Chapter 6

6

Bess had the cat food in her shopping basket and was perusing the flower arrangements at the supermarket when she saw him. Gio. Over by the books, with a woman who had to be a relative, given they both had the same smile. As Gio put a book in the basket, the woman took it out again and he put it right back in there.

And now he'd spotted her. She pulled out a lovely arrangement of bright winter flowers from the bucket they'd been displayed in as Gio headed her way.

‘Good to see you, Bess.'

‘And you.' She frowned. He sounded formal rather than his usual relaxed self.

‘Those are beautiful,' said the woman.

‘Thank you, they're for my mum.'

‘How is she doing?' Gio enquired, again with more formality than they usually used around each other.

‘Good, very good.'

‘I'm glad.' He followed it up with an introduction. ‘ This is my mum, Marianne. Mum, this is Bess, she's a paramedic with the air ambulance.'

‘All these people with important jobs,' his mum gushed, presumably mostly with pride for her son.

And now it made sense. Gio's mum was in town, and that likely came with a whole host of problems. Over the years, he hadn't shared the specifics but she'd got the measure on what Gio's home life was like and it wasn't good. When they'd shared a house, Bess had never met his mother but he'd disappeared sometimes for days on end and always came back quieter and more subdued than when he'd left.

Bess lifted up the flowers. ‘I'd better get on, got a few other bits to grab.' She sensed Gio's discomfort and she didn't want to put him through any more of it than was necessary. ‘Good to meet you, Marianne.' And to Gio, she said, ‘We'll catch up soon.'

‘Hope so.' He smiled. He didn't have to say so but Bess could tell how much his mother's visit was impacting on him already.

She got the rest of the things she needed and was at the self-serve checkout when he came up behind her.

‘You're following me,' she joked. ‘I should report you.' She looked around. His mum was over the other side of the checkouts, putting through their small basket of shopping. ‘How's it going?'

His eyes lost their usual sparkle. ‘I don't really know. Good… weird.'

‘She's staying with you?'

‘Yeah.'

‘Did she tell you she was coming?'

‘What do you think?'

‘Gio…' his mother called over. She smiled at Bess but quickly looked away as if embarrassed.

‘I'm needed,' said Gio, his voice soft and low. ‘See you soon. '

Bess watched him go. If they hadn't been in the supermarket and his mother wasn't watching, she might have hugged him tight, told him to hang in there, that it would all work out in the end.

Half an hour later, Bess let herself into her mother's home; Fiona insisted upon it, although Bess had to wonder what would happen if Malcolm became a permanent fixture in her mother's life. Surely there'd need to be some ground rules then; she didn't want to walk into a situation she'd rather not see.

She shook away the feeling, called out her arrival and closed the front door behind her. ‘Something smells good,' she added as she took her coat off.

‘Cinnamon tea cake, your favourite,' Fiona hollered back as Bess made her way towards the kitchen.

As soon as Fiona saw the bouquet, she hugged her daughter and leaned in to smell the blooms. ‘For me?'

‘Of course for you,' said Bess. ‘And for you,' she added to Liquorice, who had already jumped down from the kitchen chair to come over and wind around her ankles, ‘you have a treat too.' She scooped him up and made a fuss of him as Fiona unloaded the pouches of cat food from the bag Bess had brought in.

Fiona emptied the rest of the bag. ‘Thank you for bringing lunch; I could've easily whipped something up, you know.'

‘I thought you could use the rest.' Bess had found Cajun chicken, a lovely side dish of herbed potatoes, vegetables already prepared. All that needed to be done was to heat it all up in the oven.

‘You've spent too much on me today, Bess, what with flowers and food. I don't expect it. '

‘You didn't ask, but I wanted to spoil you. You deserve it.'

The cat leapt from her arms and she put the oven on ready to warm everything through. They needed to talk but she couldn't do it on an empty stomach.

They got the lunch ready, dished up and it was only when they were part way through the meal that Bess's mum finally mentioned Malcolm.

‘I know it was a shock for you, Bess, seeing me with another man.'

‘How is Malcolm doing?' Perhaps it would be easier to approach this from a different angle rather than addressing her emotions about the new man in her mother's life. Medical details she could deal with.

‘Thanks to the wonderful work of all the first responders, including my own brilliant daughter, as well as the hospital staff who took such good care of him afterwards, he's home already and recovering well.'

Bess swallowed a piece of chicken not quite chewed enough to go down smoothly.

‘Bess, I know this isn't easy for you. It isn't for me either.'

She kept chewing.

‘I've wanted to tell you but never found the right time.'

Bess rested her cutlery against her plate. ‘How long have you been together?'

‘About a month.'

‘Is he moving in?'

Her mother seemed shocked at the question. ‘No, of course not.'

‘Are you going to go and live with him? Get married?' Her mouth was running away with her and in this moment, she felt like she was seven years old, sitting on the kitchen bench while her mother prepared a meal, asking question after question the way she had done back then, inquisitive about the world she was a part of.

‘Slow down, Bess. I'm happy to talk about Malcolm but can we make it less of a firing squad of questions? I feel like I'm on trial.'

Bess shoved another forkful of food into her mouth to stop herself saying more. The last thing she wanted to do was upset her mum.

When she'd finished, she delivered another question, but a gentler one. ‘Where did you meet?'

‘At the town hall – I was with the WI and as I left, Malcolm walked past me. My dress caught on the bag he was carrying. We were attached to each other and one of the ladies had to bend down to set me free without tearing the fabric.' She began to smile. ‘He asked me if I'd like to go for a coffee and…'

It was a nice story, sweet, serendipitous even.

‘Bess… why don't I tell you a bit more about him, what he's like? It might help put your mind at ease.'

And so Bess listened, took in the facts and tried to dampen down her emotions about it all.

Malcolm was the same age as Fiona. He was widowed, he had three grown-up children, and he'd worked for three decades as a financial advisor.

‘He's retired now,' Fiona finished.

In many ways, he sounded lovely.

‘Bess, tell me how you're feeling.'

‘I'm thinking about Dad.'

‘You think it's too soon.' Fiona looked out of the back doors into the conservatory and the damp garden that was beginning to lose its colour, ready for winter to set in.

‘I'm being ridiculous. It's been a while. Three years is a long time, but… somehow it feels like it was only yesterday. '

‘I miss your dad every single day. It's not as painful as it was before, but that doesn't mean I don't wish things could have been different. I didn't expect to meet Malcolm and he won't ever replace your dad, but he makes me happy.'

And now Bess felt terrible. What right did she have to destroy any of her mother's happiness?

‘He makes me laugh and for a while, I wondered whether I'd ever do that again,' Fiona admitted. ‘Meeting Malcolm made me realise that a part of me was holding back. Now it's coming alive again. We share some of the same interests, I feel blessed to have him in my life and the night of the accident, well, it made me realise that I may be falling in love for the second time in my life.'

Love? Friendship and companionship were one thing, but love was a whole different game. This was serious. And Bess knew her mum deserved her support.

Her gaze drifted over to the photograph of her parents that stood proudly on the windowsill. ‘I want you to be happy.'

‘I think I am, Bess. Give him a chance, get to know him.'

‘I will.'

Bess piled up the plates to take over to the sink.

‘Do you have room for cinnamon tea cake?' Fiona asked.

Bess laughed. ‘Silly question.'

Bess set off for home once they'd had a couple of slices of cake each and a cup of tea and she let the conversation with her mother settle. One step at a time. Maybe meeting Malcolm properly, and soon, might be a step in the right direction.

When she arrived at her house, she parked on the drive and stayed there for a moment looking up at her cottage-style home with its unassuming frontage.

Bess's place wasn't big but she'd made each room inside individual – all had walls in various colours, two rooms had a feature wall with wallpaper, the furniture fitted perfectly, she had pictures up from the holidays she'd taken over the years, trinkets she'd collected like the colourful sand timer she'd found in Spain which sat on the shelf in the kitchen next to the olive dish she'd brought back from Italy. She had a set of coasters she'd bought in France, the hard-knotted teal rug she'd found in Scotland last winter which she couldn't resist after seeing it in a shop window.

Bess's dad Ron had helped her choose this house. When she'd begun looking for her own place all those years ago, he'd gone with her whenever she asked. He quite enjoyed it and confided in her that he loved looking at property but he'd never persuaded her mother to move so he had to live vicariously through his daughter. Ron had vetoed four properties before this one for various reasons, including subsidence, proximity to an alleyway, a ridiculously high asking price, and a non-committed vendor. Then they'd come to see this house. It also came with a fairly high asking price but it was a sound investment if they could get the price down even a little bit. Ron had told her to think with her head as well as her heart – that was her dad all over. He always said emotions had to take a back seat when you were spending a lot of money. He'd been sensible up until his very last day – always paid into a pension, never put money on a credit card unless he knew he could pay it off, he had insurances for this, that and the other. He had money put aside too so that eventually, he and Bess's mum would be able to enjoy his retirement and do the things they'd talked about like the cruise around Norway, learning to play tennis together, heading to Europe.

And then he died.

Bess remembered the day her second and final offer on the property was accepted. She hadn't expected to be successful, she never thought she'd be so lucky, and even better, nobody dragged their feet and she moved in three months later.

Bess loved her home. She'd installed a wood burner, redone the kitchen with Cotswold grey cabinetry and solid oak benchtops, she'd stripped off the torn and very old wallpaper in the main bedroom and replaced it with something to her taste. She'd slowly put her stamp on the house and the labour of love was all recorded in a photograph album, the before and after pictures she and her dad had looked at many a time, hardly able to believe how different it looked now compared to when she bought it.

Bess went inside. She stepped onto the mat, picked up the post collected there as if she'd been away for a week, not out for less than twenty-four hours while she went to the supermarket and had lunch with her mum. Her feet sank into the pecan-coloured carpet as she made her way from the hallway and into the lounge but she didn't open any of the correspondence yet. She needed a glass of wine first, something to take the edge off. Because she knew what was waiting for her.

She snuggled on the sofa in what was usually the ideal reading spot, armed with a glass of wine for Dutch courage, and tore open the first envelope. Then the second, the third, each and every one of them. Some weren't too daunting; one wasn't even asking for money – that had to be a win, didn't it? But plenty of them were and she added them to the pile with the others. She retrieved her iPad from the shelf below the coffee table and logged on to her banking app. But where to start? When you had this many bills, it was hard to know, when you had so much debt you couldn't doggy paddle, let alone swim.

Her mortgage payment had been taken successfully – that was a plus; she didn't want to miss it. Losing her home was terrifying; surely she couldn't let things get on top of her so much that that happened? She remembered one of her blind dates last summer, a guy who was a roofer and, although nice enough, she'd had a feeling from the start that he wasn't her type. She'd stayed for the date – it would've been rude to leave just because she didn't feel any attraction towards him. She'd wondered whether things might improve; maybe if she gave him a chance, he'd surprise her. He definitely did that when, a few drinks in, his whole woeful story about a gambling habit and a recent drug addiction came out and it was a story without a happy ending because he lost his home as a result of those things. Was that about to happen to her? Was she about to get herself into so much mess that she'd have to turn up on her mother's doorstep with all her things in tow as if this, being a homeowner, had all been a game of make believe like she was a little girl again who'd been playing house all this time?

With the mortgage payment already made, it didn't leave an awful lot in her account by the time she'd also paid her water bill followed by the electricity charges that she'd had reminders for and ignored until today's demand arrived.

With a shiver, she got the wood burner going. Her dad had loved sitting in front of it when it was first installed. He'd said it went perfectly with this house and she'd had a sneaky suspicion that he might have tried to persuade Bess's mum to get one put in too.

It hadn't happened, or maybe he'd never got the chance to push the idea.

Ron Gardner would hate what his daughter had been doing since he died. He'd hate that she'd lost control – Be careful with your money , he'd always said, Make sure you have a fund set aside for the unplanned things that might happen . It was what he'd done. She still did the same job he'd always been proud of, but unfortunately, when she lost him she'd sought comfort from anywhere she could get it. And as much as it sounded laughable, she'd found comfort in buying herself things, treats here and there that over time had become more common. Spending money had become her way of life and her habits had run away with her.

She reached for the last piece of post she hadn't yet opened and ripped away the envelope before she could chicken out.

She read the letter.

This was the third time she'd been late with repayments on a loan she'd taken out last year to cover the cost of a new boiler when hers needed replacing.

She sat forwards, taking in the additional information at the foot of the letter, about debt collection agencies, legal action.

She threw the letter down and clipped the side of the wine glass, sending red liquid all over the coffee table. She grabbed a bunch of tissues from the box on the shelf beneath and mopped it up straight away, the tissues soon staining pink, never to be white again.

And then she put her face in her hands and cried, something she rarely did, something she hadn't done since the day they buried her dad.

This was very real. And if she didn't do something about it soon, she might end up losing just about everything.