“Oh, you know...” Her mum let out an exaggerated sigh and then lowered her voice to a stage whisper. “I’m so busy with all my voluntary work, but your father’s been at a loose end ever since he retired. I come home and find him sulking round the house like a teenager.”
“He was a doctor for almost forty years, Mum. It’s going to take him a while to get used to his new pace of life.”
“I know that,” Pauline snapped. “But he needs to hurry up and find a hobby before he drives me mad. I can’t even convince him to play golf these days, and you know how he normally loves that. All this stress doesn’t help.”
“What stress?”
“You, of course. We really thought you and Simon were serious. You told us you were going to get engaged when you turned thirty.”
“That’s what we’d planned. I’m sorry, Mum.”
“I’m not blaming you, darling. It’s just so strange. I mean, your father and I have been together for thirty-six years and he’s not grown bored withmeyet.”
Libby opened her mouth to respond, but her sister swept in. “Lunch is ready. Bring the salad, will you?”
They all sat round the kitchen table as Rebecca served up grilled salmon, quinoa, and salad. Libby saw her dad’s nose wrinkle, but he knew better than to criticize Rebecca. Libby didn’t blame him for his reaction, though. After two weeks of Rebecca’s healthy cooking, Libby was dying for a Sunday roast.She and Simon had had one religiously every week, always with Yorkshire puddings and a bottle of wine, before they’d collapse on the sofa to watch a film. Libby felt a physical pain at the memory.
“So, any news on when Rosalita’s coming back?” Pauline asked Rebecca.
“No. I messaged her this morning and apparently her mum is sicker than they originally thought and she might have to have an operation.”
“Poor thing,” Libby said.
“I know. It’s a bloody nightmare.”
Libby looked at her sister. “I meant, poor Rosalita.”
“Well, yes, her too, of course. It’s just bad timing, that’s all. I’m working on a big new deal and Tom’s traveling lots, plus, we’re starting another round of IVF. I could really do with knowing when she’ll be back.”
“Well, at least you’ve got Libby here to help for now,” Pauline said. “It sounds like she’s not going back to Simon anytime soon.”
“Yes, what have you been doing with all your free time, Elizabeth?” her dad asked.
“Oh, this and that.” In truth, when she wasn’t with Hector, Libby spent most of her time huddled on the sofa rewatchingTitanic. A couple of times she’d considered doing some drawing, but as soon as she picked up a pencil, she’d remember her excruciating humiliation at the hands of the stranger on the bus and drop it like it was red-hot.
“I keep telling her she should go to the gym,” Rebecca said, skewering a piece of cucumber with her fork.
“I’m not really a gym person.”
“Well, maybe you could give it a go, seeing as you’ve gotnothing else to do?” her mum said. “It would be good for your mental health. Plus, you do look like you’ve let yourself go a bit recently.”
“Pauline!” Rebecca’s husband gave an awkward laugh.
“I’m just saying, Tom, it might be time she started thinking about her appearance a bit more.”
“I also suggested a haircut,” Rebecca said.
“Ooh, now, that’s a good idea,” Pauline said. “You had shorter hair when you and Simon first met.”
“My hairdresser, Antoni, is a miracle worker; if anyone can sort Libby’s hair out, he can.”
Libby focused on her salmon, but the texture was slimy and it was making her feel sick.
“Maybe you could do some shopping as well, spruce up your wardrobe,” Pauline said, warming to the makeover theme.
“What’s wrong with my clothes?” Libby asked, and then immediately regretted it when Rebecca smirked.
“Nothing’s wrong per se,” her mum said. “It’s just... Well, you still dress like you did when you were a teenager, jeans and boring plain tops.”
