He opens a door off the hallway and Eddie pokes his head in, but doesn’t invite us to see. Instead we’re ushered through to the open-plan kitchen-cum-living room. A clearly ancient sofa is strewn with faded throws. There are more posters, and a shrivelled spider plant trails from a wonky bookshelf. It’s like an extension of a boy’s bedroom – although the only plant life in Eddie’s bedroom has been the mould in his abandoned coffee cups. But endearingly, the boys have obviously tried to personalise the place, and make it homely. Candles in wine bottles are crammed onto the mantelpiece and a large embroidered floor cushion dominates the centre of the room.
‘Welcome, man.’ Raj grins. ‘Your new home!’
‘Brilliant,’ Eddie says, and I can see how happy he is to be with friends of his own age, just as he should be.
‘Calum’ll be back soon,’ Raj tells him. ‘We’ll go out for a few beers later.’
‘Great!’
‘Sure we can’t help you unpack, Eddie?’ I ask.
‘No, no, it’s fine.’ He shakes his head. Then Calum appears, and as they’re lovely, well-brought-up young men, there’s the offer of tea or coffee before we head home.
‘No, they’ll need to get back,’ Eddie says quickly.
‘Actually, I could do with a cuppa.’ I shoot him a quick look. ‘Thank you, Calum.’ Eddie looks as if he’s in actual physical pain as tea is made, and we drink it. Then relief floods his face when I say, ‘Okay, we’d better get going.’
‘All right, Mum. Great!’ So we get up to leave, and as we head along the hallway I can’t resist peeking into his room. The walls are dingy magnolia and marred withvarious scuffs and stains. There’s a melamine chest of drawers, a small wardrobe leaning precariously to one side, and a lumpy bare mattress on the single bed. My heart squeezes as Frank and I exchange a quick look.
‘Shall we get you a few things,’ I start, ‘just to make it more homely?’
‘No, it’s all right.’
‘Honestly, I don’t mind, love. I could order some stuff, have it sent here—’
‘There’s nothing I need.Nothing,’ Eddie says firmly.
I eye the tall, narrow bedroom window. In lieu of a blind or a curtain, a faded bath towel has been nailed up. ‘How about a curtain, Ed?’ his father suggests.
‘No thanks, Dad.’
‘Or a blind?’ I add. ‘We could easily order a—’
‘It’s allright,’ Eddie insists, in a tone that saysStop fussing, old people!
Then he virtually manhandles us downstairs, like a bouncer dispensing of undesirables, as I implore him to take care in the restaurant kitchen (I can’t stop thinking about his grated thumb) and to set an alarm so he’s not late for work and to at least try and getsomesleep before he starts.
‘Yeah-yeah,’ he mutters.
Outside, on the pavement, I will myself not to cry as I pull him in for a hug. ‘Look after yourself, darling,’ I gush.
‘Yeah, take care, son,’ Frank says, his voice cracking a little. He hugs Eddie too.
‘I will. ’Course I will.’
‘… And if you need anything, Eddie,’ I add. ‘Anything at all—’
‘Mum, please stop worrying,’ he says, grinning and shaking his head now. ‘You can trust me, y’know.’ Then he steps back into the scruffy hallway and firmly shuts the door.
Chapter Six
Eddie
Eddie thought he’d never get rid of them. His parents, that is, yacking away to Calum and Raj:I saw your dad on the beach, Calum. He’s looking well. Oh, and your mum was in the library the other day, Raj! I was saying we do miss you boys being around. Eating us out of house and home, haha! D’you miss my apple crumble? I was thinking the other day, remember that time I took you all out trick or treating? And Raj, you were so polite, taking one of Brenda Murray’s nasty muffins and feeling obliged to eat it. You spat it out into a bush—
Actually, that had been his mum (Eddie’s dad tends to stand there, waiting for her to finish). On and on, she’d gone – for weeks, it felt like. And then, just as she was winding up, Calum had offered them a cup of tea, the traitor! Couldn’t he see that Eddie was desperate for his new life to start? And how long did it take to drink a cup of tea?
Another age, it felt to Eddie as he watched his mum sip-sip-sip. Seasons changed, devices slipped into obsolescence and still she was clutching that chipped red mug, firing questions about Calum’s mum’s poetry writing. At one point she’d stopped and gazed happily around the room. ‘They’re amazingly spacious, aren’t they, these flats?’
