Mary
Any chance we can pop over to the church tomorrow morning? Sofia’s found a box of old costumes and leftover fabric and she’s going to bring her sewing machine for me to pick up
If not, we can collect it another day, but Cheris sent over the cast list this afternoon and I’m starting to panic about making eighteen costumes in three weeks
Especially given that one of them is a goblin shark Santa
Waiting almost two hours for a reply shouldn’t have felt so torturous, except, of course, that I’d not spoken to another adult the entire day.
Then he phoned me, which more than made up for the wait.
‘Sorry, Gramps only just settled down. He kept fussing about not being able to find the electric drill. The truth is, it broke a couple of years ago and I never got around to buying a new one. He kept insisting he needed to replace a curtain pole. Curtain poles are one of the few things in our house that don’t need fixing.’ Beckett sounded grim. ‘Anyway, what time do you want me to pick you up?’
‘Sofia said around eleven is best for her. But, Beckett, the pole in my dining room fell off a few weeks ago, taking a hole out of the plaster. It’s propped up against the wall.’
He released a long sigh.
‘I thought he’d dreamt it up out of nowhere. Or had got lost in the past somewhere.’
‘I’m so sorry you’re having to go through this.’ My voice was thick with sadness for them. ‘Both of you.’
There were a few beats of silence before he replied. When he did, I had to press my phone against my ear to catch the words.
‘Having someone to talk to about it makes all the difference.’
‘Okay, I’ve nowhere else to be. Let’s talk.’
So, we did. All the way through Bob’s first feed of the night, a mug of tea and two rounds of buttery toast for me, three for Beckett. He told me how Gramps had been worsening as I transferred wet clothes to the cranky drier, then described more about the man Gramps had been as I rocked an even crankier baby back and forth in front of the curtainless window, as the moon became gradually obscured by the next lot of snow clouds.
I read out the cast list for the carol concert, and we brainstormed ideas for how to create Shrek Santa and Taylor Swift Santa, until tea snorted out of my nose.
Oh my. Even as we laughed, and jabbered on, and both of us cried a couple of times, the truth of how achingly lonely I had been engulfed me, swiftly followed by the realisation of how precious this friendship had already become.
Eventually, as midnight rolled in, both of us now in our respective beds, we admitted that we were beyond coherent conversation and had to get some sleep if we had any hope of surviving tomorrow.
‘Goodnight, Mary,’ Beckett murmured.
‘One of the best,’ I mumbled back, my befuddled head misinterpreting what he’d said.
‘Really?’ He suddenly sounded a lot more alert.
‘Yes. Thank you for such a good night. Goodnight.’ I hung up before I could say anything else that I might regret in the morning.
Drifting off to sleep, I replayed one of the last times I’d spent an evening talking for hours, mask off and filter down, emotions meandering as we shared stories and opinions, and, along with them, our hearts. As always, it triggered a stab of pain. Although maybe less deep than usual.
That time, the other person had kept a big, fat filter up. One that hid from me the most important thing I needed to know.
Despite how, that time, I was talking to my husband. Not a brand-new friend who had no obligation whatsoever to tell me his biggest secrets.
This time, I was the one with a past I wasn’t ready to share.
Beckett flashed me a conspiratorial glance in the rear-view mirror as he stifled yet another yawn. The other passengers were, naturally, snoozing, and I gave Bob an exaggeratedly jealous glare.
‘You can sleep if you want.’ Beckett shrugged.
‘That hardly seems fair, given we are equally to blame for the foolishly late night. I insist on staying awake, in the name of solidarity.’
Twenty minutes later, I came to in the New Life car park with a stiff neck and a patch of drool on my scarf.
