“I’m sorry, Jim, I can’t meet this morning—Mum’s ill. I’m round at hers and I can’t leave her.”
“No, of course not. What’s the problem?”
“She’s been vomiting and she seems terribly weak. The doctor’s just left.”
“What did he say was wrong?” Jim said.
“Didn’t seem to have a clue . . .” Nancy lowered her voice, aware of her mother lying upstairs. “I was so looking forward to seeing you.”
“Me too. Call me when you can—let me know how it’s going.”
Nancy sat down on the sofa and wondered what to do. Dr. Henderson had barely examined her mother, just taken her pulse and her temperature and Frances’s word that it was something she’d eaten, but he did admit she was looking very thin.
“The thing is, Mrs. de Freitas, your mum is getting on,” he’d said, cocking his scrubbed young face sympathetically at her, raising his blond eyebrows a little.
“She’s only eighty-four,” Nancy replied, with a certain amount of asperity, which the GP seemed not to notice. In the past, she would have assumed doctors knew what they were talking about, but these days they all seemed to be twelve years old and her confidence was waning.
“Older people do suddenly get frail, not necessarily for any sinister reason.”
“Don’t you think you should check her out, though? Do some tests?”
The doctor appeared to give this some consideration. Nancy could tell he was humoring her when he replied, “We could. Listen, why don’t you make an appointment for her when she’s a bit better and we can see how things are looking?”
Which meant bugger-all.
“The doctor says you must make an appointment, Mum. Get things checked out,” she said, the next time she went upstairs.
“Of course, darling,” Frances replied, waving a hand dismissively at her daughter.
*
Nancy stayed the night, scrunched up on the spare bed, which was high, narrow and metal-framed, the mattress as stony as Brighton beach, in the small spare room full of old boxes and too much heavy dark furniture—like the rest of the house. The room smelt damp, but Nancy couldn’t open the window as the security key was missing.
What would happen, she wondered, if her mum wasn’t better in the morning? A small knot of panic began to form as Nancy lay in the chilly darkness. She knew what she should do, of course. Take Frances home with her. There was room. But she felt herself resisting the suggestion with every selfish fiber of her being. Jim. She wanted Jim.
They had met again earlier in the week, for lunch in a village pub on the Downs. It had been a beautiful day and they’d sat outside at a creaky weathered-wood picnic table, overlooking the fields and hills, just talking and talking, every tiny bit of information exchanged seeming like a delectation that made them both smile idiotically. He’d put his arm round her shoulders as they walked back to the car, drawing her close.
“That kiss . . .” he said softly, “blew my mind.”
She looked up at him. “Mine too.”
“Too many people around, too much light,” he said, desire sparking up his blue eyes, his face almost touching hers so that she could feel the warmth of his skin. She was on the point of asking him back to her house, but she remembered it was half-term and the girls had friends over for a play-date.
If she took in her mother, that would be that. She certainly couldn’t imagine canoodling with Jim on the sofa while her mother was in the house.
Maybe next time we meet in Brighton, Jim will ask me over to his place, she thought. Maybe I should suggest it. He might be afraid I’d think he was coming on too strong if he did. It wasn’t just the sex. Nancy knew that was a big step and it made her twitch just thinking about it—and the implications. But it would be so good to be alone with him, in a private space, to have the chance to make a choice.
She hugged her cold body and watched the dawn light slowly filter through the cotton curtains, fighting the overwhelming sense of claustrophobia that seemed to be settling over her life.
*
“She’s still very weak,” Nancy told Jim later, “although she hasn’t been sick again. But I can’t leave her here alone. She wouldn’t be able to cope.”
“So you’ll stay for a few days?”
“That, or take her home. Louise is coming over in a minute and we’ll decide what to do.”
“It’s hard, when they get so they can’t manage on their own.”
“Did you have that?”
“My gran, Mum’s mum, lived with us for years. She came after she broke her hip and never left. Drove Mum nuts most of the time, but it was the right thing to do, I suppose.”
Nancy sighed. “That’s what’s worrying me. My relationship with my mother works best in sound bites—specifically coffee or lunch. Long term, we’d kill each other.”
“Hey, don’t get ahead of yourself. She might not be that bad . . . You sound exhausted, Nancy.”
“I didn’t sleep, the bed’s crap.” It was so comforting to hear Jim’s voice, to know he really understood, that she felt quite tearful. It was a long time since she’d been able to lean on someone. Christopher was never really interested in her problems, unless they specifically affected him.
“Call me later,” he was saying. “And if there’s anything I can do . . .”
*
“I don’t think we should move her,” Louise said, as they faced each other across Frances’s small kitchen, each with a cup of instant coffee, bottoms propped against the units. “She seems too frail.”
Nancy didn’t reply at once. Then she said, “I suppose I’ll have to stay with her.”
Louise looked stricken. “Oh, Mum. I’d help, but I’ve got the kids home this week, and the restaurant.”
“I know, Lou. I wouldn’t expect you to. It’s just so depressing here. I hate this house and I was never cut out to be a carer. Don’t have the patience.”
Her daughter grinned. “Remember when I had chicken pox and you kept on saying it was just a rash from those nylon shirts I had to wear for school? You were in denial because you didn’t want me off school for weeks.”
“Me and all the other mums.” She laughed. “But you’re right, illness isn’t my forte.”
They were silent for a moment.
“Would you really want her at home, then?” Louise asked.
“I just thought it’d be easier in some ways. I could get on with stuff . . .” she paused, “and at least I’d sleep.” She was feeling scratchy and raw from her restless night.
“And we could help out a bit more.”
Another silence fell, broken by her mother’s voice calling from the bedroom. Nancy heaved herself upright, tipping the remains of her tasteless coffee down the sink, rinsing the mug and standing it upside-down on the draining board. “Coming, Mum.”
*
Jim wrapped his arms round Nancy as they stood in the narrow hall of her mother’s house. It was late and her mother was asleep upstairs. Nancy had been there for three days now, and although Frances seemed better and had been up for much of the afternoon, Nancy still didn’t feel she could leave her alone. But she was going stir-crazy, stuck in that tiny house with nothing to do, no piano to soothe her frayed nerves.
She looked up at Jim—the ceiling held an energy-saving bulb that shed a meager acid light on them.
“That’s better,” he whispered, as he held her close.
She didn’t reply, just closed her eyes and luxuriated in his embrace, his warmth, the fresh scent of his skin, the frisson of sexual excitement his nearness evoked making her head spin with pleasure.
She pushed him into the sitting room and shut the door. Jim raised an eyebrow. “Alone at last,” he said, grinning suggestively.
“Except for Mum upstairs,” Nancy said, but she didn’t resist when he pulled her down with him onto the chintz-covered two-seater.
“She’s asleep, no?” Jim murmured, stroking her fringe back from her face.
Nancy could hardly breathe. “She is, but she could wake up at any moment and stagger downstairs.”
“We’d hear her,” Jim said, bending to kiss her, his mouth seeking hers with an eagerness that matched her own, his tongue sending almost unbearable shivers of desire through her body as they drew closer, his hand now against her breast, fingers fluttering across her nipple until she was ready to faint. She no longer cared about her mother in the room upstairs, she was no longer aware of anything except Jim’s hand between her legs, stroking her thigh beneath her cotton skirt, moving upward, his mouth still pressed to hers, sending her body into a frenzy that clamored for more.
Then she heard her mother.
“Nancy . . . Nancy . . .”
They froze, then dissolved into silent laughter, Nancy still shaking from Jim’s touch. Taking long breaths to calm herself, she pulled her clothes back into place, flicked her rumpled hair behind her ears and assumed a solemn expression as she stood before Jim.
“Do I look okay?” she asked.
Jim looked up at her as he lay back on the sofa. “You look bloody gorgeous.”
She laughed. “I mean do I look normal?”
He frowned as he considered this, but was unable to control his grin. “Hmm . . . you look as if you’ve just had sex, if that’s normal.”
Nancy punched his shoulder as her mother’s voice, more impatient this time, called again.
“She’ll know I’ve been up to something,” she said, as she opened the sitting room door and called, “Coming, Mum.”
“She’ll never expect in a million years that you’ve been having sex on her couch.”
“I’d never have expected it either.” Nancy hurried upstairs, still trying to smooth her hair and compose her features.
Her mother was sitting up in bed, seemingly wide awake.
“Isn’t it late?” she asked, eyeing Nancy’s clothes.
“Quite, but I wasn’t tired,” Nancy lied.
“I hope your bed’s comfy enough. That was your father’s when he was young.”
“It’s fine, Mum. Did you want something?” She didn’t get too close to her mother, worried she would smell Jim’s scent on her.
“No, I just thought I heard something . . . a sort of thump. I was worried someone was downstairs.”
That would have been Jim’s boots hitting the floor, Nancy thought, repressing a smile.
“Just me. Now you snuggle down, Mum, and get some sleep. You’ve got your water there on the side. And I’m here, you don’t need to worry.”
Frances’s face relaxed and she shuffled down the bed, pulling the duvet round her shoulders, only the top of her head with its rumpled white pixie cut visible above the sheets. “Thank you, darling. I do appreciate your looking after me like this.”
“Shall I turn the light off?”
“If you wouldn’t mind.”
Nancy moved round the bed and fumbled with the stiff brass safety switch, which resisted her attempts, until finally she succeeded. Her mother’s head turned on the pillow and Nancy had a sudden desire to drop a kiss on her pained face. But she knew Frances would hate that.
“Sleep well,” Nancy said softly, into the semidarkness, and waited for a moment to make sure her mother’s eyes were closing.
*
Jim was exactly where she’d left him, leaning back against the sofa cushions, his long legs and gray-socked feet stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. She sat down next to him.
“Is she okay?” Jim asked.
“Bit twitchy. She thought she heard a thump and had forgotten I was here, I think.”
“Must be miserable, getting to the stage where the smallest thing frightens you. Hope I’m dead before I get like that.”
“Yeah. Everyone’s always telling us to exercise and eat lots of vegetables so we can live forever, but no one’s found a way to make it fun.”
He put his arm around her and she dropped her head gratefully onto his shoulder. “We’ve got to make the most of this time now,” he said, suddenly passionate. “Or before you know it we’ll be like your mum, jumping at shadows and totally dependent.”
Nancy shuddered. “Should I take her home, do you think? Just bite the bullet and have her come to live with me?”
“I haven’t seen her, Nancy. I don’t know how bad she is.”
“She isn’t ‘bad’ as such, just weak. But I’m not sure I’d cope, being her carer twenty-four/seven.”
She felt him shrug. “Depends. Might be easier than having to worry about her at a distance.”
But, Nancy wanted to say, what about us? The words remained trapped in her throat.
They sat together in silence, the room feeling suddenly chilly and depressing.
“I suppose I ought to get home,” Jim said, although he didn’t move, just brought his hand up to Nancy’s cheek, resting it there. It felt blissfully warm and tender. “You won’t be able to get away for a while, then?”
Nancy sighed. “I can always leave Louise to babysit, if Mum’s at home. But, yes, I suppose the next week or so might be difficult.”
He gazed at her. “I miss you as soon as I leave you.”
“I miss you too.” She smiled. “Feels like I’m sixteen again.”
“It was never as good as this when I was sixteen,” Jim said. “It was just lust then, mostly unrequited. My mate Marty always got the crumpet. He looked like the back end of a horse, but that didn’t stop him. Girls fell over themselves to get his attention.”
“Can’t believe they didn’t fancy you, Jim,” Nancy said. And she couldn’t.
“Ha, nice of you to say, but I was shy and a bit geeky back then. I never knew what to say to a girl.” He grinned. “Not like with you. I can’t shut up when I’m with you.”
“I . . .” Nancy stopped, took a breath. “Next time maybe we could go to yours? If Mum’s at home . . .”
There was an unexpectedly heavy silence and Nancy felt Jim tensing.
“Or not, if you don’t think that’s a good idea.”
When she looked up at him he was frowning.
“I’d love to take you home more than anything, Nancy,” he said, his voice oddly vehement. “I’m bloody dying to. But Tommy’s staying for a bit . . .”
“Oh, okay. Doesn’t matter.”
He gave a heavy sigh, as if the world rested on his shoulders. She wondered if there were problems with his son, but as he didn’t volunteer any more information, she didn’t ask. “It was just a thought,” she said.
*
“Do you think she’ll need to stay long?” Lindy asked as they stood waiting for their grandchildren in the school playground. It was the sort of primary school most parents dream about, set behind a pretty village green, shaded by a huge oak tree in a quiet corner of East Sussex, the head teacher a dynamic, no-nonsense woman who knew every child by name and insisted on her own high standards for everyone, from teachers and children to parents and grandparents. And woe betide anyone who stepped out of line.
“I don’t know. She seems to have perked up in the last week, but she’s still not eating much. I don’t think she’d manage on her own.”
Her mother had been in the spare room for nearly ten days now, and this was the first time she had left her for more than an hour or so. Louise was at home and had said she would keep an eye on her grandmother while Nancy went into town, then picked up the girls.
“God, Nance, bit of a problem for you if she can’t go home.” Lindy looked her usual glamorous self, in a navy jersey dress, which clung to her curves, chunky silver necklace and patent leather wedge heels.
“I know.” Nancy felt weary even discussing it. “She’s no trouble, really. She sleeps a lot . . . It’s just . . .”
Lindy raised her eyebrows, laid a sympathetic hand on her arm. “You don’t have to tell me, darling. I was super-crap at being sweet to my mum for more than ten minutes, God rest her soul.”
Nancy laughed. “I thought I would be too, but she’s so vulnerable, my heart goes out to her.”
“Hmm, you’re a way nicer person than I am, then.” Lindy dragged Nancy further away from the group of mums who were beginning to gather. “But let’s talk about the real issue here.” She dropped her voice. “Our Jim. You’ve gone suspiciously quiet on the subject. I want all the goss.” She grinned expectantly at Nancy, a lewd look in her eye.
“Well . . .” Nancy hesitated, knowing Lindy wouldn’t settle for anything but the full monty, and she was not about to give her that. “We’ve been seeing each other quite a bit. Or, at least, we were until this last week.” She didn’t add that she’d just had coffee with Jim because it had been an oddly uncomfortable meeting and she hadn’t yet worked out why.
“Woo-hoo! So, bonking and the lot?”
“Ssh! No, no bonking.”
“No bonking? Why ever not? Is something wrong with him?” Lindy interrupted her in a stage whisper.
“There’s nowhere to go with Mum at home.”
“Why can’t you go to his?”
“His son’s staying, apparently.”
Lindy frowned. “Sounds a bit of a lame excuse. Hope he’s not dragging his heels for some other reason.”
“Like what?”
“Well, he’s older, Nance. Maybe he’s got a problem in that department and he’s nervous of putting you off.”
“What on earth are you talking about?” Her friend’s face had taken on a concerned expression.
“Impotence is very common in the over-sixties. Especially for smokers. Something about shrinking blood vessels . . . Not sure of the details.”
Nancy was almost shocked by her friend’s suggestion. Not least because she’d thought, after this morning, that Jim might be hiding something. “Jim is definitely not impotent,” she hissed, glancing around to check that no one was listening.
But Lindy just laughed. “Ah! So things have gone a bit further than you’re letting on, Miss Prim Nancy.”
“You’re incorrigible,” Nancy muttered, her cheeks suddenly flaming as brightly as a beacon set to warn off enemy ships.
“Ooh, enjoy, darling.” She waved as she saw Toby coming toward her. “Call me later and we can arrange a meet-up. We haven’t been out in an age. All very well for you with your gorgeous fella, but what about me? You’ve got to help me find another Jim.”
*
“Can we get a cupcake on the way home, Nana?” Hope asked tentatively, when they had piled themselves and all their bags into the Golf. There was a cupcake shop cunningly situated just outside the village along the route home, and occasionally Nancy gave in and treated the girls.
“Why not?” she said, to a chorus of delighted shrieks from the back seat. She knew Louise might be irritated, but she felt like one herself. She was still unsettled by Jim’s behavior. He’d seemed so moody and tense, not fully engaged, with none of his usual amused and flirtatious smiles. But when she’d eventually asked what was wrong, he’d practically bitten her head off.
“Nothing,” he’d snapped, then obviously realized he’d been rude, because he added, “Sorry, Nancy. Things at home are difficult at the moment.”
“With your son?” she asked. But he hadn’t really replied, just shaken his head and glowered at the table. And she’d felt this huge tension sitting between them, like an explosion waiting to go off. He was troubled by something, and she’d thought he was on the point of blurting it out, whatever it was, he was silent for so long. But in the end he just looked up at her, his eyes full of misery.
“I want it all to be perfect, Nancy,” he said.
And she hadn’t been able to reply, her breath trapped in her chest, her heart racing to beat the band.
“Can I have the Smarties one?” Jazzy pointed to her favorite.
Nancy nodded. “Please.”
“Please,” echoed Jazzy.
“Hope?”
Her elder granddaughter was wandering along the line of cakes, head on one side, lost in an ecstasy of indecision. “I can’t decide between chocolate buttons and sprinkles.”
Nancy picked the most lurid one for herself, a chocolate/toffee concoction with about three inches of buttercream covered with chocolate drizzle and chunks of chocolate, guaranteed to give her a sugar high into next week. She needed it.
They sat on the bench outside the shop, Nancy between the two girls, for the short time it took them all to devour the cupcakes.
“Nana . . .” Hope licked a smear of buttercream from her thumb and didn’t look at Nancy as she asked, “Did you and Grandy fight?”
“Yes, I suppose we did, but not very often. Why?”
“So you didn’t stop being married because you argued?”
“It wasn’t anything to do with that.” Nancy replied. “I think we just ran out of steam. Marriage is complicated, darling, people change.” She knew she wasn’t making much sense, but she wasn’t sure how much an eight-year-old would understand. Jazzy, she noticed, had gone very quiet, her large eyes fixed on the waxed paper shell that had held her cake.
“Why do they change?” Hope asked, persistent, as usual, in her inquiry.
“Well, lots of reasons.” Nancy was suddenly clear about where this was going. “Have Mummy and Daddy been arguing a bit?”
“Not a bit,” Jazzy mumbled, as Hope sent her sister an angry glare.
“Oh dear. Tell me.”
Neither child spoke, just sat with ducked heads.
“Hope?”
When her granddaughter raised her head, tears were welling in her brown eyes. “They shout at each other every night, Nana. It wakes us up.”
“Oh, darling.” Nancy put her arm round Hope. Jazzy was staring at her sister.
“They sound like they hate each other.” Tears trickled down Hope’s cheeks, as fast as she wiped them away. “They won’t get a divorce, will they?”
“It’s scary,” Jazzy put in. “They fighted last night and Dada sounded really angry and made Mummy cry and scream.”
Nancy drew Jazzy into her embrace too. “That’s horrid for you. But all people argue, darling. You two fight all the time, and sometimes you sound very angry . . . And you cry too.”
“Not like that,” Jazzy said.
“No, I understand. Grown-ups fighting can sound really scary,” Nancy said. “But Mummy and Daddy love each other very much, you know. They’re both working so hard at the moment, to make the restaurant really good, and I think they’re exhausted and a bit scratchy—you know how you get when you’re tired.”
“So they aren’t going to get divorced?” Hope persisted.
“No, definitely not,” Nancy said firmly, hoping she was right.
The two little girls went silent and she felt them relax a bit in her arms. But she was far from relaxed herself.
*
When she got home, her mother was upstairs taking a nap, her daughter dozing on the sofa downstairs, covered with the green throw, her face pinched with tiredness.
“Ross made her some chicken broth, which I gave her for lunch,” Louise told her later, as they sat with a cup of tea. She still looked crumpled and drawn. “She ate some and I’ve left the rest in the fridge for later. But she seems so tired.”
It was overcast and muggy, a storm brewing, from the state of the coal-black sky and the thunder flies hovering in the air. The girls went outside to play chasing games in the garden, buoyed up, no doubt, by the half-ton of sugar they had just consumed.
Nancy nodded. “I’ve made an appointment with Dr. Khan on Friday. That GP she’s got is useless. There’s definitely something wrong.”
Louise nodded. “How are you coping, Mum?”
“Not so bad.” That was what she said when anyone asked, even though it wasn’t true. But if she’d told them what she was really feeling—even her daughter—they would have thought her the biggest bitch on the planet. What had been keeping her going, allowing her to be kind to her mother and deal with the trauma of having someone else in her space, was the thought of Jim. And today those thoughts seemed under threat. She longed to be alone to work out what might be wrong. But she wasn’t going to phone him and ask.
In the silence that followed, Nancy glanced quickly outside to check the girls were out of earshot, then said, “Lou, the girls are worried. They’ve heard you and Ross fighting at night.”
Louise’s eyes widened. “What? They’d sleep through World War Three.”
She told her daughter what the girls had said.
When she didn’t immediately reply, Nancy asked, “What’s been going on?”
Louise sighed. “Nothing, Mum. Honestly, it’s not that bad. Yes, we have been arguing a bit recently. He gets back late, we’re both knackered and the whole restaurant thing kicks off.”
Nancy looked her straight in the eye. “Be honest with me. The girls were definitely not making it up.”
Louise sat hunched at the table, clasping her hands so tightly that her knuckles paled.
“Okay. I suppose it has been a bit full-on this past week. We lost a supplier because I refused to pay his exorbitant prices and Ross went ballistic. Maja left suddenly, as you know, and the girl who’s replaced her is worse than useless. Then the bloody toilet in the ladies was blocked—the last fucking straw.” The look she turned on Nancy was despairing. “And each time there’s a problem, Ross blames me.”
“That’s not fair.”
“I know, but I give as good as I get, I suppose. We can’t seem to help winding each other up at the moment.”
Neither said a word for a while.
“You can’t have the girls thinking you’re getting a divorce, Lou. You and Ross should sit down with them and explain, reassure them.”
“You’re right—although getting a divorce doesn’t seem like such a bad idea right now.”
“Don’t joke, Lou—” Her mobile interrupted her.
“Hi.” Jim’s deep voice sounded tired. “Sorry about earlier. I was in a foul mood, but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you like that.”
“It’s okay,” she said, aware of Louise’s eyes fixed intently on her face.
“Is this a good time to talk?”
“Louise and the children are here for tea.”
“I’ll call back later, then,” he said, and was gone.
“Everything all right?” Louise asked.
“Fine,” Nancy said firmly.
“You should ask him round for lunch on Sunday. I’m dying to meet him.”
“I’m not sure. Maybe it’s a bit soon.”
“Soon for what? I’m only suggesting lunch.” Louise grinned. “We won’t bite, you know. And Ross could do with some male company.”
“Okay, well, maybe I’ll ask him later.”