Four Weddings and a Fiasco

It must be him.

For a second, I’m caught in limbo, heart slamming against my ribs.

I could just let it ring. Hurry back to the car and drive round to the safety of Mallory’s house …

But if I run away, I’ll just be playing into the hands of a bully.

Taking a breath, I push the door open.

The jolly ringtone is deafeningly loud now, slicing through the darkness.

I close the door softly behind me and stand in the shadows of the hallway, holding my breath, wating for it to stop.

Perhaps this time he will hang up without leaving one of his messages.

‘Katy, love? Are you there?’

For a stunned second, I can’t take it in.

Then I run through to the living room and dive on the phone.

‘Mum? Is that you?’

She laughs. ‘Of course it’s me. Sorry, were you busy, love?’

‘No. No.’ Blissful relief courses through me, and a laugh bursts out. ‘It’s just so great to hear your voice.’

There’s a brief silence.

‘But I only saw you last week,’ she murmurs. ‘Are you all right, Katy?’

I flop down on the sofa. ‘I’m fine, Mum. Honestly. Everything’s great.’

‘Are you sure?’ Her sharpness takes me by surprise. I thought I’d been doing a pretty good job of shielding her from the mess that is currently my life.

‘It’s just you looked so exhausted when you were over last Tuesday,’ she says. ‘I’ve been thinking about it, and I’m worried about you. Did you know you nearly nodded off when I was telling you about Venus’s demonic entity fright.’

I lean my head back, aware of my heart rate gradually subsiding. ‘Venus? Demonic entity fright?’ It does ring a vague bell from last time. I think I just switched off, it was so preposterous.

‘Yes, Venus. You know. That nice but slightly batty woman who’s started coming to yoga?’

I nod, still feeling weirdly spacey.

Ah yes, the yoga class.

It’s been a bit of a turning point for Mum.

In the time since Dad died – coming up for three years now – she’s really been through the mill. For a long time, she refused to even consider selling the family home, even though it was clear she couldn’t go on paying the huge mortgage herself. Then about a year ago, I took her for a drive to Clandon House, an old country estate that had been modernised into apartments. And incredibly, she loved it.

Since she rented her two-bed flat there and moved in last March, she’s actually started to get back some of her joy in life, which is a huge relief for me.

Two of her new neighbours, Grace and Annabeth, have become good friends, which seems to have really perked her up. And they’ve introduced her to yoga, which she loves.

Last Tuesday, when I was at Mum’s for afternoon tea, they were all talking about someone called Venus. They kept referring to her as ‘the new girl in class’, which made me smile, bearing in mind their average age must be about sixty.

‘Katy? Are you still there?’

‘Yes. Sorry, Mum. Go on.’

‘Forgotten what I was saying now.’

‘Venus. And her – um – demonic entity experience?’

‘Ah yes. Nice woman but decidedly odd. Claimed she was just minding her own business, shopping for kitchen roll and kippers, when this huge force entered her and she felt she was being possessed by Satan. I mean, really. Have you ever!’

‘It does sound a bit unlikely, Mum.’

‘You’re not wrong there, love. But anyway, when I was telling you about it on Tuesday there, you were actually drifting off. You know, you really are working much too hard these days.’

‘Mum, when it’s your own business, you have to work all the hours.’

Not that she needs reminding of this. She was, after all, married for thirty-six years to a serial entrepreneur. Dad, bless him, was forever pursuing one business idea or another, with varying degrees of success.

Mum sighs. ‘I know, love. But it must be so difficult having to do absolutely everything yourself. Now that your sister …’

My grip on the phone tightens.

Mum trails off, knowing she’s straying into forbidden territory.

‘You’re very precious to me, Katy.’ There’s a break in her voice. And her unspoken subtext hangs in the air: Especially now that your sister is living so far away.

Tears prick my eyes and, for once, I don’t dash them away.

It’s so hard for her, I know. She must miss Sienna terribly, and the last thing I want is her worrying about me, too.

Mum thinks I work silly hours because it’s my business and I love the work, which is partly true. But she knows nothing about the stomach-churning fear that dominates my life; the debts that hang over me and routinely keep me from sleeping properly at night; and why working seven days a week is something I just have to do, because then at least I’m in with a chance of keeping my head above water. A chance to avoid the thing I most dread – losing the business and having my little house repossessed.

I open my mouth to try and reassure her again that I’m perfectly all right, but nothing comes out.

There are times in life when nothing but a hug from your mum will do.

And for a second, I find myself wishing desperately that Mum were here. Sitting on the sofa next to me, absently playing with the lump of rose quartz on the chain round her neck and delving in her homemade raffia bag for the little bottle of foul-smelling anti-stress tincture that Annabeth gave her to ‘balance her system’. I don’t know if she uses it, but it goes everywhere with her. (It smells like something died in her handbag, which makes her slightly embarrassing to go shopping with.)

I stand up, as Mum talks on, and walk through to the small conservatory, which is bathed in an eerie semi-light from the full moon.

I know it’s a mark of how concerned she is that she bravely brought up a forbidden subject and risked me hanging up on her. I just wish she could understand that the days of Sienna and I being as close as sisters could be have gone forever.

I do not need Sienna’s help. We may have worked together for the first six months, but I’ve managed to keep the business afloat all by myself since Sienna left, almost two years ago.