Finally, full of coffee and pastry, we are all kindred spirits, as it’s leaving time.
‘Whisper usually waits outside,’ says Miss Primrose with a definite smile, staring down at her dog.
I smile back. ‘Teddy loves dogs and she may have led Whisper astray,’ I say, and I shuffle us all out the door before someone reports the café for health code violations.
Myself and ahyped-up Teddy head for home with atake-out latte for Dan.
He greets me in the kitchen, stillwoolly-headed from sleep, and delighted to see coffee for himself.
This morning, he has an uncomfortable look on his face.
‘My mother was thinking of coming withhouse-warming presents on Monday or Tuesday afternoon when the children are home from school, if you’re not working. I can be here.’
‘Gwanny,’ says Teddy, scenting presents for herself. She has her eye on a Sylvanian family mansion that will make ours look small.
‘Yes, Gwanny and she asks if she can bring Mrs Markham,’ Dan says at speed.
Break bad news hastily.
I’m glad I have some quality caffeine inside me to soften the blow.
Why now?
Mrs Markham is Elisa’s mother, a steely woman who runs an interior design firm where ordinaryside-table lamps cost thousands and curtains could set you back the price of a small car. We see her once a year at Christmas at a neutral venue, once or twice with Elisa when the international modelling world (snort) can let her go. Elisa has a nose like a 747. Have I mentioned this?
‘Why does Adele want to see us now?’ I say to Dan, managing not to snap. ‘It’s not Christmas.’
‘They wouldn’t stay long,’ he says, not answering my question.
‘But why does she want to come here?’
‘She told my mother she wants to see Lexi. It doesn’t have to be here.’
‘Well, she can’t,’ I say, fear and anger battling for supremacy in my mind.
I do not want any part of Elisa’s family involved with my daughter apart from at specifically designated times. How dare Elisa’s mother think she can waltz in here now and see her and us.
‘She has a gift for Lexi. An aunt died, there’s a piece of jewellery for each of the grandchildren ...’
Dan’s voice trails off when he sees my face.
‘The grandchildren?’ I hiss. ‘Where was the worry for the grandchildren when Lexi was little?’
Roughly translated, this means: where was Adele Markham when it came to installing moral values or basic common sense into her daughter so she would not leave her child behind in restaurants.
I burn on Lexi’s behalf about this. Elisa handed her over and drifted off to Spain, child forgotten.How could she?
I know Dan also feels huge guilt over how he never realised how hopeless a mother Elisa was, but he doesn’t care in the samelong-range way I do. He says he tries very hard to like Elisa – ‘for Lexi’s sake’, he always points out, lest I go into one of my ‘you’re sticking up for her!’ rants.
‘Point taken,’ he says easily. ‘Mum can come alone. I thought I’d mention it.’
‘It’s mentioned,’ I say, but I feel scared. And angry. Why now? Lexi knows who gave birth to her but as Elisa married some rich Spanish guy and now bakes herself the colour and texture of unpolished mahoghany in a ritzy Mediterranean spot, she is gloriously out of reach.
Why does her mother want to come now, away from our strictly agreed Christmas schedule?
Not that I believe in novenas, but I immediately plan to get Granny Bridget saying one of her ‘for hopeless cases’ ones on the grounds that I need all the spiritual help I can get to keep the Markhams out of our lives.
I might stick a few rowan tree branches in a vase too, as well as finding my ancient smudging stick – Maura got it somewhere and gave it to me. It is supposed to protect your home, although when you burn it, it does smell like a music festival circa 1980 in amarijuana-ish way.
