But before then, I had some major work to do. Otherwise, I was going to end up paying the mortgage on a house I didn’t have the guts to ever move into. To force me into action, I had orchestrated a multi-step plan. The next stage in the plan was happening this evening.
As I set off home, a girl of about ten or eleven was wheeling a bike around the corner of the cottage at the other end of the row. She paused to glance at me as I unlocked my car and climbed in, offering a shy nod of her head and the hint of a smile before starting to pedal in the opposite direction to the village. I watched her whizzing off to freedom, T-shirt flapping in the late-afternoon breeze and, in that moment, I knew exactly how she felt.
‘Who’s this friend again?’ Mum asked, one side of her mouth twitching downwards as she took three large bowls out of the cupboard.
‘Her name’s Karina.’
‘And you met her at work?’
‘Yes.’ I lifted the lid on the pot of chilli I’d made and gave it a stir. ‘Can you take that sour cream out to the table too?’
Mum just stood there, clutching the bowls to her midriff. ‘So she can’t read?’
‘She found reading challenging when she started classes two years ago. She’s just signed up to do her English GCSE.’
Mum frowned, unconvinced that a woman lacking in basic qualifications was a suitable dinner guest. I smiled and carried on grating cheese. I had absolute faith in Karina’s ability to change her mind.
‘She’ll be happy to tell you if you ask her. In fact, you definitely should ask. It’s a good story.’
She sniffed, but at least went to finish setting the table. I also noticed that she added her favourite hand-embroidered table runner. My optimism cranked up one more notch.
At precisely six o’clock, the exact time I’d asked Karina to arrive, the doorbell rang. Karina entered with a blast of fresh air, an enormous smile, a bunch of Mum’s favourite pink roses and a box of Quality Street.
‘Oh! How thoughtful of you,’ Mum said, sufficiently thrown by the gesture to forget that she was being aloof. ‘I love the strawberry creams!’
‘What?’ Karina cried, her Ukrainian accent booming off the ceiling. ‘I brought them because they’re my favourites. But I hate the strawberry creams. How perfect!’
Mum blinked in surprise. ‘Let me take your coat for you.’
By the time I’d brought the pots of chilli and rice out to join the salad and crusty bread, Mum had already spotted Karina’s pinafore dress, perfectly fitting her stout frame.
‘That’s very fine stitching,’ she said, peering closer at the appliqué on the front pockets.
‘Oh, thank you!’ Karina beamed even harder. ‘It took me ages, but worth the effort.’
‘You made this?’ Mum stepped back, her eyes narrowing.
‘Of course! I make all my own clothes. I can’t follow a pattern, so sometimes the process is slower than I’d like, but it beats paying for tat produced by slave labour on the other side of the world.’
‘Yes.’ Mum was agog. I mentally punched the air before inviting Karina to take a seat.
All it took was a couple of opening questions, and Mum and Karina were chatting like old friends. They were a similar age, both soap opera superfans who drank revoltingly milky tea with two sugars. While Karina wasn’t divorced, her husband, Mr Rivers, had died eighteen months earlier.
‘I’m so sorry to hear it,’ Mum said.
‘Don’t be.’ Karina shook her head of cropped grey hair. ‘I didn’t like him. Or the woman who he pretended to play tennis with every Sunday. That involved a whole different type of ballgame.’
‘He was unfaithful?’ Mum asked, a forgotten slice of garlic bread now hovering halfway to her mouth.
‘For thirty-one years. On and off. Mostly on. But. Eh. You know how it is.’
‘I do.’ Mum certainly did. ‘Why didn’t you leave him?’
Karina shrugged. ‘He ran our lives; everything was in his name. How can a part-time care worker who can barely read survive on her own?’
‘Why on earth couldn’t you read?’ Mum asked. I gave her a sharp glance. I’d told her to ask, but she could have phrased things more tactfully.
‘I mean, you’re clearly an intelligent woman!’ Mum added, before taking a flustered bite of her bread that forced her to continue with her mouth full. ‘Creating a quality garment without a pattern takes a lot of skill.’
‘Thank you.’ Karina nodded. ‘Ollie helped me get diagnosed as severely dyslexic last year. Before that, I had always been diagnosed as stupid. I’m certain Mr Rivers married me on that basis, hoping for a compliant little wife who would be grateful to clean up his mess, cook his dinners and stroke his ego without asking questions. If people repeat often enough that you’re useless, eventually you accept that there’s no point even trying. It was only once he died, and I had no choice but to try that I found ReadUp.’
‘Well, at least you got there in the end,’ Mum offered, starting to clear the plates away.
‘That depends on what you mean by “there”,’ Karina said. ‘I still struggle with forms, and computers are like another foreign language. Living alone is not easy.’
‘You don’t have any children?’
Karina smiled wryly. ‘I’m not thoughtless enough to bring children into a loveless marriage.’
By the time we’d finished the pavlova, I’d lost count of how many times Mum had said, ‘Isn’t this lovely!’
As Karina shrugged into her coat, she turned to Mum and took her hands. ‘Thank you for welcoming me into your home, Tina. In these wonderful few hours I feel I may have found a friend. And, to be honest, I am in great need of one. I do hope we can see each other again.’
Mum flushed pink with pleasure as she nodded her agreement, too emotional to reply.
‘Next time, I will bring dinner.’ Karina gave me a wink, and left.
At breakfast the following day, I decided it was worth sowing another seed. I took a fortifying swig of coffee and cleared my throat.
‘I thought we might have Karina over more often, if that’s okay with you. Make it a weekly thing?’
‘Oh?’ Mum glanced up from buttering her toast.
‘As she mentioned, it’s been tough, living alone. She could really do with some support with admin and forms and things. Maybe we could help? I know you understand what it’s like, and at least you had Aunty Linda and Uncle Geoff. Her whole family are in Europe.’
There was a drawn-out silence, where I wondered for one nerve-wracking moment if I’d pushed too far.
Mum took a bite of toast, chewed and swallowed. ‘I was thinking that maybe she should come along to the Buttonhole. That pinafore was exquisite, but fancy not being able to follow a pattern! I might have to put on a couple of sessions for her.’ She took a sip of tea. ‘I’ll ask next Wednesday if she’d be interested.’
‘Good idea.’ I smiled casually, while inside relief danced the conga up and down my ribcage.
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