Chapter 10

10

The day Bess heard her father had died, she'd been in the same place she was right now: sitting in her car outside her parents' home, about to head in for dinner. That day, her phone had rung and she'd snatched it up with a chirpy, ‘I'm here! I'm outside, give me a minute to get out the car and in the door,' which was met not with the laughter she'd expected from whichever parent had called but with her mother sobbing down the line. Bess had run inside and been handed the devastating news, breaking down alongside her mother as she listened to the police officer explain it all over again. Her dad had had a heart attack driving home from work one day and, just like that, he was taken from them.

Bess's hand was against her tattoo beneath her winter layers – her coat and jumper got in the way but putting her hand there still connected her to her memories.

When Gio had spotted it at the hospital last week, it should have been simple to say she'd got the tattoo of a dolphin following her holiday to Florida. He knew she'd been there. She could've explained it away by reminding him she'd swum with dolphins, remembering the crystal, blue waters, the friendly, social animals who'd captured her interest. But that was only part of the truth and she wasn't sure she could've got all those words out without emotion bubbling over.

Bess had taken as many holidays as she could since her dad died; it was part of what had contributed to her ever-increasing debt. The need to escape had been almost overwhelming at times. If she had a few days between shifts, she'd plan to get out of town. If time was limited, she didn't leave the UK; if she'd accrued enough days, she went further afield. Florida had been one such destination and seeing dolphins was always going to be a part of it because it made her feel closer to her dad. Her dad had always been fascinated by dolphins; he'd bought her first soft toy dolphin when she was too young to register what it was, he'd read her books about them – both fiction and non-fiction – he'd talked about his summers as a boy at Cardigan Bay and told her he'd got so close to dolphins, he'd talked to them. She wasn't sure how much he embellished but she'd sat with him and made him tell her over and over again about the graceful creatures she'd grown to love as much as he had. You would never have thought it to look at him – a serious man in a business suit through the week, but a much more relaxed character come weekends and holidays. And when she was ten, he'd taken her to Cardigan Bay and she'd fallen in love with the dolphins in their natural habitat, their acrobatic displays, the splash of water on her face as they came up close to the boat. And whenever she saw a documentary clip or read an article about dolphins, she'd always told her dad about it.

After he died, it became all the more poignant. She'd reached for the phone more than once to call him and tell him about what she'd seen or read. And following a trip to Florida, she'd been out with friends having a few drinks on a balmy summer's evening when a girl had walked past and there on her shoulder was a tattoo of a dolphin. Less than a week later, Bess had her very own dolphin tattoo etched onto her skin forever in memory of a father who'd been taken away too soon.

Bess looked at the well-kept home she'd grown up in with its spring blooms all gone out front and only greenery remaining apart from the few winter flowers in the pot beside the front door. She hoped her dad wasn't looking down on her today to witness her having to go inside and admit to her mother that at age forty, she was in financial strife. In the four decades of her life, she'd never had to do this – not unless you counted the times as a teenager she'd borrowed money in advance of getting her monthly allowance so she didn't miss out on things with friends. She didn't want to do it now, but what choice did she have? She was drowning in debt and the personal loan repayment, the payday loan, the credit card debts and charges, the bills still waiting to be paid, were all reminders of just how much trouble she was in. Around about eleven thousand pounds' worth of trouble to be precise and that figure was rising by the day.

She climbed out of the car, her thoughts going back to Gio. Thinking about him gave her some temporary relief rather than constantly stressing about her finances.

When Gio had asked her about her tattoo, it had given her another hint that he might be interested in more than friendship. It wasn't so much the question as the way he'd looked at her, the softness of his voice, an edge of flirtation despite lying in a hospital bed. And when he spoke about his mum, it reminded her of their days in the shared house, the times he'd been distraught at his mum's latest drama, the vulnerability he'd tried to keep hidden from as many people as possible. She'd had boyfriends on and off but she and Gio had always stayed friends; she'd always been ready to listen. Perhaps Bess had always known that there were more layers to him than what she saw on the surface. But maybe at the same time, she'd decided to play it safe, keep him as a friend, nothing more.

A mewling at her feet signalled Liquorice's presence.

She bent down and scooped up the black cat with huge, round eyes. ‘You crept up on me. How did you manage that?' He didn't seem to mind the puffy coat, and she knew he'd start purring in a minute and put his claws into the fabric, which wouldn't be so good. She wouldn't feel it but the material would take a battering.

She set him down inside the front door after she let herself in with a call of, ‘Hey, Mum, it's me.'

‘In here, darling,' Fiona trilled from the direction of the kitchen.

Bess found her mother with her apron on and flour dusting the front pocket as she wiped her hands. ‘I wasn't expecting you today.' But her beaming smile as she came to hug her daughter was enough to know her drop-in was a good thing. It didn't make Bess feel any better about the reason she was here, though.

Bess peered over in the direction of the kitchen worktop. ‘What's cooking? Quiche?' She noted the pastry her mum had fashioned into the pie base, imagined the way her fingers had pushed the mixture into the little grooves that would cook that way and create a pretty pattern.

‘It's tonight's dinner if you'd like to stay? You're more than welcome.'

‘Can't, I'm on shift at four, but thanks, your quiches are always delicious.' She watched as her mum lined the pie base with parchment and poured in ceramic baking beans, ready to blind bake the crust.

Many a time as a little girl, Bess had sat in this kitchen and helped her mother cook. She knew that blind baking the crust first before the filling was added avoided the crust getting soggy while the quiche baked. Some of the filling should also be pre-cooked, hence the little bowls on the side of cooked mushrooms, bell peppers and broccoli which would be added along with the milk and egg mixture once the crust had had a head start.

‘Remember the day you made your first quiche as a surprise for your dad?'

Bess burst out laughing. ‘Do I ever?' She'd tried to add in his favourite things – spinach, tomatoes, mushrooms, and basically overloaded what wasn't a great pastry base and the whole thing was a sloppy combination of waterlogged vegetables. ‘He did well to eat as much as he did. I couldn't manage it and I was terrified it would be one of those dinner times where you both made me sit and finish every last mouthful.'

Fiona's laughter mingled with her daughter's as she closed the oven and set the timer for the crust before pulling out a block of Gruyere from the fridge and batting away Bess's attempts to help her.

Oh, how Bess wished her dad were here now, sitting at the table reading his newspaper, or in the study beavering away on his computer. The house had run well with her parents both at the helm but her mum seemed to be managing just fine even though it was only her now. Both of them would be ashamed at the shambles Bess had made of her own life.

Her mum slapped away her hand when she reached for some of the grated Gruyere and she handed Bess the edges she'd cut away from the block. ‘Nibble on those; you could always get more off.'

Bess wasn't going to argue. She wished she could stay doing this and not have to confess a single thing. Let her mum believe she was the strong, capable daughter they'd raised, the one who had a good job, her own home, rather than a daughter who could be about to lose a very big chunk of all of that.

Bess made tea for them both as they chatted, mostly about the weather and the frost that had graced the roofs of Whistlestop River that chilly November morning.

‘I think we'll get snow before Christmas.' Fiona poured the egg and milk mixture into the baked crust to cover the vegetables and slotted it back in the oven. ‘There, one hour to go. I'm early.' She finished her mug of tea. She'd always been good at multitasking in the kitchen and chatting at the same time. ‘I should get on with peeling some potatoes.' She pulled a bag of potatoes out and took quite a few to place in the colander next to the sink.

‘I can't stay, remember.'

And that was when she realised her mum wasn't planning on dining alone tonight.

Her mum turned at the sink and faced her daughter. ‘Malcolm is coming over.' She looked up at the clock on the wall. ‘Soon.'

‘Right.' She tried to sound a lot brighter than she felt.

‘Oh, darling, I'm sorry. I was so pleased to see you, I didn't want anything to upset you. And I'd like to introduce you two properly.'

Bess supposed she needed to get used to her mum forging a new life. She wasn't a kid any more. ‘Listen, before he gets here?—'

Her mum put down the potato peeler. ‘What's wrong?'

‘Nothing is wrong.' Well, it was, but even though she'd been rehearsing a spiel in her head on the way over here, her mind had suddenly gone blank.

Then the doorbell went and her mum gathered herself like a sixteen-year-old waiting for a prom date, all upright posture, shoulders tensed in excitement, a giddy smile on her face. ‘He's here.'

While her mum went to answer the door, Bess realised the signs were here when she turned up at the house that Fiona was expecting company. Her mum was wearing her favourite red shirt beneath the cooking apron, the silky one she only wore if she was going out for coffee with a friend or having someone over. Bess had assumed it was the former; she should've realised it could easily be the latter given how out of sync the pair of them were with each other's lives at the moment.

Bess turned round to meet Malcolm and when she saw how nervous he looked, it made her feel a bit better. It shouldn't, but it did. Meeting someone new at any age was daunting, at their age probably even more so, and meeting the family had to be hard. She wondered if it was as bad as when you were a teenager and went to your boyfriend's house for the first time to meet their parents.

Malcolm handed over a seasonal bunch of flowers with reds, inky blues and plenty of foliage. His hands were shaking and so was his voice as he reeled off the names of some of the flowers. And he only made eye contact with Bess once Fiona had made a formal introduction.

She made the snap decision to make this as easy as possible for him. ‘Malcolm, it's nice to meet you.' She used the voice she had in team meetings, especially when potential sponsors came to meet The Skylarks and find out about the lifesaving work they did, and she shook his hand too, all very sensible and formal.

‘Well, we have met once already, remember.' He seemed to be fighting the urge to put his hands back in his pockets. He probably wished he still had hold of the flower arrangement.

‘Roadside doesn't count,' Bess smiled. ‘How are you doing?'

His shoulders relaxed a little. ‘The bruising has almost gone, the headaches have stopped, and I think I've processed the shock.'

‘The shock is often the worst thing.'

‘I was very lucky. We both were.'

When her mum and Malcolm smiled at each other, Bess felt like an intruder until Liquorice weaved between her ankles to remind her that this was the family home. She picked up the cat and tickled him beneath his chin.

‘It's been a pain trying to find a new car,' Malcolm carried on now he'd found his voice. ‘I don't live on a bus route. I've borrowed a friend's today, but I need to sort one out soon before I talk myself out of driving altogether.'

Bess sat at the table first, Liquorice curling up on her lap, and Malcolm followed suit. ‘Don't let the accident destroy your confidence,' she told him.

‘That poor lass in the other car.'

Bess liked that he sympathised with the other driver; it showed integrity.

Their talking evolved to road safety, which led to a bit about her job and then onto driving lessons each of the three of them had had and their experiences – both terrifying and funny – and Bess found herself warming to the man despite the slightly porn-star-style moustache and the chin dimple. His grey hair was combed back and Bess spotted a tiny hearing aid in one ear, one of the discreet ones you could get that meant most people didn't even realise you were wearing one.

‘What are you looking for, Mum?'

For the last couple of minutes, as she and Malcolm talked about what it was like driving on the wrong side of the road when you went to Europe, Bess had watched her mother rummaging through every single shelf in the food cupboard .

‘I can't find the custard powder. I was serving apple crumble and custard for dessert. Not much good without custard.'

‘We could have ice cream,' said Malcolm.

‘I don't have that either.'

Malcolm got up. ‘I'm all about practising my driving to get my confidence back. I'll drive and get some now. What's it to be: custard or ice cream?'

Bess looked away when her mum came to his side. She felt sure Fiona had been about to kiss him but realised at the last minute that her daughter was sitting right there.

‘I tell you what,' said Malcolm, picking up his keys from the Welsh dresser, ‘I'll get both.'

The second he left, her mum looked worried.

‘Mum, he's really lovely.'

And now she looked relieved. She sat down next to Bess. ‘Once you get to know him, you'll like him all the more.'

‘I'm sure I will.' She glanced up at the kitchen clock. She was going to be late if she didn't get going soon. So far, her mum hadn't told Malcolm that she wasn't staying for dinner and he hadn't asked because he'd probably been so nervous.

‘I know you have to go soon.' Fiona must've seen her looking at the time. ‘What was it you wanted to talk to me about, love?'

‘It'll keep.'

‘I know my daughter and I know there's something, so if you don't tell me, I'll be thinking about it all evening.'

Her mother had read her well.

‘There is something but it's awkward and I don't think I can get it all out quickly with someone else here. Or someone due back any second.'

‘Spit it out, Bess.'

She looked down at her hands, her curls fell either side of her face to hide away her shame. ‘I need some money. '

‘Money?'

‘A loan, Mum.'

‘Oh, is that all?' She sat back against the kitchen chair. ‘I thought you were going to tell me you were sick.' She put a hand against her chest to settle her breathing.

Two years ago, Bess's world had been rocked more than they thought possible on the anniversary of her dad's death when she found a lump in her breast. She'd ignored it for almost a week, thinking perhaps it might disappear, that it might be hormonal and go away all on its own, but after Maya's persuasion she had made an appointment with her GP. She'd assumed he would say the same, that he was sure it was nothing, to come back if it hadn't gone in a few weeks. But instead, she'd been referred for breast screening with a mammogram and ultrasound, they'd taken a biopsy to be sure they knew what the lump was, and the doctor had wanted to remove the mass to stop it from growing and to prevent it from developing into cancer.

Every stage had involved a wait and with every wait had come the agony of time ticking by, not knowing what she was going to be faced with. Her mum had almost crumpled when Bess had told her about it after Fiona spotted her coming out of the doctor's surgery. But after that, she'd been a tower of strength, gone with Bess to every appointment, held her hand through it all.

And now, Bess apologised. ‘I'm sorry, Mum. I should've started out by saying it's nothing to do with my health.' Not her physical health, anyway – her mental health was another thing entirely.

When Bess first found the lump, she'd been in denial, but after screening and being told a biopsy was necessary, plus removal, she'd started to feel an ever-increasing sense of fear creeping up on her. She knew that for some women, thoughts would have immediately gone to their spouse and their kids, but she didn't have either of those things. All Bess had been able to think as she'd walked out of the doctor's office was I'm not done, I'm not finished, not yet! And so began a cascade of choices that had led to her getting in a total mess.

‘I can help you out, Bess.' Fiona went to the Welsh dresser and took out her iPad. ‘How much do you need?' She sat back down.

‘Mum, it's not that simple… It's a lot of money.'

‘Well, how much are we talking about?'

Bess shook her head. ‘Too much.' She was ashamed to say the amount out loud and by the time she looked up, her mother was tapping at the iPad intently.

‘Done,' said Fiona, setting the device down. ‘I've transferred ￡500 into your account?—'

‘Mum, I?—'

‘It's done. No arguments. You're my daughter, of course I want to help. It's all I have for now, but I can get more.'

‘Mum, have you left yourself enough?'

‘I will manage just fine.'

Bess had come here wanting help, wanting to talk about the level of her debt and get advice, possibly borrow some money to get on top of things. But the last thing she wanted was for her mum to struggle financially as a result. Her face had said it all, that she'd made the transfer and would manage . She didn't want her mum to manage . She'd been through enough.

‘I'll pay you back every penny,' said Bess. ‘As soon as I can.'

‘You just get yourself straight. Will ￡500 help?'

The hope in her mother's eyes almost destroyed Bess. ‘Of course it will, thank you.' She flung her arms around her mother, hugged her tightly.

The fact that her mother thought ￡500 would be enough to get herself sorted made Bess feel ten times worse because it would barely scratch the surface and telling her mum that would only transfer some of the worry onto her shoulders. She didn't need that either.

When the front door went, the conversation stopped there. She put a smile back on her face in time for Malcolm to arrive in the room.

They joked about Malcolm's search for normal vanilla custard powder when the shelves were filled with all these fancy things, the effort to find vanilla ice cream when the flavour combinations had almost left vanilla behind.

‘It was so much easier to shop when there wasn't so much variety,' he concluded. He looked a bit bewildered that Fiona wasn't really joining in the conversation. She was at the sink filling a pan of water for the potatoes, which didn't need to go on yet unless they wanted a really early dinner.

Bess picked up her bag, looked around to say goodbye to Liquorice, but he'd got bored of them all and was probably curled up on her mum's bed upstairs, his favourite place since Bess had left home. ‘I need to go; work beckons.'

‘You're not staying?' Malcolm didn't look relieved, he looked disappointed, which gave Bess a good feeling.

‘I'm afraid I can't – another time.' She gave her mum a hug, whispered the question of whether she was all right into her ear and her mum nodded against her cheek. ‘I'll nip upstairs and use your bathroom first.'

‘You know where it is,' her mum said with false joviality.

Bess trotted up the stairs. She used the toilet and washed her hands, pausing at the sight of her mum's single toothbrush in the little cup, the women's shower gel and shampoo in the frameless shower her dad had had put in. There were no signs of him left save the few photographs around the house, the little things like his shaving foam and aftershave had gone, his slippers were no longer at his side of the bed, there was no shoe horn propped up beside the front door for the smart, leather shoes he'd worn to work. There was even another man here now in his place at the table this evening.

But he seemed a good man. She had to remember that.

She stopped by her mum's bedroom and, sure enough, Liquorice was curled up at the end on the old cardigan Fiona had left there for the cat. She kissed his forehead and he barely opened his eyes, so content in one of his favourite spots.

Bess went downstairs and was almost at the bottom when she thought she heard her mother crying. She stopped; she wasn't sure. But after another minute, she knew she was right and it broke her heart.

She froze. She couldn't intrude. It sounded like Malcolm was comforting her. And she sensed it was probably out of fright that Bess had been about to share another health worry.

Bess put on her coat, sat on the bottom stair. Should she sneak out and get to work? Or would that be worse? Should she not poke her head around the door but rather just call out her farewell?

She was still thinking when she heard them talking and she realised her mum had only gone and told him Bess had money troubles.

Bess didn't know whether to fly in there all guns blazing or head straight out of the front door. He wasn't her dad! He wasn't in this family! If she'd wanted a stranger to know her business, she would've told him herself.

She crept back up the stairs and then made a show of coming down heavy footed, rounded the corner and called her goodbyes from there before grabbing her coat from the hook in the hallway .

‘Stay safe, love,' her mum's voice followed her.

‘Good to meet you,' came Malcolm's as she got to the front door and opened it before either of them could catch her up. And she didn't look back; she got in the car and left.

Bess drove to the airbase. Part of her was fuming; another part wanted to fall in a heap and cry. Her dad had instilled the same messages over and over: that she should think about the future, not just the present, to be careful with money and save in case something unexpected happened. She'd tried to do that, the same way he had for years, before he'd died suddenly. He'd worked his arse off and for what? To leave a load of savings in bank accounts that he'd never get to use? He took holidays but could've had so many more and to further afield, he hadn't updated his car even though it was getting old, he'd never bought that fancy barbecue he'd always talked about having one day . He hadn't spent much on the family home either apart from to keep it comfortable – a new bathroom suite when it began to show a lot of wear and tear, an upgrade to the kitchen when things began to start falling apart.

Her father's death had started the ball rolling with Bess's spending but it was the breast lump and the scare that she could be terminally ill, because that's where your mind went when you were waiting to find out, that had really done it. She'd been faced head on with her own mortality and had begun to wonder, what really was the point of it all? You worked hard to put a roof over your head and food on the table and you saved, you saved hard, but for what? In the end, what was the point?

And just because the lump hadn't turned out to be cancer, Bess's head had been embroiled in the fear that another lump might appear, or that something else might happen to her. And so her mantra became, live each day as if it's your last . It wasn't like there was a day when she decided that was going to be the way she lived her life; it became a feeling that engulfed her – it became her purpose.

A few weeks after she had been given the all-clear, Bess had found herself driving to a shopping centre away from Whistlestop River where she could be incognito, grab a coffee, sit and watch the world go by. Since the scare, she'd found herself needing to do that more and more.

The café she tried to go to was packed, as if everyone was in need of the same comfort that day. And so she'd ended up in a posh restaurant nearby, ordering herself a slap-up meal of lobster and after that, she'd thought she'd better walk off the heavy meal, and she ended up going in and out of shops, browsing turning to buying, and buying making her feel better. She'd got home and felt a buzz when she got a text confirmation with the delivery time for her new plasma television she'd bought when she saw it on special offer. She'd smiled as she put away the designer-label jeans she'd splashed out on, excited to wear them soon, the cashmere jumper, the beautiful silk pyjamas, too. And she'd admired the totally unnecessary purchase of a new handbag, a bag that she never would've justified under normal circumstances with its buttery-soft leather, its smell, its feel of extravagance.

Bess pulled into the parking space at the air ambulance base. It was time to push away her worries, get ready for her shift.

She waved across to Frank, the engineer as he emerged from the building.

And just like she did every other day, she put on a smile which she knew she'd have to keep in place unless she wanted to fall apart.

A smile she was getting tired of wearing when her life was well and truly up shit creek.