‘I’ve offered to oversee all the costume design for the concert,’ Mary said softly, as if realising how hard the holiday comment had hit him. ‘I don’t expect you to do any dressmaking, but a second opinion is always helpful, as is someone to pass me pins, stand in as dressmaker’s dummy and help me transport all the materials. Sofia said I can borrow her sewing machine, but there’ll be some back and forth getting people to try them on, see what tweaks are needed at the dress rehearsal. If our dramatic bonding experience last month means I can qualify for mates’ rates on the taxi every now and then, it’d help.’
‘By mates’ rates, do you mean for free?’
‘I don’t have any other mates right now, let alone ones who drive taxis. You tell me.’
‘Yes, I will drive you where you need to go. I can hold a crying baby while you create Santa costumes, and pass you pins. I can also do the basics like buttons and hems.’
‘You can sew?’ Beckett sensed Mary’s head twist towards him.
‘What, apart from human flesh? Are you surprised because I’m male? There was no room for traditional gender roles growing up with Gramps.’
‘I’ve worked with plenty of men who can sew. I just… I don’t know. You seemed… Okay. I made a sweeping judgement based on you clearly being a man of logic, rather than creativity. I apologise.’
‘Apology accepted, if you tell me what qualifies you to head up the costume department of an illustrious production like the NLCCCCC?’
Mary shrugged, looking uncomfortable for the first time since she’d sat down for lunch. ‘I used to work in a fashion company.’ She stopped, blinked for a long second, then steeled her shoulders, opened her mouth and closed it again.
‘You don’t have to tell me, if it’s private.’
She shook her head, lips pressed together. ‘Not private. Just a bit sensitive these days. I co-founded, and used to be a director of, an ethical fashion accessory company.’
‘Will I have heard of it?’
Before she could answer, the room broke out in muted applause as the Santa-day Night dance came to its jazz-handed conclusion, and Gramps slowly stood up.
‘Well, it could have been worse. I once spent an afternoon having a boil lanced. If the show’s over, I want to go home now, Tanya.’ He looked around the room, panic flashing across his face when he couldn’t find his carer. ‘Tanya?’
Beckett jumped up, striding over to put an arm on his grandfather’s shoulder, which only made him flinch away. ‘Don’t touch me!’
‘Gramps, it’s me,’ Beckett said, voice tender, heart aching. ‘Let’s go home now, shall we?’
Gramps searched Beckett’s face, nodding anxiously as his tired, old eyes watered. ‘Yes, please. I want to go home.’
‘Here.’ Sofia followed them out to the main entrance, pressing a flyer in Beckett’s hand. He briefly caught the words ‘Lunch Club’, before stuffing it into his pocket. He might look at it later. He might not. Today had been mostly okay, but his head was frazzled with the effort of meeting a load of strangers, in an unfamiliar place. Santa-day Night. These people were A Lot. A lot of kindness, fun, generosity, genuine interest. But, still, it was a lot compared to a ham sandwich on a tray, watching the same old quiz show.
All Beckett wanted to do was get Gramps home, without incident, and try to figure out what to do next.
9
MARY
I spent the journey home in rapt silence. I had set off in Beckett’s car that morning feeling pitiful. I had only one maybe-friend in the whole world, nothing meaningful to do apart from try not to mess up being a mum as badly as I had the rest of my life, and no hope of feeling anything other than a complete wreck for the foreseeable future. I returned home with a stomach full of good food, a head bursting with a festive project to get stuck into – with my definite-friend, who was turning out to be much more fun than I’d supposed, and an invitation to have coffee with Sofia – a real-life, interesting and lovely-seeming person.
I’d forgotten what it felt like, spending time with other human beings. Camaraderie and the buzz of conversation. Witnessing the joy of sharing stories, jokes and problems with people who cared.
It felt invigorating. Overwhelming. Thrilling. Hopeful.
As if a bucketload of raw, rampant grief had been tipped over my head.
I had known that kind of friendship. The lightness that came from not having to explain, or fill in the gaps, or worry about a reaction. Losing it had broken me.
Today, as I sat in Beckett’s car and watched buildings give way to field and forest, amongst the agony that had taken root in my soul nestled the tiny green shoots of a new beginning.
After a massive thank you to Beckett, who had been railroaded into doing far more than he’d originally agreed to, I hurried inside my cottage, left a sleeping baby in the car seat on the living-room floor, and, propelled by all the unleashed feelings, opened up my laptop and got browsing.
By the time Bob let me know he needed another feed, and a nappy change, and a long, fretful cuddle, I’d ordered a pram, changing bag, some proper nursing bras and various other bits I’d chucked in my online shopping basket that my midwife would no doubt consider fripperies, but which to me were the lifeline pulling me a wobbly step out of the bog I’d been wallowing in.
I also searched for local fabric suppliers. I wasn’t about to order any materials for the carol concert without being able to inspect them first.
