‘And up until now, looking after you meant us being mates and hanging out together and you’ve not really needed looking after, as such.’
Lucy’s lifting her gaze and shaking her head.
‘But now you seem so sad and lost and… if I was in Birmingham we could look after each other, and maybe you’d be a bit happier with someone who’s always… right there. Lucy? You’re not glad?’
She’s drawn her hands away from mine and onto her lap. ‘Auntie Margi, I don’t understand why you’d leave everything you love. You love Wheaton. You belong here.’
‘No,’ I say. ‘I used to, but now I’m just the crazy old lady who foists gingerbreads on a community and keeps throwing herself headlong into ridiculous love affairs that end in disaster, and I feel like everything I touch goes bad. I mean, look at Izz,’ I whisper, ‘and the whole viral video thing. If I hadn’t roped in Fern, and if I hadtriedto protect Izz’s privacy a bit more, she wouldn’t be over there crying into your phone.’
We glance over at Izz leaning against the mural, her eyes fixed on the phone, her thumbs scrolling, waiting for news that will never come because contrary to what everyone thinks, the internet isn’t some cure-all oracle or a harbinger of justice. It is in fact a shitshow.
‘And now, not only have I dragged Izz into this mess, I’ve done the same to Patrick, when for ages I’ve been trying to protect him from me and the way I spoil things. So, I’m selling up. I’m getting out, and I’ll be able to live somewhere anonymous and quiet and grow my own potatoes in my own potagerie.’
Lucy sighs.
This isn’t going how I wanted it. I thought she’d be a tiny bit pleased.
‘I’ve spoiled us as well, haven’t I?’ I say, my lip wobbling. ‘I’ve interfered and I’ve intruded, and, oh my God, I’ve been a clingy old lady. Of course you don’t want your auntie as a neighbour!’ Now I have my hands over my mouth in horror.
‘No, no. It’s not that at all. I’d have loved that a year or two ago.’
‘What’s changed, then?’
‘I should have told you,’ she says, dread sneaking into my heart. ‘When Craig left, I gave my landlord notice, and I came here to clear my head a bit. You’ve been asking about my supply teaching and I didn’t know what to say, but I just needed some headspace to sort it all out before I told anyone.’
‘Told us what?’
‘Mum and Dad have found me a flat near them in Auckland. I’m going to teach on supply there until I can get a permanent art teacher job.’
‘In New Zealand?’
‘Yeah. I still have to sort out my stuff and book flights, but…’ She goes quiet.
I sit for a long time, unsure what to think or feel.Abandonedsprings to mind, but that’s not fair on Lucy. I hadn’t mentioned my Birmingham escape plan so why should she have shared her big New Zealand getaway idea?
‘Are you still selling up?’ Lucy asks eventually, and all I can do is shake my head.
I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing. A veg bed and a compact end of terrace in the outskirts of Birmingham doesn’t have quite the same appeal now I know it’ll just be me rattling around in it. No Lucy, no Patrick, and God knows if Izz will forgive me once the dust has settled and we’re all taking stock in January.
Staying here doesn’t feel like an option either. Patrick told me not to blow this, and I blew it anyway. I’m in way over my head in all of this. What a bloody shambles.
We’re interrupted in our misery by the shout of Mr Collins from the council, the surveyor. He’s back in his hard hat with the torch on the front, and he’s not happy.
‘Izz Armstrong?’ he’s shouting.
‘Yes, yes. We’re leaving. We know,’ I yell out.
I stand and make my way towards Izz.
‘Take one last look,’ I tell her sadly. ‘They’re going to take my key off me, for sure.’
Lucy’s behind me too, her hand on my elbow, hovering.
‘Let’s go back to your place,’ she says. ‘I have to start packing – get back to Birmingham soon.’
‘Are you Izz?’ Mr Collins shouts again.
‘I am,’ she calls back. ‘What wants to know?’
