Page 60 of The Happiness Project

‘After all, Sarah might have been wrong and he could have been injured or in hospital.’ I wrap my hands around the warm coffee and wonder if I look like one of those social media women. No dog, unfortunately.

‘Although they do have phones in hospital,’ Patty says. ‘Unless, of course, he’s had a head trauma and forgotten you completely. I advise you to cut your losses now, Bo.’

‘You’re all heart.’

‘Do you have any clue who this woman is?’ asks Patty, opening up Facebook on her phone. ‘Does he have a social media profile?’

I genuinely don’t know so she has a search but can’t find anything. Then she looks up his company account but it’s all very official with no personal photos at all.

‘I don’t like a man you can’t stalk,’ she says, putting the phone down.

‘Let’s take the advice you’ve just given me and drop it.’ I sigh and, getting up, head to the cupboard, where there is crusty bread that might distract her. I cut a couple of slices and pop them in the toaster then gather together the butter and marmalade, bringing it back to the table.

‘If he’d wanted to say anything to me, he’d have found a way.’

Breakfast is a slow affair this morning; after one round of toast we’re on the second cup of coffee and I’ve managed to change the subject.

‘Only a few weeks to go. Are you as ready as you can be?’

‘I think so.’ Patty nods. ‘And the audience never minds if there’s a little cock-up; we’re all good at improvising.’

‘Is there anything you want to do before you go?’ I ask.

Patty gives me one of her looks, pulls up something on her phone and pushes it across to me.

‘SeniorLove?’ I say, looking at the happy septuagenarians staring out from the page.

‘We still have one more item on your mum’s bucket list, and as this one was my responsibility, I’d like to try and tick it off before I go,’ Patty tells me.

‘You want to tick off my mum having an affair?’ I exclaim. ‘It’s not like making sure you have enough pairs of knickers, you know.’

‘Which reminds me . . .’ Patty is trying to make a joke of it, but sees the annoyance on my face. ‘You said you’d trust me on this.’

‘Only because I thought you wouldn’t go through with it.’

‘We have to, Bo,’ says Patty, standing and clearing everything away. ‘You know what it’s like having an itch you can’t scratch. If I thought for one moment your mum would ever leave your dad I wouldn’t do this, but she won’t. She’ll get all excited at the thought of an affair and then want to be back home for her cocoa.’

‘I hope you’re right.’ And that does sound like my mum.

‘Now, call her and tell her we want to come and see her,’ Patty instructs me firmly. ‘Tell her that your dad has to be out for the duration.’

She heads upstairs to get dressed and I make the call. We’re instructed to go after she’s been to the supermarket because that’s when Dad will be heading over to his friend’s house to watch the motor racing.

‘I can’t bear all that noise here,’ she tells me. ‘It’s like a hundred cats screeching over and over again.’

* * *

We arrive at Mum’s late afternoon just as Dad is heading out of the driveway. He gives us a wave from the car and tells us to have fun. I feel like a complete traitor as I wave back. I might as well have the dagger in my hand.

Mum is standing in the doorway yelling that Dad should stay out all afternoon, that we have girl things to discuss. I’m devastated by the huge smile on her face.

‘Come on in,’ she says, pushing us through the doorway. ‘The supermarket had loads of yellow stickers this morning. We’re in for a treat.’

My mother is the queen of the bargain and her favourite hobbies are hoovering up free samples in food stores and loitering in aisles waiting for the assistants to mark down short-dated goods and give them a yellow ‘reduced’ sticker.

‘I hope you haven’t had dinner,’ she says. ‘There’s a choice of Thai curry, fish pie or spaghetti carbonara — oh, listen to me, I’m like a gastropub with an exotic menu.’ She holds up the single-portion ready meals.

I’m not sure I can actually eat with the guilt forming a lump in my throat, but Patty has no such qualms and opts for the curry. Mum picks the carbonara, leaving me with my least favourite dish of all time.

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