The searing self-hatred that Sean had seeded within Joy grew and bloomed once more and she let it take hold like bindweed, choking out her sense of proportion, telling her this whole thing was her fault.
By the time she let the text message fly to her mum’s mobile she was sobbing and cursing herself.
Now Joy’s work was done and the fight with Radia was over, they cuddled on the big bed while the lightest summer drizzle fell over the village. They read and re-read picture books taken from the Children’s section, which Joy would end up having to put money in the till for, and she’d kept her little girl close and told her she loved her over and over.
Radia only tutted in response and wiped kisses from her forehead, but she still read along, chattering about the characters, delighting in the illustrations.
They were going to get through this. They were going to get back inside their bubble and be OK, though Joy didn’t know how. She knew one thing, though: they were leaving Clove Lore.
Chapter Twenty-four
On what Joy had decided was to be their last day in Clove Lore, Thursday, the last day of August, mother and daughter had woken up on the big bed surrounded by books. Radia had laughed so much the night before atOi Frog!, her happiness had turned into a big torrent of emotion and tears. Joy wanted to put it down to tiredness but worried it was all because of the prospect of another airport and another hotel-concierge-arranged babysitter. She couldn’t blame her for being confused and emotional; Joy felt exactly the same and hadn’t the excuse of being five years old. She’d booked a cab. They were leaving for the airport hotel this afternoon, and flying off to Lisbon as planned on the second.
They’d hugged it out, read and slept, and now Radia was dozing in her mum’s arms while Joy stared at the shimmering light cast over the duvet. It was a watery white that hinted at the changing season. Summer was coming to an end.
She tried hard not to think about September and what would happen when they called in at the flat after the Lisbon trip. All the London shops would have their Back to School stuff on display, from the stationers to the supermarkets. It would be impossible to avoid seeing it at this time of year. It would not be easy to face up to.
Her phone was out of reach by Radia’s feet so she had to quell the impulse to message Gaz and tell him she’d take the job in… Durham, was it? Starting on the third, he’d said.
Early September in Durham sounded good. North enough to propel them away from London and to delay having to deal with her parents, at least.
Her mum hadn’t rung again but she had texted back a heart emoji and the words, ‘We can’t wait to see you both!’
How could so much excitement be squeezed into one exclamation point? She had been able to feel her mum’s anticipation radiating off the screen and it almost made her cry again. It had whipped up memories of when Joy lived at home.
She hadn’t thought of it for years but it all came flooding back in. The pride they had in her before she let them down. She replayed the way her mum had been when she’d got her A-level results with all those A*s, when they knew for sure she’d got into Goldsmiths to study computer science.
Her mum had told everyone in the family, brought in a catering company and boxes of supermarket bubbly and they’d had a summer party in a gazebo in the garden with all the neighbours – who’d probably resented hearing about what a ‘clever girl’ the Foleys’ daughter was for the hundredth time.
Nobody in her family had gone to uni before; they hadn’t needed to. Her dad had taken over his father’s car dealership and they’d been modestly ‘minted’, as he liked to call it, since the mid-nineties.
Remembering all of this set her on a path of remembering her mum at Christmastime in the kitchen in her Harrods apron and Dad beside her, fussing over the turkey. Her mum had been fizzing with festive excitement, waiting for the doorbell to ring and all the family descending. Pam Foley knew how to enjoy life. She loved family and big occasions. She loved her home and her girls.
It wasn’t all happy memories, however. There was prickly stuff too, and Joy remembered that much more vividly than the cosy times.
There’d been that entire weekend house party at Pam’s (faddy fitness-fanatic) brother’s place for his fiftieth, when she wouldn’t speak to anyone because Joy’s uncle and his wife had the gall to suggest Pam shouldn’t have brought her own stash of Kettle Chips and KitKats just because she didn’t want to eat their special Keto diet.
It had come to a head when Pam shouted over the buffet table that celery sticks with peanut butter didnotconstitute a birthday meal, even when he pointed out crossly he’d done her a special plate of chicken and cheese fajitas because hejust knewshe’d be like this.
The whole thing had ended in rolled eyes and laughter once the wine was going around after the (rather restrictive) Sunday lunch the next day, when he’d admitted his rubbery green bell pepper ‘sandwiches’ filled with cucumber slices and cream cheese were no substitute for a nice roast with Yorkies.
There were shops in Pam’s neighbourhood she couldn’t set foot in because she’d taken exception to the way the teenager behind the till had spoken to her and she’d kicked off before discovering it was the owner’s kid earning a bit of pocket money. But by then it was too late and she had ‘said what she said’ (Pam’s favourite saying) and flounced out.
One thing everyone knew about Pamela Foley was that she could hold a grudge. It was not a good quality to have and such a shame when there were some really nice qualities within her too: like her generosity and her confidence, or the way she’d throw her head back when she bellowed a laugh, as well as her fierce protectiveness that had made the bullies’ parents on the school yard quail when she’d marched over to confront them about their child picking on her little Joy or Patti.
Joy’s brain was hazily showing her highlights of her mum handing out her foil-wrapped breakfast rolls in the Gatwick departures lounge at three a.m. – proudly brought from home because she knew the Starbucks closed overnight – and telling Dad she had his favourite: egg, sausage and bacon. At times like that he would kiss his wife, grinning, calling her, ‘my wonderful Pam’.
They’d been a normal suburban family with all the ups and downs, faults and feelings you’d expect to find, and all the love too. Joy could never have imagined as a kid she’d end up estranged from them by the time she hit her mid-twenties, but life was full of unexpected twists, it seemed.
Visions of the way things used to be still circulated in her brain while she came round that morning; her unconscious telling her it really was time to address this mess because the pain wasn’t going away.
Joy would have lain there a lot longer, holding Radia and trying not to think about the packed suitcase by the bedroom door, if it hadn’t been for the sound. A sharp metallic scratch on wood. Someone trying the keyhole?
Her eyes flicked wide open.
The noise came again, and then some banging, and muttering.
In an instant she rolled out of bed and shoved pillows against Radia to support her, tucking the duvet tightly over her, all done in complete silence.
