‘Hey, I’m not judging.’ He chuckles, which illuminates his whole face. ‘You should see the junk Marielle and I get through. My wife has a very sweet tooth.’
‘My mum’s coming this weekend, and she’s also got a sweet tooth, so this is for her too …’ He looks slightly bemused as I blabber on about my mum and how she can only stay for one night because of her dogs, even though her partner, Mick, will be at home to look after them. I’m totally over-sharing but there is something about him that makes me feel like a child, not the forty-three-year-old mother of one that I am.
Marielle emerges from the house holding a hessian bag from the posh deli around the corner. Between us we scoop up my multipack of biscuits, the family-sized bag of crisps, a huge slab of Dairy Milk, and deposit them in the bag.
‘Thank you so much. I’ll go and dump this lot now but it’s so lovely to meet you both,’ I say again, aware I’m gabbling.
‘You too,’ says Marielle.
I let myself into the house and close the door behind me, my armpits damp. God, that was embarrassing. What a great first impression they’ll have of me, flapping, sweating and over-sharing.
I notice Rufus’s trainers chucked by the doormat and I’m pleased he’s home from college already. I carry the shopping to the kitchen and Phoenix, my latte-coloured Cavachon, trots over to greet me, acting like I’ve been gone all day and not just an hour at the supermarket. I put the shopping on the worktop and throw open the patio doors. Our rear garden is a sun-trap and the lawn is already patchy and dry after the last ten days of intense heat. According to the forecast we can expect the heatwave to go on for another week or two.
Rufus is in the sitting room with the blinds closed. When I come in, he pauses the TV on a close-up of James Stewart’s face and turns to me, looking guilty. He’s watchingRear Windowagain. Tonight it’sThe Third Manbecause Rufus is doing afilm-noirmodule for his media-studies course. I love how we’ve made watching a movie a regular Thursday-night event since last November, which coincided with Charlie moving out. I know it’s Rufus’s way ofoffering his support: our love of movies has always been our thing. With his father it’s music.
‘Have you started without me?’
Rufus shakes his head. ‘Ah, sorry, Mum. I can’t tonight. I totally forgot, Dad’s got that gig later and he asked if I’d help out. He’s gonna pay me and Freddie to be his roadies.’ Freddie is a new friend from college whom Rufus has been talking a lot about these last few months. He seems a nice enough lad. Rufus had got in with the wrong group in year eleven and one of his supposed ‘friends’ bullied him so I’m pleased he’s making new ones. It was unfortunate he didn’t go to the same school as my best friend Jo’s son Archie as the two of them always got on, despite being quite different. Rufus couldn’t wait to move to sixth-form college instead of staying on.
‘But it’s a Thursday night and you have college tomorrow …’
He runs a hand through his thick mop of hair. ‘I know, and I’d never usually miss it but Dad said this gig’s important. It’s, like, a really big crowd.’ I brush away my disappointment. Rufus is young: he should be out with his friends, not stuck in with me.
‘Okay. What time will you be back?’
‘I’ll stay at Dad’s tonight and he’ll drop me to college in the morning.’
My heart sinks. I hate being in the house at night on my own, even though I’ll have to get used to it when Rufus leaves.
To hide my feelings, I move to the window to open the blinds. Marielle and Henry are still in their front garden.
‘Also, Mum, been meaning to ask. Could I have some guitar lessons?’
I turn to face him. ‘Isn’t your dad teaching you?’
He pulls a face. ‘Dad only knows the basics and I need someone … more experienced.’ Charlie is a brilliant drummer but not so great on guitar.
‘How much are the lessons?’ Since Charlie and I split up money has been tight. I don’t earn much as an adviser at Citizens Advice and the modest inheritance my dad left me eighteen months ago has dwindled.
He gets up from the sofa and turns off the TV. ‘Not much. This guy is offering discounts if we sign up to a term. I shouldn’t need that many lessons. Dad knows the guy. He’s said it’s okay by him but I have to ask you too.’
‘I’ll talk to Dad about it,’ I promise. In my peripheral vision I can see Marielle pulling out a weed. ‘Hold on a sec. I need to give a bag back to the new neighbours before I forget. Long story,’ I add, when he frowns. ‘They seem nice. Older. Posh.’
I leave the room and go to the kitchen, grab the bag off the worktop and rush out of the front door. I’m about to cross to our boundary wall when Henry’s expression makes me hesitate. Marielle has her back to me, her shoulders slumped.
‘I’ve already said, we can’t discuss this now,’ he hisses. ‘It’s too dangerous.’ He notices me and lowers his gaze. Without saying another word he stalks off into the house. Marielle turns to face me and … Is it my imagination or is her smile a little wobbly?
I walk towards her, holding out the bag. ‘Sorry for interrupting. I just wanted to give you this back.’
‘Oh, you weren’t.’ She leans over the wall, takes it from me and clutches it to her chest.
‘Oh, okay, good. Thanks.’ I give a pathetic little wave and retreat into my house, wishing I’d waited before returning the bag.
I wonder what they were talking about and why Henry was so cross.
2
Rufus is in the back garden with his recording equipment. He’s had it on loan from college for the past few days, and we’ve had fun using it to gather sound for his project. I’m not very technical but Rufus patiently showed me how to use it and last night we managed to pick up the cries of foxes and the hoot of an owl, which he was really pleased with.
