To My Best Friends

They were sitting at the refectory table watching Lizzie tear off sheet after sheet of kitchen roll, blow her nose, and toss it aside. She was nursing a mug containing the lukewarm dregs of a pot of coffee. All three women jumped when the phone rang.

It rang three more times before Jo found the handset under a tea towel on the worktop. ‘Hello?’ she said. ‘David Morrison’s, erm . . .’ Jo looked at the others but they just shrugged. ‘Residence?’ she finished.

Mona sniggered and Lizzie waved a hand to shush her. ‘Hello? Hello?’

There was no answer, just a distant click at her third ‘hello’. But just like last time she had a distinct feeling someone was there.

‘Who was it?’ Mona asked.

‘No one. It sounded like there was someone there when I answered but the line went dead when they heard my voice.’

‘Probably a call centre in India,’ Lizzie said. ‘You know how the line goes quiet for a minute or two after you answer, like it’s waiting for a connection. Always freaks me out.’

‘Didn’t sound like that. More like there was someone there, then they hung up. It happened that evening I came round to see David about Charlie and Harrie, too.’

‘David’s got a mystery lover,’ Mona laughed.

‘In your dreams!’

‘I heard the phone.’ David was standing in the open back door. ‘Who was it?’

‘Oi, goalie!’ Dan shouted. David let the door swing shut on Mona’s son’s protests.

‘Nobody,’ Jo said. ‘I’d have called you.’

‘Didn’t they leave a message?’ he asked, crossing the kitchen and checking the little red light.

‘When I say nobody, I mean, literally, nobody,’ said Jo, trying to hide her irritation as he checked there was no one on the line anyway. ‘Like last time,’ she said when he replaced the receiver. ‘Remember? Probably just a call centre.’

‘Are you expecting a call, David?’ Mona asked pointedly.

‘No,’ he said, but he seemed on edge. ‘Just had a couple of strange calls lately, bloody irritating.’

‘God,’ Jo muttered when he’d rejoined the game, ‘what’s eating him? Perhaps you’re right, Mona. Maybe he’s being consoled by a nurse from the hospice.’

Lizzie sprayed her coffee. ‘Stop it, you two!’ she said. ‘David wouldn’t do something like that.’ She pushed the coffee away. ‘It must be wine o’clock by now, surely?’

‘It is by my watch,’ Mona said.

The cork was out of the bottle and three indecently large glasses filled with Pinot Grigio when the phone rang again. This time David was in the kitchen before Jo could pick up.

He listened and then dropped it back onto its charger. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I don’t mean to be paranoid. It’s just I keep having these nuisance calls. They’re getting to me a bit.’

‘You can report them, you know,’ Lizzie said. ‘There’s a number you can call to get your number put on some list that means they can’t cold-call you. I’ll find out what it is, if you like?’

‘Nah, it’s fine, thanks,’ he said, taking a swig from Jo’s glass before heading back out into the garden. ‘I’ll do it.’

Only Jo noticed him pull the wire from the socket before he left.

‘Nom nom,’ Dan said, walking mud across the slate floor. ‘Smells brilliant. What is it?’

‘Roast pork, roast potatoes, veg, apple sauce, nut roast for Mum,’ Lizzie reeled off without taking her eyes off the gravy. There were lumps. There were always lumps. Carefully she chased one to the edge and squished it against the pan with the back of her spatula. Cornflour blossomed white in the golden liquid and dissolved.

Dan was right. The food smelled amazing. The rosemary and thyme that had been tossed in olive oil with the potatoes mingled with the scent of succulent pork, which was now crisping in the oven. Broccoli, green beans and peas were set to boil on the hob, their steam condensing on the windows overlooking the garden.

‘Talking of Mum, where is she? I thought she was in here.’

Jo looked up from the Observer in surprise. ‘Didn’t realise she wasn’t. Where’d she go, Lizzie?’

‘Loo, probably. Dunno, though. She’s been gone for a while.’

‘Typical.’ Dan rolled his eyes and grabbed a handful of crisps from a bowl on the side. ‘She’s always doing that.’

‘Doing what?’

‘Vanishing,’ Dan said. ‘On her mobile a-gain, I bet.’

‘Her mobile?’ Lizzie and Jo exchanged glances. ‘Yeah,’ Dan crunched through a mouthful of crisps and grabbed another handful. ‘She’s always on her mobile or looking at her mobile waiting for a text or a call. Reckon she thinks if she makes calls in the bathroom I can’t hear her. Like, duh . . .’

‘Hey, love, what’s up?’ Si leant over the back of Jo’s chair and wrapped his arms around her.

‘Lunch is up, nearly. Want a drink?’

‘Definitely,’ said Gerry, coming in behind him. ‘What have you got? Hey, Jo, if you don’t mind me saying, you look wrecked.’

‘Cheers, Gez.’ Jo stuck out her tongue. ‘You sure know how to make a girl feel good about herself.’

He was right, though. She did look wrecked. Looked wrecked, felt wrecked, was wrecked. But she’d been hoping to get away without anyone pointing it out. So far, the girls and David had been kind enough not to. Trust Gez.

‘What haven’t we got?’

‘I’m going to open Chablis, if anyone’s interested,’ David said, opening the fridge. ‘In Nicci’s honour.’

Chablis was another of Nicci’s favourites.

‘I don’t mind mixing my reds and whites if you don’t,’ Gerry said.

Over his shoulder Lizzie caught Jo rolling her eyes and muttering something under her breath. From where Lizzie sat, it looked like, Surprise me.

‘Gerry’s right, you know,’ Lizzie said, laying her free hand on Jo’s shoulder as they unloaded roast vegetables into a piping-hot serving bowl. ‘I didn’t want to say anything earlier, but you don’t look yourself. You’re not ill, are you?’

Jo picked imaginary bits off Si’s fleece, deciding how to respond.

Lizzie’s hand snaked down to the bowl and broke off a piece of roast potato, spiriting it into her mouth.

There were many things Jo wanted to say, not least of which was: pot/kettle, Lizzie O’Hara. You must have put on a stone since Christmas