23 September
The following Monday, Griff and Lucy came round to Pete’s with fish and chips to discuss plans for Nigel’s sixty-fifth birthday. Pete was glad to find they were both positive about the medical news. The doctors were confident that they could unblock Lucy’s fallopian tubes. And even if they couldn’t, it would still be possible to have IVF if they did decide to go down that route – and they were softening to the idea. Pong sat on the edge of the table nonchalantly waiting for fish goodies. As usual, he got plenty.
Originally, they’d been hoping to put on a surprise party for Nigel but knew they hadn’t a chance in hell of getting Cora on board with that.
‘The worm in every one of our plan-apples,’ muttered Griff. ‘What the frig is he doing with that awful bitch? I can’t stand her more every time I see her.’
‘Griff had a bit of a do with her on Saturday,’ said Lucy, dousing the remainder of her fish and chips liberally with vinegar.
‘Did you?’ asked Pete.
‘I told you not to say,’ said Griff.
‘I think Pete should know,’ she responded.
‘What was it about, Griff?’
‘The garden,’ said Lucy, before Griff could answer. ‘Griff found her cutting Mr and Mrs Moore.’
Pete’s jaw tightened. Mr and Mrs Moore was a rose bush. Griff had had a rose named after his parents for their last anniversary. The roses were scarlet and scented and the bush had flourished from the moment it was planted.
‘Cora was in the garden. Nigel was upstairs in the loo and Griff saw her hacking away at it through the window. So he charged out and told her to stop and she told him that it was taking over and needed cutting right back,’ said Lucy.
‘Luce, I can speak for myself,’ Griff insisted.
‘What happened then?’ asked Pete.
Griff took over the narrative now. ‘What you’d expect. She told me it wasn’t my house. I told her it wasn’t hers either, it was my father’s and that rose bush was my mother’s and my father’s and she had no right to even touch it. I said that my mother was part of his life and she could not erase her from it however much she might try to.’ Griff paused, took a bolstering breath and Pete knew that what was coming next was worse.
‘Then she told me not to set foot in the house ever again and carried on pruning.’
Pete winced, anticipating more.
‘. . . So I grabbed the cutters out of her hand and flung them over the fence—’
‘—At which point, I stepped in hoping to be the voice of reason but it was so hard,’ said Lucy. ‘I told her that it was a special rose and Nigel would be very annoyed to know she was trying to destroy it. Then Nigel came down and she played all innocent that she didn’t know, but of course she did. Griff was very upset. He told her that if she touched that rose again, he’d make sure she ended up where the cutters were . . . only not as politely as that.’
‘Oof. What did Dad say?’
‘He surprised me, Pete,’ said Lucy. ‘You know what your dad is like, wanting everyone to get along, but on this occasion he backed up Griff, so you can imagine how well that went down. He wasn’t happy at all; in fact he told Cora that she could do as she pleased in the garden but she wasn’t to touch that rose bush. She was absolutely livid, she stormed off and that was the last we saw of her.’
‘Unfortunately any row they had after we’d gone didn’t result in her leaving him,’ said Griff.
‘Anyway,’ continued Lucy, ‘before all that happened, Nigel told us that he’s decided to have the birthday party at his house. He’s arranged it himself.’
‘Don’t tell me he’s got Cora making sandwiches,’ said Pete, incredulously.
‘He’s paying for caterers.’
‘Wow – go Dad.’
‘There’s more, Pete. Tell him what you did yesterday, Griff,’ urged Lucy with an elbow nudge.
‘I bought Dad a snooker table,’ said Griff. ‘Well we did, because you’re giving me half of the money for it.’
‘What the actual fu—?’
‘It’s in our garage,’ said Lucy.
‘Impulse buy,’ said Griff. ‘The working men’s club next to the gym has gone bust and they need to liquidate all the assets they can – and quickly. The steward came in, asked if anyone wanted a snooker table going really cheap.’ He threw his hands up in the air. ‘Perfect timing. How could I not take it?’
‘But where the heck is he going to put it?’ asked Pete.
‘He can come round to ours to play. Or we can surprise him and dump it on his garden on the morning of his birthday and force Cora into putting it into her parlour.’ He gave the word a prissiness he thought it deserved.
‘Not fair on your father,’ said Lucy.
‘Not fair on my father having to give up a room he had built for a snooker table just so she can use it to entertain her cronies in,’ said Griff, feeding Pong the tail end of his fish.
The doorbell sounded – two brisk brum-brums. A Ria ring.
Lucy read the expression on Pete’s face, guessed why his smile dropped like a plumb bob.
‘Don’t leave,’ he warned them.
‘We won’t,’ said Lucy, turning to Griff and saying quietly, ‘Now I’ll see if it’s in his imagination or not.’
Pete went to the door, opened it and Ria gushed in with her layers of Tara scent. This time he didn’t recognise the clothes as being Tara’s but they were very much in her style: tight jeans, heels, top artfully unbuttoned to reveal a generosity of décolletage. Ria’s shock at seeing Pete had guests was priceless, Griff and Lucy would later discuss this with each other in the car.
‘Oh, you’ve got visitors,’ Ria said, disappointment easily discernible despite her smile of greeting. ‘Hi Griff, Lucy. How are you both?’
‘Fine, yourself?’ they chorused.
‘As good as can be,’ she replied. ‘Look, I’ll talk to you another time when you aren’t busy,’ she said to Pete; the meaning evident: I’ll come back when you are alone.
‘Don’t be daft,’ said Griff. ‘Pull up a chair, have a chip.’
‘I’ll put the kettle on, unless you prefer a juice or something?’ asked Pete.
‘Oh er . . . well, a coffee would be lovely, thank you,’ replied Ria.
Pete clicked on the kettle and then slipped out to the loo. He’d had three coffees in the time that Griff and Lucy had been there.
‘We’re just planning Dad’s birthday so we’re here for the long haul,’ said Griff. Lucy kicked him under the table. He was about as subtle as a morbidly obese bull in a very tiny china shop.
‘Oh. Are you having a party?’
‘Just close family,’ Griff answered. ‘And Cora.’ Not making it at all obvious where she stood with him.
‘It’s nice he’s found someone,’ smiled Ria. ‘He’s far too young to be alone. Sixty-five is nothing, is it?’
Lucy hadn’t said this, even to Griff, but out of the three sisters, she’d only really liked Alana. She was aloof, forthright but kind and genuine. Ria, she’d never quite trusted; she wasn’t a woman’s woman. As for Tara, Lucy had always thought she and Pete had rushed to the aisle. They hadn’t been going out very long when Tara made a flashy proposal and from the next day on, the wedding plan machine had cranked up to max, almost as if she was desperate to become Mrs Moore – except weirdly then she hadn’t taken his name, kept herself as Ms Tara Ollerton. The wedding seemed to be more important than the groom to her. She’d taken over Pete’s life like an ivy plant, so much so that Lucy had wondered if she’d come to Pete on a serious rebound from another relationship and needed to plug up a wound in her heart with the first man that came along. She’d asked Pete this once, tried to phrase it so it sounded casual and not mean, and he’d assured her it wasn’t the case. But there was something about Tara she couldn’t quite warm to even though she wanted to. She and Ria were both still waters running deep whereas Alana was a fresh, clear brook with everything visible. Tara tended to keep people at a distance. Maybe the baby would have changed that. Sadly, they’d never know.
‘Do you think they’ll get married?’ asked Ria.
‘Doesn’t do to rush new relationships after a bereavement,’ said Lucy. ‘That’s when big mistakes get made.’ Now it was Griff’s turn to give her a warning kick under the table.
‘Everyone’s different. Some people need a crutch more than others. No point in being lonely when you don’t have to be.’
Ria’s tone was light, but there was an underlying bite of annoyance and Lucy was always up for a battle, especially when it was to protect one of her own.
‘Unfortunately there are a lot of people who can sniff vulnerability at fifty paces—’
Griff cut her off. He knew he’d get earache for it later but they were guests in his brother’s house and they should be respectful of that. It wasn’t Lucy’s place to turn into a Doberman Pinscher and start snarling and warning her off. ‘How’s your mum and dad, Ria?’
‘Dad’s taken Mum for a short break to the villa in Cyprus.’
‘And Alana?’
‘Oh I do like Alana,’ piped up Lucy. ‘Give her my love when you see her.’
‘To be honest,’ said Ria, addressing Griff, ‘I don’t see that much of her. Alana tends to do her own thing.’
Pete walked back into the room and Lucy noticed how Ria brightened instantly. Her pupils dilated to the size of satellite dishes and any minute they would start pumping out cartoon hearts. Pete hadn’t got it wrong, Ria was waiting for him to ripen like an autumn fruit and drop into her waiting hands so she could make jam out of him.
‘So, what sort of party are you planning for Nigel?’ Ria asked Pete as he put a mug in front of her on the table.
‘He’s planned it himself,’ said Pete. ‘I’d have liked to have thrown him a surprise barbecue.’
‘Oh, I love barbecues,’ said Ria. ‘The smell is always so delicious.’
Lucy tried to imagine Ria eating a flame-grilled steak oozing juices over her hands and couldn’t.
‘When is it?’
‘Two weeks on Wednesday.’
‘Two weeks,’ repeated Ria and made a series of eye-blinks that indicated quite a lot of activity in her brain. She wrinkled up a disappointed nose. ‘Awww. I’m on a hen do in Tenerife or I might have gatecrashed. What are you buying him?’ she asked.
‘No idea,’ said Griff. He didn’t want to tell the truth and risk the secret getting out and back to Cora. His father was having that snooker table whether she liked it or not. Nigel had wanted one for years and Griff had wanted him to have one for years.
‘What was it you needed me for, Ria?’ asked Pete. Ria looked blank, then remembered what she’d said about talking to him another time.
‘It’s fine, it’ll wait. Really.’
‘We can go out of the room for a couple of minutes if you two want a private word,’ said Lucy with a pleasant smile.
All eyes were on Ria now and she knew she’d have to admit what pretext she’d used for turning up.
‘It was nothing much, Pete, it was just that I wondered if you’d thought any more about going to see Jackie Crawford. You know, the business card I gave you.’
It took a few moments for the name to register with him. ‘Oh, er no . . . I . . .’ It nearly came out of his mouth that he was going to a support group, but he thought he’d keep that to himself. He didn’t want to give Ria his whereabouts more than he had to. ‘. . . I . . . not yet.’
‘What’s this?’ Lucy said, as Pong dropped from the table to settle into her lap.
‘Ria very kindly gave me the number of a grief counsellor,’ explained Pete.
‘She’s very good,’ said Ria. ‘Talking helps so much.’
‘I agree,’ said Lucy. ‘Some poor souls don’t have anyone to talk things through with. That’s when being a twin comes in handy because while ever Griff is on this planet, I’d hope Pete would turn to him first.’ She smiled again, but Pete and Griff, who knew her as well as she knew herself, could tell it was her I’m riding a horse of impatience smile.
Ria stood up, her drink untouched.
‘I feel like I’m interrupting your birthday party plans. I’ll call again another time.’
‘No stay, finish your coffee,’ said Pete, politely. Griff said something similar, Lucy stayed schtum.
‘I insist,’ said Ria. ‘Lovely to see you both. Hope you have some good news soon. You know . . .’
‘Thank you,’ said Lucy and smiled – genuinely this time. ‘That’s sweet of you to say.’
Pete walked to the door to see Ria to her car and Griff gave his wife a hard stare.
‘What?’ she demanded.
‘You,’ he said, with a gritty whisper.
‘Just making sure that she knows that I know,’ she replied.
‘Oh, you did that all right,’ said Griff.
Pete walked back into the kitchen. There was a lipstick mark on his cheek.
‘You’ve been branded,’ said Lucy, pointing at him. ‘Property of Ria Ollerton.’ Pete turned to the mirrored tiles on the wall and grabbed a dishcloth to wipe it off.
‘Oh and by the way, you aren’t imagining it, she is after you,’ she added. She gave Pong a stroke and Griff thought his wife, at that moment, looked not unlike a female Blofeld.
‘I hope you know you can talk to me, bro,’ said Griff. ‘If you’re considering therapy, you must feel you need some help. Whatever else is going on in our lives, we’ve got more than enough time for you.’
Lucy nodded, thumbed at her husband. ‘What he said.’
Pete sat back down heavily on the chair.
‘I don’t want to see a therapist,’ said Pete, ‘but I have been going to a sort of support group.’
‘Really?’ said Griff. A gulp of hurt. ‘You never told me.’
‘He doesn’t have to tell us, Griff,’ said Lucy, before turning back to Pete. ‘How long have you been going there then?’
‘I’ve been three times so far. The woman you bought the car from, Griff, she goes too. That’s where I met her, I lied when I said it was a function. Ria’s right though. It does good to talk and oddly enough – and don’t beat me up about this – it seems to help that they’re all strangers. Don’t ask me how that works but it just does.’
‘I understand that totally,’ said Lucy tenderly. ‘But you know that we are here for you, don’t you?’
‘Of course I do, you daft woman,’ said Pete.
‘So this lady with the car . . .’ she continued, her interest piqued. ‘Griff said she’d recently lost her partner.’
‘Yep,’ said Pete. ‘I ended up in the pub with her after the last session. We got drawn into doing a quiz.’
‘She looked really nice,’ said Griff. ‘Young to have lost a partner. How did he die?’
‘A car crash.’
‘Be careful,’ warned Lucy. ‘I know I’m probably worrying too much but you are an incredibly good-looking man—’
‘Aw cheers, love, because if he is, so am I,’ butted in Griff and brought some levity to the conversation.
‘Laurie is nice . . . and safe,’ said Pete. ‘She’s easy to talk to and there’s no awkwardness. It wasn’t a date, it was just a drink. You don’t need to worry at all.’
*
On the way home Lucy brought Laurie up in conversation.
‘So what’s she like then, old man?’
‘Tall, slim . . . I thought she was Swedish when I saw her at first. She’s very blonde, friendly, a little fragile-looking I thought, but that’s only to be expected. The MR2 was her partner’s pride and joy. I only hope he looked after her as much as he did his car. She had a massive house as well. I’d like to think our Pete has found someone he can really talk to, who can help him, and that he can help her. She was very different to Tara, if you’re asking that.’
‘Good,’ said Lucy. ‘It’s not that I didn’t like Tara—’ her voice dropped as if she might be listening ‘—she was fun and spirited and gorgeous but I never thought they were a great match. It was as if as soon as they were married, she changed her mind about everything they’d got married for. I never felt they were as happy as they should have been. As happy as we are.’
Griff raised and dropped his shoulders. ‘Not everyone is like a double act, Luce. We got lucky.’
‘I know, but still . . .’ She shrugged. ‘Just a woman’s instinct that all wasn’t as it seemed between them.’
Griff sighed. ‘It cuts me up to think about Pete not being able to talk to me.’
‘Don’t,’ said Lucy. ‘Sometimes, as he says, it’s easier to speak to people who don’t know you. You should appreciate that, Griff, because as secrets go, we might be keeping the Mack Daddy of them all from him.’
Griff nodded. His wife was right – as always. Sometimes close was too close.