Twenty-five minutes later, Brooke dropped her mum off at Sorrento’s Italian restaurant in Halifax.
‘Good luck.’ Brooke held up crossed fingers, just as Janey had to Eddie’s photo. Her mum tried not to look anxious as she waved her off.
‘Hi,’ she said to the waiter on the restaurant front desk. ‘My, um… that is to say, there’s a table for two booked under the name Mike Weaver.’
The man nodded. ‘Yes, the gentleman is here already. Follow me please.’
She followed him across the restaurant, trying to calm the flutterings in her belly. It wasn’t really so scary, was it? Perhaps the mechanics of dating had changed since her day, but people didn’t change. Mike was the same generation as her. Why should it be any more awkward now than it would’ve been in their teens?
According to his profile, Mike Weaver was a retired gardener of sixty-five: not handsome, but tall, broad-shouldered and with a full head of grey hair, which at their age was a fair substitute for good looks. The girls had selected him from the profiles Janey had swiped right on because he looked ‘safe’. Not that they thought the others looked dangerous, they’d reassured her. They meant ‘safe’ as in solid; reliable. Not the sexiest qualities, but admirable in a potential mate, certainly.
Anyway, it wasn’t like Janey expected to meet husband number two her first time out. Brooke had advised her to treat this date as a practice, just to get her arm in. She should focus on having a nice time and working on her conversation skills, without worrying about whether it was love at first sight. And if she liked the man, well, so much the better.
The waiter showed her to their table – a little booth for two – and Mike stood up to greet her. Janey was pleased to see that his photo hadn’t done him justice. He actually was rather handsome. And big! He must be six foot tall, and practically the same across. Must be all that gardening. She flushed when she noticed him looking her over at the same time, his smile suggesting he approved of her as much as she did of him.
‘Well, this is cosy,’ she said to break the ice, gesturing to the booth.
‘Yes, I suppose it is a bit,’ Mike said. ‘Um, is that OK?’
‘Oh, yes. I prefer it that way.’ Janey winced, remembering the injunctions from the girls to play at least a little coy. ‘I mean, it’s nice to have some privacy so we can get to know each other.’
‘I couldn’t agree more.’ He indicated for her to take a seat.
‘Can I get you some drinks while you decide what to order?’ the waiter asked.
‘White wine spritzer please. Plenty of soda,’ Janey said. She wanted to keep a clear head, and she’d had two glasses of prosecco while the girls had been making her up.
‘A merlot for me,’ Mike said. The waiter nodded and disappeared.
Well, now they were alone. Janey twisted her ankles together.
‘So,’ she said. ‘A red wine drinker.’
‘Yes. I’m something of a connoisseur.’ Mike grimaced. ‘No I’m not. I just said that to impress you. I don’t know one red from another and I picked that one at random from the wine list.’
‘Well, I appreciate your honesty.’
‘So my pretence at sophistication is over before it’s begun,’ he said, smiling awkwardly. ‘The only thing I can really claim to be a connoisseur of is real ale.’
‘If you wanted to impress me, I would’ve led with that,’ Janey said, laughing. ‘As a pub landlady, I take a professional interest in beer.’
Mike laughed too, visibly relaxing. It felt comforting to know he was as nervous as she was.
The waiter came back with their drinks. Janey’s phone pinged as he put down her wine, and she took it from her pocket to read the message.
‘Sorry,’ she said to Mike. ‘It’s my youngest daughter, checking up on me. She does make a fuss.’
That was probably largely because her mother had spent the day expressing her fear that she might be murdered on this date, but Janey thought it best not to mention that. Mike didn’t seem too murdery, thank goodness. And if he was, well, best not to put ideas into his head.
‘You don’t have to tell me,’ Mike said. ‘I’ve got an adult son of my own. I keep fit and active, but the way Chris talks you’d think I was a doddering old man with one foot in the grave.’
‘Same,’ Janey said, smiling. ‘How old is your boy?’
‘He’ll be forty this year. Two children, one about to take his GCSEs, which makes me feel about as ancient as the pyramids. How about you?’
‘Two daughters, Brooke and Rhianna. Brooke’s thirty, Rhianna’s coming up to thirty-three.’
‘Grandkids?’
‘Yes, Rhianna’s children, Max and Livvy. Ten and six.’
He gestured to the phone. ‘What does your daughter say then?’
Janey laughed, blushing slightly. ‘She wants to know if you’re more of a David Essex or a Les McKeown.’
Mike laughed too. ‘She knows who Les McKeown is? I can picture Chris’s blank expression if I mentioned the name to him.’
‘Does she heck. She’s looked it up on Google because I made the mistake of telling her I liked the Bay City Rollers.’
Mike raised an eyebrow. ‘You admitted that? Out loud?’
She smiled as she sipped her wine. ‘You boys were just jealous because all us girls were mad about them.’
‘So, what will you tell her? Can I compare with Les?’
‘I was actually an Eric girl myself.’ Janey cocked her head to appraise him. ‘But I think I’ll tell her… you’re more of an older David Bowie.’
He laughed. ‘That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.’
There was silence for a moment, but not an awkward silence. More just a temporary absence of words as they waited for another conversation topic to present itself.
‘So you were a gardener then,’ Janey said, remembering the quick course in dating small talk she’d had from the girls.
‘Forty years, man and boy. I used to work in the grounds at Cavendish Hall.’
‘Oh, what a lovely place to work! Me and my late husband loved visiting Cavendish Hall. Please, tell me more.’
Brooke’s phone buzzed and she picked it up to look at the screen.
‘What does she say?’ Rhianna asked.
‘“Older, musclier David Bowie.”’
‘I could go for an older David Bowie.’ Rhianna headed to the kitchen to open a fresh bottle of prosecco. ‘Is that Mum’s type, do you think?’
‘It’s Bowie, Rhia. You don’t need to have lived through the seventies to know he was everyone’s type.’ Brooke held up her glass for a top-up. ‘Thanks.’
‘Mummy?’ a little voice whispered from the doorway. Max had appeared in his pyjamas, rubbing his eyes.
‘What’s up, my love?’ Rhianna asked softly. ‘Did you have a nightmare?’
‘No but I’m too thirsty to fall asleep. Can I have juice?’
‘Of course.’
He looked at Brooke. ‘Can you get it for me?’
She blinked. ‘Me?’
‘Yes please.’
‘Um, OK.’ She went into the kitchen to make him a glass of squash.
‘Here you go, Maxie,’ she said when she came back in, presenting it to him. ‘Go to sleep now, eh? It’s pretty late, even for school holidays.’
‘Can I read my book until I’m sleepy again?’
Brooke glanced at Rhianna, who nodded.
‘Just for a little while,’ she said. ‘I’ll be coming in in half an hour to check you’re asleep.’
‘OK.’ He hesitated, then threw his arms around Brooke’s middle. ‘Night night, Brooke. Night night, Mummy.’ He gave Rhianna a hug too, then went back to bed.
‘What just happened?’ Brooke said, blinking dazedly. ‘I feel like I’ve been run over by a tiny steamroller.’
Rhianna smiled. ‘It’s called a hug. I’m not sure why, but with no effort on your part whatsoever he’s decided you’re the best aunty since sliced… aunties.’
Brooke tried not to look too pleased. ‘He’s still disoriented, I suppose. He’s a good little lad, though.’
‘Still determined you don’t want your own?’
Brooke sat back down and claimed her drink. ‘I don’t think that’s a very good idea, do you? I’d only break them.’
‘Come on. I know you like kids really.’
‘Yeah, I like them – some of them. I like butternut squash too, but I’ve never felt the need to eject one from my vagina.’
‘You’re always so flippant about it. Be serious for once.’
Brooke shrugged. ‘Kids are OK – other people’s kids. I’m just not parent material, Rhia. I couldn’t do what you do, or what Mum and Dad did for us. I’d just fuck it up, and ruin more lives than mine in the process. You have to be a proper grown-up to be a mum.’
‘That’s how we all feel before we have kids. The idea of parenthood’s terrifying, because… well, parenthood’s terrifying. But it’s pretty wonderful too.’
‘For some people. Not for me.’
‘Well, that’s your prerogative. Just keep an open mind about it.’
Rhianna dropped to her knees by the box of toys Brooke had given Livvy.
‘I remember these.’ She smiled as she took out an old jack-in-the-box. ‘Dad bought us this from a charity shop not long after I’d started primary school. I thought it was great, but you just wouldn’t stop screaming.’
‘I stand by Toddler Me on that,’ Brooke said, laughing. ‘That thing’s horrifying.’
Rhianna pressed the button and the jack popped out with a muffled screech, making Brooke shudder.
‘All right, you may have a point.’ Rhianna turned it over to look on the base. ‘1976. I suppose a lot of our toys were from the seventies and eighties. Dad got nearly all our birthday and Christmas presents second-hand – typical Yorkshireman, couldn’t resist a bargain.’
Brooke bristled. ‘He didn’t have a choice. Money was tight. It was nice stuff, wasn’t it? You never had a problem with it until—’
‘—until I went to St Mary’s. All right, Brooke, don’t be so touchy. I wasn’t criticising.’
She relaxed a little. ‘No. Sorry.’
Rhianna took out a strange construction. It was three thick cardboard tubes stuck to a base, painted red and decorated with sequins. Underneath, the words BESTIST SISTUR RIANNAH FORM BROOKE had been felt-tipped.
‘My pencil pot you made me on Beaver camp,’ Rhianna said. ‘I thought it’d been thrown away.’
Brooke felt a lump rise in her throat. She remembered making that, all the care she’d put into painting it, back when she still thought her big sister was the best thing ever.
‘Take it,’ she said. ‘When you go. To remember us by.’
Rhianna laughed. ‘I’m not emigrating to Mars, Brooke.’
Wasn’t she? If it was anything like the last time she’d left home, she might as well be. But Brooke bit her tongue.
‘Have you considered where you’re going to go?’ she asked instead. ‘Not that I’m rushing you away. I was just wondering if you’d thought about jobs.’
‘I was looking this afternoon. After I saw James, I knew I had to stop stagnating and do something positive for mine and the kids’ future.’
‘Did you find anything?’
Rhianna shook her head glumly. ‘Not a single solitary sausage.’
‘Really? I’d have thought with a Cambridge degree, you could walk into whatever you wanted.’
‘Not in the real world, Brooke. With further work, yes, I’ve got options. I could do the training that’ll enable me to qualify as a barrister, like I’d been planning to when I met James. I could consider teacher training. But that stuff takes years and costs money, and what I need right now is cash to live on. All a Cambridge degree does is make me look overqualified for the sort of work that’s available right away.’ She reached for her drink and took a gloomy sip. ‘Let’s face it. I’ve got no experience, no training and an empty CV. I don’t know what I can do.’
‘It’s just so unfair,’ Brooke said, scowling at the carpet. ‘You put all that work into your life with James, and some stupid bit of paper says you get nothing in a divorce when he’s the one who’s been playing away? These prenup things ought to be banned.’
‘Certainly if I’d known then what I know now, I’d have thought twice about signing it – without an infidelity clause anyway. But I was twenty-one, in love for the first time…’ Rhianna smiled sadly. ‘James was so apologetic. He told me his brother had had a bad experience with some gold-digger and so to keep his parents happy he’d said he’d speak to me about it. Well, I couldn’t grab a pen fast enough. I was glad to have the opportunity to prove I loved him for himself, not his money. At that age, a future where James was unfaithful and I was left broke with two kids wasn’t one I even considered.’
‘Course you didn’t. God, what a prick! I wish you’d told us before you signed it. Dad was horrified when he found out.’
‘What would you have done? You couldn’t have advised me.’
‘We didn’t need to understand all the legal aspects to know that it’s morally dodgy for a husband to deny his wife anything in the event of a divorce.’
There was silence for a moment.
‘Well, it’s done now,’ Rhianna said with a resigned sigh.
‘I was impressed, you know,’ Brooke said. ‘When you walked out on him without a penny like that. That showed gumption I never gave you credit for.’
‘Thanks.’ Rhianna gazed thoughtfully at her pencil pot before summoning a smile. ‘What about your love life, then? If you think I haven’t noticed those looks that pass between you and Hayden Bailey, you’re very wrong.’
Brooke felt her cheeks heat. ‘Don’t be daft. What looks?’
‘The smouldering ones. The ones that say “ooh, Hayden, hold me in your manly arms and clasp me to your manly chest. Manlyly”.’
Brooke couldn’t help laughing. ‘Get lost. He’s a mate, that’s all. A manly-shaped mate.’
‘He doesn’t want to be a mate, though. He wants to be a date. Doesn’t he?’
‘No.’
‘Come on. You have to tell me, I’m your sister. I’ve got the pencil pot to prove it.’ Rhianna reached for the prosecco bottle to top them up again. ‘There’s something going on with you and him, isn’t there?’
‘Well, if you’re going to ply me with booze,’ Brooke said, smiling. ‘All right, I’ll tell. But don’t tell Mum, OK?’
Rhianna crossed herself solemnly.
‘He did ask me out. There was a kiss as well – a pretty damn good one. I had to say no though, didn’t I?’
‘Why? You never used to say no to boys you liked. Especially the good kissers.’
‘This boy’s different.’ Brooke watched the bubbles rise and pop on the surface of her drink. ‘Hayden’s a dad, Rhia. That comes with responsibilities. It couldn’t be like it’s been with boys before: a date every once in a while when we were free, the odd shag, then move on to the next one.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because… Hayden’s better than that. You know he’s working all these hours to put his kid through St Mary’s?’
‘Yeah, Mum told me.’
‘He’s a good guy. He needs a proper girlfriend, not a roll in the hay. Someone who’s potential stepmum material if it ends up getting serious.’
‘Well, you can be that person.’
Brooke snorted. ‘You’ve had too much prosecco.’
‘You like him, don’t you? He obviously thinks you’re amazing, I mean, God knows why but he does. Go out with him.’
‘Yeah, and what about his kids?’
Rhianna shrugged. ‘I’m sure he can get a babysitter.’
‘I meant in the long term. I can’t be a mum to them. Let’s face it, I can barely look after myself.’
‘Why are you rushing ahead to that? I’d start with a date, personally.’
Brooke shook her head. ‘No, I like Hayd too much as a friend to mess him about. And I like him too much in the other way to risk getting closer only to find out it’s destined not to work.’
They were interrupted by Rhianna’s mobile ringing.
‘Who is it?’ Brooke said, peering at the screen.
‘No one.’ Rhianna hit the End Call button. ‘Just a sales call.’
Brooke frowned. ‘Is it? I thought it said Taryn.’
‘Right.’ Rhianna looked awkward. ‘Yes. Taryn’s a friend from ho— from Nantwich. I said, um, we could arrange to meet up.’
Brooke regarded her curiously. Rhianna’s cheeks had flushed, and she was avoiding eye contact.
‘Don’t mind me,’ Brooke said. ‘You can answer if you like.’
‘No, I’ll ring her back later.’
‘Well, any time you want to have her over, let me know. I can take Max and Livvy to the park or something, get them out of your way.’
‘Oh no, that’s OK. I’ll meet her in town somewhere. I don’t want to get under your feet.’
Brooke shook her head slowly. ‘I don’t believe it.’
‘What?’
‘You’re still bloody ashamed of us, aren’t you?’ She laughed, resting her forehead on her palm. ‘You know, Rhia, I was actually starting to think you might be turning back into a human being. That somewhere inside that tangle of snobbery and middle-class neuroses was my sister. But you just can’t bear the idea of your posh Cheshire friends finding out this is where you came from, can you?’
Rhianna’s cheeks were bright red now.
‘It isn’t like that,’ she mumbled. ‘I’m not ashamed.’
‘Right.’ Brooke nodded to the phone. ‘Well go on then. Call this Taryn back and invite her round. I’ll make you a buffet of Pot Noodles and fish finger sandwiches, we’ll make a party of it. Oh, and I will be sure to have my awful rough tattoos on display for your friend to admire.’
‘Now you’re being ridiculous.’
‘Or I was being ridiculous when I thought you’d changed. You’ll never change, will you, Rhianna? It’s too bloody late.’
In the restaurant, Janey and Mike had finished their main courses.
‘…of course, it’s a huge mistake to prune your shrubs right after winter, especially if you’re aggressive with the clippers,’ Mike was saying. Janey nodded along. She’d had a nice time overall, but her date certainly liked to talk about plants!
He was a lovely man, though. She’d been on the lookout for what the girls called red flags and hadn’t spotted any, unless you counted his divorce ten years ago, but she didn’t think that was a flag unless he’d locked his ex-wife in the attic or something. She wasn’t sure Mike was the one for her, but he was charming, good company, and he’d made her feel young and attractive for the first time since Eddie had died. She fixed him with a benevolent smile.
‘It’s better to wait until your shrubs flower, and old wood is best for that,’ Mike went on. ‘So if you can just hold off until…’ He trailed off, smiling sheepishly. ‘But I’m boring you, aren’t I? I forget that not everyone’s as fascinated by shrubs and bedding plants as I am.’
‘No, no, it’s very interesting,’ Janey said politely.
Mike perked up. ‘Is it?’
‘Oh, yes. I love green spaces.’
‘You did say you had a garden?’
‘Yes. Well, it’s a beer garden so I wouldn’t say I’m that green-fingered, but if I ever retire then I’d love a little plot.’
Mike was looking at her eagerly, as if waiting for her to ask a question.
‘Um, I assume you’ve got a patch at home?’ Janey asked, and Mike beamed.
‘Yes indeed.’ He took out his wallet. ‘I’ve got some photographs here if you’d like to see it. I’ve been doing a lot of work in it since I retired.’
That was very Mike. Other people their age carried photos of their grandchildren in purses and wallets. For him, it was rockeries.
‘Lovely,’ Janey said as he put a photograph under her nose.
‘Isn’t it? My own slice of heaven.’
The waiter materialised to take their plates.
‘No pudding for me, thanks,’ Janey said in response to his enquiry. ‘I couldn’t eat another thing.’
‘Nor me.’ Mike glanced at her. ‘I fancy a nightcap though. How about you, Janey?’
She smiled. ‘I could be tempted.’
‘What do you think to having it at my place? I’ve got a bottle of sherry open, and I’d love to show you the work I’ve been doing on the garden. The photos don’t do it justice.’
Janey hesitated, and Mike laughed.
‘Oh, don’t worry, I’ll be a perfect gentleman. One little drink, a tour of the garden, then I’ll kiss your hand and put you into a taxi.’ He clasped one hand to his heart. ‘You have my word.’