At least, that’s the plan! It feels a little like the time Ravi asked Shane if he’d like to be in a band with her. He was trepidatious but also knew, deep in his heart, that it was going to be great.
Outside his own front door now, Shane takes a deep breath and presses the bell. When no one comes, he opens it and steps inside, ready to fix on a clenched smile – the kind you give the doctor when he makes a bland remark (‘It’ll be over before you know it!’) before the rectal examination. ‘Hello?’ he calls out.
No reply comes, so he shouts, ‘Mum?’ And then, with his heart thumping dully, he climbs the steep flight of stairs. ‘Hello? Mum – it’s me!’
Her bedroom door is shut. He swallows hard, wondering if this is it. That, while he was raking through boxes of records and merrily reminiscing about that gig at the Royal when Ravi tripped off the stage, his mother was?—
‘Is that you, Shane?’
His breath catches and he pushes the door open to find her sitting on the edge of her bed, coat buttoned up to her chin. ‘Mum!’ Relief surges over him and he hugs her.
‘Ooh!’ She smiles, lips pressed tightly together, as if she hadn’t expected that.
‘I was worried,’ he announces.
‘What for?’
He looks at her, wondering where to start. Because Pete called to say you were in the acute cardiology ward. Because until about forty seconds ago I thought you were dead.
‘Well, I know you’ve been through a tough time,’ he says.
‘Fuss over nothing,’ she declares, getting up.
‘Mum, I’ve just driven all the way up from London to see you?—’
‘Did I put you out?’
He shakes his head, exasperated. ‘No, of course not! That’s not what I meant…’ Her face softens and she does something she has never done in his life: she links her arm in his. And then, with Shane still reeling in shock, she announces, ‘I thought we could go for a walk, son. I could do with some air. I’ve been sitting here waiting for you.’
‘Sorry I’m a bit late,’ he says, flushing.
‘Ah, that’s all right.’ She peers at him, seeming to study him properly, perhaps for the first time. ‘I’ve got rid of Pete. Did I tell you that? So now I’ve got all the time in the world.’
40
JOSIE
I’m not what you’d call an expert packer. With Cora and me, even though it was only ever the two of us, we always ended up lugging way too much baggage on our trips. Toys, books and once, at the peak of our obsession, I’d brought Buckaroo all the way to a campsite in the Chilterns. However, this time my neat little black leather backpack (bought especially for this trip) screams ‘sensible minimalist packer!’ next to Rupert’s enormous hard-shell suitcase.
‘Christ,’ I mutter as we struggle to lift it onto the train’s luggage rack. ‘What’s in here? A dead horse?’
‘Just a few footwear options,’ he replies defensively, ‘and thick sweaters and a fleece-lined jacket. That took up most of the room.’ He catches my look as we find our seats. ‘We are going about 250 miles north,’ he reminds me.
‘Yes, we are. But it’s June, Rupert. You’ve packed as if we were going to Barentsburg for a winter break.’
‘Barentsburg?’ he repeats.
‘A remote little town in Norway.’
‘I didn’t know your geography was so good!’ As the train rattles northwards, it transpires that he has also packed a full set of thermal undergarments and a new power pack for his phone. He has the air of someone who truly believes that he might never make it back to London alive. Still, it was generous of him to book us into first class, an entirely new experience for me. Every time someone comes along with a trolley, dispensing sandwiches and hot drinks, I accept them gratefully.
‘You don’t need to do that.’ Rupert chuckles.
‘Do what?’ I ask.
‘Have something every time they go past.’
I laugh because, obviously, he doesn’t get it. ‘It’s that free bar thing. You know how everyone goes mental because they think it’s going to run out?’
