PJs on, I collapsed onto the bed just as my phone started vibrating on the bedside table. I twisted to read the caller ID. Mum. My favourite picture of us on her 60thbirthday last year was flashing up on the screen: her sat on a wrought-iron garden chair in the late July sunshine, me with my arms around her shoulders, both of us grinning at Joe behind the camera. I glanced at the clock. 7:15 p.m. I contemplated not answering it.
‘You going to get that?’ Joe’s voice floated in from the kitchen. ‘You know she’ll just keep calling otherwise.’
Ergh, he was right. I loved my mum, but she’d recently developed a rather annoying habit of phoning repeatedly until I answered. She had some serious stamina.
‘Hi, Mum,’ I yawned, stealing one of the pillows from Joe’s side and stuffing it behind my back.
‘Oh, hi love, sorry, did I wake you?’ She sounded relieved that I’d answered, but also a bit concerned, as if I’d already failed some sort of mother-daughter test with my lacklustre greeting.
‘No, just getting into bed.’
‘Oh—’
Silence.
‘I thought you might have plans, it being Friday night and all?’
‘It’s been a long week, Mum,’ I sighed, trying not to let the disappointment in her voice grate on me. ‘I just fancied a quiet one in with a takeaway.’
‘I do hope they’re not pushing you too hard at work? Derek’s in the pub tonight, I could nip over and have a discreet word with him if you like?’
‘Work’s fine, Mum,’ I reassured her quickly. Discreet and my mother were not words ever uttered in the same sentence.
‘Righto, well, that’s good, love. And, umm .?.?. how’s everything else?’
‘Fine, all fine.’
More silence. I could hear her mouth opening and closing, as though she wanted to say something more but wasn’t quite sure how.
‘Maybe I could pop round tomorrow and we can have a proper catch-up? I could bring those doughnuts you love so much?’
‘Umm, I’m not too sure what my plans are this weekend, Mum.’
‘Oh, all right. Well, just give me a bell if you change your mind. We’re doing family dinner at the pub on Sunday, after the lunch rush has finished. Everyone will be there, it would be lovely to see you?’
The eagerness in her voice lodged a lump in my throat.
‘Sure, I’ll try to make it.’
I heard a door swing open and a rowdy jeer sounded in the background.
‘Better go, love, I left your brother manning the bar and it’s a full house tonight.’ I pictured the jostling crowds swarmingaround the bar of Mum’s pub like bees to honey. The ruddy-faced farmers, the tie-stuffed-in-pocket, fresh-off-the-train commuters, the barely legal teenagers teetering unsteadily in their high heels. The air abuzz with the excitement of an entire weekend stretching before them.
I slid further down the bed.
‘OK, bye, Mum.’
‘I love you, sweetheart.’
‘Love you too,’ I mumbled, before collapsing face-first into the mound of pillows. My phone vibrated with a message, but I didn’t need to look at it to know it was from Mum. A love heart emoji, or some cheesy gif of a kitten sending a virtual hug. She’d been sending a lot of gifs recently.
‘Are you wearing my clothes again, woman?’
Joe had appeared in the doorway of the bedroom, leaning rather sexily against the doorframe. What was it about men in doorways? I glanced down at my pyjamas. One of Joe’s faded Tough Mudder t-shirts that used to be black but was now more of a sad grey colour, the logo cracked and scratchy, with a hole in the right armpit; and a pair of his old, checked boxer shorts.
‘What can I say, they look better on me than you,’ I smirked, fluttering my eyelashes unashamedly.
‘They certainly do.’ His voice was rough, sexy. The way his eyes lingered on where the too-big t-shirt had slipped to one side, exposing my bare shoulder, making me ache for him. A grin spread devilishly across his face, exposing the dimples in his cheeks. Oh, I knew that look. ‘Maybe your clothes will look better on me?’
