‘Claire?’ The voice made me lift my head. I realised I must have looked a right idiot standing in the middle of the street, my mobile in my hand, with a vacant expression on my face. ‘Claire? What are you doing?’
My sister peered suspiciously at me. ‘Shouldn’t you be at work? Greasing the wheels of industry and making sackfuls of money?’
‘I’ve been to the doctor.’ Already I felt as if I was skiving.
‘Oh God, you’re not ill, are you?’ She peered at my saggy, red eyes. ‘Is it serious?’
And once again, completely against my control, tears flowed like tea from a leaky teapot.
‘It’s not cancer, is it?’
How like Alice to immediately jump to the worst conclusion.
‘No. I’ve…’ I could hardly bring myself to say it. In fact, she was the last person I wanted to admit it to. Our relationship was such that she’d probably say it was karma or something but I didn’t have the wherewithal to lie; I felt too battered, as if I’d just been rescued from a shipwreck. All that crying, probably, and so I said it: ‘I’ve been signed off with stress.’
‘Oh,’ she said with a slight air of disappointment as if to say, is that all?. Then her eyes brightened with sudden beady avarice. ‘Do you want to go to The Friendly Bean for a coffee?’
Even as listless and drained as I felt, like the last lone piece of spaghetti abandoned in the pan, some small part of my brain thought, that’s odd. Her response was quite un-Alice-like but I allowed myself to be steered down the street and across the road into the park, perhaps because I didn’t know what else to do.
The Friendly Bean, though it was situated in the middle of Victoria Park, was the place to go in Churchstone. It was a funky café run by Sascha, a statuesque young woman with wild, thick blonde curls piled up on top of her head, secured by a succession of paisley scarves that changed with the seasons. The old Victorian pavilion was eclectically furnished with a mix of church pews, softened by plump velvet cushions, old-fashioned school desks, stools made from tractor seats which were more comfortable than they appeared, and worn sofas that welcomed you into their lumpy embrace. It was always teeming with customers. This morning was no exception but Alice made a beeline for an empty corner with a battered leather chesterfield armchair and a padded stool, plumping for the armchair and calling over her shoulder, ‘Mine’s a cappuccino.’
Having a clear purpose stirred me from my fug, with the quick observation that Alice had neatly manoeuvred me into paying. I should have realised that altruism had little to do with her quick invitation.
I handed her the coffee and sat down on the stool next to her, taking a grateful sip of my own Americano. The noise and bustle of The Friendly Bean with its yummy mummies and smattering of people working at laptops made me feel more grounded and a bit more normal, although a headache was digging in, its tight bands of pain circling my skull.
‘So. Signed off. Stress. How long for?’ Alice’s sharp interest was palpable as she studied me, her nose almost quivering like a squirrel’s.
I sighed, not quite believing it. Nothing seemed real at the moment. It was as if I were floating through fog. ‘A month.’ A whole month. What on earth was I going to do with myself? The thought of it was causing me more anxiety than going to work had been doing for the last… longer than a week, I realised, at last facing up to the truth. I’d had this about-to-step-off-a-cliff feeling for the last two… go on then, three months. In my usual overachieving way, I’d been successful at masking it.
‘A month. Will they pay you?’
‘I guess so.’ I hadn’t even thought about it. Sick pay wasn’t something I’d ever had to consider before.
‘Well that’s good. You can still enjoy yourself then.’
‘Mmm.’ I nodded while thinking, enjoy myself? Doing what?
‘So what are you going to do with yourself?’
Why did she have to ask that? My stomach knotted itself like crazy macramé. What indeed? But I’d only just walked out of the surgery; I think I was still in shock.
‘I know.’ She straightened as if the thought had just light-bulbed its way into her head, at which point I knew her invitation to coffee had had an agenda.
‘You can look after the girls and I can go to India.’ Her beam was brilliant, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm and delight. ‘That will give you something to do.’
Funny how Alice managed to make it sound as if she were doing me a huge favour.
‘I can, can I?’ I raised a sarcastic eyebrow feeling a little more like myself. This was so typical of Alice.
‘Yes. It’s perfect.’
I stared at her, noting the heightened colour on her cheeks as she clapped her hands together. ‘Serendipity. It was meant to happen.’
‘And how do you figure that?’ Sometimes I did think she was barking mad, although more often than not, she was just manipulative.
‘You being signed off at exactly the time I’m supposed to go to India. It’s karma. You’ve got to say yes, Claire. I’ll never get this chance again. Jon will let me have all my board and lodgings for free. And it’s only for a week, so you’ll still have three whole weeks of holiday. And the girls will love it. And I’ve always, always wanted to go to India. I might have to get you to lend me the money for the flight, though.’
‘Whoa, whoa!’ I held up my hand. ‘Slow down. What are you talking about?’
‘India,’ she said with exasperation as if I were completely stupid. ‘I’ve been invited to go. I only have to pay for my flights.’
‘Alice, you can’t just go to India. You need jabs and things.
‘Poo, don’t be silly. Of course, I can. I’m not you. Don’t even think about being a mean, old stiff and making me turn down this amazing opportunity. It’s been my dream to go to India forever.’
Translated as, since she met Jon at Yoga class six months ago.
‘But what about the girls? You can’t take them with you. Don’t they have school?’
‘Of course I’m not taking them. Don’t be silly.’
‘Well who’s going to look after them?’
‘You are, of course. It makes perfect sense. It’s not as if you’ve got anything else to do.’ She folded her arms and gave me a bright look of triumph. ‘You were complaining you never saw them.’
‘I think what I actually said was that you don’t ask me to babysit anymore. It was an observation rather than a complaint. Not quite the same thing.’
‘Well, here’s your chance. You can babysit every night for a week.’
‘Gosh, how kind of you. I don’t suppose it’s occurred to you that I have my own life, thank you very much.’
‘Yeah and how’s that going right now?’ Alice’s eyes gleamed maliciously. ‘All those friends of yours queuing up to see you, are they?’
I bit my lip and kept my expression bland even though she’d touched a raw nerve. Friends were few and far between. With the unexpected precision of a well-targeted dart, I remembered my conversation with Ashwin Laghari. I’d lost some good friends over the years, sacrificed on the altar of my job. They tend to give up when you repeatedly turn down invitations, but when you’re snowed under it doesn’t seem to matter. You only realise the loss when it’s too late.