‘Hope?’ Gramps announced suddenly, causing most of the two rows in front to jump in surprise. ‘What’s the point of hoping at my age, in this state? I hope I bloomin’ well die before I lose my marbles altogether. Did you hear that, God? Oh, and I hope that someone will hurry up and get my lunch. No cabbage.’
The service ended with Moses praying about hope, and faith, and some other things that Beckett couldn’t concentrate on. Everyone stood up and sang another song on similar lines, and then Moses wrapped things up and people started milling towards the back of the room where tables were laid out with coffee machines, tea and plates of flapjacks and other traybakes.
Bill came over and started talking to Gramps, which could have caused the lunch demands to resurface, but Beckett decided to leave them to it, and went to get a drink. When someone on the other side of the aisle had shouted ‘Amen!’ to Gramps’ outburst, causing a ripple of laughter, Beckett had realised that nobody here seemed to mind that much, and he might as well stop worrying about what he couldn’t control anyway.
‘So, what do you hope for?’ Mary asked once they’d both helped themselves to coffee and found a spare space to stand.
Beckett paused, eyes firmly on his cup. ‘Um…’
‘Honestly, mostly all I could think was that I hope I don’t bodge these costumes up.’
Beckett changed gears, scrambling for a similarly light-hearted answer.
‘I was hoping Gramps wouldn’t feel the need to share whatever dropped into his head.’ He shrugged.
‘Wow. I would not have guessed that Dr Beckett Bywater was such a hopeless optimist.’
He shifted, glancing around. ‘You really shouldn’t call me that.’
‘What, an optimist? Given that you were clearly hoping in vain…’
‘Doctor.’
‘What? Why? You earned it.’
‘It only invites questions I don’t want to answer.’
Mary’s face softened. ‘Ah. I understand.’
‘Like, can I show you the boil in my armpit?’
Mary laughed so suddenly she almost spilled her coffee.
Not such a hopeless optimist after all.
16
MARY
The end of the advent service was still buzzing in my head as one by one I met the cast, whipping my tape measure around waists and up inside legs while my capable assistant recorded the numbers I called out.
I hadn’t been completely honest with Beckett about my hopes. I did hope that I didn’t make a hash of the costumes. Cheris and Carolyn were so delightfully invested in producing the best show on earth, and it had been a good few years since I’d sewn outfits from scratch.
But at the end of the day, I had far bigger dreams at stake. What I had determined to hope in those quiet few minutes, deep in the marrow of my bones, was that I’d not mess up being a mother. I’d find my way through this maze of old wounds, do my utmost to figure out who I was now, and where Bob and I were meant to be heading. I’d stop wallowing, and even as I unboxed my creativity for the first time since I’d moved, I’d commit to designing and crafting a life Bob deserved. One where he never felt unimpressive, or a let-down, or as if he didn’t really belong.
I also hoped that the men sitting beside me would be a part of that. Bob would need a good role model, and my dad or my brother weren’t getting that position, even if they were remotely interested in applying for it. Beckett, on the other hand?
I’d known him for five weeks, but I’d trust him with my life. Of course, when I thought about it, I remembered that I already had.
Some godsend had found Gramps a sandwich and crisps, which he was happy enough to sit and eat while I got the numbers I needed, but once he’d finished, we were all more than ready to leave the cast busy learning the ‘Everyone’s a Santa’ theme song.
I was disappointed when Beckett turned down my offer to have lunch at my house, but when he explained that another care manager was coming to discuss their service, I solved that by inviting myself to his.
I offered the pasta bake Patty had given me for that day’s meal train, but Beckett insisted I saved that for later. Instead, we stopped at a café in Bigley to pick up cheese toasties and pots of curried parsnip soup, eating them in companionable silence while Gramps and Bob slept.
Things might have gone better had the care manager not arrived seven minutes early. However, at the point Beckett opened the door, I happened to be in the middle of changing a ghastly nappy on the hall floor, due to it being a lot cleaner than the living-room carpet.
‘Oh my… oh my good grief!’ the man who marched into the hallway exclaimed, whipping out a handkerchief from his black blazer and pressing it over his face. He was around fifty, with a bald head and beady eyes that were currently squinched into tiny black raisins. ‘What is that?’
