Annie tensed, but Polly’s father just tutted, as if she’d made an off-color joke. “Like it or not, Poll, the outcome of the referendum has a lot more impact on the future than what type of shoes you’re going to wear.”
“But the shoes bring me joy. And other people joy.” She waved one foot, which was shod in an embroidered teal slipper, its gold thread winking in the sun. Annie hunched down slightly to hide her own scuffed Converses.
“Roger Leonard,” the man boomed, crushing Annie’s hand. “What about you, Annie, do you have any burning thoughts on the state of the EU, or indeed on my daughter’s footwear?”
“I like the shoes,” she ventured.
“Another one.” Roger knocked back more wine. “I gather you met Polly at the hospital?”
“They are wonderful there,” said Valerie, who was stirring something on the stove. “When P was first poorly we thought we’d have to go private. We were all ready to chuck money at it, weren’t we, darling! But she said no, she’d tough it out on the NHS. Little trooper. And they have been marvelous.”
Annie nodded along. Did they realize some people had no other option than to “tough it out”? She’d no idea how she was going to pay for a care home when her mother came out of the hospital.
Polly sat down at the table, tipping her chair so it wobbled on three legs. “Especially Dr. McGrumpy. Mum loves him.”
“He is terribly dishy. That accent.”
“He looks like someone wearing a Chewbacca costume.”
Valerie said, “Oh P, you do exaggerate. He’s just manly is all.”
Annie quite liked the way Dr. Max was hairy. It made him seem cuddly, like a giant friendly bear. As they sat down, she wondered again about Polly’s domestic situation. Why did she live with her parents, and had she ever been married? Did she have a boyfriend or anything? Annie imagined that terminal cancer was a bit of a barrier to dating.
“Here we are,” Valerie said, setting down a steaming terra-cotta dish.
George groaned. “Dear God, Ma, not couscous again? You know I’m on a low-carb diet.”
“Bad enough your sister’s got so thin, without you wasting away, too.”
“I’d love to waste away. I’m well jel of how skinny she is. I’ll just have the chicken.”
So that’s what it was. Annie was struggling to identify the contents of the food, a sort of yellow stew with a strong spicy smell. She let Roger slop some onto her plate. “Valerie does love her Moroccan.”
She prodded about in the mix, trying to find something edible. That was a tomato, she thought. Tentatively, she put it in her mouth, only to turn red and let out a small yelp. Not a tomato.
George was smirking. “Mum likes to load her tagines up with Calabrian chilies. Be careful.”
“Get her some water, Georgie,” said Valerie. Annie gulped it down, feeling embarrassed. Everyone else was perfectly at home, eating the red-hot stew, drinking wines with different complicated names, discussing stories from that day’s papers. She tried to piece together what they all did. George, she gathered, was an aspiring actor who enjoyed trashing all the stars in accompanying magazines. “Look how bald he is. She’s had Botox.” Roger, it seemed, worked in the city, and Valerie had been the head of a girls’ school and was now retired. The table was covered in papers and magazines, even academic journals with titles such as Advances in Oncology. As they ate, they bandied about medical jargon.
“We really think P would benefit from alternative therapies,” Valerie said, eating daintily. “There’s a lot of studies now about acupuncture, and Chinese herbs seem to be quite effective. I’m going to a talk on homeopathy next week, too.”
George groaned loudly. “Please, Mum.”
“What? There’s plenty of evidence about the power of positive thinking. What harm can it do to try things?”
“McGrumpy says it’s all hokum.” Polly had once again only taken a few bites of her food.
“Yes, well, it’s not in the hospital’s interests to fund nonmedical therapies, but we think there’s every chance. Don’t we, Roger darling?”
George rolled his eyes. Roger had his eyes on his food and just said, “She’s a trooper, aren’t you, P? She’s going to fight this thing.”
Annie was puzzled—Dr. Max had told her there was no hope for Polly. She had nothing to add to the discussion, so she ate around the chilies in her food, and felt boring. Why had Polly even asked her? She could have been in bed, watching a boxset of Grey’s Anatomy while listening to Costas talk loudly in the next room. He always rang his mum on Sundays. She was suddenly shot through with a longing to do the same. Just to have her mother know who she was, discuss her life, dissect the week’s soap operas. Such a little thing to ask for.
George pushed his plate away. “Right, I’m off.”
“Where to, George?” Polly asked innocently.
He shot her a look that Annie didn’t understand. “The gym.”
“Oh, yes, anyone special going to be there?”
George said, “Hey, Poll, speaking of special—are you ever going to call Tom back? He’s been texting me again asking about you.”
Who was Tom? Valerie and Roger exchanged a quick panicked look, but Polly ignored the comment, toying with her tagine. “Have fun with all those bench presses, bro.”
Valerie wailed, “But you haven’t had pudding! I made clafouti!”
“Um, no carbs and no sugar, remember?”
“But, Georgie—”
“Not now, Ma. I’ll be late.” He pulled on a leather jacket. “Will we be seeing Annie again?”
Annie blushed. Polly said, “Don’t be so bloody rude, G. She can hear you.”
Roger ignored this tension, sloshing more wine into Annie’s glass before she had time to say no. She’d hardly been able to eat any of her food—she’d be drunk at this rate. Valerie was staring ahead of her, eyes suddenly blank.
“All right, Mum?” said Polly.
“I think I’ll go for a little nap, darling.” She fixed Annie with a bright smile. “I’m so lucky having both my children at home with me! Are you close to your parents, Annie?”
“My mum’s not too well just now. She’s in the hospital.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. What about your father?”
Annie could feel Polly’s eyes on her. “Well, he’s—he’s not really in the picture.”
“Oh, what a shame.” Valerie looked vague again. “Perhaps you’d get the dishes, Roger darling. I think I’ll just...”
“Hmm?” Roger was looking at his phone, peering over his glasses. It vibrated suddenly, making everyone jump.
Valerie’s voice soared and broke. “I do wish you’d put that thing away. It’s family time. Family, Roger.” She stood up, scraping her chair. “You can clear up. I’m going to lie down.”
Polly stood up, too, scraping out a slice of clafouti, which turned out to be a sort of custardy pie. “Come on. I’ll show you the garden, Annie.” Annie trailed out after her, aware of some undercurrent of tension and with a vague niggling worry it might be something to do with her.
*