Keeping Mum. Kate Lawson

      ‘Yes, but not to stay in,’ said Cass. ‘And not to have to deal with the vagaries of the plumbing or root through the fridge or see what I’ve got hidden at the back of the airing cupboard.’

      ‘Oh come on. You’re just being paranoid,’ said her mother.

      ‘And, besides, you could probably fit the whole of my house in your kitchen,’ protested Cass.

      ‘You can, we’ve already measured,’ said Nita. ‘But the good news is it’s not going to come as a surprise. And we love Buster and Mungo.’

      ‘And this way your shop stays open, and we get to stay sane, pootle through your warehouse and cherry-pick your stock,’ said Rocco.

      Her mother got to her feet. ‘Take no notice of him, Cass. I promise you it’ll be fine. You can have a great, stress-free break and we get a dust-and jackhammer-free week. Now I’ve made the most fabulous pudding —strawberry shortcake. Would you like some pudding, Mike?’

      He nodded. ‘Sounds great.’

      Cass laughed. ‘Be very careful with these two, they lull you into a false sense of security with food and then bam—they’ll be moving in.’

      Rocco handed her a clean side plate. ‘We’ll take that as a yes then, shall we?’

      Did they really think she was going to be thrown off track by dessert? ‘What about if your roof’s not done by the time I get back from Cyprus?’

      ‘They’ve promised it will be, but if it isn’t then we’ll just move into a hotel for a day or two,’ said her mother.

      Cass stared at the two of them, busy planning and plotting, and smiled. ‘And you’ll keep the shop open?’

      ‘Oh god, yes,’ said Rocco, waving the words away. ‘You know that your mum has always wanted to dabble in dealing and rag rolling. And I’ll be in and out, keeping the home fires burning, you’ll hardly know that we’ve been there—and besides places get damp when you don’t keep them aired. Especially this time of the year…’

      ‘And burgled,’ said her mother, sliding a huge plate of strawberry shortcake cut into thick wedges on the table between them. ‘Let’s not forget burgled.’

      Mike picked up a cake slice. ‘Shall I be mother?’

      Which was one amongst the many thoughts in Cass’s head as they waited for Ms Soprano to check the lyrics of a song they’d sung for the best part of three years and to pitch a note that she had hit every week since.

      Since having supper at her mother’s, Mike had rung and left a message on Cass’s machine and she was weighing up whether or not to ring him back, even if he wasn’t her type. Which threw up the question: what was her type, and was it a type she wanted to hang on to?

      Fiona meanwhile, moved in a little closer and said in a whisper, ‘So, can I buy you a drink—just a quickie? On the way home? Just to say thank you?’

      Cass stared at her. ‘Thank me? There’s really nothing to thank me for, Fee. And besides, I’ve got way too much to organise, you know, what with going away and the animals and the shop and…’ Which was the excuse she planned to use on Mike, too, if he rang again. Cass looked away, deliberately leaving the sentence hanging in the air between them.

      Undeterred, Fiona moved closer still. ‘Me too, but this won’t take long, really. I just wanted to talk to you about the other night.’

      Which was exactly what Cass was afraid of. Somewhere in the back of her head she thought she could hear a cage door creaking open on rusty hinges, making Hammer House of Horror sound effects. This wasn’t going to end well unless she made a concerted effort to keep her mouth shut. So, instead of words, Cass settled for a grunt.

      ‘The thing is,’ Fiona said. ‘This is hard for me to say really, but you know what I’m like—a bit of a control freak.’ She pulled a comedy face and then paused, apparently expecting Cass to correct her, but when nothing came, continued, ‘What I wanted to say was that I’m sorry about the other night, and that you were right. Totally. So thank you for that.’ She held up her hands in a gesture of surrender. Pax.

      Cass stared at her. ‘Sorry?’ she said, struggling to keep her expression neutral.

      ‘The other night. Thank you. You were right about Andy and me, and the whole stalking thing. He’s been really stressed at work and things haven’t been right for—well, months really—and then I read in the paper that they’d been making staff cuts at his place and you know what men can be like—bottling things up, not talking about what’s really bugging them. And the move’s been stressful. I mean, he grew up near Cambridge, so we both know the area but it was still a big change. Anyway, I’m certain that’s what has been making him twitchy and a bit preoccupied, the not-knowing if he’s going to be one of the ones for the chop. He says his job’s safe, but you never really know, do you?—and I can’t have helped, being off with him, putting two and two together and coming up with…’ She laughed nervously. ‘Well, you know what I came up with. Andy and I talked about it on Sunday, when we’d got some quality time together.

      I said, “Andy, I know there’s something wrong, I want us to talk about it, and I know what it is.” Cass, he went all pale—and I said, “It’s all right, Andy—it’s been all over the papers—it’s all the job cuts, isn’t it? Why didn’t you say something?” And although he didn’t really say very much about it, I could tell he was relieved.’

      ‘I bet he was,’ Cass said, before she could stop herself.

      ‘And the upshot of it is that everything is fine,’ said Fiona, ignoring her.

      Cass stared at her. ‘Fine?’

      ‘Uh-huh. Absolutely. I told him about what we’d talked about. You and me. Not all of it, obviously, I didn’t want him thinking he was living with a maniac,’ she laughed. ‘So I just explained that I’d needed someone to talk to and that you told me straight out that I should be talking to him, not to you. Anyway—we talked for a bit; well, I talked and he listened. Andy’s always been a good listener and—’ Fiona smiled—‘and I’ve persuaded him to come to Cyprus with us, with the choir. Isn’t that great? I thought it would be a bit of a second honeymoon.’ Fiona reddened. ‘Not that we had a first one, I mean we’re not married, but you know what I mean. I’ve already asked Alan and he said it will be okay. We’ll just get a room to ourselves. I mean it’s two to a room, I had been thinking that maybe you and I could share—but anyway, Andy’s coming and he’s going to roadie for us.’

      ‘We’re an a cappella choir, Fee, all we’ve got is us and our voices and a crate of brown ale for Alf.’

      Fiona giggled. ‘I know, but I thought it was just what we needed. We could do with a change of pace. We’ve been talking about a baby—well, at least I have. I mean, if I don’t do it soon—tick-tick-tick.’ She tipped her head from one side to the other, miming a biological clock.

      If only Fiona’s timing had been that accurate during the introduction to the last number, they’d have it done and dusted by now, and they wouldn’t be having this conversation, thought Cass ruefully, trying very hard not to meet Fiona’s eye.

      ‘It’s all right for you, you’ve already done the whole parenthood thing,’ Fiona said, managing to make having children sound like a package holiday to Greece. ‘How old is Joe now?’

      ‘Twenty-one.’

      ‘And Danny?’

      ‘Twenty.’

      Cass could almost see Fiona’s brain doing the maths. ‘I was nineteen when I had Joe.’

      Fiona smiled. ‘See, I wish I’d started young, got it all out of the way, but better late than never—how’re they doing?’

      ‘Fine,’ Cass began, relieved that across the room Alan was busy tapping the music stand to attract