Jo had been so excited to see Karen again that she really couldn't think about anything else. Karen had come in the car with her father to pick her up from the airport and flung herself almost into the path of passing traffic so she could run to her mother.
‘Mum! You've got a tan. You look amazing.’
Karen had seemed completely different and just the same simultaneously. Mother and daughter hugged for several minutes until Philip guided them on to the pave ment where they could hug in safety.
‘Darling, I've missed you so much!' said Jo, holding Karen's hand, leaving Philip to carry her luggage.
They had walked, hip to hip, back to the car. Jo ignored Philip, not only because she was so taken up with Karen but because she didn't quite know how to treat him. She felt no animosity but she didn't feel any great warmth either. Especially after her night with Marcus. She would see how she felt when they'd got home. She pushed all thoughts of Marcus aside and concentrated on her daughter.
‘I've cooked a meal,' said Karen as they headed out on to the motorway. 'I nearly let Dad pick you up on his own but I couldn't wait to see you. I hope it's all right.’
The two women talked – mostly about what Karen had been getting up to in Toronto – non-stop all the way home while Philip just drove. Eventually he said, 'Here we are,' and they realised they were home.
He opened the boot and got out Jo's luggage, which included what she'd bought while she was waiting for her flight.
‘Well, I suppose I'd better go back to the Travelodge,' he said.
‘Where's – er – Samantha?' asked Jo, not wanting to hear that she was waiting for Philip in a motel.
‘With her parents. She's fine about being at home for a while, being spoilt.' He smiled at Jo in the conspiratorial way of parents.
She smiled back. 'Eventually the roles reverse and now Karen's spoiling me.’
Karen glanced from one to the other. 'Do stay for dinner, Dad. I've made loads.’
He looked at Jo a little diffidently. 'Yes, stay,' she said, her love for her daughter overflowing to her father for a moment, 'I've bought a bottle of malt.'
‘I thought you couldn't get duty-free stuff unless you went outside the EU,' said Karen, taking her arm.
‘No you can't, but they do have good offers and I've got some wonderful chocolate.'
‘You should see what I got you!' said Karen. 'A Touche Eclat for one thing.'
‘Darling!'
‘Well, I always felt guilty about stealing yours. And I suppose you do need a concealer a bit more than I do.’
Jo laughed and hugged her daughter. 'Cheeky!’
Philip said, 'Let's go in and have a drink.’
'This is quite like old times,' said Karen, putting her fork straight on her plate and screwing her napkin into a ball.
‘Yes,' said Jo, who was slightly dizzy through a com bination of excitement, alcohol and a lack of sleep. She didn't feel she could add jet-lag to that – the journey was only about an hour – but she did feel it made its contribution to how she felt. She took another sip from her glass which Philip had filled while she hadn't been looking. 'The three of us together.' It was surprisingly easy, although Jo couldn't help wondering briefly what Marcus was doing and if he was thinking about her too.
Philip sighed with satisfaction. 'That was a lovely meal, darling.' He got up and kissed his daughter on the top of her head. 'You've inherited your mother's cooking skills.'
‘I'm glad you liked it, Dad.' Karen got up too and returned her father's kiss before gathering the plates. 'Are you staying the night?’
There was a moment of stillness before he said, 'Better not. I'll come and see you again though, if that's all right,' he added to Jo.
‘Of course it's all right. This is your home, not mine.'
‘It's your home too, Jo,' he said and kissed her cheek. He left the room, leaving the two women still at the table. 'What does he mean, it's my home too?' muttered Jo, tired and confused.
‘Oh never mind that,' said Karen dismissively. 'Let's open the chocs you brought and go into the sitting room. I think there's something good on.'
‘Yes. This spindly little table is no good for real conver sation – there's no room for elbows.’
The following morning Jo remembered what it was like to be taken in hand by her bossy, adored daughter.
‘Mum, your hair, it needs a really good cut and colour,' she said as they ate some disgusting breakfast product Karen had found in the cupboard. It seemed to be a combination of pet foods, predominately parrot, but it promised such amazing rejuvenating effects that Jo chewed it stoically. 'You have let yourself go a bit.'
‘I'm sure if we planted this, we'd get some interesting hallucinogenic plants.'
‘Don't change the subject. Your hair.'
‘I'll make an appointment-'
‘No, not lovely Joy in the village. I know you adore her but she's been doing your hair in the same way for years. You need a new look.’
Jo sighed, accepting the inevitable. 'Where then?’
‘In town. A place Janet told me about.'
‘Who's Janet?
‘A friend from uni. She's moved to the area and so I got some info from her. You need a leg wax and a St Tropez, I think, although you do have a nice colour. Oh, and definitely some new bras.'
‘Darling, are you giving me a make-over?'
‘Absolutely!' said Karen, getting up and clearing the table. 'We're going to make you the most glamorous perimenopausal woman on the planet.'
‘I didn't know you knew words like that,' said Jo, rather wishing her daughter wasn't so well informed.
A day later Karen and Jo stood outside the shop in Knightsbridge. There was a security guard outside.
‘Look,' whispered Jo, 'they check you're posh enough to buy bras here, and I'm not!'
‘You look great! You've had your hair done now, and those highlights work really well. No trace of grey any more and your skin is looking fab after that facial.’
Jo had to admit she did feel a lot more human again. She couldn't help wondering if Marcus would like the new, improved, less woolly Joanna.
‘Come on, Mum,' Karen chivvied.
‘But my underwear-'
‘Is fine. After all, you'll take your bra off.'
'Why don't you come too?'
‘Way too expensive for me, Mum. I'll meet you here in half an hour. If you come out sooner than that, ring me.' Bravely, Jo smiled at the security guard and went into the shop. A well-dressed woman in her fifties asked her if she'd ever been before, assuming the answer was no. Admitting this was the case (was this omission so obvious?) she was ushered to the counter where there was a queuing system.
‘Please take a number and wait until you're called,' said the woman, who was wearing what appeared to be a designer suit.
‘What, like at the cheese counter?' Jo asked before she could stop herself.
The woman smiled – slightly. 'That's right, but as we're not busy this young lady will help you.’
Feeling as if she was going for a dentist's appointment where they would tell her she didn't floss enough, or the doctor's where they'd tell her she was overweight, Jo duly followed.
‘In here please, madam.’
Jo couldn't help noticing the signed photograph on the wall. It was of the young Queen with her husband, children and corgis. Prince Philip was looking particularly dashing. Having them gazing down at her did not give her confidence.
‘Strip to the waist, madam, and I'll see what size you are. We don't use tape measures here.' The young woman was from some mittel-European country that had possibly been a police state. Jo was wearing a dress and duly stripped, grateful that she'd had the forethought to put on a slip, so her knickers, which, while perfectly respectable and fairly new, would not be on show. There are some embarrass ments not even childbirth can prepare you for.
Her upper body was peered at by the young woman. Jo had always felt fairly happy with her breasts, but now she wondered if she was more than averagely lopsided, or if Marcus's fingerprints were somehow visible. She pulled her shoulders back a fraction. At some point she was going to have to tell Karen about Marcus.
‘Wait here, I will be back.’
Although she was alone, Jo crossed her arms over her breasts as she stood before the picture of the Queen. It seemed disrespectful to do otherwise. Of course, Karen was grown up now, but Jo sensed she really wanted her parents back together again. What child wouldn't, whatever their age? With Samantha out of the way, and despite the baby on the way, Karen might well be thinking that getting back together was possible. Even without Samantha, Jo wouldn't want that now, she realised. She would just have to make that clearer to Karen as gently as she could.
The woman returned, her arm loaded with bras. 'Which colour would you like?’
Jo tried on a black one. Her pants, under her slip, were black, and she thought it would be good to be matching. It was terribly tight.
‘What size is it?' she asked. When told the answer she opened and shut her mouth a few times. 'I haven't worn that size since I was married, and as for the cup – well, I never want to be that far down the celebrity list.’
The young woman, whose English was not really colloquial, ignored this sally. Fitting a bra was not a matter for flippancy. She tugged at the straps and hoiked Jo's breasts a little nearer to the sky.
‘Now look.’
Jo looked. 'Wow,' she said, and then, 'Where's my cleavage?' Where she was accustomed to seeing a deepshadow was now a gaping hole, big enough, it seemed, for a small boulder.
‘You heff netural cleavage,' said the woman. 'Put your dress back on to see how it looks.’
It looked, Jo was forced to admit, fabulous. 'Oh my goodness, I'll have to have it.'
‘Would you like it in another colour? White or cream, perhaps?'
‘Oh yes please,' she said getting into the spirit of things. 'Try on another.’
Jo got into it. She tried on bras she could wear under low-cut dresses, bras she could go to the gym in and not bounce and the sexiest black number with velvet straps and little bows. It made her feel like a cross between a courtesan and a painting by Monet. She loved it. She chose three. It was only when she was waiting to pay that she realised that she hadn't asked how much they were. The final amount caused her to reel in shock.
‘I'd better go back to being a kept woman,' she muttered as she handed over her credit card, grateful that her expenses had been minimal lately.
Karen was waiting impatiently outside the door.
It was two days after Dora and Tom had been out for tea and Dora was washing up the breakfast things when Karen rang her mobile.
‘Hi! Dora! It's me! OK to talk?’
Karen had always assumed the person on the other end of the phone would know who she was, and in Dora's experience they always did. 'Yeah! I'm washing up.'
‘Thrilling! I'm dying to see you on Sunday. Are you a couple yet?’
This was a question Dora asked herself quite often recently but she still hadn't worked out the answer. She smiled at her friend's forthrightness. She'd really missed her. 'I don't know, really,' she said honestly.
‘You need to find out where you stand, Dora, especially after John.'
‘It's not the sort of thing you can ask, is it?'
‘Well…' Karen paused, possibly thinking better of telling her more timid friend that of course she could ask. 'Anyway, Mum thinks he's the cat's pyjamas and I'm dying to meet him.'
‘He's very fond of Jo.'
‘Mum's inviting her other barge friends, Bill and Miranda?'
‘Oh yes, they're lovely.'
‘And some other people, not sure who. It's great – she and Dad are getting on so well. I wonder if they'll come to their senses and get back together?’
Part of Dora went cold. Of course, from Karen's point of view, this was great news, but Dora had heard Jo talk about her ex-husband in terms not of anger, but of boredom. Anger could be worked through, boredom would just stay as boredom. Could Jo go back to a husband who bored her? It was a depressing thought. And now she thought about it again she was sure Jo rather liked Marcus – but then that could just have been the onset of the menopause like she'd said. Life was so confusing at times. 'I thought your dad's girlfriend was pregnant.'
‘Oh yes, I suppose she is.' Karen paused. 'But these things can be sorted out.’
Dora didn't speak immediately. She could totally sympathise with Karen's desire for her parents to mend their marriage but she wasn't sure it would be right. 'Maybe,' she said eventually.
‘Anyway, Mum and I have had such a good time! She's been in the garden a lot – claiming it back, she said. We've done loads of shopping. I sorted her out with a decent haircut. She's bought all these new bras – an investment, I told her. She's looking amazing – sort of lit up inside. It must be something to do with getting on with Dad, don't you think?'
‘Has he moved back in with her?' The thought depressed Dora horribly.
‘Oh no, but he's taken time off work because I'm here, and has come round for a few meals, taken us out as a family. Quite like old times.'
‘Lovely,' said Dora faintly.
‘Anyway, you'll see for yourself on Sunday. I can't wait. And sort it out with Tom.'
‘I'll do my best.' Dora laughed.
As if their conversation had conjured him up, Tom appeared in the doorway. 'Dora, you shouldn't have done the washing-up!'
‘I'm just doing the frying pan and things. The rest of it's gone in the dishwasher.'
‘You're a very good guest.’
She made a face. 'I know. But that was Karen on the phone.'
‘Oh yes?'
‘She was telling me who's coming to the barbecue. Jo and Philip, her husband – ex-husband – have invited various people. Miranda and Bill are coming, so at least we'll know some of them. Karen says her parents are getting on really well, she thinks-'
‘What about Marcus?' Tom interrupted her.
Dora bit her lip. 'What about him?'
‘Maybe I'm wrong, but I'm sure he had a thing for Jo. I know you said it's supposed to be women who sense these things, but the way he kept looking at her..
Dora shook her head, biting her lip. 'Karen obviously thinks there's a chance her parents will get back together.’
‘Oh.' He sighed. 'Not much we can do about it, anyway – especially not knowing how Jo feels.'
‘No,' Dora agreed, wondering how he felt about her. 'Do you want a cup of coffee or something?'
‘Mm. Might as well. Do you want me to make it? I quite fancy real coffee.'
‘Then you can definitely make it. I don't know how to work your machine.'
‘I'll show you.'
‘No need! I'm going into work tomorrow. It'll give me a day to get straight before the weekend. Then it won't be so awful when I go back on Monday. What about you?’
Tom opened the fridge and took out a jar of coffee beans. 'Not sure.’
Dora felt a little deflated. She'd been looking forward to going to work with Tom – it was such a couply thing to do. But then, they weren't a couple, she reminded herself.
‘Don't look sad. I'll tell you how to get there.’
Dora thought she pretty much knew how to get there, but she smiled and nodded.
In fact, he did go with her to the boatyard but he disappeared almost immediately. From time to time other people came in to ask her if she knew where he was but she could only shrug and shake her head. He did phone her at lunchtime, though.
‘I've had a call from Marcus!'
‘Oh?'
‘Yes. He was just checking my availability for bringing The Three Sisters back.'
‘When is it coming back? Will he need me too?' she asked. 'He won't need you, particularly, but you could certainly come. But that's not why I'm ringing.'
'No?'
‘I happened to mention the barbecue.'
‘Oh?'
‘Yes. I think I put my foot in it. I don't think he's invited. He didn't know anything about it and when I said Jo's husband was going to be there – well, he certainly didn't sound pleased.'
‘It's just a barbecue.’
She heard Tom sigh. 'I did sort of indicate what you said about Karen, thinking her parents were getting back together.'
‘How on earth did you fit that into a conversation about availability?'
‘He was on the alert the moment I said "Jo and her husband".'
‘Oh.'
‘I think he might try and come. It'll be nice to see him if he does. He wants Jo's address, anyway. Can you give it to me?’
Only for a moment did Dora ask herself if this was the right thing to do then she told Tom. After all, Jo probably wouldn't mind if Marcus did turn up and she was used to mass catering. And anyway, Philip knew Marcus too from the old days. Marcus was probably bad on the phone and Tom had misread the situation. After all, he was in Holland. It would be a long way to travel for a burnt lamb chop.
‘Cool,' said Tom. And then, 'Will you be all right going home on your own? I've still got quite a lot of things to do.'
‘I can't think what, unless you're thinking of actually doing some work. People have been asking for you all morning.'
‘Just stuff, OK? But you will be all right?'
‘I'll be fine.'
‘I just don't want you to-'
‘Tom! You've made me do loads of horrible, scary, smelly' – she added, thinking of the festival – 'things. I think I can go a couple of stops on the train by myself. I've got a key.'
‘Sweet. I'll see you later, then.’
When he was in no danger of hearing her, Dora indulged in a long sigh.
Tom arrived home that evening just as Dora and his father were pouring a glass of wine.
‘It is Friday,' said Brian.
‘But we had a glass of wine yesterday,' said Dora. 'That was Thursday. Quite different.’
Dora laughed and then Tom bounced into the kitchen. 'Hey, you crazy kids, what are you up to?'
‘Glass of wine, Tom?' asked his father.
‘Cool!’
Tom bounced into breakfast with similar brio the following morning. He handed Dora an envelope. 'Hope you didn't have plans for today.'
‘No-'
‘Well, you have now. It's your final dare. Dad, can I borrow the car?'
‘I said yes yesterday. Nothing's changed.'
‘Great! I'll be off then,' he said, dashing off, a piece of half-eaten toast still in his hand.
‘He's a good boy, really,' said Brian solemnly.
Dora laughed and sighed at the same time and then opened the envelope. Inside was a train ticket and a list of instructions. Take the 9.45 train, then come out of the station and turn left, past the pub, down the little lane until you come to a jetty. There's a boat tied up there with your first clue. This is a treasure hunt! Dora looked at her watch. It was already ten past nine and it took ten minutes to get to the station. She couldn't ask for a lift because Tom had already taken the car.
‘I do think he might have given me a lift to the station,' she said, getting up, gathering her plate and mug as she did so.
‘Have a nice day, Dora,' said Brian, who, she now realised, must be in on the plot.
‘I'll try. As long as I catch the train.'
‘You've got plenty of time,' Brian said, returning to his newspaper.
She shook her head. 'I must get my things and I'm one of those people who have to be at the station really early. Bye!’
She ran upstairs, threw all that she thought she might need into the shoulder bag she took to work and then left.
She walked to the station wondering what on earth Tom had in store for her. Perhaps this was what he was up to yesterday, when he wasn't at work. She smiled. She'd miss their bets. Now they were about to end, how would their friendship ever develop further?