Jo was making salad. She had her big old striped apron on over her new linen skirt. She was wearing a new fitted cardigan over a vest top that she thought was far too low-cut but that Karen had approved of. The skirt was the colour of spilt tea and the cardigan and top were fuchsia. It had taken Karen a few moments to convince Jo that these colours were not too bright, didn't make her look like mutton dressed up as lamb and went perfectly with the handful of chunky jewellery incorporating the same colours that she produced while Jo was standing in front of the shop mirror. Karen had then made her buy some sandals which were so far from the sort of sandals you could walk for miles in that Jo felt they should have a warning label. When Karen escorted her, in the kind but firm way of a female prison officer, to have her nails done, she selected the colour for her toenails herself. 'You can have pale colour on your fingers if you want to, but you must be bolder with your toes.’
Now, as she bent to pick up a fallen lettuce leaf she admired her feet. She didn't like her legs much, although they did look much better now they'd been waxed and tanned, but she did like her feet, especially in her sexy sandals. Quite how long she'd stay in them, she couldn't predict, but she did tell Karen she wouldn't get out last year's Birkenstocks until her feet had had a chance to be admired.
Making salad was soothing. She chopped celery into translucent half-moons, leeks into rings that wouldn't have looked out of place as jewellery, and cucumber into tiny cubes. The carrots and courgettes she grated finely. Lettuce and tomato would only be added as bulk, at the last minute, but she had committed herself to filling the huge old French bowl she used to make bread in, so would need the Little Gems. As she sliced through four cherry tomatoes in one lethal sweep she thought about the salad Carole had made on the barge. It had been good, she acknowledged, but Carole hadn't had the range of fresh herbs to hand, as Jo had now. They would go in later, just before the garlic croutons. Jo loved leftover salad, and part of the reason for the enormousness of the one she was making was to guarantee it wouldn't all be eaten. She stopped chopping and went to hunt for a packet of petits pois in the freezer. Not too many, she decided, but they looked pretty against the cubes of red pepper. No sweetcorn though, Philip's digestion couldn't handle it. She laughed at herself. How easy it was to fall back into wifely ways.
‘Hi, Mum! You're looking very – mm – well, sexy, if I may say so.’
Jo smiled at her daughter. 'You may say so.' Jo was glad of Karen's approval and she felt sexy too. It was a good feeling. Her morale had taken such a dive when Philip took up with Sam – Jo was training herself not to refer to her as the Floosie – it was nice to claim a bit back for herself. The fact that she'd had to leave Marcus so soon after their night together had left her full of doubts, convinced that she'd made up a lot of the things she thought he'd said, just because she wanted him to have said them so much.
To save her shoes as much as her feet, Jo slid out of her sandals and found her Birkenstocks; then she found the kitchen scissors, which were in quite the wrong place, and went out to cut herbs.
Philip arrived while she was still finding bug-free sprigs of lemon balm. She had already collected plenty of borage flowers, little blue stars, to go in the Pimm's, but she had wasted quite a lot of time looking at her garden. It looked so much better for a few days' intensive work, she decided.
She watched her husband – ex-husband, she wasn't sure which – walk up the garden path. He had a carrier bag in his hand that she knew was full of the steaks, lamb chops, kebabs and sausages that she had asked him to buy. Karen met him on the doorstep and they hugged. They really loved each other, those two, and Karen had obviously forgiven her father for his amazing lapse in taste. Jo sighed. She was glad that Karen and Philip seemed to have buried their differences and could now hold a civilised conversation together. It made life so much easier. Then she went back to the lemon balm, and found a bit of mint for the new potatoes that she hadn't cooked yet. She could never decide if she should serve them hot or cold. She might have to pop out and buy some French bread. Philip always told her they didn't need it, and admittedly, most of it was always left over, but she didn't feel safe without French bread. She might even make garlic bread. Her parsley patch was thriving so she could.
Miranda was at the door and Jo fell into her arms. 'It's so lovely to see you!' she said.
Miranda hugged her, and she was one of those people who, when she hugged you, made you know for sure you'd been hugged.
‘You look fantastic!' said Miranda. 'What's happened to you? Are you in love?’
Jo blushed. 'Karen's taken me in hand. Come in and meet her. Bill, this is so nice. Could you park the car OK?' Bill kissed her cheek. 'You look wonderful.'
‘Come and meet Philip, my… husband – Karen's father. They're round the back, with the barbecue.’
Miranda raised an eyebrow at the mention of Philip. 'We brought some bits and pieces,' she said, deciding not to say anything more and burrowing in a bright raffia bag. 'You can never have too much at a barbie, don't you think?'
‘Well, Tom and Dora, as well as her parents, are coming so we will need plenty,' said Jo, taking her friend's arm and leading her through the house.
‘This house is to die for!' said Miranda. 'Oh, sorry, that probably wasn't tactful, if it isn't yours any more.’
They had reached the French windows by that time, so Jo didn't have to answer.
Jo made the introductions and. Philip poured glasses of Pimm's. 'Or there's wine if you'd rather,' said Karen.
‘Actually, lovey – gosh don't you look like your mother? – I'd better have wine. I've got to drive home. We tossed for it and I lost.'
‘It was definitely your turn, sweetheart,' said Bill. 'Mum! Where are your sandals!' Karen admonished. 'Oh, sorry, I'll go and put them on.'
‘Are you still getting ready?' said Miranda. 'I'll come and talk to you in the kitchen. I wanted to tell you how much I sold the little mirror for. You did such a good job on those putti-'
‘What on earth are putti?' said Karen.
‘All I know is that I'm putty in my wife's hands,' said Bill. Miranda gave him a playful punch on the shoulder as she passed.
‘Oh, that salad looks fantastic! What can I do?' Miranda asked, once they were in the kitchen.
‘You can wash and chop the herbs, but check them for bugs first. I was quite careful when I picked them but you'd better give them the once-over.'
‘Nothing worse than gritty parsley, although this looks very clean,' said Miranda riffling through it. 'So, how was your trip to Holland? Not too terrifying, I hope.'
‘Well, Ed did fall in. Do you know Ed? He's Marcus's mate?'
‘I may have met him. That's awful! Was it very difficult getting him back on board?'
‘Incredibly difficult. Marcus is going to make sure it couldn't happen again.'
‘You can't prevent people falling in entirely, can you?'
‘He sort of fell out of the wheelhouse door. I was fairly OK about it at the time but since then I've felt queasy whenever I've thought about it.'
‘Oh, are these the sandals?' Miranda was distracted by slender leather straps, iridescent beads and wedged heels.
‘Yes – wedgies are definitely more comfortable than straight heels,' said Jo. 'I've- learnt such a lot from my daughter in the past few days.' She kicked off her Birkenstocks and wriggled her feet into the sandals.
‘Well, you certainly look fantastic.'
‘It's the bra – fearfully expensive.'
‘But so worth it.’
Jo laughed. It was good to see Miranda again.
‘Karen also bought me Touche Éclat and told me how to use it, although' – she lowered her voice – 'I haven't actually bothered today. Too much else on my mind. Do you think we need garlic bread?'
‘Not if you've got potatoes, surely.'
‘I have, but not that many.'
‘Have you got any French sticks?'
‘No, I ought to pop out and get some. You need some thing to put the sausages in.'
‘Give Tom and Dora a call and ask them to bring some. And are those two together yet?’
Jo laughed again. Trust Miranda. 'I don't know. I really hope so, they're so well suited.'
‘Either way they can bring bread. And then you can have another Pimm's. I love them.’
Jo smiled. 'I remember, at the rally.' She retrieved her phone.
‘Don't you keep it in your bra any more?'
‘Not these bras – far too expensive.' She scrolled through until she found Dora's number. 'Dora? You couldn't pass a supermarket and get some French bread, could you?’
Jo thought she spotted a change between Dora and Tom the moment they appeared at the gate, but as they didn't make any sort of announcement she resolved to try and get Dora on her own so she could ask what was up. She and Karen went to meet them.
‘Let's dump the bread in the kitchen,' said Karen, who obviously had first dibs on her best friend's time, 'and then let's have a drink. Tom?’
Karen's smile was so radiant that Jo felt a pang of confused loyalty – she didn't want her gorgeous daughter taking Tom from Dora and wondered why she felt like that.
Tom smiled back, an equally radiant smile with a hint of mischief but with no more than friendship in it. 'Well, the famous Karen, pleased to meet you.'
‘I've heard a lot about you too, Tom, like how you dragged a drowning man into a lifeboat,' said Karen. 'It wasn't quite like that,' said Dora.
Jo got a good look at Dora while she was chatting with Karen and Tom and she did seem more relaxed, somehow. She took the bread from her. 'I'll take this into the kitchen,' she said, giving Dora an opportunity to follow her if she wanted.
‘I didn't realise your garden was so wonderful,' said Dora, not moving, except to make an expansive gesture towards it. 'It was always just Karen's garden, but it's fantastic!’
Concluding that Dora didn't want a heart-to-heart, Jo said, 'I made a lot more of it when you and Karen stopped making dens in it. And I've had a good old go at it over the past few days.'
‘It seems bigger than it was when we played here, although I know it's supposed to be the other way round.'
‘I did a short garden design course ages ago. It taught all sorts of tricks. You'll have to have a proper tour later.’
Tom had tuned out during the discussion about gardens. 'I probably shouldn't say this, Jo, but you are looking particularly good today,' he said.
‘Why shouldn't you say that?' asked Jo, smiling.
‘My mother would- think it was judging people by appearances or something.’
She laughed. 'Well, I don't mind you saying it one bit.'
‘It's the new hair and the bras,' said Karen. 'Costs a fortune but worth every penny, don't you think, Ma?'
‘I do. But on the other hand I could have wished that you hadn't announced to the world the private details of my underwear.'
‘Oh, pooh. You should get your mother to go there, Tom.’
Tom and Dora exchanged glances at the thought of Tom's mother worrying about a bra that did more than just strap her breasts firmly to her.
‘Tom's mother isn't exactly a fashion victim, Karen,' said Dora.
‘And nor am I!' insisted Jo, laughing.
Dora and Tom exchanged glances again and Dora leant slightly into him. Definitely more than just friends, thought Jo.
‘So tell me Dora and Tom,' said Karen, 'Have you two finally got together?’
Jo winced at this second example of her daughter's blush-making frankness but Dora just looked at Tom and smiled.
‘Err, well yes,' said Dora shyly. 'Yesterday.’
Tom put his arm proprietorially round Dora's shoulders and grinned. 'We're going to go travelling together when we've saved enough money,' he said.
‘Tom arranged a heavenly picnic on an island in the Thames,' said Dora. 'It was very romantic.'
‘Oh!' said Jo, nearly dropping the bread in her hurry to hug Dora. 'That's wonderful! I'm so happy.' Then she paused. 'Did I tell you I'd invited your parents?’
Dora bit her lip. 'No, I don't think you did. But I know I didn't tell you-'
‘Oh, here they are!' Jo tucked the bread under one arm. 'Cliff! Sukie! Come on in. I'll just dump this!’
Dora saw Jo escaping to the kitchen and knew she had to tell her parents about Tom as soon as possible, before anyone else did. Then she must tell Jo that Marcus might be coming. 'Mum! Dad!' She hugged them both.
Then Karen hugged them too. 'You both look so well! And please don't tell me I've grown, it'll make me think I'm fat!'
‘Silly girl, you're as lovely as ever,' said Sukie, who to Dora's relief did seem very relaxed today.
‘Mum, you remember Tom, don't you?'
‘Oh yes,' said Sukie. She kissed Tom's cheek and while Cliff shook Tom's hand she inspected her daughter.
‘Anything you want to tell me?' she asked as they drew aside.
Dora laughed. 'Yes, well, nothing much, but we are now together.'
‘An item?’
Dora nodded.
‘Oh, I'm so pleased. Your ex future mother-in-law has been driving me mad going on about how happy John is with his new girlfriend.' She turned to Karen. 'Now we'd better go and say hello to your father. I really don't know how to greet him.'
‘He and Mum are being very grown up about it. There's no need to be embarrassed,' said Karen.
As always when she was entertaining, Jo liked to spend a lot of time in the kitchen, making sure the food was all that it should be. Today she was also spending a fair amount of time trying to find things. Even though she had spent a few days here, she hadn't liked to pry. She now felt rather like a guest, it really wasn't her home any more and she wasn't quite as saddened by the thought as she had once been. She didn't want to ask Philip where his new young love might have put her favourite china dishes because he probably wouldn't know, and she didn't want to appear territorial.
Finally, the potatoes were cooked and drenched in butter, scattered with chopped parsley and in a bowl that would do, even if it wasn't her favourite Quimper dish that had been a wedding present. She walked through the house carrying the dish. Everyone was staring across the large triangle of garden at the front gate. Jo put the dish down and then looked too. It was a little too far for her to see comfortably and there was a large philadelphus in the way, but the figure who was struggling to open the gate while carrying several bottles of wine appeared to be Marcus.
Her first thought was relief that she was wearing one of her new bras and that she'd put her glamorous new sandals back on. Her second thought was that something must be wrong with The Three Sisters in Holland, and that he'd come in person to tell her – like policemen do when someone's been killed.
‘Um, we sort of invited him,' said Dora quickly and guiltily. 'We hope you don't mind.'
‘Erm… of course I don't mind,' said Jo, wondering how she did feel. 'Go and help him with the gate.’
But Tom had already leapt over the various borders, fought his way through a stand of ornamental grasses, a patch of white willowherb and a twisted willow, got caught on a climbing rose and was leading Marcus up the path. 'Tom is rather fab, isn't he?' said Karen to Dora.
‘Mm,' said Dora, laughing. 'And he's mine!’
Jo realised she had only a few minutes to collect herself while they came through the house. She felt as if she was observing everyone through a camera lens.
Philip was laughing at something Miranda had said and looking particularly handsome, Jo thought. Bill was examining the bottom of his Pimm's glass as if by peering into the cucumber and borage flowers some more alcohol would manifest itself. Irrelevantly, Jo wondered if Miranda had succumbed to the lure of Pimm's in spite of saying she'd just have wine.
Karen was looking stunning – golden skin, blonde hair perfectly cut in a spiky, wayward manner – and Jo felt proud that Marcus would see her daughter looking so good. She conceded that some of her admiration could be put down to the fact that Karen was her daughter but she dismissed it quickly.
Dora, standing next to Karen, was as lovely in a slightly different way. Should those two girls decide to go on the pull together, she thought, they would be lethal.
These and a million other irrelevant thoughts flitted through her mind like moths as her brain barricaded itself against thinking about Marcus. Then he appeared, Tom in his wake.
He came up and kissed her cheek, looking somehow different, yet the same. 'I brought some wine.’
He appeared to want to hand the bottles that Tom hadn't taken from him to her. The part of her brain that was still seeing things from a distance thought he was like a midwife presenting a baby to a new and nervous father. 'Marcus…' she said, 'there was no need – how lovely – is everything all right?’
Tom fielded the remaining three bottles and took them to the table.
‘I had to come,' muttered Marcus.
The breath left Jo's body suddenly and only long ingrained social skills enabled her to say, 'Marcus, you remember Philip.' She cleared her throat to stop it sounding so husky.
Philip came forward. He looked wary and had stopped smiling, as if he sensed something. 'Of course, Marcus old chap, long time no see. This is a bit of a bolt from the blue, isn't it?’
They shook hands, rather as boxers shake hands before a match, because convention required it.
‘This is my daughter, Karen,' Jo said, but Karen didn't take his hand. She obviously sensed something too.
‘And you know Miranda and Bill, don't you?' Jo said quickly.
‘Of course.' Miranda came forward and kissed Marcus. Bill raised his hand. 'Looking forward to hearing about your latest trip-'
‘No we're not!' said Miranda. 'I mean – not everyone here is interested in boats,' she finished lamely, picking up on the tension.
‘And this is Sukie and Cliff, Dora's parents. This is Marcus, who took the barge to Holland with us all on it.’
‘Not all of us,' said Philip, bristling.
‘No, we weren't invited, either,' said Bill.
‘Come and have a drink,' said Jo in hostess mode. If she concentrated on doing her duty she might be able to resist the urge to run screaming into the house. 'There's Pimm's, but if you'd prefer wine…' She remembered how he had always appeared to despise her supermarket bargains and added, 'It's quite drinkable, Philip bought it.'
‘We've run out of Pimm's, Mum,' said Karen, looking curiously at Marcus. 'Shall I make some more?'
‘We've run out of Pimm's, the bottle,' said Philip. 'We'll have to go on to wine.'
‘Bill will rustle you something up if you've got some sweet vermouth and gin,' said Miranda helpfully.
‘I think we have…' began Jo, suddenly aware that she had no idea what alcohol lived in the cupboard any more. Maybe it didn't even have drinks in it now. The situation was hideously awkward, she just hoped Marcus wouldn't stay long.
‘I'll have some wine,' said Marcus.
‘I'll go and see what we've got to drink, anyway,' said Karen, and she, Dora and Tom disappeared into the house. 'Well, Marcus,' said Philip, handing him a glass. 'What have you been up to in the past twenty years or so?'
‘He's a barge skipper,' said Miranda. 'The best there is.’
‘Well, thank you for that vote of confidence, Miranda,’
said Marcus with a smile.
Jo realised that she'd never seen Marcus with Miranda and Bill before and felt a pang of something she couldn't identify.
‘So this "barge skippering",' said Philip, 'is it a lucrative profession?’
Jo winced. Philip sounded so pompous.
‘Philip!' said Jo. 'You can't ask things like that!’
Both men ignored her. 'Oh yes,' said Marcus. 'Well, lucrative enough, anyway.'
‘People pay a lot of money to have their expensive vessels moved about the place,' said Bill. 'Speaking as one who has.’
Cliff decided to enter the conversation. 'I always thought you could describe sailing as standing under a cold shower tearing up fifty-pound notes.’
Marcus and Bill both looked at Cliff. 'Barges aren't quite like that.'
‘No,' Miranda agreed. 'It's a hot shower. In other words, much more comfortable. But the fifty-pound note bit is the same.'
‘Good God!' said Philip. 'I had no idea.’
Jo looked about her, wondering if she could flee back to the kitchen, ostensibly to help with the Pimm's prepara tion. Then she decided she couldn't.
‘Philip, darling,' she said, 'how's the barbecue? Is it about ready to cook on yet?'
‘Oh yes,' he said, moving to where a large chimenea doubled as a barbecue. 'Those coals are nice and grey now.'
‘I'm always too impatient with barbecues,' said Miranda. 'The neighbours practically got up a petition to ask me to stop having them. I didn't actually poison anybody, but the food was always disgusting.’
Jo laughed, hoping she didn't sound hysterical. 'I'll go and get the meat then.' But before she could move she saw Karen and Dora, both bearing trays of prepared meat. Tom had the bowl of salad in both hands.
‘I'll get the bread,' said Jo, itching to leave the prickly atmosphere of the sunny summer Sunday for the safety of her kitchen.
‘No you don't, Mum, you've been working all morning, you relax and have a drink with your friends. We'll do this bit.' Karen was insistent.
Philip went over to where the meat had been placed on top of the low wall that surrounded the paved area. 'How many people are you expecting, darling? Any more surprise guests?' He shot a glance at Marcus. 'Jo always over-caters desperately, don't you?'
‘Possibly,' said Jo, unrepentant, 'but I'm going to put the rest of the meat back in the cool. It won't do any good sitting in the sun. And you will cook the chicken thoroughly, won't you? You can't be too careful.'
‘We'll do it, Mum.' Karen obviously wasn't going to let her mother escape. She picked up one of the trays of meat. 'Why don't I get a cool bag? This could go in if it was sideways?’
Jo wasn't sure if this sentence made sense but the idea was sound. 'I'll come and-'
‘No!’
Dora came up behind her friend. 'No,' she said, more gently, but just as firmly.
‘Well, you don't know where anything is any more than we do,' said Karen, logically.
Jo sipped her Pimm's. It was now mainly water from the melted ice.
‘Jo,' said Bill, 'can I pour you a glass of wine if there's no more Pimm's? Philip's busy.'
‘Thank you,' she whispered, and cleared her throat. She mustn't sound as nervous as she felt, it was undignified in a woman of her age, and with her new bra, possibly unnecessary.
‘Can I see your garden?' asked Marcus suddenly.
‘Of course!' said Jo, delighted at the thought of being relieved of his disturbing presence for a few minutes. She waved an expansive hand. 'Help yourself!'
‘No,' he said firmly, 'I want you to show it to me.’
‘We'll keep an eye on things here,' said Miranda cheerfully.
‘Don't you want to come too?' she asked.
‘Oh no, gardens are wasted on me. I'll keep an eye on Philip's barbecue skills and make sure Bill keeps the glasses topped up.' Miranda smiled encouragingly – to Jo's fevered mind, like a chaperone giving her charge permission to dance with a much-approved-of partner.
There was nothing for it, she would have to show Marcus round her garden and be on her own with him for the first time virtually since they'd got out of the same bed. It would have been easier if she hadn't always felt gardens to be particularly sensual places. It was the fragrance, the velvety textures, the gentle rustlings – they all combined to make Jo feel gooey, even when she wasn't with a man she'd recently had a life changing sexual experience with. She shivered despite the warmth of the day.