‘What?’ Karina cried, her Ukrainian accent booming off the ceiling. ‘I brought them because they’remyfavourites. But I hate the strawberry creams. How perfect!’
Mum blinked in surprise. ‘Let me take your coat for you.’
By the time I’d brought the pots of chilli and rice out to join the salad and crusty bread, Mum had already spotted Karina’s pinafore dress, perfectly fitting her stout frame.
‘That’s very fine stitching,’ she said, peering closer at the appliqué on the front pockets.
‘Oh, thank you!’ Karina beamed even harder. ‘It took me ages, but worth the effort.’
‘You made this?’ Mum stepped back, her eyes narrowing.
‘Of course! I make all my own clothes. I can’t follow a pattern, so sometimes the process is slower than I’d like, but it beats paying for tat produced by slave labour on the other side of the world.’
‘Yes.’ Mum was agog. I mentally punched the air before inviting Karina to take a seat.
All it took was a couple of opening questions, and Mum and Karina were chatting like old friends. They were a similar age, both soap opera superfans who drank revoltingly milky tea with two sugars. While Karina wasn’t divorced, her husband, Mr Rivers, had died eighteen months earlier.
‘I’m so sorry to hear it,’ Mum said.
‘Don’t be.’ Karina shook her head of cropped grey hair. ‘I didn’t like him. Or the woman who he pretended to play tennis with every Sunday. That involved a whole different type of ballgame.’
‘He was unfaithful?’ Mum asked, a forgotten slice of garlic bread now hovering halfway to her mouth.
‘For thirty-one years. On and off. Mostly on. But. Eh. You know how it is.’
‘I do.’ Mum certainly did. ‘Why didn’t you leave him?’
Karina shrugged. ‘He ran our lives; everything was in his name. How can a part-time care worker who can barely read survive on her own?’
‘Why on earth couldn’t you read?’ Mum asked. I gave her a sharp glance. I’d told her to ask, but she could have phrased things more tactfully.
‘I mean, you’re clearly an intelligent woman!’ Mum added, before taking a flustered bite of her bread that forced her to continue with her mouth full. ‘Creating a quality garment without a pattern takes a lot of skill.’
‘Thank you.’ Karina nodded. ‘Ollie helped me get diagnosed as severely dyslexic last year. Before that, I had always been diagnosed as stupid. I’m certain Mr Rivers married me on that basis, hoping for a compliant little wife who would be grateful to clean up his mess, cook his dinners and stroke his ego without asking questions. If people repeat often enough that you’re useless, eventually you accept that there’s no point even trying. It was only once he died, and I had no choice but to try that I found ReadUp.’
‘Well, at least you got there in the end,’ Mum offered, starting to clear the plates away.
‘That depends on what you mean by “there”,’ Karina said. ‘I still struggle with forms, and computers are like another foreign language. Living alone is not easy.’
‘You don’t have any children?’
Karina smiled wryly. ‘I’m not thoughtless enough to bring children into a loveless marriage.’
By the time we’d finished the pavlova, I’d lost count of how many times Mum had said, ‘Isn’t this lovely!’
As Karina shrugged into her coat, she turned to Mum and took her hands. ‘Thank you for welcoming me into your home, Tina. In these wonderful few hours I feel I may have found a friend. And, to be honest, I am in great need of one. I do hope we can see each other again.’
Mum flushed pink with pleasure as she nodded her agreement, too emotional to reply.
‘Next time, I will bring dinner.’ Karina gave me a wink, and left.
* * *
At breakfast the following day, I decided it was worth sowing another seed. I took a fortifying swig of coffee and cleared my throat.
‘I thought we might have Karina over more often, if that’s okay with you. Make it a weekly thing?’
‘Oh?’ Mum glanced up from buttering her toast.
