad too.’
‘I’m lucky,’ Daksha agreed, and reached again for the spoon. Seemingly, the confirmation that their travels were actually happening was not enough to encourage her to lay off the pudding. ‘So come on, tell me about “weird woman” yesterday. What on earth was all that about? You seemed a bit freaked out!’
Victoria took the seat opposite her friend at the table, widening her eyes at the understatement and wondering what to say. ‘I was. I’m still a bit freaked out, actually; the whole thing was so weird and it’s really bothered me. I don’t know where to start: everything about it was odd. Ridiculous and odd, but it’s upset me a bit too,’ she whispered.
‘Upset you how? What did she say?’ Daksha jutted her lower jaw, enabling her to speak without losing any of her mouth’s precious pavlova cargo.
Victoria sipped the drink she held in her palms and rested her elbows on the table. ‘Well, the first thing she told me was that my name is not Victoria.’
‘Ah, marvellous! A loon of the psychic variety, I bet – my favourite kind. Let me guess, you were actually christened Nefertiti! I shall be happy to call you this, of course. But you’ll have to get your passport and railcard altered.’ Daksha grimaced. ‘Have you noticed that if anyone talks about a previous life, they never say, “Oooh, you were a car mechanic called Roy from Loughborough. You died in the 1970s by choking on a cheese sandwich!” It’s always someone from medieval times or Joan of Arc or one of Henry VI’s eight wives!’
Victoria knew this was her friend at her finest, trying to lighten the mood. ‘I think you’ll find it was Henry VIII who had six wives.’ It was one of the few historical facts she knew. Divorced, beheaded, died . . . and whatever came next.