‘Poor Vince with that broken arm,’ she announces. ‘Well, at least you’ve come back to your senses now. At least you’re back where you belong.’
I watch her leave the room. ‘Just ignore her,’ George says quietly.
I smile, grateful that he’s here. I hadn’t seen him since spring. He’s almost impossible to pin down, and even when he’s around, Malena has to virtually force him to socialise. ‘Oh, it’s fine. It’s just Mum being Mum,’ I remark. ‘You know how mothers often think no one’s good enough for their kid?’
George grins. ‘Yeah. I guess that’s pretty common.’
‘In our mum’s case no one’s good enough for Vince.’ We chuckle conspiratorially, then go through to the crowded living room where Mum is holding court, telling everyone about those camping holidays she took us on all those years ago and making me show everyone the honesty stall photo.
Everyone’s heard it all before. But no one minds – certainly not George and me because Mum is incredible really. She masterminded our escape from Dad. She worked three jobs so she could provide us with whatever we needed, and bought George his first piano.
And now we’re all together again over an immense Boxing Day feast. Everyone pitches in to help – even Vince with his arm in a cast. We’ve moved the kitchen table to the living room and extended it so everyone can fit around it. Dishes are passed back and forth amidst chatter and laughter, glasses constantly refilled. Edie remembers that George doesn’t like gravy or greens; just lamb and potatoes for him. She loves her quiet, shy Uncle George, who performs all over the world and doesn’t say an awful lot. But he’s happy, I can tell, with his family around him.
‘Tell them about your trip to Tokyo, George!’ Mum commands him.
‘Maybe later.’ He smiles.
‘He’s so modest.’ She tuts loudly, badgering him some more, and I’m relieved that her attention is focused on him for now.
When everyone’s gone, and it’s just Vince, Edie and me, we settle into cosy days of watching films and perpetually snacking – a little world of our own. Then one day, having checked that Vince really will be okay on his own, Edie and I head to London for a visit. ‘It’s time you two got out from under my feet,’ he joked, virtually shoving us out of the door.
While Edie catches up with university friends, I meet a gang including Tash and Ingrid, my old boss at the museum. She urges me to apply for the vacancy straight after New Year, but tonight’s not the night for work talk.
‘You’re interested, though, aren’t you?’ she asks, eyes shining.
‘I could be. We’ll see.’
‘Imagine, being back with all your friends! It’s where you belong, Kate.’
Icanimagine. But I’m not quite the person I was, when I scrambled out of the bathroom window six months ago. Later, Tash and I talk into the night, considering all my choices. ‘You’ll get a gut feeling of what do to,’ she says.
And I think she’s right.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
The next day I cross town to meet up with Alice, who jumps up from the restaurant table when she sees me. She’s as chic as ever in slim black trousers and a cream roll-neck sweater, her silvery bob expertly blow-dried. ‘Kate! So good to see you. How was your Christmas?’ She grimaces as if to add,Was it terrible?
‘It was actually fine,’ I tell her. ‘Far better than I’d even dared to hope.’
‘And what about Vince?’ She knows about his accident. When I messaged her I wasn’t sure if she’d respond. She was right to be angry of course. But apparently, that soon dissipated.I’d have found out if I’d checked my emails,she messaged, as if it had been her fault really.But I’ve always been terrible at that. Max despairs of me. And if I had found out, then maybe we wouldn’t have had all that wonderful time together and I wouldn’t have you in my life.
Even so, I’m relieved to know that the agency fully refunded the real Kate’s fee, albeit somewhat belatedly. Alice even wanted to pay it to me – but there was no question of that.
‘Vince has been great, actually,’ I tell her now. ‘And it’s been lovely to spend so much time with Edie.’
‘And your mum?’ Alice arches a brow.
I smile as the waiter glides over. ‘My brother was there, and she adores him, you know. So between him and Vince there wasn’t an awful lot of focus on me...’
‘And that was okay?’
‘Definitely,’ I say truthfully.
We order lunch in the delightful old-fashioned bistro she chose for today. (‘My treat,’ she insisted, ‘and no arguments!’) She tells me that Osprey House has a potential buyer: ‘A couple in their thirties from down here. Full of energy and ideas. They want to turn it into a proper little boutique hotel.’
‘That’s great,’ I enthuse, sensing a lightness about her that wasn’t apparent in Scotland. ‘It must be a weight off your mind,’ I add.
‘I suppose it is. Anyway, the estate agent said they’re planning to put in an offer any day now. So let’s see.’
