“Sorry, it’s just that I hardly ever see you these days.”
It was true and Cherry, awkward, evaded answering. “How are you?”
“Fine. Can I get you a drink? Glass of wine, seeing as we’re celebrating?”
Cherry knew that her mum would only have white, and that it would be sweet, something she detested, but she didn’t want to upset her. So Cherry made some excuse about not starting too early, saying she’d have tea instead. She followed Wendy into the kitchen, where her mum made a cup of tea in a mug with Daniel Craig’s face on it. No neck, just his disembodied, handsome face with its craggy smile staring out, floating on a background of white china. It looked surreal. As her mother filled the kettle, Cherry took a moment to appraise her. She’d dyed her hair again—it was a different color every time Cherry saw her, as if she was working her way through the L’Oreal brunette spectrum. (Eighty-three there were in total, her mum had said once, finding out this nugget of information from the supplier’s catalogue.) Underneath that, it was gray, but the color had once been thesame lustrous brown-black as Cherry’s. She’d inherited the best of both of her parents’ looks, with the odd gene thrown in from a grandparent in a collection of random good luck that could never have been predicted.
Wendy led her into the living room. “You can have the tilter if you want.”
“No, it’s fine, you have it.” Cherry quickly sat down at the opposite side of the sofa, remembering the time she’d been made to sit in the tilting seat to satisfy her mother’s excitement and had been thrust back like she was at the dentist’s, and had felt every bit as helpless.
“I’m thinking of painting that wall red.” Wendy pointed her mug at the wall that was the backdrop to the massive TV. “Like a statement.”
“A statement of what?” Cherry hadn’t meant to let the irritation creep in, but here it was already.
“I don’t know. Why do you always have to be so . . .” She was going to say “critical,” but bit her tongue. Not today. They both looked into their mugs of tea, vowing to do better.
The TV was on mute, a game show. Cherry hated all game shows for the single reason that the members of the public always ended up unwittingly humiliating themselves by looking cheap or ridiculous in their carefully chosen TV outfits. She also couldn’t stand how thick everyone was. Teachers not knowing the capital of Canada. It was pathetic.
“How’s work?” said Cherry.
“Oh, you should have seen the queues on Saturday. We sold out of every one of the disposable BBQs and Itoldthem we’d need more.”
“They should listen to you.”
“Yes, they should,” said Wendy, pleased.
“How long have you been there now?”
“Well, I started when you was just two, as we needed the money,” Wendy began, and Cherry, who’d heard this story before, found herself just waiting for the punch line. “It was only meant to be part-time and I started at checkout, worked my wayup. Took on more days when your dad passed. I was reliable, you see, and a hard worker. None of this needing to disappear to take the dog to the vet or what-have-you. Anyway, it’ll be twenty-three years this September.” Wendy smiled proudly, lost for a minute in her own achievement. Cherry could think of nothing worse than being stuck in a mammoth warehouse full of people pushing around huge wire baskets on wheels; she secretly thought that becoming a section manager after twenty-three years didn’t sound like that much of a promotion. Surely, you’d be heading up the entire region or something by then; but thinking about it all depressed her, so she stopped.
“The good things come to those who work hard, see. That’s when you get the promotions and stuff.”
“How’s Holly?”
“Not happy. Her daughter went to anX Factoraudition, but had a really hard time. They slated her apparently. Holly got really upset about it.” Wendy leaned forward and patted her knee. “Never mind about all that. What about you? I still can’t believe my daughter’s gotten herself a proper job now! There’s always money in property,” she said sagely, although this was a general perception that Wendy had latched onto rather than personal knowledge.
At last, Cherry could smile, although she wouldn’t be going into any detail. “Good, really good, in fact. I’m enjoying it a lot at the moment.”
“Well, that’s great. I always knew you’d do all right. You was the smart one of the family. So, what do you do then? Sell posh houses?”
“Yes, mostly. A few rentals.”
“Bet they go for a bit up there, don’t they? How much would it cost me to rent my flat up in la-la land?”
“Well, it wouldn’t look like this exactly, but for the floor space, about three grand.”
“Three grand a month!”
“A week.”
Wendy’s face was so gobsmacked, so dumbfounded, that Cherrystarted to giggle. She couldn’t help it. She wasn’t being malicious or making fun of her, but with her mum’s jaw dropped and held in some sort of freeze frame, it just looked funny.
Wendy slowly closed her mouth. “Jeez, Louise!” And then, aware of how she must have looked, she started to laugh too. For a short while, when each looked at the other, it just made them laugh more. It was a rare moment, the two of them getting on, sharing a joke. Pleased with the way they seemed to have hit on a safe topic, Wendy suddenly got an idea. “Hey, me shifts change next week. I get Tuesdays off. Maybe I could come and see you, take you for lunch?”
Cherry thought quickly and pulled a face. “I only get half an hour.”
“That’s illegal!”
