The Age of Misadventure

I nod. ‘You were on telly, in the crowd.’

Her face has taken on a dreamy look.

‘I’m going up again on Thursday night. I’ve only one appointment on Friday so I’ll move it. He has a big game this weekend. It’ll be lovely.’

I chew my lip and hold back all the comments about love in haste, regret at leisure, and I ask, ‘Does he have a place in London?’

‘No, I told you, Mum. Didn’t you listen? He has a beautiful flat overlooking the sea in a little village outside Brighton. He and his friend, Roque, live on different floors. The view’s spectacular. Two bedrooms, en suite: Luis has sauna facilities. He has a driver, too, for when he and Roque don’t want to use their cars or the train. It’s in his contract. We don’t need to go out, really. But there’s so much to do in Brighton, which isn’t far away, and we’re only a couple of hours from London. It’s perfect.’

‘You’ll soon want to move down there, then?’

She shoots me a guilty look. ‘He’s special, Mum. I can’t wait for you to meet him.’

I move the conversation forwards. ‘How do you get on with the language? Is his English good?’

‘Not bad. Much better than my Spanish. And we have the language of love.’

I sigh and stick a skewer through the jacket potatoes, throw them into the oven. I shift my position to stand opposite Jade, lean against the worktop and decide I should speak frankly to her, tell her to be careful and not get hurt. I pull a bag of salad leaves apart and take a breath.

‘It must be very glamorous, being a footballer’s girlfriend.’

She pulls a face. ‘He’s my boyfriend first, Mum. Luis won’t be a footballer forever but we plan on being together—’

‘Jade, this is all very sudden.’

‘It’s called love, Mum.’

‘But you’re young and carried away by the passion, the excitement …’

‘That’s what love is.’

‘No, it’s hard work and communication and coping with the tough times.’

‘You’re just talking about you and Dad. Luis and I are different.’

‘That’s what everyone says, but it always ends in the divorce courts.’

‘Don’t you dare, Mum. Dad says you were the one who wouldn’t communicate.’

‘What?’ I hold up the knife I’ve just chopped tomatoes with. ‘He said that?’

‘He said you were bad-tempered and cold – you shut him out.’

‘So he sought love elsewhere?’ Tears spring to my eyes. Of course, it’s because of the onions I’m hacking to pieces.

‘He was lonely.’

I sweep the salad into a bowl and shake it like it’s Terry’s neck. I squeeze mayonnaise on top, like I’m throttling his wife, Alison’s, throat. I wonder why I’m still bothered. It was years ago.

‘Well, I’m just saying, Jade, be careful. Take your time.’

‘Like you’re doing? No relationships at all since Dad? You’re cynical, Mum, and you’re unhappy, so you just don’t want anyone else to be happy.’

My teeth snap together. She’s right. Over the last few years, there’s been no one. I hurl the empty mayonnaise bottle towards the bin. It skims the metal top and clatters on the floor. I know I should say nothing but the words bubble out.

‘Well, don’t come to me, Jade, when you’re broken-hearted and—’

I realise I’ve gone too far. Jade’s staring, her mouth open.

‘Mum. Don’t you want me to be happy?’

I rush over and hug her. She holds her arms out away from me, as if I smell. I sigh.

‘Of course I want you to be happy, Jade. I’m sorry, love. I’m being too protective, aren’t I?’ I feel her nod. ‘Sorry. I’ll start again.’ I move away, go over to the cupboard and pull out a bottle of red wine. ‘Shall we break our no-alcohol-in-the-week rule and crack a bottle open? Toast you and Luis. To love and good times?’

She pulls a face, raises her arms, stretches lean limbs, and for a moment she looks just like Terry.

‘Okay. We need a bit of bonding time, don’t we? But, trust me, Mum. I know what I’m doing. And when you meet Luis, I know you’ll love him.’

I pour wine into two glasses and the soft liquid glug is calming me already.

‘I’m sure I will,’ I tell her, raising the glass and swallowing a huge gulp of Merlot.

The following week flies by. Jade returns on Tuesday, deals with a dozen clients midweek and on Thursday, she’s back on the train to Brighton. On Friday morning, Nanny Basham has an early doctor’s appointment for her heart check-up, so I drive her to the surgery, where she manages to upset the receptionist and antagonise a woman with a fretful baby. I apologise to everyone in the waiting room, and she nags all the way home about the slack state of modern parenting and how the child only needed a comforter to stop it screaming. I nod and concentrate on the road. Nan and Uncle Wilf never had children.

Then we’re busy all day, hardly a moment to stop for breath. Amanda leaves at six, excited about a romantic evening she has planned, and when I go to lock up at seven o’clock, I notice a hunched shape sitting on my front step. Bonnie looks up, her face in shadow, and I open the door and propel her inside. She’s quaking with cold, huddled against her handbag. I shut the front door behind us.

‘Bonnie, what’s the matter? What’s Adie done now?’

She’s shaking. Her eyes leak and her make-up is smudged; the blusher shines livid against the pallor of her face, but the worst thing is the haunted expression in her eyes.

‘He was out until three last night. He said he was at a meeting but he smelled of perfume. I asked him if he’d been with someone else and he said no, but when I kept on nagging him, he said it was just some random woman at a business party and it didn’t matter. He said I shouldn’t make a big deal of it …’

I hug her. ‘Well done for walking out, Bonnie. You’re staying here with me now. How did you get here?’

‘I got a taxi.’

‘From Frodsham?’

‘He has my car keys. He told me I couldn’t leave him. He wouldn’t let me.’

An engine roars and Adie’s car turns into the drive. There’s hardly room for him to park next to my X5, so he leaves his Porsche at a diagonal and throws the door open, marching towards us, his head down like a bull, his bald spot shining pink.

Bonnie hides behind me and he moves towards her but I bar his way.

‘No, Adie.’

It crosses my mind he could simply push me to one side and I’ve no idea why I’m standing between my cowering sister and her tall, smug husband. I put my hands on my hips, lean forwards and impersonate an orangutan. The Alpha female.