The Age of Misadventure. Judy Leigh

not her shade, and suggestive messages on his phone. A year later, there was a lacy G-string in his car. He claimed he knew nothing about it, then he suddenly remembered he’d lent the car to a friend the night before. I’d have left Adie for that, but Bonnie swore it was a one-time incident, she’d been neglecting him, it’d never happen again: he loved her.

      Of course, Adie simpered, playing the part of the trustworthy brother-in-law; he told me that now I was by myself, now my man had left me, he’d keep an eye out for me, or lend me money. As he turned away, I pointed down my throat with two fingers and thought I’d rather roll naked in the gutter. I’m not afraid of Adie Carrick. I’ve never liked him or the way he treats my good-natured sister. I have suspicions about the property he buys and sells, and the money he makes, which seems to slide through his fingers like poker chips.

      I put the mug down and reach for my phone. A text has come in: it’s from Bonnie. I read it, hoping for the best but expecting the worst. Of course, I’m right. Adie and I have decided to give it another go. We’re off to a spa hotel for a week. See you soon. I throw the phone on the table and put my head in my arms. I picture them both, driving from Frodsham in his Boxster to an expensive hotel in Cheshire. She’ll have a facial there, paying ten times as much as I charge downstairs for a better aromatherapy one; he’ll have a full body massage from some young girl in a white overall with make-up as thick as a death mask, who giggles at his anecdotes about how hard he works for his money and how he dines on yachts with film stars.

      I imagine Bonnie and Adie at a linen-covered table that evening, fresh from their treatments, him devouring bleeding steak, while she pushes salad leaves around a plate and frets about the four-poster room they’ll slink off to after he’s guzzled another bottle of Beaujolais. Suddenly I feel tired. Tired and glad I’m single. Tired, glad I’m single and yet not altogether sure. I rub my eyes and a feeling of misery lands on my shoulders and sinks into my muscles like cement. I shake off the loneliness, smear a lipstick smile on my face and set to making some supper for Jade and myself. At least we’ll have a pleasant evening together.

      By ten thirty, the pan of chowder is cold, a translucent skin settled on the surface. The banana cake I’ve made is untouched and I’m sitting in front of the television, my glass empty after two gin and tonics. A key rattles in the front door and I jerk myself bolt upright.

      Seconds later, I beam at Jade, who’s surveying me with arms folded and a frown on her face. She looks cold in the short dress and skimpy jacket she wore to the wedding. Her dark burgundy hair is well cut and hangs perfectly, glossy as glass, framing her face, and her eyes are round, dark velvet and soft as a doe’s. I grin, make my voice bright.

      ‘I made some lovely chowder. Sit down, love. I’ll bring you some.’

      I recognise the glare. She’s about to tell me not to bother but she’s starving – she probably hasn’t eaten all day – so she flops down from full height onto the sofa, ignores me and stares at the television. I know this is the sign for me to bring her food, to wait for the right moment to ask how she is. Or, as usual, I won’t wait, I’ll ask the wrong questions, she’ll bite off my head and then there’ll be an argument.

      She sits with the tray on her knee, spooning a stream of soup without shifting her gaze from the screen. She’s pretending to be glued to the new serial about a cop whose wife has been abducted, determined to ignore me, concentrating on waving the spoon towards her face. She clanks the cutlery against the bowl and starts on the banana cake, her movements automatic, her eyes hypnotised, staring at the television. She finishes eating and I wait for a few seconds.

      ‘Cup of tea?’

      She waits a few more seconds.

      ‘Whatever. If you’re having one.’

      I use the interlude as the kettle boils in the kitchen to decide what to say, how to be subtle and frame my questions. Then I march into the lounge, put the cup between her hands and blurt out, ‘So, where the hell have you been since yesterday afternoon?’

      I expect her to ignore me or shout at me. Or ignore me then start shouting. I glance at her and I have to focus my eyes to believe what I’m seeing from my usually tough daughter. A tear is rolling down her face. She sniffs and wipes it away with the back of her hand. Another tear tumbles and her voice is tiny.

      ‘I wouldn’t expect you to know what I feel …’

      I rush over to her. ‘Jade …’

      She holds out a hand to push me away. ‘Don’t start, Mum.’

      ‘What’s happened?’

      ‘I’ve been with friends since this afternoon. I had to talk to someone who’d understand …’

      ‘Are you in trouble, Jade?’

      ‘No, no, it’s all right …’

      I’m next to her, sitting on the chair arm, trying to hug her. She’s twisting away, furious, her hand over her face, making all the signs that she doesn’t want me to ask her anything. So, naturally, I persist.

      ‘Jade, what’s happened? Where have you been all night? Has something bad happened? Has someone hurt you? If they have, I swear I’ll—’

      She gulps. ‘I’m all right, Mum.’

      I put my hands on my hips, stand upright. ‘I can see you’re not. You’re upset. I’m not having this. Come on – out with it. Has someone …?’

      She stares up and the anger in her eyes dissolves. Her lip trembles and I squat down, take her hands.

      ‘Jade …?’

      She shakes her head. ‘You wouldn’t understand, Mum.’

      ‘Why not?’

      ‘You just wouldn’t. You’re not the type. You wouldn’t get it.’

      ‘Try me.’ I squeeze her hands in mine. With effort, I make my voice soft. ‘What is it, sweetheart? You can tell me anything.’

      Her eyes meet mine and I notice tears, huge spheres swelling and tipping over. Then she swallows, takes a breath.

      ‘I’ve met someone.’

      ‘And?’ I lean forwards.

      ‘And nothing.’ Her breath shudders. ‘I just met someone. I know that he’s the right one for me. I’m sure.’

      A motor seems to rev and roar in the vicinity of my heart, a loud, fierce engine, and my mind accelerates with it. So does my mouth. My hands grab her shoulders.

      ‘Oh. I see. You’ve met a man. And I suppose he’s married, is that it? He loves you but he won’t leave his little wifey? Is that how it goes? Some two-timing, sneaky—’

      ‘Mum.’ She wriggles away from me. ‘I knew you wouldn’t understand.’

      I feel my face become hot and I take a deep breath. ‘Sorry, Jade. I didn’t mean to go off the deep end. I just worry.’

      ‘I’m twenty-four.’

      I take a moment, smile, beam, try to make my face resemble an Oscar winner in the middle of paparazzi. ‘I’m so glad you met someone, love. So, tell me all about him.’ She frowns; her eyebrows cross suspiciously, so I grin even more. ‘I’m all ears.’

      She waits for ten seconds, another ten, then her voice is quiet. ‘I met him at a private party. We spent yesterday evening and the whole of last night together.’

      I’m about to jump in with a comment about it all being a bit sudden and then hit her with the follow-up remark about contraception and STIs, but I clamp my lips together and wait. She snuffles.

      ‘We were together briefly this morning. He stayed on to be with me. We talked and talked. He’s amazing, Mum. Kind and sweet and really nice. And we both said it together. It’s been instantaneous for us both and we both know it’s right.’ She checks my expression and I make sure I’m not doing my cynical face.