Chapter Three

Winnie wheezed her way back to the G-plan teak table precariously holding the cup, saucer and teapot-laden tray. Lisa had learned not to offer to help, as the gesture seemed to insult Winnie, who always insisted there was ‘plenty of life left in the old girl yet’. Taking her seat opposite Lisa, Winnie smiled with self-satisfaction, before leaning forwards to stir the teapot. As she looked at the tray, she began rocking in her chair in readiness to get up again.

‘Look at that now, I’ve forgotten the biscuits and I got those ones you like too.’

‘Oh, let me, please,’ Lisa insisted, holding Winnie’s hand before she could lift it from the edge of the table.

‘No. There’s plenty …’ Winnie swung her slippered feet twice more into the air, but having still not achieved a standing position she relented. ‘Oh bugger it, all right then!’

Lisa chuckled. She had never known Winnie concede to accepting help and she had never heard her swear, but she was pleased to be able to do something to help.

‘Just there in the barrel, my lovely.’ Winnie pointed at the biscuit barrel that Lisa thought you might describe as retro if it wasn’t for the fact it had been in use since the 1970s. It had an orange, floral pattern all round it; a worn, gold knob on top; and some kind of beads that you could hear moving in the lid as you pulled it off. Perhaps they were there to aid freshness. Lisa decided not to ask in case the noise was the result of a four-decade crumb build-up trapped in the lid.

Returning to the table, Lisa looked inside at the custard creams Winnie had replenished for her. Bless her, such a kind gesture. Lisa thought she had probably eaten more custard creams since beginning to walk Jack than she had in her entire twenty-nine years before; she was even getting used to the taste of them being tainted with the ginger nuts ever present in the bottom of the barrel. She ate them because Winnie got them for her and that made her feel like she mattered. To this dear, old lady – maybe even to Jack, though he didn’t always show it – she mattered. She had earned a place in Winnie’s heart, well, her biscuit barrel anyway, and she liked that.

Lisa had thought that moving back to Littlehampton, the seaside town she had grown up in, would feel like coming home. But the reality felt very different. Everybody had moved on with their lives. They weren’t holding their breath for Lisa Blake to return. She had lost contact with even the closest of her old friends and felt she could hardly front up with a ‘Remember me?’ on their doorsteps. Not after so much time had passed. She knew they would have every right to think she had ignored them for too long. Lisa feared she had not only burned her bridges, as her Granny Blake would have said, but it had been so long that she may well have positively cremated them.

Lisa looked at her watch.

‘You in a hurry today, my lovely?’

‘No.’ Lisa knew she really should be more focused on slotting in the next client and building her business, the way her dad had told her. But it would be rude to rush off when Winnie had always put the kettle on and warmed the teapot. ‘You know I’ve always got time for my favourite client.’ Lisa smiled.

Winnie dipped her ginger nut into her tea, as Jack settled down under her chair. ‘So, my lovely, what’s been happening with you? No more bites this week, I hope.’

‘No.’ Lisa laughed. ‘I’m not feeding Dexter this week.’ Just thinking about the pesky parrot made her still-sore fingers ache.

‘Oh, good. So I don’t need to worry about you on that score then.’ Winnie smiled. ‘And how about getting out and about? Been anywhere? Met anybody new?’

‘No, not out anywhere special but …’ About to reveal she’d had an encounter with a mysterious man in leather, Lisa realised she couldn’t mention that without relating the whole tale. Having paused too long she had to think of something to say to the now eagerly waiting Winnie. ‘Well, there’s Toby; he’s tall, dark and handsome,’ she finally offered.

‘Ooh, yes.’ Winnie’s eyes lit up at the idea that Lisa had found a man. She was always telling her she should get out more and find someone new. That ‘life’s too short’.

‘Quite a looker really, for a Newfoundland!’ Lisa added, biting on her custard cream, rather pleased with her quick thinking.

‘What?’ Winnie took a moment to process the information. ‘A Newfoundland? A dog … you’ve met a dog?’

Lisa nodded.

‘I thought you’d met a man.’ Winnie batted a hand at her. ‘You’re a rotter, Lisa Blake.’

‘I’ll be seeing a lot of him. He needs a lift to his swimming class twice a week,’ Lisa continued teasingly.

Winnie laughed so hard she began to wheeze again, as she started to catch her breath she said, ‘Who ever heard of a dog having a swimming class?’ Brushing away some of the crumbs she had sprayed on the table, she added, ‘In my day we used to take ’em to the beach. Let ’em loose in the sea! Dearie me, what’s the world coming to? A swimming class for dogs! Who’d have thought it?’

‘I know, but at least it means I can’t lose him at the beach.’ Lisa stopped herself. She had to remind herself that Winnie was a client. Being so familiar, so at ease in her company, sometimes made her forget. ‘Anyway, I just have to take him, throw his toy, supervise, dry him and return him home.’

‘Good for you. Sounds like money for jam,’ Winnie put in decisively, recovering from her wheezing fit of laughter.

About to defend the honour of her job, Lisa stopped, aware there was no point. Winnie was of the age where she felt her experience meant she knew best and her age meant she didn’t have time to waste with subtlety. In many ways it was refreshing compared to the falsity of those she had known in London. And, besides, if anybody had told her, even as little as six months ago, that she would be earning money by taking a Newfoundland to his swimming lesson twice a week, Lisa would have scoffed herself.

Winnie dunked another ginger nut and nibbled at its edges. Lisa noticed the curve and stiffness in her fingers, her body showing its age while her mind remained agile. Age, such a sneaky bastard to us all! Lisa tried to push the thought away. She couldn’t let her mind linger on that subject.

‘No word from that Ben, I suppose.’

Thankfully, Winnie’s words broke her thoughts and Lisa laughed. Winnie always referred to Ben as that Ben; her opinion of him clear in that one phrase. Lisa wondered what Winnie would think of him if she told her the real reason they had broken up. Not that she ever would. She knew the words wouldn’t come if she tried.

‘No, not a word.’

Winnie sipped her tea. ‘Well I can’t say I’m disappointed to hear it.’

Lisa didn’t want to think about the fact Ben hadn’t even cared enough even to check she was OK, and decided to change the subject. ‘So how about you? How was your weekend?’

Winnie sat back. ‘The usual, my lovely. That boy of mine had his wife phone me again. He’s too busy she said; too busy indeed! He’ll be busy arranging my funeral before he picks up the phone. After what happened with his father you’d think he’d want to speak to his own mum while she’s still on the right side of the grass!’

‘Oh, Winnie, I’m sure he really is busy and just wants to chat properly when he can.’ Lisa bit her custard cream before she accidentally told Winnie what she really thought of her son. ‘How about your grandson?’ Lisa deflected, hoping to lighten the mood.

Winnie’s eyes sparkled as her expression softened. ‘Ah, my Nicky! He’s a good boy. He came to see me just the other day. Brought his old Nan a bunch of flowers, he did. He’s split up with that last girlfriend of his. Good riddance, I say. I told you rotten eggs have a way of making their smell known in the end.’

Lisa giggled, knowing that it was unlikely Winnie would deem anybody good enough for her grandson.