Page 21 of Out of Control

Joe shook his head and shouted upwards again, “Adele, I’m warning you!”

“I insist.” Fiona took his hands and made him look at her. “She’s not ten years old anymore. She’ll soon be a mother herself. We have to give her some leeway to make her own decisions.”

But even without Adele at the table the mood was awkward. Joe was furious with his daughter. Fiona hoped that Rose would reappear before too long to provide a better home for the pregnant girl.

“Are either of you going to let Rose know that very soon she’ll become a grandmother for the first time?”

“What?” It took a second for Joe to come back from wherever his thoughts had taken him. “We can’t. You saw Rose’semail. All devices are handed in on arrival and she’s left no physical address or landline number for wherever it is she’s staying.”

“She really was serious about this being her ‘me’ time.”

Joe stared at the half-eaten bolognaise on his plate. “She found the divorce difficult. Even though she instigated it, on the grounds that we’d drifted apart since the children had grown up. I still had my job but she didn’t know who she was anymore. It’s just a shame that Adele’s the one who’s suffering now.”

Fiona pushed the remainder of her spaghetti to the side of the plate and set her cutlery in a straight line. She could see something in common between herself and Rose and, after this afternoon, her mother as well. They were all struggling to move forward following the removal of purpose from their lives. They’d each gone from a situation of being needed to one of being superfluous. After years of bowing to the expectations of motherhood and marriage, Rose was in an empty house. After almost six decades, Dorothea had been widowed. And, following an all-consuming career, Fiona had to find purpose outside of the workplace. She understood Rose’s quest to find herself — in another life they might have gone together. She hoped the other woman wouldn’t regret the decision, which might mean her, unknowingly, missing the first weeks of her first grandchild’s life, and maybe alienating her daughter for a very long time to come.

“What about post? She must have had to leave a forwarding address somewhere for bills, bank stuff and so on?” Was it possible to disappear into the ether?

“Everything’s on direct debit. It’s possible she left a friend in charge of the Airbnb stuff. Rose is like you — very thorough.”

Was that a compliment or did it say something about the sort of woman Joe was attracted to? Did he prefer someone organised and in control because it meant he could be the laid-back, relaxed partner in a relationship? Fiona wasn’t sure she liked the idea of a partner who was willing to coast his way through life on the back of whoever he could find.

“But she couldn’t control your house being flooded or Adele turning up with her unborn grandchild.”

“And I’m grateful to you for picking up the pieces.” He squeezed her hand.

She looked at his plate; the knife and fork were splayed at an obtuse angle even though he’d finished his meal. Until he moved in, the fact that he didn’t set his cutlery at 12 o’clock hadn’t bothered Fiona. Now, after a few days of his continued presence, the habit was annoying her.

“Have you finished eating?” It was a superfluous question but she wanted to make a point.

“Yes. Thank you.”

She cleared both plates and scraped her leftovers into the organic waste caddy.

Chapter 17

Meeko was already in the hotel restaurant when Fiona arrived the next morning. The temperature in the room felt too hot after the fresh outdoor winter air. Beads of sweat began to form on her forehead and trickle into her eyes, the salty sting making her blink vigorously. He was surrounded by empty dishes and a plate which showed signs of grease and baked beans. She pointed at it as she sat down. “I thought the cooked stuff was a heart attack on a plate and only for greedy fools?”

He shrugged. “Needs must. The more I fill up here, the less I need to put in my supermarket trolley.”

“They’ve cut another class?”

He nodded. “The ten a.m. class is now only three times a week instead of every weekday. At least on the days when it isn’t, I can really pig out — I don’t need to worry about trying to do a forward fold on a tight stomach.”

“Every cloud . . .”

Meeko piled up all the used crockery, leaving a plate of three croissants and some slices of cheese, which he wrapped in serviettes and placed in his holdall. “Tonight’s supper.”

For a few seconds Fiona’s problems shrank as she imagined the anguish of not being able to afford enough food. She offered him the blueberries and yoghurt in her bowl. He shook his head and patted his stomach. Then he added the croissant plate to the pile on his right, leaving a rectangle of empty table in front of him.

“What about the Father Christmas job? Isn’t that helping the finances?”

“The living wage for only a few hours on a few days a week for three weeks in the lead-up to Christmas doesn’t go very far. It’s temporarily helping towards the electricity bill but that’s it.”

The Father Christmas gig at Adele’s baby shower wouldn’t go far towards improving Meeko’s income but it was better than nothing. Before Fiona could tell him about it, he spoke again.

“However,” he said, “I am not one for sitting around and letting fate march in and steal my life. I am being proactive and learning a new skill that will earn me money.” He produced a box of playing cards from his bag and a library book:Easy Ways to Read the Cards.

Fiona was momentarily silenced. This didn’t fit with the calm, grounded, ‘in the moment’ personality of Meeko. He couldn’t be serious. “Do you really believe that rectangles of thin cardboard can predict our futures?”

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