Patrick didn’t turn up at the shop the next day. Or the next. Or even the next. Bereft, Amy sat, flicking through book catalogues and nibbling at peanut caramel cheesecake; a new recipe that Millie was trying out. She consoled herself that the regular nightly runs with Emma would counterbalance the calories. Even a visit from the enthusiastic and very jolly HarperCollins sales rep didn’t cheer her up.
It seemed ridiculous but she had no way of contacting Patrick. There had been never been a need to exchange mobile numbers and she still didn’t know where he lived in Berecombe. He’d disappeared off the planet. She’d spent her spare time scouring his novels for clues to his life but, after all the exercise she was now doing, found herself nodding off over the books and heading for bed early. Idly cruising the net this morning, she’d had an idea. Googling Whiz, or rather Tabitha Wisley to give her her proper name, she discovered that she worked for Tatton and Brownlow Literary Agency. There was a London contact number. She was punching it in before she could overthink it. The cheerful girl who answered promised to pass a message on but said that Whiz was out of the office for most of the week. Amy replaced the receiver without much hope that she’d get a call back. Glancing at the deserted shop she decided on an early lunch break and set off to walk the short distance to her mother’s bungalow. The way she’d left their relationship bothered her. Maybe, if her friendship with Patrick was floundering, she could hope for better from her mother.
As she neared the end of the cul de sac, Amy’s heart sank as she spotted the builder’s transit parked outside the house. It meant her mother was spending money. Again. Steeling herself, she rapped on the fox head shaped knocker and was greeted by a sniffy, ‘Oh, it’s you,’ as Katrina opened the door.
She followed her mother into the kitchen and sat down at the table while the kettle was put on and tea things made ready. Amy looked around while she waited. The house had never reflected her mother but it had been all she could afford. Property in Berecombe was an astronomic price and bungalows were always in demand. After the divorce, Katrina had never seemed to have the money to do up the bungalow in the way she wanted. The kitchen units were dark oak and dated and the tiles the best tangerine the 1970s could offer. With a pang, Amy recollected the kitchen in the family house in Singapore. Enormous, with shiny white cupboards and a team of servants to keep them that way. The house had come with her father’s job. Ultra-modern, with shady raised patio gardens and an infinity pool, it had been a luxurious backdrop to a lifestyle that Katrina had enjoyed to the full. She loved the ex-pat life, the country club dinners and business cocktail parties. She’d been in her element. And while Amy wilted in the humidity, Katrina had bloomed like a delicate frangipani flower. It must have hit her hard to come back to Berecombe and face those who still lived here and knew her before her glittering marriage.
Katrina put the teapot down and arranged the matching teacups. Wedgewood Wild Strawberry. She wouldn’t dream of drinking from a mug. For a second Amy had a flare of pride in her mother’s stubbornness to cling onto what standards she could maintain.
‘I see you’re having the work done.’
‘Only doing out the en suite and the spare bedroom. If I’m to do Airbnb I want to offer a certain standard.’ Katrina picked up her tea cup, little finger crooked.
‘You going ahead with that, then?’ Amy drank her tea. It was good. Her mother always made excellent tea. Maybe it was because she did it properly. Warmed the teapot, used loose tea.
‘Of course.’ Katrina arched a brow. ‘The income will be welcome and I shall enjoy the company.’
Amy let the barb pass.
‘So what brings you here?’ Her mother asked as she sipped daintily. ‘You very rarely darken my doors these days.’
Amy replaced her cup with care, determined not to rise to the bait. ‘I thought we should have a chat.’ She took a deep breath and launched in. ‘And I’ll start with an apology. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that, the last time you came into the shop.’
‘No, you shouldn’t,’ Katrina replied, obviously not wanting to concede too quickly.
‘I’m sorry Mum. It’s just that sometimes,’ Amy paused and let the banging noise from the builder fill the awkward silence. ‘Sometimes I get a little,’ she shrugged, ‘well, a lot to be honest, frustrated that you never seem to give me a compliment. Tell me how well I’m doing. Or even, that I look nice. Every time you open your mouth, all I get is criticism. You never seem proud of me.’ Amy stopped, aware of sounding needy.
‘Well, maybe I wouldn’t have to comment on your appearance if you took better care of yourself. Have you looked in a mirror today?’
Amy sighed. It was no good. Her mother would never change. ‘This is pointless,’ she said and got up to go. ‘I don’t know why I even thought to bother explaining how I feel.’
‘Where are you going? You haven’t finished your tea.’
Amy looked down at her mother. ‘Do you realize what you say has such an impact on me?’
‘Does it?’ Katrina shifted uncomfortably, she looked taken aback. ‘I’m only trying to help,’ she said plaintively. She put an hand on Amy’s arm. ‘Why don’t you sit back down and tell me.’
‘I just have but you came back with another bitchy comment!’
Katrina made a little “o” with her mouth. ‘I think you’d better sit down and explain that comment. I’ve been many things, young lady, but I’ve never, ever been a bitch!’
Amy slumped back down. What was it with mothers? You immediately regressed to being twelve and surly. ‘It’s how I feel. I’m fed up with the catalogue of criticism from you.’
‘So you said. Do you ever wonder why I say them?’ Katrina added, more gently and reached over to take her daughter’s hand.
‘Often.’ Amy scowled.
‘Oh Amy, my darling. I want the best for you. The very best that life can offer.’ She paused. ‘I’m sorry if I come across as critical,’ she added, stiffly. ‘I don’t mean to be. I’ve been telling everyone how well you’re doing with the shop,’
Hope flared. ‘Were you?’ It was the first time Amy had ever heard her mother come even close to an apology. She settled back onto the hard kitchen chair and waited to see what Katrina would say next.
‘Of course. I am very proud of you, my darling. I really am.’
‘I wish you’d show it more often.’
‘Then maybe I should.’ Katrina took in a deep breath. ‘I’ll try.’ Another pause. ‘I know I’m perhaps not the mother you wanted or needed.’
‘What?’ Amy was shocked.
‘I’ve always thought I didn’t live up to your expectations. You take after your father. Much cleverer than me. And he left me for someone intellectual. He despised my lack of brain power. I rather think you do too.’ Katrina bit her lip, tears not far away. ‘You and your father. Always sharing jokes I didn’t get, having conversations I didn’t understand.’
It was true, Amy thought with a pang. She had looked down on her mother. It was hard to believe they shared the same genes. Katrina was all shoes and handbags, the latest lipstick. Books decorated a room; they weren’t for reading. Amy had got on far better with her father. They had more in common and he always encouraged her with her studies, backed her all the way in her journey to university. ‘I never knew,’ Amy stuttered. ‘I never knew you felt that way.’
‘And when he left us, you were landed with me.’ Katrina picked up her cup and, seeing it empty, refilled it, her hand shaking slightly.
Amy was choked. She’d had no idea her mother felt like this. ‘You’re my mum. You were on your own, I didn’t get landed with you. I wanted to come back to England with you.’ Amy thought of how Jasmine had slipped into her father’s life. Had replaced her in the cosy club they’d once shared. It had hurt more than she thought possible. Had left her confidence shattered. It must have done the same to her mother but, instead of bringing them closer, it had riven a gulf between them. ‘I should have had more compassion, more understanding,’ she said.
‘Amy, you were the child,’ Katrina said, wearily. ‘It was up to me to look after you, not the other way around. But you always seemed so self-contained, so driven. You went off to university without a care.’
‘And all the time I was missing Dad so badly, I cried myself to sleep for the first term and a half.’
Katrina gave a wry smile. ‘But not me.’
‘I missed you too. Like crazy! I felt really guilty, to be honest, about going away and leaving you.’
‘I wouldn’t have stopped you,’ Katrina said, looking amazed. ‘I always want the best for you. For you to be the best you can be.’ She paused, thinking through what she was saying. ‘I suppose that’s why I’m hard on you not bothering about your appearance. It’s your window to the world, I was always told.’
There was a silence while both women mulled over what had been said.
‘You know what,’ Amy ventured. ‘I’ve always harboured a suspicion I wasn’t the daughter you wanted. Not nearly girly enough.’
Karina reached for Amy’s hand, her eyes bright with unshed tears. ‘You’re the only one I’ve got.’
‘And you’re the only mum I’ve got, so ditto. Better make the most of it then.’
They managed a teary laugh.
‘I suppose the business with Lee didn’t help.’ Amy sniffed a little. ‘It was all such a mess afterwards. I’ve always felt guilty that you sorted it all out.’
‘Darling, you were hardly in a state to do it.’ Katrina shrugged. ‘I did what I had to.’
‘I’m not sure if I’ve ever said how grateful I am that you did. I was, you know. I couldn’t have got through that time without you. Oh Mum, I know I’m a disappointment to you. I know you’d rather have a high-flying career daughter who married a millionaire and popped out immaculate babies every two years.’
‘Amy! How could you be a disappointment? You’ve never been that,’ Katrina added, robustly. She gave a wry laugh. ‘In Lee’s case, I think he might have fathered the babies but I doubt if he would have managed to make a million. Or stayed around long enough to look after the children. Feckless youth but you seemed taken with him. Although I was never convinced he would have made you happy.’ She caught her daughter’s astonished look and added, ‘The expense of cancelling an entire wedding aside, I rather think you had a lucky escape there.’
‘But I thought … I thought …’
‘Do spit it out, Amy.’
‘I thought he was what you wanted for me? A husband, a family. Security. A home.’
‘I do want those things for you, Amy.’ Katrina paused and poured them both yet more tea. ‘Do you want to know what I think?’
‘About Lee?’
Katrina nodded. ‘About Lee. I think that young man had got it into his head you came from a more monied background than you do. And once he’d realized the pot was rather more empty than full, he scarpered.’ She sniffed eloquently, then drank some tea. ‘Good riddance, I say. Not the one for you.’
‘I wish you’d said at the time!’
‘Would you have taken any notice?’
‘Probably not.’ Amy conceded the point. She’d been so lonely on her return to Berecombe that she’d sucked up Lee’s attentions. Better him than be alone. Perhaps she would have been better to nurture a relationship with her mother.
‘It’s true though,’ Katrina replaced her cup with care. ‘I do want you to marry well, enjoy a secure life in some sort of comfort.’
Amy chuckled. ‘It’s the twenty-first century, Mum. I can make my own comfortable, secure life.’
‘Living in an attic bedsit and working in a shop?’
‘I’m happy in the flat. I love managing the bookshop. And I don’t need a man to provide any security.’
Katrina pursed her lips. ‘And what happens when you want babies? How are you going to carry a pushchair up all those stairs and what happens with your job? Can you afford childcare? And have you any idea how hard it is to raise a child on your own?’
Amy frowned at her mother. She shook her head in bewilderment. ‘I’m not sure I want children. I haven’t even thought about it.’ Liar, she said to herself, as a picture of a toddler with Patrick’s blue eyes and curly black hair flashed into her imagination.
‘You girls nowadays,’ Katrina said. ‘You think you can have it all. You want it all.’ She leaned forward. ‘And it’s not always possible!’
‘Did you ever want a career?’ Amy had never thought of asking before. Her mother had always seemed perfectly content as the corporate wife. ‘Oh Mum, did you regret having me?’ Amy clapped a hand to her mouth in horror. ‘Is that why you’re so horrible to me?’
Katrina sat back, appalled. ‘So you really think I’m horrible to you?’
Amy nodded miserably.
‘Oh my darling, how did we ever get into this pickle?’
‘Not being honest with one another, I suppose.’
Katrina got up decisively. ‘I can’t have my daughter feeling that I’m horrible to her.’ She came round to Amy’s side of the table and drew her into a Dior-scented hug. ‘We need to agree a deal.’
‘What’s that Mum?’ Amy asked, her voice muffled in her mother’s bear hug.
‘I promise to only make constructive critical comments from now on and follow the rule of three to one.’
‘Three to one?’
‘One critical to every three positive comments.’ She kissed the top of Amy’s head and released her to fish out a tissue and delicately blow her nose. ‘And now, unless you’re awash with the stuff, I think we need more tea. Or perhaps gin? Is the sun over the yardarm yet?’
‘Nice try, Mum but it’s much too early for gin.’ Amy glanced at her watch. She shot up, horrified. ‘Look at the time! I’ve got to get back to the shop.’
A knock came at the kitchen door and a dusty-haired youth in white overalls poked his head round. ‘I’ll be stopping for lunch now Mrs C.’ He grinned attractively. ‘Should get that shower in by close of play today.’
‘Oh thank you so much, Darren. You have worked hard. I’ll make sure the kettle’s on for your return,’ Katrina simpered. ‘I’m afraid my daughter,’ at this she gave Amy a warm look, ‘my lovely daughter, has rather monopolised my time this morning.’
Amy watched the exchange and giggled. Her mother was flirting outrageously and Darren looked to be barely into his twenties.
‘And chocolate digestives for later,’ Katrina added. ‘I haven’t forgotten they’re your favourites.’
‘Cheers Mrs C. Crackin.’ Laters.’
‘Laters Darren,’ Katrina waved coquettishly.
‘Mum,’ Amy said, half appalled, half in admiration. ‘You are awful.’
‘Well, I’ve always maintained a little harmless flirtation is good for the complexion. Gives one a glow.’
Laughing, Amy reached for her coat and then paused in the act of putting it on, as a thought occurred. ‘What have I got to do to meet my end of the deal?’
Katrina gave her an impish look. ‘Do you think you could replace the grey cardigan?’