Forty - Three

Maggie stared at Mandy, trying hard not to look her up and down. ‘We have got one or two other people to see,’ she said. ‘So we’ll contact you one way or the other very soon. OK, Mandy?’

It was said dismissively. Mandy looked at Craig for reassurance, but he was embarrassed and was staring out of the wine bar window. Maybe he’d changed his mind about offering her the job and didn’t know how to tell her.

Maggie stood up abruptly, bringing the interview to an end. ‘So if you’ll excuse us, we’ve got a busy lunchtime ahead.’

‘Er, yeah, fine,’ Mandy mumbled, colouring slightly as she rose from the table. She felt depressed, and suddenly nauseous, as if she was losing control physically. The disappointment had proved too much for her. Craig had promised. The job was hers, he’d said. But the job interview with his sister had seemed so formal.

Craig walked with her to the door, unlocked it, and let her out into the street. ‘I’ll give you a bell later,’ he said with exaggerated sweetness and winked at her.

The door clicked shut and Mandy found herself walking in a daze towards Mount Pleasant, confused and miserable. Just days ago she and Craig had made frenzied, desperate love together before lying, nakedly entwined, lost in each other’s hopes and promises. How false those promises seemed now.

***

Mary looked at the kitchen clock and panicked. ‘Hurry up, Thomas! You’re going to be late for school.’

He slurped the dregs of milk from the bottom of his cereal bowl. Mary sighed with frustration and raised her voice. ‘How many times have I got to tell you? Do not drink from the bowl like that.’

Thomas, who had heard this many times before, grinned at his mother and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.

‘He does it to wind you up,’ said Simon, sounding wearily grown up.

The doorbell rang. ‘Blast!’ said Mary. ‘Come on, you two. It’s probably the postman.’

They hurried down the hall, and Mary threw open the door. The postman held a registered packet out. Mary frowned with confusion. The packet looked reasonably bulky, so she didn’t think it could be a bill. And it was addressed to her and not Dave.

She stared at it, making no move to take it from the postman.

‘What is it?’ asked Simon.

‘How should I know?’

‘Registered packet,’ the postman informed her in a tired, even tone. ‘I’ll need a signature.’

Reluctantly, and suspiciously, she accepted the letter and signed for it. She ignored the postman as he made a glib remark about the hot weather, before hurrying towards the house next door.

Mary stared at the letter. ‘I wonder what it is?’

Simon laughed. ‘You only have to open it to find out.’

She tore open the seal, and her heart jumped as she spotted the edge of a bundle of paper nestling in the darkness of the envelope. It looked like a wad of money. She slipped her hand inside and drew it out. It was money alright. A large bundle of twenty pound notes, crisp and new.

‘Wow!’ said Thomas. ‘That looks like a lot of money. Who’s sending us that?’

Simon was scowling suspiciously. He had been through too many hard times and hard knocks to appreciate that something for nothing always comes with a price to pay.

There was a note with the money. Mary frowned as she read it. The note was handwritten in a scrawl she recognised from years ago.

Hi Babe. Thanks for the photo which I will cherish. All I wanted was a little souvenir. And I don’t take liberties. I pay for what I want. So this is yours to enjoy. Be seeing you.

Ronnie.

‘Who’s sending us that money?’ said Simon.

‘Your father.’

‘You’re not going to take it, are you?’

Thomas’s mouth fell open, almost a parody of shock. ‘We can’t give it back. We can’t, Mum. We can’t.’

Simon, who had developed a cynicism that far outstripped his years, said, ‘She will. I know her.’

Mary was jolted from the sudden shock of the dichotomy of good fortune and bad news. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘You’ll be late for school.’

As they hurried along the street, Thomas kept pestering her by asking if they were going to keep the money. Every time he asked her, she always gave him the stock response.

‘We’ll see.’