‘I’ll try,’ I said, knowing it would be pointless to say no.
Still reeling from the second bout of vertigo I’d had in the last three months I really didn’t fancy the chicken soup she had taken the trouble to make; however, after the first few sips my stomach began to unclench and it was gone in minutes.
‘Thank you,’ I said gratefully, as she cleared up after me. ‘That was delicious.’
‘I thought it would be just the thing,’ she smiled, ‘and that it would be easier in a cup.’
She was right, as usual.
‘So, what did Dad say about me being off work?’ I bravely asked.
‘Not much. When I told him I’d come here and check up on you, he said he’d call in at the office.’
I wasn’t sure I liked the sound of that.
‘He was muttering something about letting Chris oversee the contract as it needs to be dealt with quickly. The lad sounds like a very willing member of the team to me.’
‘Oh, yes, he’s that all right,’ I agreed, my mood deflating further.
‘Well, don’t you worry about it,’ said Joan.
‘I’m not worried,’ I shrugged. ‘Why would I be worried?’
‘There’s more to life than work you know,’ she carried on, squeezing my hand. ‘Not that I would ever let your father hear me say that of course.’
We exchanged a conspiratorial smile and she began to gather her things together.
‘I’ll pop back again tomorrow,’ she said, heading for the door. ‘You make you sure you get plenty of rest. It sounds to me like everything’s under control.’
Worryingly, it sounded like that to me too.
*
Having finally slept, after managing some more of the wonderful soup Joan had left, I was feeling much better the next morning. Not quite well enough to drive myself to work, but certainly less inclined to fall over whenever I stood up. However, rather than push my luck and book a taxi and risk a relapse I uncharacteristically decided to have another day at home. Joan’s words, coupled with my stirred-up memories of what my life used to be like, along with what had happened to Mum, had got me thinking, and I had surprised myself by coming to the hasty conclusion that, no matter what anyone said, I was definitely going to take a proper break.
I didn’t want to let Dad or the business down, but this latest dose of dizziness had forced my hand somewhat and I had finally realized that if I didn’t want either my mental or physical health to suffer further then I was going to have to properly rethink my priorities and strike a better work/ life balance. I couldn’t just keep thinking about it, conning myself into believing that would be enough, I needed to get on and make it happen. But not in Crow’s Nest Cottage . . .
Thank you for your further enquiry. Crow’s Nest Cottage will not be available from the end of May as it is being withdrawn from the holiday rental market. Should you still wish to stay in the area, do let me know and I will recommend other accommodation, further along the coast.
As sad as it was, that was the end of that, because if I couldn’t stay in the cottage, I would rather not revisit Wynmouth at all. Determined not to have my resolve to take a break thwarted, however, I decided I would jet off to somewhere far-flung and exotic instead.
‘How are you feeling?’ asked Joan, when she arrived with yet more edible treats and a bunch of yellow roses cut fresh from the garden.
‘Better,’ I said, ‘almost one hundred per cent.’
She didn’t look convinced, but I meant it, even if I did still look a bit peaky. Even just making the decision to get away had done me no end of good.
‘There now,’ she said, once she had finished stocking the fridge. ‘That looks more like it.’
I had to admit the shelves had been a bit Old Mother Hubbard prior to her arrival. Wilting watercress and almost-out-of-date skimmed milk weren’t exactly set to contribute much to aiding my recovery.
‘Any news from the frontline?’ I asked, while she artfully arranged the roses in a vase before lifting Mum’s trunk on to the sofa so I could properly sort through it without having to bend down.
‘Your dad seems very taken with Chris,’ she told me.
This came as no surprise and, if I played my cards right, might now end up working in my favour.
‘He says he’s a credit to you, Tess,’ she smiled. ‘That you’ve done an excellent job training him up.’
That was a surprise and I was delighted to hear it, although it would have been even better coming from Dad.
‘Well,’ I smiled back. ‘At least I’ve done something right.’
‘You do everything right,’ Joan said firmly. ‘The way this chap has stepped up is proof enough of that.’
And how fortuitous had that turned out to be? Chris had wasted no time in nailing his colours to the mast and, given my decision to pull my feet out of the ‘live to work’ mire and plant them in the ‘work to live’ meadow, that was to be applauded rather than resented. My accomplished deputy had presented his ambitious streak at just the right time.
*
Later that afternoon, I delved deeper into Mum’s trunk. Right at the very bottom and hidden under what looked like a sheet of lining paper, I discovered some A4 envelopes containing pages and pages of what looked like diary entries printed from a computer.
Each sheet had a date at the top and as I flicked through, I could see that they were all in chronological order. A part of me was saying that whatever was printed on the pages I held in my slightly shaking hands was absolutely no business of mine at all and that I should put them back where I’d found them.
However, there was another part, a stronger part as it turned out, which was whispering that this was most likely the last possible link I had with my mother and that I might discover something which would help me finally begin to come to terms with losing her. I sat and began to read the top sheet from the envelope which was dated the furthest back.
I didn’t have to read too far down the page to realize that what I had discovered was far from comforting. Tears quickly blurred my vision and my breath caught in my throat.
I saw them together last night and it tore my heart in two. I can’t talk to anyone about it, so I’m going to write about it instead. I need to express what I’m feeling somewhere and this feels like the safest place . . .
They were in a restaurant on the other side of town. It was a different woman this time. She looked beautiful, so much younger than me . . .
I dropped the page as if the words had burned my fingers. I had always known that women found Dad attractive. You only had to see how they reacted around him to realize that, but I hadn’t known that he had been tempted to stray beyond the marital bed. But that’s what these words Mum had written were suggesting, weren’t they? And looking at the number of pages spread out around me, this clearly wasn’t a one-off she was recording.
For a while I sat in stunned silence and then my anger began to grow.
I was floored by my father’s blatant hypocrisy. How could a man who championed family loyalty above everything else, treat his wife with such little respect? What gave him the right to keep banging on about family values and family first, when he had been seen out in a restaurant, wining and dining another woman who was evidently nothing to do with our family at all?