Page 31 of Close to You
I try to slow without making it obvious I’m doing so – but I am already a couple of steps past her.
‘I know,’ Yasmine continues with a laugh. ‘I wish I’d seen the look on her face.’
Fifteen
THE WHY
Three years, seven months ago
David holds Mum’s hand as we head along the path towards her bungalow.
‘I can see where your daughter gets her looks from,’ he says.
She laughs in a way I don’t think I’ve heard in years. Whenever she had a new outfit, she’d ask Dad how she looked. He’d always say that she’d look great in a bin bag and she’d chuckle to herself. It never seemed to get tired but, then, neither did they. As a couple, they had the sort of relationship that I’m not sure exists any more. They were devoted to one another and, possibly until now, that laugh was reserved only for my father.
Now it is David with whom she is smitten. It’s extraordinary how he wanders into people’s lives, including mine, and enchants them.
‘People always say she looks like me,’ Mum says.
‘There’s definitely a resemblance.’
We get to the door and Mum fumbles in a pocket for her key. The wind blusters across us as a couple of seconds becomes ten and things start to feel awkward. After Dad died, my mother sold up and moved to this retirement bungalow on the coast. Poynton-on-Sea is perhaps the place she was always happiest. Her, Dad and I would come here for a holiday every summer and, even though it’s only twenty miles from Gradingham, it felt like another world.
Mum now has the key, but she’s struggling to fit it into the lock. David hovers at her side and I wonder if he somehow knows that offering to help will instantly change her opinion of him. Patience is what she wants and patience is what she gets.
Waves slam into the cliffs below. When the tide is out, there is a sprawling beach on which I used to play as a girl. I’ve often wondered if I’ve ever been as happy as I used to be back then.
Mum finally gets the key into the lock. She stands slightly taller with relief and then shoves the door inwards as if nothing was wrong.
Her bungalow smells of burnt toast, but there’s no point in mentioning it because she’ll claim I’m imagining things. She closes the door behind David and me and then beckons us towards the sofa. David asks if he needs to take off his shoes, but she replies with ‘Of course not, love.’
The sofa is second-hand because almost everything she’s ever owned once belonged to someone else. It has a faded floral print and is as uncomfortable as I remember; as if any foam filling has been replaced with Lego bricks.
David turns between us somewhat theatrically: ‘I bet you were a heartbreaker back in the day,’ he says.
Mum touches her permed bob. ‘I did have a few boys courting me.’
He gets to his feet. ‘Would you like a cup of tea, Mrs Noble?’ he asks.
‘It’s Wilma,’ she replies. Mum motions to stand, but once she’s down, that’s it for a couple of hours.
‘Let me,’ David says and Mum settles once more.
‘Everything’s in the cupboard by the door,’ she says. ‘I’ll have a splash of milk. No sugar for me.’
‘All the smartest people have their tea that way.’
David leaves us momentarily and I have my usual few seconds of panic when I’m left alone with my mother. It always feels as if she’s a blink away from forgetting who I am.
‘How’s the flat?’ she asks. It is perhaps her favourite topic of conversation when it comes to me. When she sold her house and bought this, she gave me some of what was left to put down the deposit on my flat. Probably because of that, I think she sees my place as partly hers.
‘It’s fine,’ I say.
‘Have you picked up your clothes since I was last there?’
I want to say that I’m an adult and can leave my clothes where I want – but it’s not worth it.
There’s a snap as the hob is lit. Mum has never got on with electric kettles. I suppose it’s the ease of use that annoys her, though I’ve never asked.
