Simone had driven vans before, but never one as old and clunky as Maggie’s. There was a pervading scent of cabbage and earth hanging in the air, despite the efforts of a pine air freshener in the shape of a Christmas tree swinging from the mirror. There were no mats in the footwells, and the interior was skeletal. The heating had two settings, roast or freeze, and in between times they had to keep the windows down to stop the windshield from steaming up. She determined to use some of the proceeds from the curiosity shop to buy her sister a new van, and then remembered that Maggie would have no need for a work van if she had no business.
They had taken the country roads, because she was worried the van might shake itself to pieces trying to hit seventy on the motorway. The suspension was knackered, and every bump and pothole was a bruise in waiting. Thankfully, the snow was mostly banked up at the sides of the roads and began to peter as they reached sea level.
“Thanks for doing this,” Patrick shouted over the clatter and roar of the ancient vehicle; indoor voices were pointless.
“You’ve already thanked me.”
“This seems like it deserves double thanks.”
She smiled. “What is your problem anyway? Don’t you want your mum to find someone who will make her happy?”
“Of course I do! It’s not that. It’s just that she has really bad taste in men. I don’t want her to get hurt.”
“You are not the gatekeeper of your mother’s love life, Patrick. Does she have opinions on your girlfriends? Make them feel unwelcome? Question their intentions?”
He balked. “No! Thank god.”
“Then why do you feel the need to behave that way with Joe?”
“It’s not the same.”
“Then tell me how it is. No judgment. We’ve got time, and this van—contrary to its physical attributes—is a safe space.”
Patrick looked out the window. She could see him chewing the inside of his cheek as he decided how much to tell her, whether he could trust her with his feelings. She could wait. If she’d learned anything from Evette, it was the art of allowing space for dialogue, not pushing too hard but not allowing things to settle either. She knew she was a bull in a china shop, impatient with herself and those around her. But spending these last couple of weeks with her nephew, watching as he climbed and stumbled up the mountain of adulting, she understood the need for a gentler approach.
Finally, he spoke. “You’re going to think I’m a selfish cock.” She recognized a kindred spirit in her nephew.
“I’m going to think that you are a complex human being with complex emotions.”
“What if she loves Joe more than she loved my dad? Joe is just so fucking good, and he’s funny, he’s brilliant with Verity, he makes Mum laugh all the time. He cooks! He’s all the things that I always imagined my dad would have been, and that annoys me—I don’t know why, it just does. It’s like I missed out on my real dad and then the perfect ‘stepdad’ comes along too late, I’m already grown up, so I’ve missed out on that too. And it’s gonna change everything. We’ve always been a three. What does being a four even look like? Where do I fit in? I’m away most of the time, so they’ll be perfecting their new family dynamic, and I’ll be an outsider. I want Mum to be happy. I’m just afraid of what will happen if Joe is the one to make her happy. Believe it or not, I actually like Joe a lot and I want him to like me. I feel like such a shit. He’d have every right to give me the finger and get on the ferry. I’ve fucked everything up. And I really upset Ma.” His voice cracked and he put his head in his hands.
Simone swallowed hard to dislodge the lump in her throat. She pulled the van off the road and undid her seat belt so that she could bundle her nephew into a hug.
“Patrick Joshua North, you listen to me. You are a good person. There is nothing wrong with the feelings you are experiencing. Accepting a new person into your family is a big deal, and it is completely normal to have doubts and fears. Your mum loves you more than you can even imagine. You hurt her feelings, but she’ll get over it, because love is bigger than everything else. And as for Joe, how could he not like you, you are fucking awesome! And if he doesn’t accept your apology, then he’s an idiot and he doesn’t deserve your friendship or your mum’s love, and I’ll be the one giving him the finger, after I’ve kicked his arse!” Patrick snorted a laugh into her shoulder. She kissed the top of his head and released him. Pulling out her phone, she tried Joe’s number again. Nothing. She wouldn’t let Patrick see she was worried. “Right, let’s crack on; we’ve a ferry to catch!”
Simone pulled back out onto the road and tried to channel her youngest sister’s practice of pushing positive energy out into the universe. If she was going to make this right for Maggie, she would need to harness some of Star’s eternal optimism.
47
The front courtyard of the Rowan Tree Inn was unusually busy. There hadn’t been another snowfall since the storm, and with so much footfall on Holy Trinity Green the grass was making a reappearance. The glittering Christmas tree had been out-glitzed by an eclectic group of twenty or more women over-forty showcasing a style aesthetic that ranged from Fair Isle sweaters to leather trousers and everything in between. Some of the older women had gone gracefully with their gray hair, while others railed against it with fiery orange or Cleopatra black, and in one case a fetching flamingo pink. They looked as incongruous a group of comrades as you could hope to meet.
As Maggie looked on in a kind of trance, Evette gently steering her by the elbow, Betty emerged from the crowd looking resplendent in a cerise trouser suit with 1980s shoulder-pads-of-power and a white ruffled blouse exploding out the jacket. Her short sensible gray hair had been swept up at the front and gelled into a pompadour that would have made the most ardent New Romantic jealous. Maggie had only ever seen Betty in an apron over a floral tunic and slacks, and the sight of her now jolted her out of her daze.
“Good, you’re here. We were starting to wonder how much longer we could keep Gilbert contained. Troy offered them free coffees, but they’re making noises about leaving, so we need to move now,” Betty half shouted.
Maggie shook herself, taking in the faces, which were now turned expectantly toward her.
“I’m sorry, who is Troy supplying with free coffee?”
Betty puffed out an exasperated breath toward Evette. “You didn’t tell her?”
“I didn’t know I was meant to. You just told me to get her here; that was hard enough.”
“Not to worry, no harm done. She’s here now. Let’s get in there and bang this miscreant to rights.”
“Who?” asked Maggie again, feeling increasingly like she had woken up in a parallel universe, or another decade.
“Your landlord, dear, the dishonorable Gareth Gilbert of Gilbert and Marks letting agents.”
“Right. Why is my landlord in the pub at”—she looked at her watch—“ten forty-five in the morning and what are we going to do to him?”
“Scare the shit out of him if all goes to plan, eh, ladies!” A whoop went up behind her as the women fell in line behind Betty. “Ready?” she asked, looking expectantly at Maggie.
Maggie was lost and confused, so she nodded and stepped into the space left open by Harini.
Evette squeezed her arm. “Don’t worry, I’m sure they’ve got this all under control,” she said, though Maggie noticed she had begun to bite her lip.