The two women grinned at each other for a moment.
‘So, are you going to help?’ Lily asked, looking at her friend’s face. The face of a forty-four-year-old woman, but also the twelve-year-old she’d sat next to in maths, the teenage girl she’d been with when she first tried a beer. The person she’d written letters to during uni, before email was really a proper ‘thing’. The woman who’d followed her down the aisle despite complaining about the pinkness of her bridesmaid dress. Other than her brother, David, who’d always been a bit reserved, Lily realised that Emily was the only person she still had in her life who remembered her as a child. Who knew her inside out.
‘Help? Well, yes. But, and I’m not being rude, how?’ Emily said.
‘I need to plan what on earth I’m going to say to Ben. And I need to try to write back to this grand mayor police chief guy in French. And find out what exactly I have to do to be entitled to live in France in the first place. And work out what to do next with this place. And what to tell Ty. And well, what to do first?’
‘So just a small favour then?’
‘Just a tiny, insignificant favour.’
The pair looked at each other for a moment. It wasn’t a real question. Both of them already knew the answer.
‘Of course I’ll help; you know I’ve always got your back. But if you accept my help, there are going to be conditions.’
‘Such as?’
‘Lend me a pair of jeans and a T-shirt?’
‘Done.’
‘Dig out some of those choc chip cookies I like?’
‘Already covered.’
‘And one more thing.’
‘Yes?’
‘If we’re going to basically get you out of the shit, plan your future, write an email in fecking French to rural France’s answer to Judge Dredd, work out all the tedious details of a move then…’
‘Yes?’
‘We’re going to need a lot of coffee.’
5
It’d been a while since she’d cooked a Sunday roast, and having spent the morning peeling potatoes until her fingers were raw, she now remembered why. But hopefully it would be worth it. ‘Fill his belly first,’ Emily had suggested. ‘So he’s feeling at one with the world when you tell him.’
At first Lily had laughed and said it was a cliché. But the idea had started to grow on her. Ben liked roast potatoes with a passion that almost made her jealous. If she plated him up more than usual, he’d find it very hard to leap from the sofa when she broke the news. Especially as he was prone to opening up his top button after a heavy meal. He’d be forced to sit and listen properly, or risk indigestion and a trouser incident.
Ty wandered into the kitchen as she worked, so focused on his phone that it was a miracle he knew where he was going. There were laws against using a phone while driving, but sometimes she wondered whether those rules should be extended to walking as well. As if proving her right, he bumped his thigh on the corner of the kitchen table.
‘Ow!’ he said, glaring at the table as if it had sprung at him Ninja-style, rather than sat there passively for his entire life, in exactly the same place.
‘You OK?’ Lily asked.
Her son was dressed, as always, in black jeans, startlingly white trainers and a crumpled T-shirt. His light brown hair was unbrushed and fell in mid-length waves as he leaned forward towards his phone. He looked every inch his father’s son – sometimes shockingly so – and if Lily hadn’t actually given birth to him, she might have wondered if he had any of her DNA at all.
Ben didn’t see it. ‘He has your eyes!’ he’d say. ‘Plus, he gets that look on his face when he’s angry… you know with the wrinkled forehead… Just like his mother.’
His comments didn’t always go down well.
‘Yeah,’ Tyler said now, rubbing his thigh with his spare hand.
‘Dinner will be ready in about an hour.’
‘Nah,’ he said.
‘What do you mean, “Nah”?’
‘I’m out at Luke’s. Sorry.’ He glanced up, briefly, with an apologetic grimace.
‘You can’t stay for…’ She gestured at the bubbling pans, the glowing oven with its tempting content. ‘Me and your dad will never manage all this.’
‘Save some?’ he said, glancing up again, blue eyes taking in the feast that he was turning down.
‘OK.’
‘Sorry.’ He dropped his phone hand to his side, walked over and gave her a brief squeeze. He smelt of shower gel and deodorant and some sort of hair product. ‘Thanks, Mum.’
Lily leaned into the mini cuddle gratefully. He might tower over her now, but he was still her boy.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ she said.
Ordinarily, she’d have tried harder to get him to stay. But perhaps his being out of the way for this particular meal and its aftermath would work in her favour. He loped out, glued again to his tiny device, and minutes later she heard a shout of ‘see ya!’ and a door slam.
Let battle commence.
It was barely midday, but she opened a can of Heineken and filled Ben’s favourite pint glass, before walking through to the living room where he was glued to football repeats.
‘Drink?’ she said, feeling suddenly like a fifties housewife.
‘Oh, ta, love,’ he said, reaching for it. ‘Not having one yourself?’
‘Better not,’ she said. ‘I’ll wait till I serve up. Don’t want to burn myself.’
Plus, I need to keep a clear head.
She kept the conversation light over lunch, watching him inhale potatoes as if he was trying to put on a layer of fat to keep him toasty-warm through the winter. They chatted about yesterday’s tennis (he’d won) motor racing, (his favourite had lost). About Ty and university and whether or not it would be a good idea to get the bathroom done.
Then, ‘So what do you think you’ll do tomorrow?’ he asked.
‘Tomorrow?’
‘Yes, I mean, you’re a free woman, after all… First proper day off work, as it were.’
‘Ha. Well, knowing me, I’ll probably end up sorting out the wardrobe and doing a bit of weeding,’ she said, rolling her eyes.
‘I thought you ladies of leisure liked to meet up for fancy lunches?’
‘I wish.’ She grinned.
‘Seriously though,’ he said. ‘Are you going to be OK? Have you thought about, I don’t know, applying for jobs, or doing some training or something? You won’t be happy without something to get your teeth into.’
‘Um…’
She hadn’t meant to say anything yet. After all, he still had three potatoes to go before he reached optimum carb overload. But the pressure of waiting and the anticipation of a conversation that might go one dramatic way or another was too much.
‘Actually…’ she said. ‘Actually, I have thought about what I might do next. What… what we might do, if I’m honest.’
‘Oh yes?’ he said, innocently shoving an overlarge roastie into his mouth and looking at her with interest. The potato was clearly surprisingly hot beneath its crispy outer layer and she watched as his eyes widened and he began to chew quickly with his mouth open, letting out steam and little gasps as he tackled the unexpected burning sensation.
She wondered whether he’d be able to deal with the hot potato she was about to lob him too.
‘You know, obviously. You know I’ve always wanted to move to France.’
‘Ob lob blurbin?’ he said, nodding, mouth full of white mush.
‘Well…’
It was now or never. Part of her wished it could be never. But she was stuck. She felt like a teenage daughter about to tell her beloved father she was pregnant, or had had a tattoo or had been excluded from school. There he was, innocently chewing and trying to avoid life-altering burns, and she was about to throw a missile into his world that might change it forever. ‘I’ve… I’ve decided to go for it.’
He swallowed and began to cough slightly, taking a slug of beer that seemed only to make the problem worse. She walked to the sink and got him a glass of water.
‘Thanks,’ he said, taking a gulp. Gradually, his face returned to its usual colour. ‘Sorry, you’ve decided to go for what?’
‘I’m moving to France… Well, I mean… I hope that we are.’
He eyed her warily, then nodded. ‘Oh. I mean, we talked about this, didn’t we? And I love the idea. It’s just I’m worried about the timing. But we can… have you thought any more about that trip to Paris? There’s still time to grab a copy of the paper for today’s token…’
She waited for him to finish, fixing her eyes on his so that he knew she was deadly serious. ‘No, Ben. I think we should do it now.’
‘Now?’
‘Look,’ she said, gently working herself towards the earth-shattering bit of the conversation. ‘Ty’s off to uni, we’ve got some savings, I’ve been made redundant. And you’ve been saying work’s been a bit boring recently…’