Her mum switches the radio on, and the three of them set to work on the roast, Lissa rubbing butter over the chicken before sliding it into the oven.
‘So,’ her mum says. ‘Are you seeing anyone, Lissa?’
‘Sheis,’ Mia says smugly, like she, personally, is the one to thank for that.
‘Ah, actually …’
Mia shoots her a look, and Lissa grimaces an apology.
‘You didn’t go to dinner?’ The question is accusatory.
‘I did. I tried.’ She decides not to mention that the highlight of the evening was talking to Ash in the car. ‘But Mia, if I’m more interested in the neighbouring table’s discussion about the merits of keto versus a plant-based diet, then he’s definitely not The One.’
Mia purses her lips, and for a moment Lissa thinks she’s going to push the issue, tell her again that she’s not trying. Esme looks between the two of them. ‘So shall I take that as a no on the seeing-someone front?’
Lissa blows out a breath. ‘Yes. Definitely a no.’ Maybe it’s the dream-slash-flashbacks she’s having that’s making her want more? Romance and excitement rather than a date who can’t be bothered to leave the office on time to meet her. Then again, she meant what she said to Mia in the pub. If she’s having panic attacks in the office, still suffering from nightmares about her sister’s death and convincing herself that she’s experiencing memories of previous lifetimes, then she’s not in the best place to start something, is she?
‘And Mia?’ Her mum seems determined to keep the bright tone firmly in place. ‘How’s your love life?’
Mia waves a hand in the air. ‘Oh, all kinds of nonexistent.’
‘I know that feeling,’ Esme says, offering a small smile.
Lissa can’t help the subtle exchange of glances with Mia. Her mum never talks about her love life – or lack of it. She’s been single – and, as far as Lissa can tell, celibate – since her dad left.
Esme glances over at Lissa, frowning like she saw the look. ‘What about your American girl,’ Lissa says quickly. ‘Lottie?’
Mia laughs lightly. ‘I don’t think the odd WhatsApp message counts as a relationship, do you?’
Lissa shrugs. ‘Some people might disagree.’
‘You’re dating someone in America?’ Esme’s voice is a touch too sharp.
‘Oh no,’ Mia says. ‘She’s only teasing. I don’t have time for dating anyway right now. Work’s a bit mental.’
‘Still in that same job? London, right?’
‘That’s right,’ Mia says. Is it just Lissa, or does Mia’s voice carry the same forced brightness as her own?
‘Something up at work?’ she asks. She’s always had the impression that Mia enjoys her job as an engineer, even if not the commute.
‘Nope. Just busy.’ Mia catches Lissa’s gaze, gives a subtle shake of her head. Lissa lets it drop. If she doesn’t want to talk about it here, that’s fair enough.
‘What about you, Mum?’ she asks, a little tentatively. ‘How have you been?’
‘Oh, I tick along. I’ve cut back my hours at the hospital, but even part-time it’s still a lot. Still, it gives me purpose, and that’s something to be thankful for, isn’t it?’
‘Sure,’ Lissa says as neutrally as she can. It’s a line to walk with her mum – you never quite know when she’s going to turn. And Esme hasn’t really talked aboutpurposebefore, so much aspunishment.Still, Lissa supposes it’s true – nice to have something to keep you moving forward. She wishes her job had the same effect on her. So far, she’s not heard back from a single one of the latest round of job applications.
‘You are looking after yourself, aren’t you, Lissa?’ her mum asks abruptly. ‘You’re exercising, eating right?’
‘Yes, Mum.’
‘And those headaches you were having – you went to see the doctor about them?’
Lissa hesitates. She should never have told her mum about the headaches – she was tired and stressed and Esme had caught her off guard. ‘Yes,’ she lies. She actually managed to stop herself going to the doctor, remembering what had happened the last time she’d demanded an appointment for a headache, and how they’d sent her on her way with instructions to take paracetamol, along with the distinct feeling that she was wasting valuable resources. ‘It was just tiredness, that’s all.’
Mia glances between the two of them, but says nothing. Perhaps she knows there’s no point – Lissa will always be inclined to worry about the little things, and her mum, when she remembers, will always be inclined to feed that worry.
