Page 23 of Merrily Ever After
Emily could believe that. She took one last look at Springwood House before heading back to her car. She placed the brochure on the passenger seat and plugged her phone in to charge. There was such a lot to think about, she mused, as she turned on the engine and waited for the condensation to clear on the inside of the windscreen. But her gut feeling was that moving her dad in would be the right thing to do. He would be safe at night if he decided to go for a wander and there would be someone on handtwenty-four hours a day to make sure he was eating properly. And he’d have company too.
She bit her lip. Maybe she should accept the vacancy immediately. What if someone else took the flat? But what was Ray going to think? She hoped he’d see it as a positive move and not a punishment.
Emily wouldn’t be able to manage the move by herself. His landlady, Julia, would probably help if she asked her. But her dad had his pride, he wouldn’t want to involve Julia, a relative stranger, in such personal matters.
Which only left one other person. Someone who had every right to not want to get roped in.
Emily steeled herself, imagining how well this was going to go down. But, unfortunately, she didn’t have other options. Might as well get it over with and go there now.
‘Hey, Siri,’ she said, using the car’s hands-free system. ‘Call Mum.’
‘Calling Mum,’ the robotic voice replied politely.
‘Hello, love!’ said Tina seconds later.
‘Hi, Mum,’ said Emily. ‘I don’t suppose you’re free this afternoon?’
Chapter Nine
Emily
‘This is nice, isn’t it?’ said Tina, sampling an olive on the end of a cocktail stick from a delicatessen stall. ‘They know how to do Christmas in places like this. We could be on a film set. What was that TV series we used to like?’ She paused, thinking. ‘Cranford, that was it.’
Her mum had been about to set off on a solo jaunt to Wetherley market while her partner Ian spent the afternoon with his golf buddies. The golf course itself was closed at this time of year, but the clubhouse bar was always open. Tina teased him about it, called it a youth club for the over sixties, but secretly she was relieved he had a hobby that got him out of the house while she got on with her sewing. An hour after phoning her, Emily and her mum were browsing the market stalls in the town centre.
‘It’s lovely, I can’t believe I’ve never been here before.’ Emily picked up a jar of lime pickle from the stall and paid for it. She’d got a very average ready-made curry for tonight’s dinner. A spoonful of this might elevate it a little. ‘This was a great idea. Thanks for suggesting it, Mum.’
Tina’s face lit up and she linked arms with Emily. ‘I’m glad you were free to come. It’s nice to have a catch-up, hear all your news. We don’t get much time on our own these days like we used to, do we?’
‘No, we don’t.’ Emily was hit by a rush of guilt that she was probably going to ruin the mood by bringing up her dad. Particularly as she needed to ask her mum a favour. It wasn’t that there was any animosity between her parents, more that Ray was part of Tina’s past and she preferred to keep it that way.
Emily looked around at the cobbled streets and the lovely old Tudor buildings, their windows sparkling with Christmas displays. At the edge of the marketplace was a giant Christmas tree decked out with thousands of coloured baubles, and the old-fashioned lamp posts surrounding the edge of the market were strung with fairy lights.
‘Told you,’ Tina replied. ‘Who needs foreign Christmas markets when you’ve got this on your doorstep. Mind you, I’ve only started coming since the fabric stall opened. That haberdashery place on the high street is a café now. I ask you,’ she tutted. ‘How many coffee shops do we need?’
‘Just one,’ Emily said, ‘and preferably soon. I could murder a coffee and cake stop right now.’
‘Let me get my fabric first. Here we are.’ Tina stopped beside a stall piled high with rolls of fabric arranged in a rainbow of colours. ‘Oh goodness, look at these prints!’
Emily smiled at her mum fondly as she ran her hands over the fabric. Tina was a whizz with a sewing machine, there was nothing she couldn’t turn her hand to. She’d even made a three-piece suit for a friend’s husband once, when he’d brought a bolt of linen back from his travels. Prom dresses, christening gowns, curtains and even loose sofa covers, Tina wasn’t fazed by any dressmaking project. Emily knew her way around a sewing machine too; her mum had taught her well. But for her it was all about second-hand clothing, repairing, repurposing and breathing new life into clothes which were far too good for landfill. Sustainable fashionmight be a buzz word these days, but she’d been winkling out treasures from charity shops for as long as she could remember. In fact, there was bound to be a charity shop in Wetherley, perhaps they could go there later.
‘So, what have you got to tell me?’ asked Tina, rooting a shopping list out of her handbag. ‘Come on, out with it. You haven’t stopped chewing your lip since you picked me up.’
‘It’s about Dad,’ Emily began with a sigh.
Tina rolled her eyes. ‘Now there’s a surprise.’
And while her mum sifted through the display of taffetas and satins to find something to make a party dress for the daughter of a friend, Emily brought her up to date with Ray’s antics.
‘Part of me thinks that moving him into Springwood House is the best thing for him. But the other part is telling me that I’m being selfish and that I’d be doing it because it’s a neat solution for me. What do you think?’ she concluded.
‘Three and a half metres of this please,’ said Tina to the woman behind the counter, tapping a silver stretchy fabric before turning to Emily. Two pink spots had appeared on her mum’s cheeks and Emily hoped she didn’t live to regret asking for her advice. ‘I’ll tell you what I think. I think Ray Meadows realised he wasn’t getting any younger and suspected something might be wrong health-wise, so he slunk back to Bakewell with his tail between his legs and decided to set up home close to you in case he needed looking after. I think this is the longest he’s ever stuck around. What does that tell you? He’s not as daft as he looks, that man.’
‘Need any silver thread?’ asked the woman, putting down her knitting. She was wearing fingerless gloves and the end of her nose was red with cold.
‘No thanks, love.’ Tina shook her head. ‘But I will take a four-inch zip please.’
‘Maybe he just feels more at home in Bakewell.’ Emily shrugged, not wanting to admit that she had asked herself the same question but had decided not to probe too deeply.
