I was about to start writing out a shopping list when my phone rang. It was Mum. I sighed when I saw her name on the screen. Maybe it was because I’d just had a nice walk in the fresh air, but I actually felt equipped to answer. That didn’t mean I was looking forward to it.
‘Hi, Mum. I’m just off out to Asda. Can I call you back?’ I said.
‘Tabby,’ Mum trilled. ‘How are you? We missed you yesterday but everyone loved that dessert you made. Mary asked for the recipe.’
Right, still going the denial route. She made it sound like I’d had a stomach upset or something. Instead of leaving the house because I couldn’t bring myself to pretend she hadn’t hurt me deeply with that one question.Are you sure?
‘It’s Eton mess but with tropical fruit – cream, pre-made meringue and… fruit.’
‘Lovely, I’ll pass that on to her then.’ Mum paused for a moment and I could feel her casting about for something else to say, to keep the conversation going without dipping into anything real. The point of the call was to re-establish contact, smooth things over without having to address what had roughened them up in the first place. The way it had always been – a cup of tea a few hours after an argument. Asking if I wanted anything from the shop so I’d have to talk to her again. ‘So… Asda. Getting anything special or just a stock-up?’
I tipped my head back and looked at the ceiling. Jesus. ‘Just a weekly shop. I forgot last week. Had a lot on my mind.’ The urge to say ‘what with my boyfriend cheating on me’ was almost overpowering. I managed to resist, just.
‘Well, if they still have those multi-packs of Yorkshire Tea, can you grab me one and pop it round? You can pick up your dish at the same time. Or I can come over instead, I haven’t been to yours in a while.’
Was she angling to see Richard? Trying to find a way to work things out between us like some kind of unpaid counsellor, or was she just trying to be supportive? I wanted to believe it was the latter. Mum wasn’t by nature manipulative, she could just be a bit pig-headed sometimes. Stubborn and relentless when it came to what she thought was the best course of action. Her catchphrase in the face of any and all of my cautions had always been ‘no, it won’t’.
We should take an umbrella – it’s going to rain.
No, it won’t!
That vase will leave a water mark on the windowsill.
No, it won’t!
If we don’t go now, the shop will have run out of school uniform in my size!
No, it won’t!
Cut to me, soaking wet, wearing my too-small school jumper and repainting the windowsill. She never listened to me.
‘I’ll see if they still have them and text you,’ I said. ‘Gotta go, see you later.’
I rang off and scribbled down a quick list. Only shopping for myself was a change and the scrappy list didn’t look long enough once I’d finished. I felt a pang of regret. Was this what it was going to be like now? Buying single onions and half-sized loaves of bread just for one? Why was everything set up for pairs of people and families? Even bloody food shopping.
The drive to Asda was stressful. Sunday drivers were out in force by this time, pootling from A to B and having three to five pints before trundling back. I made it to the supermarket and parked up in the furthest corner from the shop, the only area where there were spaces. With a trolley and my list, I went in and gladly turned my brain off, wandering the shelves on autopilot and grabbing what I needed.
I was in the cleaning aisle, trying to find the cheapest laundry liquid that wouldn’t take my skin off, when I stepped back and bumped right into someone’s trolley.
‘Sorry.’ I leapt out of the way and found myself looking right at Cooper. He was still wearing the grey jumper and the hand warmers I’d made, but had exchanged his pyjama bottoms for faded jeans and work boots.
‘Hey.’ He looked surprised but not unpleasantly so. ‘You again. Twice in one morning.’
‘Yeah – errands, remember,’ I said. I glanced down at his trolley and saw that he’d stacked one end of it with tinned dog food. ‘I didn’t know you had a dog. Have you been hiding it away?’
‘No, just didn’t have one until about forty minutes ago.’
‘Wow, you move fast,’ I joked, and immediately regretted it when his mouth twitched, obviously fighting hard not to rise to my poor choice of words.
‘Went out for my much-anticipated first cigarette of the day, once I’d recovered from having the shit scared out of me, and he was just walking down the towpath. Came on board for some head scratches and I kept waiting for the owner to come around the bend but they never did. Must have got out of someone’s garden. He has a collar but no tag.’
‘Poor thing.’ I folded my arms around myself. It was horrible to think of someone calling and calling for their dog, only to get no answer. I had a massive soft spot for animals, but particularly dogs – because I’d never been allowed one growing up. Dad was keen but Mum – the queen of Febreze and Flash wipes – was put off by the potential for smells and muck. Aunt Lou’s dog Pete had been my one pet growing up and he hadn’t even really been mine in the strictest sense.
‘He might have a chip. I sort of had a cat when I was a student and ended up getting his chip checked,’ I said. ‘It used to come to my window and, once I found out he didn’t have an owner, I flea-treated him because he had a bit of a mangy bum. But he stopped coming around once I switched from Whiskers to Lidl cat food.’
‘Snob. Though I do prefer Whiskers myself,’ Cooper said sagely. ‘Keeps my coat nice and silky.’
That startled a laugh out of me and his face lit up when he saw his joke land.
