“Well, whenever you decide to get married I’ll be delighted to have you as a daughter-in-law,” Trish said, and shook Sophie’s hand enthusiastically. Sophie pulled her into a hug.
“Of course, our dream would be to get married in space,” George said, then laughed at Trish’s horrified expression. “No, I know you’d want to be there.”
“I’ll never be an astronaut,” Trish said.
That next autumn, after George and Sophie had left for America, Trish stood herself at the council election and was narrowly defeated. “I should have come down to campaign for you,” Doug joked when she met him in London. He had released two solo albums since Goliath had broken up, neither of them very successful, but he kept on writing songs and touring. He was also working with other musicians and talked about forming a new group. He always had a new girlfriend but never anyone serious. She told him about George and Sophie and how sweet they were together. “About time old George found somebody,” he said. “I think I’ll write a song for them and call it ‘Getting Married on the Moon.’”
Helen decided to take night classes and catch up on her education. This meant Trish cutting back on some of her own evenings to babysit Tamsin, which she did reluctantly, acknowledging the necessity for Helen to have qualifications. She dropped the Peace Group, and abandoned plans to stand for the city council again.
One day Helen came home with a suggestion. “Why don’t we sort out the basement and let it as a flat?”
“I’m not sure I’d want strangers living there,” Trish said. “It has its own entrance, but that’s the only way into the garden. And the washing machine is down there.”
“I wasn’t thinking of strangers. You always know a million people, and there would always be someone you know wanting to live there. Right now Bethany and Kevin and Alestra are looking for somewhere.”
Bethany and Kevin worked at the whole food co-op. Alestra, their daughter, was a few months younger than Tamsin. “That’s an excellent idea,” Trish said.
She and Helen spent the next weekend cleaning the basement and painting. They spent the next rearranging furniture. They bought an electric stove and a fridge. Then Helen invited Bethany and Kevin to come and look at it. They moved in the next day.
Although Bethany was Helen’s age, she soon became much more Trish’s friend. She was passionate about food and often cooked enough for the whole household—vegetable soups, lentil bakes, chili with beans and rice. She played the flute and composed music, and again the house had music rising from the basement as it had when Doug lived at home. Kevin was quiet. “Not much about him,” Trish said to Helen, but she put up with him for Bethany’s sake. Alestra was neither as pretty nor as lively as Tamsin, to Trish’s biased eye, but she was a nice child, and the two of them played well together. Bethany’s family paid a low rent, which helped with household expenses, but best of all Bethany and Helen traded babysitting so that Trish was free in the evenings again.
Before Tamsin was born, Trish had made Mark’s old study into a nursery, and Helen moved into the room next to it, which had been Doug’s. Trish maintained a bedroom for each of her children, though now they were seldom all at home except at Christmas.
That Christmas, Sophie was coming to visit. Trish drafted Kevin to help move beds. There was a double bed in her room, which she wanted put in George’s room down the corridor, while George’s old single bed would do for her. Lifting her end of the double bed she felt a sharp pain in her chest and left arm and had to sit down. “I think I’ve strained something,” she said, weakly.
“You’ve gone a funny color,” Kevin said. “Should I call the doctor?”
“Just make me a cup of tea,” Trish said. He obliged, and after a cup of strong tea she felt much revived. They left the bed in the corridor until Doug arrived and helped Kevin move it into George’s room.
“You shouldn’t overdo things, Mum,” Doug said.
They had a lovely Christmas, with a tree and presents. Bethany cooked a delicious nut roast. On Boxing Day Mark came by for a mince pie and to see the children. Trish noticed how tentative he seemed, how uncomfortable with Sophie and Bethany, how falsely hearty with Kevin. The problem with Mark, she thought, was that he wasn’t her husband any more but he couldn’t ever be a stranger. He remained hung around her neck like an albatross, father of her children.
After Christmas she saw the doctor and told him about the pain, which had not recurred. He said she should be careful of her heart and told her to exercise more and eat less fat. She looked around for some exercise that didn’t bore her and began swimming early every Sunday morning in the Kingsway baths.