With this happy thought in mind, I race to his drawer where he neatly stores all receipts. He’s so anal about things like that, whereas I just dump everything into a big box and try not to look at it again because of how guilty my shopping receipts make me feel.
Finally, I find the receipt for his shirt – except it’s not a proper receipt. It’s a gift receipt. From an expensive store – the kind Nate would never visit without me dragging him in there.
This time, I’m not the one who has something to feel guilty about. Why would he lie to me?
24
Bea
Luke is staying with Mum tonight, along with the puppies. When she heard that Nate and Marin’s party was today, she insisted on a sleepover. ‘Just in case you meet someone, darling, and end up staying later, having a drink and getting a taxi. Christmas parties are very good for that, you know.’ Unlikely, since I’ll know everyone there, but I’ll welcome a sleep in.
When I arrive with Luke and the puppies, who go everywhere with Luke now, an elegant older gentleman with white hair and a sailing tan is busily doing something to the hinges on Mum’s cloakroom door, which has been hanging badly lately.
‘I’m sure you could do it yourself, Mabel,’ he’s saying. ‘You’re so very competent but you need the right tools.’
I think he might be a tad deaf as he doesn’t hear us at first but then Luke and the puppies make themselves known.
‘Hello, there,’ he says and I instantly like him. He could be a model for an attractive older gentleman in a knitting catalogue with twinkling eyes and an engaging smile.
‘I’m Cliff and you must be Bea. And this young man must be Luke – how lovely to meet you all.’
The dogs, whom I believe are great judges of humanity, fling themselves on him and he instantly crouches down, which pleases Luke no end.
‘This is Sausage and this is Doughnut,’ he says. ‘Sausage is not allowed to eat sausages. The vet said so.’
Within moments, Cliff has shaken my hand and he and Luke are on the floor with the puppies, engaged in conversations about what dogs cannot eat – grapes particularly bad, they both agree, and Cliff is talking about his first dog, a small Labrador. Mum comes through from the kitchen, a big smile already on her face.
‘That dog was so very lovely to cuddle, just like Sausage and Doughnut are,’ he says and I have a vision of him being wonderful with grandchildren.
Mum must have read my mind.
‘Cliff has three grandchildren but they live in Japan, which means he doesn’t get to see them all the time.’
‘We Zoom,’ says Cliff proudly.
Nothing wrong with his hearing, then.
By the time I leave, I can see that Mum is nearly as besotted as Luke and the dogs, who are now sprawled on Cliff on the floor and Cliff is telling Luke how his youngest granddaughter wants a kitten for her birthday.
‘He won’t stay long and don’t worry, I won’t leave them alone for a moment. I know Cliff is still a stranger to us all,’ she says to me quietly.
I smile gratefully. I’m fearfully protective of Luke.
As I drive away, I’m still smiling because I can see how Mum’s face lights up at the sight of Cliff. But if she moves on, everyone in my little circle of love will have found someone. Everyone but me.
As I near Marin and Nate’s house, I have reached that surge of emotion I haven’t felt in years: a swell of pure loneliness. It’s not fair, I want to wail out loud as I drive along the Christmassy streets. Everyone has someone, except me.
I park on the street, make a vague attempt at wiping my eyes, but decide that I’ll fix myself up when I get in. I can race upstairs to Marin’s bathroom and do amake-up repair job before entering the fray. Hopefully, Marin or Rachel will open the door. But they don’t – Nate does and he takes one look at mytear-stained face and puts his arms around me.
‘Bea, honey,’ he croons, and I’m held against him, feeling the strength of his body as he hugs me tightly.
It feels so long since anyone did this – so very long – and I let out a sob.
He leads me into the cloakroom in the hall, shuts the door and goes back to hugging me.
‘I’m really sorry,’ I mutter. ‘It’s just...’ I can’t continue the sentence, can’t explain how lonely I feel.
So we stand there, hugging, and it begins to feel better.
