We share a final lunch at the cafe before Barbara and Ron head back to Bristol. Martha and the other young people are in college, so it’s grown-ups only, and the cafe is usually closed on a Monday – they’ve opened up specially to celebrate the grand departure.
We sit, and eat the shepherd’s pie that Laura has cooked for us, and talk about nothing at all, until the time draws near. The blessed time. The time of much glory. The time when I will wave the two of them off, and breath a vast sigh of relief.
“This is almost as delicious as your shepherd’s pie, Barbara,” I say, trying to end things on a good note. In reality, it’s actually better – but that wouldn’t be diplomatic. Barbara’s shepherd’s pie was often grudgingly served to me, but when it was, it was also often the only food I’d had that day – certainly when I was still living with my parents.
“Yes, I remember you always devoured that,” she replies, eyes narrowed slightly as she casts her mind back. “Like a starving little tinker, you were. No table manners at all.”
I catch Laura’s expression as Barbara says this, and see her nostrils flare in barely-contained anger. I think if a starving little tinker child turned up on Laura’s doorstep, they’d get a slightly different reception than the one I got at Kate’s house. I’d probably have been adopted immediately. I shake my head very slightly to tell her to stand down – it’s almost over, and it would be a shame if we blew all our good work now.
Instead, she scurries off to the kitchen, muttering to herself and wringing her hands on a tea towel. Perhaps she’s imagining it’s Barbara’s neck, who knows?
Cal looks similarly annoyed, but you’d have to know him pretty well to notice the signs. The smile has faded from his eyes, and one of his fists is curled up in a ball, tapping away against his thigh. It feels good, having these cheerleaders – in fact, having them gives me the strength to simply not care about Barbara’s snippy comments.
“I know,” I say, shoving a whole wedge of bread into my mouth at once. “And I’m not much better now.”
The last few words are distorted by the fact that I’m talking with my mouth full, and I may well choke on them, but it’s kind of worth it to see her horrified reaction as I splutter bread all over the place.
Ron, looking from his wife to me and back again, decides that this is the perfect time to check his watch. Can’t say that I blame him.
“Come on, Barbara,” he says, standing up. “We’d better make a move – don’t want to get caught up in rush hour, do we?”
As it’s only one pm, that seems unlikely – but I’m grateful for the diversion. We all stand, chairs scraping and bowls clanking, and everyone makes their farewells. Cherie, usually first on the scene to dispense hugs for any occasion, refrains from this, and instead shakes their hands. Frank gives them a polite salute, and Cal sticks with a simple: “It was good to meet you.” Liar, liar, pants on fire.
“Thank you so much for your hospitality,” says Barbara – redeeming herself slightly – “and please say goodbye to the others for me. I’m sure we’ll visit again sometime soon.”
I walk with the two of them down the winding cliffside path to the carpark. It’s another crystal clear day, the breeze gently ruffling the air rather than beating it up, and the sunlight is shimmering on the bay. It’s so beautiful here, and I make a vow to never let anybody ruin that for me – I refuse to associate this place with anything other than positive vibes.
We reach the Skoda, and Ron unlocks the doors, hovering at the side of the car. He gives me a genuine-looking smile, and says: “It really was nice to see you, Zoe, as well as Martha. Lovely place you’ve got here.”
He’s okay, Ron, I remind myself. Lacking in backbone, but okay.
He climbs into the car and starts the engine, and it’s Barbara’s turn to hover. Her hair is perfectly frosted and her make-up is perfectly in place and her clothes are perfectly respectable. She could actually make a decent living as a Margaret Thatcher impersonator, although I’m not sure how much call there is for that. The only thing less than perfect is the expression on her face – it’s one of uncertainty, which is definitely not an emotion I associate with this particular Iron Lady.
I stare at her, wondering what she’s waiting for – surely she’s as keen to get away from me as I am to get away from her? She looks nervous, unsure. Like she’s considering doing something crazy.
Turns out, she is.
“I’m sorry, Zoe,” she says simply. For a few moments I am so confused I don’t even respond, just stand there with stray strands of hair flying in front of my face, gaping.
“Sorry for what?” I eventually ask.
“For everything. For that comment back there about your table manners. For not … not helping you more when you were younger. I know I should have. I was just … well, this isn’t easy for me to say, but I was always a little bit scared of you. You were everything I was trying to protect Kate from – you were wild and unpredictable and strong-spirited. But you were still a child, and much as I’ve denied it to myself over the years, you were a child in need. Kate always saw that more clearly than I did. And now you’re here, and you’re looking after Kate’s own child, and you’re doing it well. Better than we could. We love Martha, just like we loved Kate – but we don’t understand her the way you do. She needs you. So … thank you.”
I am utterly horrified to see that Barbara’s grey eyes are swimming with tears. I don’t know whether it’s because she feels guilty, or because she’s just broken her cardinal rule and admitted to weakness, or simply because she’s missing her daughter.
I don’t know, but I desperately want her not to shed them. Seeing tears on Barbara’s face would be one of those great, prophetic signs that the world was coming to an end. The kind of thing the Mayans would have predicted. Such a thing simply could not be allowed to happen, for all our sakes.
I grab hold of her arm, not sure what I’m going to do with it, and it turns into a kind of awkward half hug, neither of us at all comfortable with the physical contact, but both perhaps needing to at least make some kind of gesture. We pull away from our horrible dance, and she daintily wipes the tears away with one finger. Phew.
I know I need to talk. To say something wise and understanding and spiritual, something important. Sadly, I can’t think of a damn thing.
“It’s all right,” I say, when the silence stretches into something oppressive. “You were a bit of a cow, but I know you can’t help it. You created Kate, and Kate created Martha, so I have a lot to thank you for as well. We’re both older and wiser now, aren’t we? So, let’s just … start again. Or at least do the best we can.”
She nods abruptly, obviously as embarrassed and overwhelmed as I am. We’ve been playing cat and mouse with each other for so long, neither of us really knows how to do it any differently.
“Right. Yes. Well. Better be off then …”
She climbs into the car without a backward glance, and I see Ron looking at her with concern. He reaches out one gloved hand, and gently pats her knee, and eventually starts the engine. With a cheery honk of the horn and a wave through the window, they’re gone.
I stare after them for a moment, before walking – very slowly – back up the hill to the cafe. I need a few minutes to gather myself after that unexpected encounter. I know I should be feeling happy about what just happened – but bizarrely, I only feel unsettled. Like something I’ve known and understood for a very long time has just transformed into something new and confusing before my very eyes.
I mean, I know how to handle Bad Barbara – but what the heck am I going to do with Good Barbara? I can only hope she has a change of heart on the drive home, and sends me a vile text to put my mind at rest.
I push open the cafe door, and am met by Cherie, Frank, Laura and Cal all looking at me in concern.
“Has she gone?” says Cherie.
I nod, and Laura starts dancing around the room singing ‘Ding Dong the Witch is Dead’ from the Wizard of Oz.
Cal just looks at me, obviously sensing that something’s wrong, and walks forward to take me into his arms. He’s big and he’s strong and he smells good and I really need a hug, so I stay there for a while, him stroking my hair and making reassuring noises. I’m not at all used to being looked after, and it feels good.
“Was she a complete bitch to you?” he whispers into my ear.
“No,” I reply. “It was much worse than that. She was nice to me.”
“You’re a nutter, you know that?”
“I do know that, yes … and thank you.”
He lets me go, and I feel suddenly full of energy. It’s like I’ve been holding my breath for the last few days, and now I can finally relax.
“I need to do something fun,” I announce to the room.
“Want to bake banana muffins with me?” asks Laura, looking hopeful.
“I’ve got some pigs that need mucking out …” adds Frank.
“Want to sit outside and listen to music and get drunk?” says Cherie, clapping her hands together.
Cal just raises his eyebrows at me, grins, and murmurs the words: ‘godlike skills …’
Wow. I guess we all have our own different definitions of fun. Including me.
“No … thank you all, but no. I know what I want to do … Cherie, would you mind if I sorted out all these paperbacks? Those bookshelves have been driving me mad since I got here!”
She bursts out laughing, and nods.
“Go crazy, my love. Alphabetise to your heart’s content.”