‘She’s been trotting along here every day this past week, with this little fella. Have arranged to go on a longer walk with them both tomorrow.’
‘Ah, she didn’t mention it.’
‘Umm… Well, I did only suggest it in passing. She’s probably forgotten. And she’ll want to spend time with you, no doubt.’
For once, Vic didn’t air the inquisitive thoughts that were spinning around her head. ‘She’s great, though, Jake. I don’t know what’s happened. She’s like a different woman. It’s a breath of fresh air to see her so happy and sober.’
‘I’m so pleased.’ Jake paused. ‘For both of your sakes. How are you doing anyway, Victoria? You weren’t in a good place when I saw you last.’
‘I’m fine.’ She looked down and straightened a kink in Chandler’s lead as he tried to jump up on the boat. Jake was emotionally aware enough not to question the ‘fine’ on this occasion. ‘Not now, matey.’ Vic pulled the errant hound to her side. She looked back to see Joti now walking towards them down the river path and waved to her. ‘That’s Mum’s neighbour. We’re just having a walk together. She’s lovely.’
Without looking down the path, Jake checked his watch. ‘That’s nice. I’m always here with an ear. You know that. But for now, as you have company anyway, I’m going to love youand leave you, as there’s a programme on Radio 4 I’ve been waiting to listen to. See you soon, love.’
He disappeared inside.
TWENTY-ONE
SLOUGH
The Drop-in Centre
April 2006
Taking a deep breath, Vic took hold of the bee-shaped knocker and banged the door to the jaded Victorian end-of-terrace house. It was opened by a woman of around fifty, Vic guessed, with dyed blonde hair tied back loosely in a clip. She was wearing jeans, a navy sweatshirt with the words ‘Positive Hope’ in white on it, and a friendly smile.
‘Sorry for taking so long,’ she said in a strong Liverpudlian accent. ‘I had the blender going in the kitchen.’ She wiped her hands on the sides of her jeans.
‘Hello…’ Vic felt suddenly nervous. ‘I’m Victoria.’
‘Well, it’s lovely to meet you, Victoria – or would you prefer Vicki?’
Victoria stopped herself from visibly cringing. ‘Just Vic or Victoria is fine.’
‘OK, Vic. Well, I’m Chrissie. I’m one of the support workers here. It’s your first time, isn’t it?’
Victoria felt her breath catch as she nodded, and Chrissie clearly noticed.
‘We are a friendly bunch here. We have a chef who comes in and does a lunch for one-ish; I was just making a cake for later, as I’m working in the office upstairs till late.’
They arrived at the kitchen door. Chrissie addressed the well-built, tattooed bald man who was stirring something on the hob. ‘All right, Doug. We have a new diner, so you best make an effort with today’s scran.’
‘You cheeky…’ The guy grinned and looked at Vic. ‘Hi. Don’t listen to this one. She boils eggs in the microwave. But welcome to Hope Cottage.’
‘Oi.’ Chrissie mock-swiped him.
‘Actually, whilst we’re in here…’ Chrissie walked further into the kitchen and pointed to the labelled canisters on the side. ‘Help yourself to tea and coffee, and there’s always biscuits or cakes in the green tin there. Actually, come on, let’s make a brew.’
With hot drinks in hand, Chrissie was then off again down the hallway, Vic following close behind. ‘Living room to your right – people just come and chat or watch television, or just sit and have some peace.’
Vic noticed a long leather sofa and armchair and a television that was showing a news channel with the sound down.
‘Between ten and three every Tuesday, fifty-two weeks a year, rain or shine, this whole place is yours to use as you wish.’ They carried on to the end of the corridor. ‘Toilet and shower room to the left, should you need it, and this – without really needing any introduction – is the dining room.’ They entered a large, airy room housing a long wooden table with mis-matching chairs. Double doors led out onto a garden, where there was a small brown shed and two bench-seated tables.
‘You’re the first in today.’
‘How many peopleusually come?’
‘Depends, really. Six, sometimes up to twelve. Some of the same faces have been coming for years; some just pop in immeditately after diagnosis to see what it’s all about, then drift off. Others, well, it’s part of their weekly routine.’
