| |
‘ARE YOU BUSY, ISABEL?’ Babs Stark asked her daughter.
She wasn’t, not really. She was perched on a stool behind the counter of A Leap of Faith. The gallery was quiet apart from a woman browsing through the stack of watercolour prints. Rhodri had been gone a couple of hours and she was still in a mild state of disbelief he wasn’t here. ‘No.’
‘Good, you’ve time for a quick chat then.’
There was never anything quick about her mother’s calls, Isabel thought, staring at the grooves in the varnished driftwood displayed down the far end of the counter.
‘We’ve stopped for a pub lunch in Swindon. We’re on our way to your dad’s cousin Mick’s youngest daughter’s wedding in Bristol. It’s a bit of a slight you not being invited but there you go. I always said Mick’s lot were an ignorant bunch.’
‘Mum, you don’t need to shout. I can hear you.’ Her mother did this whenever she was out and about making a call on her mobile. She couldn’t quite grasp its powers of reception. She also did it whenever she spoke to a person who didn’t speak English as though shouting would make it easier for them to understand her.
Babs dropped her volume half a notch. ‘Anyway, we’re not banking on a big spread because Mick’s not known for his generous spirit so we thought we’d best fill up beforehand. Do you remember Jez? Big girl with a penchant for jelly babies? You used to drag that smelly blanket around everywhere you went when you were little but with Jez it was jelly babies. Her poor mum had to have a packet to hand at all times or there’d be murder. She’d bite the heads off them first too, says a lot about a person that does. We used to call her Jellybaby Jezzy. I wouldn’t dare call her that now. The family she’s marrying into are a rough lot, they might take umbrage. She’s a year younger than you are too, Isabel, and you know what that means.’
‘No, Mum, I don’t, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me.’ Isabel had answered her phone against her better judgment. She knew from experience though, if she didn’t pick up, her mother would begin ringing down her list of contacts to check she was alive. She’d start with Rhodri then Delwyn and work her way down to Brenda at the pub. It was easier to talk to her and find out what she wanted. Now, knowing what was coming next, she wished she hadn’t.
‘It means they’ll all be on at me as to when you’re getting married.’ Her voice took on a sly quality. ‘So, what should I tell them?’
Isabel was saved from answering by her mother suddenly shrieking. It was swiftly followed by, ‘Isabel! Your dad’s only gone and slopped his pint down the front of his trousers. I told him not to have one because he’ll be knocking the beers back at the reception and he’s had three coffees this morning too. You know what he’s like. He’ll be weeing every five minutes. He’ll probably miss the service because he’ll be off for a visit. Oh, I don’t believe it, he looks like he’s peed himself.’
Isabel heard her father tell her mother to keep her voice down.
Babs Stark was unperturbed. ‘They’re his good going-out slacks too, the tan chinos. You know the ones. I told him, I did, I said, ‘Gary, you can’t wear jeans to your cousin’s daughter’s wedding.’’
This time she overheard her father mutter about chinos not being masculine and how Bruce wouldn’t be seen dead in them. It made her smile despite herself.
‘Tell him to go and waggle himself around under the hand drier in the loos that will sort him out, Mum’
Babs repeated Isabel’s advice and she heard her dad muttering but couldn’t make out what was being said. She figured her mum must have her hand over the phone.
‘What did he say?’
‘He said he’s not risking burning the crown jewels and I told him it might jolt the old boy back into life.’
‘Mum! I don’t need to know.’
‘You young one’s all think you invented sex.’
Isabel tuned her out, waving a goodbye to the woman leaving the shop.
‘Isabel, did you hear what I said?’
‘Sorry, Mum, I missed that, there’s a lot of background noise your end,’ she fibbed.
There was a weighty sigh. ‘I might as well talk to myself. At least you listen, don’t you?’
Prince Charles, the family corgi, woofed by way of reply. They must be in the beer garden, Isabel thought. She should have known he’d be going to the wedding too.
She heard her father say, ‘Everybody’s bloody well listening.’
‘Ooh, lunch is making its way across the garden,’ Babs said, adding, ‘Say hello to Prince Charles before I go.’
‘Do I have to?’
‘He’ll sulk if you don’t.”
She heard panting which signalled her mother had put the phone down by the Corgi’s ears.
‘Hello, Prince Charles, be a good boy at the wedding.’
There was a yipping reply and the last thing Isabel heard before disconnecting the call was, ‘Leave off with the paper towels would you, woman!’
She’d no sooner put her phone down when it pinged to signal the arrival of a photo. It was the sign for the Swindon Arms confirming her parents’ current location. A photo of a scampi basket was hot on its heels and, the grand finale, a shadowy, tan, chino blur. Isabel shook her head she would not be texting her mother back for an explanation as to that last picture.
Babs Stark had turned into a menace since upgrading her phone. She’d made do with her slowpoke Vodaphone mini for a long time. Her mantra had been she’d grown up in an era when people talked to one another face to face and the mobile phone should be used for emergencies only. End of. Since the smartphone had arrived on the scene, she’d taken to ringing Isabel for no other reason than because she could. Anywhere, anytime, to tell her anything that popped into her head. She’d also turned into an emoji nightmare. Yesterday, Isabel had received a text informing her she was making steak and kidney pudding for her and Dad’s dinner. It had been followed by five cartoon images of a sloth doing everything from hanging off a branch to meditating. She had no idea what that had to do with what her parents were having for dinner and even less idea why she needed to know in the first place.
She’d no doubt get the run-down of Jellybaby Jezzy’s wedding later that evening she thought, checking her watch to see there was another hour until she could close the gallery. Not that she knew what she’d do with herself for the rest of the day and evening looming ahead once her time was her own. What she wanted to do was climb into bed and pull the duvet up over her head. She couldn’t face showing her face at The Rum Den for a drink on her own and having to fend off questions as to where Rhodri was, which was her only other option, so it looked like she was in for a night of wallowing. The thought of him in Manchester with Sally and Austin stabbed at her once more and she had no idea how she was going to get through the hours until he came home without driving herself mad.