Losing You (12 page)

Much as she’d missed Lauren at the weekend, and she really had, it hadn’t turned out to be as lonely as she’d feared, since she actually hadn’t had much time to herself. Saturday morning hadn’t started off too well however, when she’d woken to the sound of a slew of bills cascading through the letter box, and after making herself open them she’d started to despair of when, or how, her fortunes were ever going to turn around. Thankfully, an evening at the pub with Polly and the interview they’d done afterwards
at Polly’s house had helped put her own life in perspective, given the wrenching sadness of Polly’s story. Not that Polly ever felt sorry for herself, to the contrary, she was probably the only person Emma knew who could talk about her misfortunes as though they were no more than mishaps. They’d even found themselves rolling around with laughter at some point, though what had triggered it, apart from too much wine and two very black senses of humour, Emma wouldn’t be sure until she came to write it all up.

It had been lovely to see her brother on Sunday too, and Jane, her sister-in-law, who’d brought armfuls of house-warming gifts which had included, most generously, a very smart little Nespresso machine and an exquisite Japanese-style coffee set.

No gift from her mother, but no surprise there. Phyllis never had been big on gifts, at least not for her. She was always very generous with Lauren, the musical prodigy, the follower in her sainted grandfather’s footsteps. Emma couldn’t help softening whenever she thought of her father who, thanks to old footage, photographs too of course, would always be young and cool in her mind: the lean, handsome rocker who’d swept his children off their feet and allowed them to strum and dance and sing along with him and the band. In just about every frame showing her mother, she looked so radiant and happy and in love that it felt almost impossible for Emma to equate her with the woman she knew now. Not that Phyllis had lost her beauty, though it had faded over the years, and she did little to disguise the greying streaks in her once lustrous long hair that she now generally wore in a tight, single plait. But there was a sternness about her, and a remoteness, even a kind of nervousness that made her virtually impossible to approach, as far as Emma was concerned. She didn’t seem to have the same effect on Harry or his children, and certainly not on Lauren, who only had to walk into a room to make her grandmother’s sad or bad-tempered face light up in a way that seemed to melt away the years. Emma had never brought that look to her face, or not that she could remember.

‘You don’t even like me, so I don’t know why you bother coming here,’ she’d yelled at her mother the Christmas before last, when Phyllis had started to compare Emma’s hospitality with Harry and Jane’s.

‘I sometimes wonder myself, the way you carry on,’ Phyllis had shot back. ‘Always the drama queen. It’s high time you stopped feeling sorry for yourself and grew up.’

Emma still wasn’t sure how she’d managed to stop herself throwing her mother out at that point, but somehow she had. Really though, Phyllis Stevens had to be the most infuriating person on the planet, and so emotionally detached from her only daughter that Emma wouldn’t have felt at all surprised to learn that Phyllis wasn’t her real mother. ‘You adopted me, didn’t you?’ she’d shouted at her many times over the years. ‘Or maybe you stole me, well it’s
time to give me back
.’

‘I know you like to think you belong to another family,’ her mother would say coolly, ‘but I’m afraid this is the one you were born into, and if you think you aren’t wanted perhaps you should ask yourself why I work so hard to keep us all together.’

Work, huh, it was her father’s royalties that had supported them over the years, much boosted by one of his lesser-known hits being adapted for a commercial back in the eighties. Her mother had only agreed to it because the rest of the band, who’d dispersed and followed different career paths by then, had persuaded her into it. That had been an enjoyable time, when they’d come to visit with their wives and children, talking about the old days and sharing their memories with Alan’s kids who were ‘so grown up now’. That was more or less the only time Harry and Emma had ever seen their father’s old friends; Phyllis had felt it best to break with the past and not give themselves airs and graces just because they were Alan Stevens’s family. They needed to be their own people, and she’d rather lead a quiet, ordinary life pottering about her little jobs in the local garden centre or driving the mobile library, or visiting the lonely elderly on Sundays. She took flowers to her husband’s grave every birthday, anniversary and public holiday, but always alone. She
didn’t want the children with her because this was her private time with Alan, she’d inform Berry, who invariably replied that it was selfish and inconsiderate to leave them behind. Berry had regularly taken them herself of course, never failing to make the visit part of a fun day out, which was what, she’d vigorously claim, their father would have wanted.

If Phyllis had ever been involved with another man since the awful accident that had made her a young widow, then Emma knew nothing about it, and nor did Berry who was confident that ever since that fateful day poor Phyllis had remained as celibate as a cream cracker.

Realising she’d got into thinking about her mother when she’d been determined not to, Emma closed down her computer, grabbed her bag and coat and went off to fetch Mrs Dempster. She’d have plenty of time when she returned to check out the hotel she might soon be working for, and start preparing herself for Thursday. She might even give her mother a call to say thank you for the card.

There again, she might not.

‘I can hardly believe it,’ Polly was laughing later that evening, ‘you get a job interview and I get a new business partner all on the same day. There’s no doubt about it, our luck is changing.’

‘So what’s he proposing?’ Emma wanted to know as she struggled to screw the top off a bottle of red wine.

Taking it and doing the honours, Polly said, ‘He’s going to pay the outstanding rent on the church hall so we can start using it again, and he’s also going to cover the staff’s wages while we cast a wider net to bring in more clients.’

Emma was astounded.

Polly shrugged. ‘That’s what he said.’

‘And what does he get out of it? Apart from a free nursery for his son, presumably?’

Polly grimaced as she passed back the bottle. ‘It’s complicated, but in a nutshell he wants a fifty per cent share of the profits once we’re back on our feet, which is still going to make things pretty tight for me, unless I can find a way to expand and open more Polly’s Playtimes around the
region. He says I’ve already got the brand name, and a good reputation, so once things start stabilising there shouldn’t be too much of a problem getting the new nurseries under way.’

Emma was looking seriously impressed. ‘I think we need to drink a toast to Mr Wood, don’t you?’ she said, holding up her glass.

‘Absolutely. To Alistair Wood, his adorable son, Taylor, and very elegant grandmother, Beatrice.’

As they clinked glasses, Emma said, ‘So what’s he actually like, Mr Alistair? Young, old, short, fat?’

Polly’s eyes twinkled mischievously. ‘If I said George Clooney,’ she responded, fanning a hand.

Emma’s jaw dropped. ‘No way.’

‘OK, not quite, but to quote my darling daughter, he actually is pretty fit in a medium-height, fair-haired, blue-eyed sort of way, or they might be green, who knows? He dresses well – a really expensive-looking suit, and I bet his overcoat was cashmere.’

‘Age?’

‘I’d put him at mid-thirties, maybe a bit older.’

‘And what does he actually do?’

‘Apparently he runs, might even own, for all I know, a financial services company based in Bristol.’

Emma’s eyes nearly popped. ‘So he’s loaded. He has to be to have stepped in like that. Did you find out what’s happened to Mrs Wood?’

‘No, it wasn’t that sort of meeting. We just talked business and a bit about Taylor and then he left.’

‘Didn’t you offer him a drink?’

‘Of course, but he declined because he was driving. However,’ she drew the word out like a drum roll, ‘he did say, “perhaps another time”.’

Emma nearly smashed her glass as she clapped.

‘He was being polite,’ Polly laughed, ‘so don’t let’s get carried away.’

‘No, let’s.’

‘Oh, all right then – but actually, he’s way too young for me.’

Emma could hardly believe it. ‘Are you serious? What’s
age got to do with anything?’ She wasn’t really thinking about Philip Leesom, at least she was trying not to.

‘Nothing, really, does it?’ Polly replied with a dreamy sigh. ‘Would it surprise you to hear that Melissa’s already trying to decide where we should go on our first date?’

Emma wanted to cheer. ‘Good for her,’ she laughed. ‘Of course, you know why the girls are so keen for us to meet someone, don’t you?’

‘I do. So they won’t have to worry about us being on our own when they’ve flown the nest. And they want us to be happy, naturally.’ Polly took a sip of her drink as the prospect of their girls going seemed to sober the moment. ‘It’ll be quite something for you, having a daughter at the Guildhall,’ she commented.

‘Provided she gets the grades,’ Emma responded. ‘But she works so hard and it really matters to her to do well. It does to Melissa too.’

‘Mm, she doesn’t always seem quite as dedicated as Lauren, but I’m sure she’ll be fine in the end, unless she manages to get a recording contract, or one of her YouTube postings pays off. We can probably kiss goodbye to exams if that happens. She’s looking forward to Lauren coming home this weekend.’

‘Mm, me too,’ Emma responded, ‘but no doubt they’ll be off to some nightclub or party so I wonder how much I’ll actually see of her.’

‘As far as I’m aware they’re torn at the moment between meeting up with friends at the Lizard Lounge, or going to a twenty-first birthday down in Cheddar, I think. Or there’s some band playing the Colston Hall they’re interested in, if they can get tickets. And by the time the weekend comes round I’m sure there’ll be half a dozen other options to be considered.’ She pulled a face. ‘Meanwhile, what do we do, sit here and grow old?’

Chuckling, Emma said, ‘Speaking personally, I shall almost certainly be a bag of nerves wondering if I’ve got the job, because I’ll have had my interview by then, and who knows,’ her eyes sparkled, ‘you might be out on your first date with the dashing Mr Wood.’

Polly laughed. ‘Yeah, really.’ Then after a pause, ‘I think
we ought to see about finding someone for you, though. Someone gorgeous and rich and hopelessly romantic ...’

Still trying hard not to think of Philip Leesom, Emma said, ‘No, no, please don’t let’s even go there. I don’t mind pretending to Lauren that I’m up for meeting someone, but honest to God, all I really want for the next few years is the tranquillity, the utter bliss, of a totally man-free zone.’

Russ was having another of his regular chats with Oliver’s voicemail. ‘Hi, it’s Dad,’ he was saying, ‘I know you’re avoiding me, but I don’t want things to stay like this between us, so I’m sorry about what happened on Tuesday. Please call me back when you get this message so we can talk.’

After clicking off the line he turned to Charlie for approval.

‘Not bad,’ Charlie commented, his normally serious brown eyes showing glints of humour. ‘No guarantees he’ll ring, because he’s definitely in a weird place right now ... It’s like he’s angry with you because he can’t make you proud of him, so he’s telling himself the best thing is not to have anything to do with you, then he won’t keep feeling like he’s letting you down.’

Both exasperated and concerned, Russ said, ‘I’ve never thought he’s letting me down, I hope you told him that. He works hard and he’s done well, but I just don’t get much sense of him trying to find a job – or understanding that the world isn’t sitting back waiting to make Oliver Lomax’s dreams come true.’

‘That’s not what he thinks, and he
is
trying where a job’s concerned, he just doesn’t always tell you about it.’

‘Why the hell not?’

‘Because if it doesn’t work out you’ll think he’s a failure. Honest, Dad, you’re not giving him enough space. He’s got ideas and ambitions and he’s definitely not a slouch.’

‘I’ve never said he is, but he has to toughen up, Charlie. Nothing’s easy for kids nowadays ...’

‘He knows that. He’s living it, for Christ’s sake. We all are in our own ways ...’ He looked down as his mobile bleeped. ‘It’s him,’ he said, opening the text.

I know you’re with Dad. Tell him I don’t need his help. I can sort things out for myself
.

After reading it, Russ sighed heavily and passed the phone back.

‘Give him some time,’ Charlie advised. ‘He’s OK staying at Alfie’s and Mum’s for a while and he’ll come round in the end, he always does.’

‘This is my point,’ Russ growled, ‘storming off in a sulk is not the kind of behaviour I’d hoped to be seeing in him at this age. I’m sorry to say it, but your mother spoiled him. Of course, I blame myself for letting it happen. I had a better handle on things with you, and look at you, you’ve got yourself together ...’

‘Dad, don’t make comparisons. Oliver and I are totally different, and it doesn’t help him one bit to be made to feel as though I’m always coming out on top and he’s always second best.’

Annoyed with himself for not seeming able to hit this right, Russ said, ‘OK, I get that and I’m sorry, but it doesn’t change the fact that I should have insisted on him being a weekly boarder, the way you were, because with how often I was away ... Well, your mother babied him, she let him get away with things I never would have if I’d been here.’

‘There’s no point tearing yourself up about it now, what’s done is done, and it’s not as though he’s in trouble or giving you the kind of grief other parents have to go through. So why not just accept that advertising and marketing’s his thing, it’s what he wants to do, not work with you ...’

‘I’m not saying he has to work with me for ever.’

‘I know, but he’s feeling the need to prove himself, so let him try.’