Page 69 of Lessons in Love at the Seaside Salon
‘But he’s –’
‘Your parents love you, I’m sure. They worry about you. We all worry about our kids. When you’re a mum you’ll worry too.’
Josie can’t imagine being as strict with her children, making them feel as if they have to lie to her just to have a boyfriend or girlfriend.
‘Maybe,’ she says.
‘Oh, you will.’ Trudy looks at her watch. ‘I’d best get back to Babs or she’ll switch to Sam.’
Josie frowns, not understanding what she means.
‘She thinks he’s dishy,’ Trudy explains. ‘Wants to race him off.’ She grabs Josie’s shoulders and gives her a little shake. ‘Everything will be okay,’ she says firmly. ‘When parents love their kids and their kid is as respectful and lovely as you, there’s always a solution.’
For a second Josie wishes Trudy were her mum – except in a way she’s her work mum. It’s comforting to think that. To know there’s an older lady who cares about her and has good advice. She doesn’t have grandmothers, really – one died when she was young and the other lives in the country so she’s rarely seen her.
‘Thanks, Trudy.’ She smiles.
‘Pleasure, pet.’ Trudy pinches her cheek. ‘Now back to work and stop fretting. It won’t get you anywhere. Believe me, I know.’
Josie follows her out and picks up the broom to sweep up some hair while she waits to do a wash or whatever is needed next.
For the rest of the day, whenever her eyes meet Trudy’s there’s a smile or a wink there for her, and that makes her feel Trudy is right and everything will be okay.
It’s enough to put some lightness back into her step as she heads home, and she turns up the car radio loud and sings along.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
This is a nice place, looking over Brisbane Water. Not a venue Trudy has been to before, but Sol offered to pick her up so she didn’t have to know how to get there. He booked the table, told her a time he’d come for her and he was there on the dot, looking pleased with himself and even more pleased with her.
‘Would you like wine with dinner?’ Sol says as he holds the wine list their waiter gave him.
The waiter was older, and referred to her as Mrs Raymond – Sol is, of course, Mr Raymond – and she didn’t object because the explanation would have been unwieldy and, besides, once she leaves here tonight the waiter won’t remember her.
‘Perhaps a glass,’ she says.
‘White? Red?’
She picks up the menu. ‘I guess it depends on what I’m eating.’
‘The tortellini is good.’ Sol smiles in a way that suggests he doesn’t mind if she doesn’t take up his suggestion.
He’s easy company. He was easy in the car, chatting away, leaving gaps for her to talk if she wanted, asking questions. She felt comfortable with him. It was pleasant. That’s all. Pleasant. Not thrilling. Not the start of something. Not romantic. She didn’t expect that, but she wondered if she’d feel it spontaneously due to the fact he’s taking her out to dinner.
Laurie was romantic.
No, she has to stop comparing them. She has to stop letting her brain bring up Laurie so much, full stop. It’s a habit.
When she was at lunch with Dylan and his family her son had said, with no small amount of irritation, ‘You don’t need to talk about Dad all the time.’ She hadn’t realised she did.
‘It’s only because you’re here,’ she’d protested.
He gave her a look. ‘Mu-um,’ he’d said, and he didn’t have to say anything further. She’d been put on notice.
It’s not as if she can talk to Sol about Laurie, though. While they were friends, it wouldn’t be polite to go on about her dead husband to a man who has invited her to dinner after waiting a polite amount of time after that husband’s death to approach her. If Sol had no manners or tact he would have bowled up to her the week after it happened, she supposes. She’s heard of that happening. A woman from the club even had someone crack onto her at the funeral. Bold.
‘I’m happy for you to order for me,’ she hears herself saying, which is odd because she never said that to Laurie. There’s something in her, though, that wants to have the decision-making taken out of her hands and put into someone else’s, and Sol happens to be the current candidate.
Sol gives her a mysterious smile and sits back. ‘No,’ he says, ‘I don’t think the tortellini is right for you. Something else. Something else …’ He scans the menu.
