Chapter Thirty-Four

‘What do you think?’

I give my head a little side-to-side wobble as I stand in front of Mum in her living room. She’s already seen and liked the photo I posted on Instagram of my new haircut as I sat in front of the mirror at the hairdresser’s, cape still around my shoulders and the hacked-off, pink-tipped hair still clumped on the floor, but this is the first time she’s seen it in the flesh. I already showed the new choppy, chin-length bob with long side fringe to Claire as I took a detour to the chippy on my way to Mum and Dad’s.

‘Oh, Cleo.’ Mum beams at me as she reaches out and takes a strand of hair between her finger and thumb. ‘It looks lovely. Very chic .’

I’m going to miss those pink tips, and it feels very strange not being able to scoop my hair up into a messy bun, but I like it. It is chic, and the choppy layers give it an interesting texture. I give my head another little wobble, just to see my new hair bounce around a bit.

‘Your gran won’t recognise you later at the fair.’ Mum looks down at my hands and then back up at my face. ‘Did you already drop the flapjacks off at the shelter?’

I pull a face as I slump down on the sofa. ‘Not exactly.’

It’s the Easter fair at the dog shelter this afternoon, and I attempted to bake a batch of the fat-free banana flapjacks from the magazine I bought the other day, but after nearly destroying Russell and Jed’s kitchen and searing my fingerprints off when I forgot to don oven gloves before moving the tray to one side, I ended up with soggy, cardboard-tasting squares that nobody – not even the dogs – would want to eat. Learning to bake is never getting crossed off my list. I’ve made my peace with this fact, and my still-tender fingertips are grateful.

‘So my contribution is just the sausage dogs.’

Mum sits down on the sofa and pats my knee. ‘That’s still brilliant. I’m very proud of you, and I know your gran is.’

Even though the disgusting flapjacks went straight into the compost bin, I was able to present three stripy crocheted sausage dogs to Gwen, who’s volunteered to run the raffle stall, before my hairdresser appointment. They may be slightly flawed (Chorizo has one ear bigger than the other, Salami has an odd bulge around his middle, and Saveloy’s tail is sitting at an odd angle) but, to me, they are perfect.

‘Shall I pop the kettle on?’ Mum pats my knee again before she eases herself out of her seat.

I check my Instagram post while she’s in the kitchen, and my chest expands with joy when I see that Paul has liked the photo. I tap through to his grid, where I find a new photo of his own. It’s another gym selfie (he posts a lot of those, but why wouldn’t he?) but this time he’s with the blonde colleague I’ve seen him with before. The pretty blonde one. Who even looks pretty with a serious post-workout sweat going on. She’s tagged in the photo: Olivia Sharpe. I tap on her name, but her profile is set to private. I think about adding her as a friend, but that would be a bit weird, wouldn’t it?

‘It’s only instant, I’m afraid.’ Mum hands me a mug and settles back down on the sofa. ‘I know how much you like James’ fancy coffee machine. Even your gran has grown fond of it. I’m not sure which she’ll miss most when he moves into his new place – James or her nightly Horlicks.’

‘What have you missed most while I’ve been staying at Jed and Russell’s? Me or the mess?’

Mum quirks an eyebrow. ‘I haven’t missed tripping over your shoes.’ Her face softens. ‘But I have missed you. Your dad has too. It’s been too quiet around here, but I guess that’s something we’ll have to get used to if you’re planning on flying the nest for good. Have you found anywhere affordable yet?’

I shake my head. Properties – affordable or otherwise – are slim pickings in Clifton-on-Sea and Jed and Russell are due back soon.

‘You’re always welcome here until you find somewhere.’

‘Thanks, Mum.’ I try to sound grateful, because I am, but I can’t help feeling glum at the prospect of ending up back in my childhood bedroom. ‘And I promise I won’t be the same messy Cleo that I used to be, and I’ll pay you proper rent, not a few quid like I usually do. I know how expensive stuff is now. Plus, I’m willing and able to use the washing machine. It’s not just the hair that’s new and improved.’

Mum nudges me lightly with her arm. ‘I think I’ve mollycoddled you a bit, because you’re my only child, my baby, but you’re not a child any more. I think I’ve had a hard time accepting that, but you’ve really shown me how much you’ve grown up these last few weeks.’

‘Thank you, Mum.’ This time I don’t have to try to sound grateful, because I cherish Mum’s words. My plan is obviously working.

‘You okay?’ Claire links her arm through mine and rests her head on my shoulder.

‘It’s just harder to say goodbye to the little fellas than I thought it would be.’ Claire straightens so she can give me an odd look. ‘What? I crafted those little dogs with my own hands. You’d feel a bit sad if you were giving Arlo away in a raffle for a pound a strip.’

‘Are you comparing my child with a soft toy ?’

I am, but I pretend I was just kidding. Mums can get pretty feisty when it comes to their kids.

‘How are you anyway?’ I guide Claire away from the raffle stall as I can’t bear to see my sausage dog pups with their please-don’t-abandon-me eyes. ‘Any word from Riley?’

Claire shakes her head. It’s been a week since her date at the exhibition of Victorian smut but Claire hasn’t heard from Riley since. He hasn’t called or texted her, and he hasn’t set foot in the chippy. Profits for the week have plummeted.

‘I think I’ve been played. Who’d have thought sweet little Riley was just a regular bastard man?’

‘There has to be a credible reason why he hasn’t been in touch.’ I unhook my arm from Claire’s so I can drape it across her shoulders. ‘Maybe he’s been involved in an horrific car accident that’s left him in a coma? He could be fighting for his life right now, barely clinging on with only the thought of seeing you again stopping him from slipping away.’

‘I hope so.’

Claire and I make our way to the bouncy castle, where Arlo is propelling himself as high as he can into the air before thrusting his legs forwards so he can land on his bum. It looks like a lot of fun, but it’d probably be frowned upon if I kicked off my shoes and had a go myself. Still, there’s nothing stopping me from rotting my teeth away with candyfloss, or making myself sick by gorging on chocolate eggs – why should kids get to have all the fun?

‘There’s James.’ Claire points towards the bunny pi?ata, which Edith is viciously attacking with a stick while Seth stands to one side, his face fixed on his phone. ‘I bet he wouldn’t lure a woman into bed by taking her to a sexhibition and then never call.’

‘I can’t imagine James going to a sex exhibition.’ I mean, look at him. It’s the weekend, we’re at an Easter fair, and he’s still wearing a blazer, albeit with a T-shirt and jeans. He’s even swapped his brogues for a pair of Converse, but he’s still giving off the accountant vibe. I’m not saying James is uptight – far from it – but I simply can’t imagine him shedding the composed, professional image and doing something wild and unexpected.

‘Maybe I should ask him out. He’s still single, right?’

I pull back my chin. ‘You can’t date James.’

‘Why not?’

‘He’s hardly your type, is he?’ James is a steady, practical kind of guy, and there’s nothing wrong with that, obviously, but he doesn’t exactly fit Claire’s bad-boy ideal. They’re completely mismatched and the idea of the two of them together makes me feel uneasy. ‘His idea of a good night is sitting in with my gran watching Midsomer Murders .’

‘I quite like Midsomer Murders .’ Claire scours the pile of shoes on the mat, selecting a pair of PAW Patrol trainers. ‘And we have other things in common.’

‘Like what?’ I glance over at James, who’s trying to coax Seth into having a go with the pi?ata stick. The seed of uneasiness is growing, a feeling of mild panic fluttering in my chest as it spreads. Claire has been hurt enough recently, and although I don’t think James would intentionally let her down, there are no guarantees.

‘We’re both parents.’ Claire waggles the trainers at me. ‘So he’ll get how important Arlo is to me and understand if I have to duck out of dates at the last minute or if I show up with melted chocolate button fingerprints on me. Plus, he is gorgeous.’

‘If you say so.’ I wave as Arlo bobs his way to the end of the bouncy castle and slides onto the mat.

‘I say very much so. Wouldn’t you say so?’

I shrug and try not to look back at him, but fail miserably. He’s throwing his arms up in the air in victory as Seth picks up the pi?ata stick. ‘I’m not really into the beard and long hair thing.’

‘Yeah, and those piercing blue eyes are minging as well, aren’t they?’ Claire rolls her eyes at me before crouching down to help Arlo put his shoes on.

James does have very nice eyes, actually. And I guess the beard wouldn’t bother me too much – it’s neatly trimmed and doesn’t appear to have bits of cereal clogged in there – and the hair is quite nice. Quite sexy, in a Heath Ledger in 10 Things I Hate About You kind of way, if you really think about it.

‘Are you really going to ask him out?’ I try to keep my voice even, to mask the alarm I’m feeling. Please say no .

‘Nah.’ Claire stands up, reaching her hand out to help Arlo to his feet. ‘He’s way too nice for me. Besides, things still might work out with Riley if he really has been mangled in that car accident.’ She holds two entwined fingers up. ‘And if not, I think I’m going to have a break from dating for a bit. I’ve got my course to finish, so I should be concentrating on that, really.’

‘You’re giving up on men?’ I snort but manage to mask it as a small coughing fit. The day Claire Harris gives up on men is the day I develop Mary Berry-style baking skills and produce something edible for the bake sale.

‘Just for a little while. I’m not going to join a convent or anything, but I’m not going to actively seek out the opposite sex. I’m going to concentrate on my course and my friends and this little dude, obviously.’ She reaches down and scoops Arlo up, planting him on her hip. ‘It’ll be the summer holidays soon, so I was thinking about going on a little holiday before I start my dream career. Benidorm, maybe. Or Tenerife.’

‘On your own?’ I don’t mean the question to sound so strangled, as though Claire has just told me she’s planning on stripping off and having a go on the bouncy castle, but the mere thought of jetting off without a responsible adult is giving me palpitations. I tried that once before and I’m in no hurry to do it again.

‘Well, I was planning on taking this one with me.’ Claire kisses the top of Arlo’s head. ‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you? A nice holiday at the beach.’

‘We have a beach on our doorstep.’ If the sound system wasn’t blaring out ‘You’re the One That I Want’ from Grease , we’d be able to hear the rhythmic crashing of the waves in the distance. ‘You don’t need to get on a plane and travel hundreds and hundreds of miles to sit on the beach.’

‘You do if you want to sit on the beach without freezing half to death. Hi, James.’

I hadn’t realised we’d gravitated towards the pi?ata, but the poor, bashed-up bunny is before us. Claire lowers Arlo to the ground and hands him a quid so he can have a go at battering the rabbit.

‘Where would you rather spend your summer: freezing your Wotsits off as you overlook the grey Irish Sea or getting a tan as you look out over the sparkling blue Mediterranean?’

‘Is this a trick question?’ James looks from Claire to me and back again. ‘The Mediterranean, obviously.’

Claire flashes me a smug look. I’m about to stick my tongue out at her but the sight of a squillion foil-wrapped chocolate eggs showering out of the pi?ata bunny’s leg wound distracts me. I hope Arlo’s in the mood for sharing with his favourite babysitter.

I manage to coax a couple of chocolate eggs out of Arlo before he races off to get his face painted. Claire’s waiting with him in the queue with Edith and Seth, who’s volunteered to watch his little sister out of the goodness of his heart, and not because his eyes went all love-heart-shaped when he spotted Claire. I won’t break it to the boy that she’s sworn off the opposite sex, or that he’s at least a decade too young.

‘Have you bought a raffle ticket?’ James nods towards Gwen’s stall, where our little sausage dogs are lined up, ready to be rehomed.

‘To win something I made myself?’ I lick a splodge of raspberry sauce that’s dripping from the ice cream James has just bought me from the ice cream van.

‘You might win one of my beauties?’ James shrugs and reaches into his jeans pocket, producing a couple of raffle ticket strips. ‘I’ve had a go. Edith has her heart set on winning one. I’ve told her I’ll make her one if we don’t win – after we’ve made the baby hats. I need a break from stripy sausage dogs right now.’

‘I’ve got a pattern for a daisy garland that I thought I’d have a go at.’ It was in the magazine I bought last week. Hopefully I’ll have better luck with the crochet than I did with the baking. ‘It’ll be something pretty to hang above my bed if I ever manage to find a flat.’

‘Still no luck?’

‘Nope.’ I’ve been checking the app for rental properties daily – sometimes by the hour when it’s a slow day at the chippy – but there’s been nothing in my price range that doesn’t look as though a sneeze would bring the walls down. ‘I guess I’ll be moving back in with Mum and Dad for a bit.’

‘Would that be so terrible?’

I lick my ice cream while I think about it. ‘I guess not, but it feels like a step backwards.’

‘A step backwards from what?’

‘From growing up.’

There’s a couple of plastic chairs free near the burger van, so we sit down while we wait for Claire and the kids.

‘You can still be grown-up and live with a parent. It’s about your attitude, not geography.’

I have another lick of my ice cream. ‘Yeah, I guess so. Just because I’ll be living with Mum and Dad doesn’t mean I’ll have to revert to my old ways. I can cook now – sort of – and use the washing machine, and I’ve stopped leaving my shoes lying around.’ In fact, I’ve been tidying up after myself rather well. Mugs and plates are transferred to the kitchen after use rather than lying around the living room for days, and I’ve perfected the art of using the laundry basket for dirty clothes instead of the bedroom floor. I even have a cleaning schedule in my bullet journal. The changes have been so subtle, I haven’t given myself enough credit. I may not have my own flat or an exciting career to boast about, but the new and improved Cleo Parker is definitely emerging.

‘Thanks, James.’

‘For what?’

I shrug and have another lick of my ice cream. ‘For making me feel a bit better about my situation. You’re a good listener. You should take on a second job as an agony aunt.’

‘I already have a second job. It’s only a recent thing, but I’m really excited about it.’

I frown. He’s never mentioned this before. ‘You do? Doing what?’

But James doesn’t get the chance to answer as I’m distracted by my phone pinging with a new message. I snatch it up, assuming it’s Paul commenting on my new hairstyle, but it’s a message from Russell. He’s back in town and wants to meet up for ‘an urgent chat about the shop’. The ice cream curdles in my stomach. What have I done wrong? Did I forget to lock up last night? Leave the fryers on overnight?

‘Do you think you could lend me your second job?’ I look around for a bin to drop what’s left of my ice cream into, because there’s no way I can face eating it now. ‘Because I think I’m about to lose mine.’