Sal shrugged, feigning ignorance.
Eleanor drew her eyebrows together and sat up stiffly, doing her very best Sal impression. ‘Get out of your comfort zone, Eleanor.’
‘Oi. I do not sound like that.’ Sal smirked. ‘And besides, youdoneed to get out of your comfort zone. I’m always uncomfortable, I don’t think I can handle any more.’
Eleanor refused to let Sal divert the conversation back to her. ‘You can. If anyone can, it’s you.’ She flicked a rogue scrap of paper across the table at her friend. ‘Now … are you going to tell me about this man or not?’
Sal smiled shyly, refilling her glass of wine. ‘What do you want to know?’
‘Erm, how abouteverything!’ Eleanor cried.
‘His name is Paul, he’s forty-two, has his own consultancy business, lives in Wimbledon.’ Sal reeled off his credentials formally.
‘Comeon, Sal. I need more than this. I want a photo; I want all the details of the dates. You can’t hold out on me.’
Sal sat back and folded her arms. ‘Fine, I’ll tell you anything you want to know, if you go and order us another bottle?’
‘Deal!’ Eleanor stood up immediately, allowing the thoughts of her dad to momentarily take a back seat.
*
The drive to their mum’s on Sunday had been conducted in near silence. Neither Freya nor Eleanor felt like talking. What was there to say? Besides, they knew they would need to save as much of their energy as possible for handling their mother.
‘Are you ready?’ Eleanor turned anxiously to face Freya as they slowly dragged their feet up to the front door.
Freya took a deep breath. ‘As I’ll ever be.’ She reached out and squeezed Eleanor’s hand briefly. ‘We’ll be OK, we have each other. And Fin.’
‘True.’ Eleanor’s anxiety settled momentarily at the thoughtof Fin’s presence. Slowly, she knocked on the door. ‘She won’t be too wild with guests around.’
‘Fin’s hardly a guest,’ Freya shot back.
All of a sudden, the pink front door swung open to reveal their mother, standing and smiling with her arms wide open. ‘My babies. It feels like a lifetime since I last saw you both.’ She pulled them into one of her fierce embraces and held on tightly.
‘OK, Mum, you’re hurting me now,’ Freya groaned.
‘Sorry, sweetie, I forget my own strength sometimes.’ Their mother released her grip and smiled adoringly at them.
‘How are you?’ Eleanor asked tentatively.
‘Fine. Fine.’ She waved her hands as though her grief were nothing more than an irksome fly. ‘Come in. Lunch is nearly ready and Fin’s already here,’ Angela stated, before turning around and disappearing into the kitchen.
Slowly Eleanor hung up her coat and walked into the kitchen. A photograph of her dad had been placed proudly in the centre of the table. God, she missed him.
‘Right, come on now, sit yourselves down. We have a lot of food to get through.’ Her mum laughed, unloading dish after dish on to the table.
‘Hey.’ Fin waved at her from across the table. The look of relief on his face at their arrival was undeniable. She knew how it felt to be on the receiving end of her mother’s mania. Support was a necessity.
‘Woah, how long did this all take?’ Freya marvelled at the piles of food on the table.
‘Oh, it was nothing. You know I like to make your dad’s favourites and, my word, did he have a lot of favourites!’ She chortled.
Eleanor’s heart shook once again at the memory of her father.
‘Fin, are you OK there?’ Angela fussed.
‘Fine, thank you. It all looks wonderful, Angela,’ he replied.
‘Sit, girls, please!’ their mother insisted. ‘And help yourselves,’ she said, piling Eleanor’s plate with potato salad and shepherd’s pie.
