I don’t have the energy to explain we hadn’t exchanged numbers.
‘Mummy!’ I hear one of the twins calling again.
‘I’ll call you later. Holly?’ She waits. If I talk, I’m scared I might burst into tears. ‘Are you OK?’
‘Uh-huh.’ I bite my lip.
‘You’re not, are you?’
‘No.’ My voice crumbles.
‘Come over now? Holly?’
‘MUMMY!’ I hear crying. Screaming.
‘Dave!’ Milla shouts. ‘Sort them out, will you!’
‘Don’t worry, I’m fine,’ I say, thinking I’d rather be on my own. I can’t cope with the twins, not today. ‘I’ll call you later.’
‘I love you.’
‘Love you too.’
The moment the line goes dead I decide to call home. ‘Mum?’ I say the moment she picks up.
‘Oh darling, you’ve called at the worst time. It’s nearly lunch!’
‘I know, but—’
‘We have the Peacocks over, and then we’re playing bridge.’
‘Sure.’ I fight back more tears. ‘Have fun!’
‘Are you all right, darling? There’s nothing wrong, is there?’
‘No, no, send love to Dad.’
‘He’s a been a good boy today, he went to the rubbish dump.’ I hear a beeping sound. ‘Must go, don’t want the beef to burn! Bye darling. Don’t be a stranger!’
‘Bye, Mum,’ I say, for once grateful that my mother isn’t the most perceptive of people. After our call, I head into the kitchen to make myself a cup of coffee. When I open one of the cupboard doors the first thing I see is Jamie’s old chipped mug, with the initial ‘J’ on the front. I slam the door shut before rushing upstairs to bed. I lie down under the covers and soon I can’t stop crying. As I said to Nina, some days I want to stay in bed with a year’s supply of gin and Angel slices. Today is one of those days. I didn’t realise how exhausting it is to miss someone. It’s a full-time job. A job that never ends. Loneliness makes me want to curl up in a ball, and stay like this, forever.
8
‘What’s for pudding?’ Tom asks, poking his head through the hatch. Despite the heat, I mean it’s July for goodness sake, he’s wearing a thick woolly Nottingham Forest football scarf over a black chunky-knit cardigan.
‘Don’t know yet,’ I say, staring at the ingredients, Lauren’s presence distracting me. I don’t have enough space to think straight, let alone cook. Since last weekend I haven’t heard from Angus and he hasn’t made an appearance at the café yet.
‘What’s for pudding?’ Tom stares at me. ‘Can we have chocolate cake?’
‘Tom, leave poor Holly alone,’ Monika calls out, as she and Scottie slice courgettes, aubergines, carrots and butternut squash. They’re making a couple of roasted vegetable trays with spicy chicken thighs.
‘Otherwise, there won’t be any pudding, mate,’ Scottie says, adding, ‘Lauren, can you peel some spuds?’
‘Yes, Chef.’
Tom’s face drops before he shuffles off despondently, muttering, ‘Why does everyone hate me?’
‘No one hates you,’ I call out, watching him plonk himself down at the table next to Simona, who is working on the table decorations and flowers. It’s a mixture of roses, carnations and freesias today. ‘Cheer up, Tom,’ says Simona, thrusting some freesias towards him. Funnily enough, that doesn’t cheer him up.
