Elaine, she noticed, gave Mam a searching look, no doubt storing the jeans, trainers and Paddington Bear sweatshirt in her mental filing cabinet as evidence to be relied upon at a later date. She hadn’t worked all those years in admin at the police station in Millensea for nothing.
Short and stocky, with hair that was now more grey than the rose gold it had once been, she was wearing a very sensible dress and cardigan, as befitting a woman of seventy-four. Christopher, at seventy-six, was equally well-dressed in smart trousers, a shirt and tie, and a woollen sleeveless jumper. No one could ever accuse them of looking like they’d just rolled out of bed and thrown on the first things they could lay their hands on.
As Alison’s dad strolled up to the table with a tray of drinks in his hands, she noticed his baggy jogging bottoms, and remembered that, under his coat, he was wearing a sweatshirt with a popular fashion logo partly obscured by a tea stain that he’d failed to remove properly that morning.
She looked down at her ancient black leggings and old grey jumper, and then at Rosie in her skinny jeans and low-cut, bright pink T-shirt, fingers adorned with rings, gold hoop earrings dangling from her earlobes, her eyelashes heavy with mascara and her lips pink and glossy and wondered how two branches of the same family could be so different.
‘I thought you’d never get here,’ Rosie told her. Without even waiting for her uncle to take off his coat, she grabbed the menus and began handing them out.
Her father lifted an eyebrow. ‘Rosie,’ he said quietly.
Rosie gave him a pleading look. ‘Yes, but I’m hungry.’
‘But you’re not starving,’ he said. ‘Let them get settled before you start haranguing them, for goodness’ sake.’
‘Sorry, Dad,’ Rosie said meekly, giving Alison a sideways eyeroll.
‘And I saw that,’ he added, his mouth twitching in amusement.
Rosie laughed. ‘All right, all right, I get it. Behave yourself, Rosie.’
‘Chance would be a fine thing,’ her mother said, shaking her head. ‘I think your brother must have got your share of the manners.’
To Rosie’s credit she didn’t bite. Although her mother had a habit of pointing out how saintly and wonderful Niall was, it had never bothered Rosie. Alison knew how much she loved her brother, and that she wasn’t about to let her mother’s uneven handouts of praise affect their relationship. Besides, Rosie realised her mam and dad adored her just as much. Her mam just had a funny way of showing it sometimes.
‘To be fair,’ Alison’s dad said, handing her the Diet Coke she’d asked for and placing his wife’s mango and pineapple juice in front of her, ‘Iamstarving, so I’ll have one of them menus, Rosie, if you don’t mind.’
‘See?’ Rosie said triumphantly, handing her uncle the menu as she gave her dad a smug look. ‘Not just me.’
Her father shook his head, but he was smiling.
Elaine raised her glass. ‘To you, Alison. A belated happy birthday.’
Alison smiled as they all toasted her, resisting the urge to point out that she was far too old for birthdays, since she was actually the second youngest there.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘And thanks so much for the lovely presents and cards. I really appreciate them. I’ve messaged Niall and Kendra to thank them, too.’
‘They would have joined us,’ Elaine said, ‘but you know Sunday’s a busy day for Niall.’
Niall, who at forty-six was three years older than Rosie, was the vicar at St Saviour’s Church in Millensea, a small seaside town about ten miles and a twenty-minute drive up the coast. He and his wife, Kendra, lived in a modern vicarage with their two children, and it amused Alison and her mother no end how awed Elaine was, both by Niall’s ‘calling’ and by Kendra’s ‘support and commitment to his calling’.
Rosie had told them that, whenever her brother and sister-in-law visited, her mam would buy fresh flowers for the sitting room, dust and hoover the house as if she was preparing it for a royal visit and bake a cake especially for the occasion.
‘She puts a scented candle in the bathroom an’ all,’ she’d added. ‘One day I hope Kendra drops by unannounced. Mam’ll die of shame.’
‘Chicken and mushroom pie,’ Dad said, passing his menu back along the table. ‘Can’t beat it.’
‘I don’t know why you needed the menu,’ Mam said. ‘It’s all you ever want anyway.’
‘Are you not having a starter?’ Elaine asked.
‘I’d rather have a pudding,’ Rosie told her.
The rest of them nodded in agreement, causing Elaine’s face to fall in clear disappointment, as if she couldn’t possibly have a starter if the rest of them weren’t.
Gently, her husband pointed out that they had her favourite crème brûlée available and maybe she’d prefer to skip a starter in favour of pudding after all, so the crisis was averted. He placed their orders at the bar and informed them that he’d ordered them all another round of drinks as well and had settled the bill. ‘My treat,’ he added, holding up his hands as they protested. ‘I insist.’
Everyone thanked him and Alison’s dad raised his glass in his brother’s direction. ‘Fair enough,’ he said comfortably. ‘I’ll get it next time though.’
