Sunday morning, Mum very thoughtfully took Rex out for a walk. Then she shut him in the utility room and put the joint of beef she’d bought in the oven, and headed off to the half past nine service at St Marks, leaving me to my much dreamed of lie-in. At least that’s what she told me she’d done – she could have gone on a shopping rampage for all I knew – I was still in the land of nod when she tapped on the door and brought me a cup of tea at ten to eleven.
I couldn’t believe the time. But after our afternoon and evening of watching soppy films and stuffing our faces and a quick walk on Primrose Hill with Rex, an- uninterrupted, this time – soak in the bath tub had sent me straight to sleep. I woke up feeling refreshed and ready for anything. Which was just as well, as Mum had invited a couple of our old neighbours she’d bumped into at church round for lunch, proving she had indeed been there.
‘Oh good, you’re dressed.’ Mum glanced up from the oven where she was shaking her roast potatoes. ‘Can you lay the table, Beth? Best use the good china. Don’t forget the sherry glasses.’
The need for sherry glasses told me exactly which old neighbours were coming to lunch. They had actually lived just round the corner from us while I was growing up – two little bird-like old ladies, sisters, I think, who probably weren’t old at all back then but just seemed so to a child. One of them had crocheted me an orange and turquoise poncho, I remembered. It’d be nice to see the old dears, but there’d be a lot of talk about knitting patterns, the old days when we lived up the road, and telling me how much I’d grown.
Sure enough, at half past twelve on the dot, the doorbell rang. Mum was bent over the oven again, doing something with the Yorkshire puddings, so I answered it.
‘Hello,’ I beamed at them. Blimey! I didn’t know which was the eldest, but they both looked about a hundred and three – they really must have been old ladies when I was at school. ‘It’s lovely to see you again. Come in.’
‘Who are you?’ The one in the cream cardigan blinked at me and stayed put on the doorstep. ‘Who is she?’ she nudged her sister.
‘That’s Beth, dear, Vivian’s daughter,’ the one in the in the peach cardigan enunciated loudly in her ear.
‘Vivian’s girl?’ She peered at me, doubtfully.
‘Hello, Doris, hello, Celia,’ Mum called over my shoulder. ‘Why are you keeping them on the doorstep, Beth?’ She ushered them in while I shut the door. Neither of them wanted to be parted from their cardigans or the large, squishy handbags they each had hooked over their arms, so Mum led them along the hallway in a kind of slow motion, four-legged race towards the lounge. ‘Would you both like a nice little glass of sherry before we eat?’
‘What was that?’ This was the lady in the cream cardigan – I was going to have to find out which was which. I’d only ever known them both as Miss Wilkinson.
‘I’ll go and pour them.’ I edged back into the kitchen and lined up the four glasses – I’d have a tot of Mum’s cooking whisky in mine – this was going to be a very long lunch.
‘So the one in the cream cardigan who’s hard of hearing is Doris and the one in peach is Celia,’ Mum reminded me as I took their glasses in.
‘Right,’ I said, setting up a little mantra in my head. Doris is the deaf one, Doris is the deaf one.
‘It’s only us!’ Mum called as she came back in through the front door, Rex lolloping ahead of her and barking his hello to me. ‘Shall we have a cup of tea before starting on the washing up? Oh!’ She followed him into the kitchen. ‘You’ve already done it.’
‘Well, you cooked. Sit down, Mum, I’ll put the kettle on.’
Mum and Rex had walked Doris and Celia home, along with the remains of the roast beef for them and a couple of Mum’s scones from yesterday. I suspect Rex had been disappointed that the beef wasn’t a treat for him. Mum said she was being good with him, but I’d be very surprised if those puppy dog eyes of his hadn’t been scoring him all sorts of things she shouldn’t be giving him.
‘They were pleased to have seen you. They often ask after you.’ Mum hung up Rex’s lead. ‘Celia was wondering when you were going to be joining Alex in Dubai …’ She let that sentence dangle and I knew that if I didn’t say something about the situation she would definitely know that everything wasn’t as rosy as I wanted her to think.
It wasn’t like Mum to put me on the spot, and I suspected Celia’s question had given her a nudge to do so. I didn’t want to tell her any actual lies even though I’d been lying by omission. But I had to think of something to say, and I had to think quickly.