See You In September

‘I’ve had a letter from Cassy,’ said Joyce, taking a piece of paper out of her novel. ‘Came in the post.’

Diana sank onto the edge of the bed, feeling for the crocheted blanket with the palm of her hand. She’d lied like a flatfish every time her mother asked for news. She lied to almost everyone, including herself.

Turning up at Imogen’s wedding had felt like acting in a strange, deceitful play. Tara had cried off; said she wasn’t going to pretend everything was okay when everything was fucking awful. But Diana and Mike flew the flag, chortled through embarrassing speeches, toasted the happy couple. They even took photos of the cake-cutting—Imogen glowing, Jack imitating a rabbit in the headlights—‘to send to Cassy’.

Imogen and Jack had just begun their first dance when Diana felt a hand on her knee. Mike had left his chair and was squatting beside hers. There was sweat on his forehead.

She nodded fervently, grabbing her handbag. They slid away like thieves—through a back door, without saying goodbye to anyone—and drove home in silence.

Joyce was spreading out the letter. One of the carers had parked her wheeled table so that it stretched over her lap. She kept her battle equipment on its formica surface: glasses, a book of crosswords, a biro and a large-print crime novel with a blood-spattered gun on the cover.

‘I hoped I’d never have to.’ Diana’s gaze was riveted on Cassy’s scruffy, familiar handwriting. ‘Can I read it? What does she say?’

‘A lovely man.’ Joyce put on her glasses. ‘Bit older. In his thirties. A farmer. He was the driver of the van that picked her up.’

‘But Dad was …’ Diana couldn’t take it in. ‘They won’t be actually, legally married, will they?’

‘Maybe it’s just to get a visa.’ Joyce held out the letter. ‘Marriages can be ended, Diana. This isn’t the worst thing that could have happened to her, not by a long chalk.’

Diana scanned through Cassy’s ramblings. If she’d hoped to learn something new, she was disappointed. Apart from the bombshell about her impending marriage, Cassy was churning out the same old script.

… no negativity, only love. Nobody’s ever lonely … live sustainably and simply. At first I missed the mod cons but I’ve got used to it now, and I’m so much happier for not being crouched over a screen … the hours I wasted! We have a shared goal, which is to take care of this planet and of one another … encounter with God … love … love … love …

Blah, blah, blah, thought Diana. The salesman’s spiel. I’ve heard it all before.

One line stood out: We’re led by an amazing man called Justin Calvin—he has more love in his little finger than most people ever feel in their whole lives.

‘Justin Calvin,’ said Diana. ‘Justin Calvin. Who the heck is Justin Calvin?’

‘A very loving man, apparently. Perhaps you should take that at face value.’

‘She’s made a decision,’ said Joyce, reaching out her hand to take the letter back. ‘You may disagree with that decision, but she’s made it. She’s found people who care about the same things she does. She’s happy. I’ve written to congratulate her. They use a post office box.’

Diana passed the letter back and watched as Joyce stashed it away. Her mind was in freefall.

‘No,’ she said suddenly. She got up off the bed, stooping to straighten the blanket. ‘No. No! This is not going to happen to our family. You hear me? It’s not going to happen.’

‘That’s the pot calling the kettle black. You and Cassy have the monopoly on doing silly things.’

She was heading for the door, planning to slam it behind her. She wanted to make the whole place shake. Cassy and Joyce were in league together—they held the moral high ground because they cared. She was the shallow conformist who didn’t care enough to abandon her family.

Diana had one hand on the handle. ‘D’you need anything?’ she asked, with a coldness that demanded the answer ‘no’.

‘That’s because of your toenails. I wish you’d let me … oh, never mind. Socks. God. Okay, I’ll get some.’

‘Help me move this bloody thing,’ Joyce said, pushing at her table. ‘I want to get up.’

Diana almost pretended she hadn’t heard. Maybe, just this once, she could be the one to walk away. Sighing, she turned back, moved the table aside and lifted her frail mother to her feet.

Joyce was balancing with one hand on the arm of her chair. ‘Yes. But first, I want to give you a hug.’

Poor Mike. The blood drained from his face and left him white—ghost-white, as though she’d shaken a tub of flour over his head.

‘I don’t know, but we have to do something. I’ve been racking my brains to think of someone who could hold the fort at the arts centre. Fiona’s taken her grandkids to Tenerife.’

‘I’ll go alone.’ Mike brought up the work diary on his phone. ‘I can leave the day after tomorrow, if I call in some favours.’

He shook his head. ‘You can’t get away soon enough, and every day could be crucial! Also, it’ll be rough on Tara if we both go. This place obviously has some magnetic power, like a black hole. People get sucked in.’

Diana realised she’d begun to gnaw at her nails, and clasped her hands in her lap. ‘Could we wait, maybe? Next month …’

‘We’ve already dithered too long. We need to stop this farcical marriage.’

They talked for half an hour, batting the subject around and around. Diana made some phone calls, trying to find cover at work, but failed. In the end she agreed to let him go alone.

‘Right then,’ he muttered, pulling a credit card out of his wallet. ‘Finally, I get to do something.’

‘I hope this isn’t a mistake.’ She was biting her nails again. ‘They’ve been one step ahead of us all along.’

Heathrow again. Diana stopped at the drop-off zone and got out of the car while Mike took his bag from the boot.

‘I wish you were.’ He was standing with both feet together and his back very straight: a soldier on parade, ready to move out. She sensed his nervous energy.