Women of a Dangerous Age. Fanny Blake
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holiday villa.
Hooker had not been invited. Sitting the whole family round the table and pretending nothing had changed would have been inappropriate, not to say uncomfortable. As would a full-blown turkey extravaganza. Instead, she’d decided on the old family favourite – roast beef with all the trimmings. This was the first time they’d all be together at her new home, and she wanted everything to be right. This was the first time they’d celebrated Christmas without Hooker. She’d transformed her workroom with coloured fairy lights twinkling round the window. The chipped and scratched surface of her sewing table was hidden under a red tablecloth sprinkled with silver star confetti. No crackers this year. Instead, the table was elegant with Jenny’s white china, the only decoration being the gauzy red ribbons that Lou had tied in bows around the bases of the glass candlesticks.
The meal was a triumph, even her Yorkshire puddings, and after they’d eaten, they moved into the living room for present opening. The fire blazed, glasses were charged, chocolates and mince pies passed around. The kids had clubbed together to buy Lou a Total Pampering Package that aimed to rejuvenate and re-energise. Oh, the optimism of youth! She had given Jamie and Tom cheques, socks and a shirt each – anything else ran the risk of rejection. For Rose, there was a book about Reiki healing. Then she took the last package and passed it to Nic.
‘Honestly, Mum! You could have done better than brown paper.’
Aware of the effort that usually went into Nic’s extravagant wrappings, she just said as brightly as she could, ‘I’m saving the planet and anyway, it’s what’s inside that counts.’
As Nic tore away the paper, a loose deep green silk devoré velvet jacket slid into her hands. She shook it out and held it up to look at it, then against herself.
A pause as she examined it, then, ‘Is it one of yours?’
Lou caught the faintest hint of criticism in the question.
‘I’m afraid so,’ admitted Lou, who still smarted from the time when Nic, as a young teenager, had begged her to stop making their clothes. She wanted to go shopping with her mates, and wear what they wore. And who could blame her? Uniformity was what mattered then – for the boys too. Ever since, Lou had restricted her dressmaking to herself and to friends. But she hadn’t been able to resist this gorgeous fabric, which she had been so sure Nic would love.
Nic confined herself to shaking her head in a despairing sort of way. She slipped it on over her dress, then went upstairs to find a mirror. Despite Rose’s quiet ‘Wow!’ and Lou’s feeling of satisfaction in seeing a perfect fit, Nic’s appreciation was less than impressive. When she returned to the room, she slung it over the back of her chair and kissed Lou’s cheek. ‘Thanks, Mum. It’s lovely.’ Her lack of enthusiasm had been barely hidden. ‘It’ll be great for that flappers and gangsters fancy dress party at New Year.’
Stuck in her airline seat, blanket over her head, Lou could still feel her disappointment. How she longed to have one of those close mother–daughter relationships instead of one that blew hot and cold with no warning. The jacket should have proved to Nic how beautiful vintage-inspired pieces could be, how successful Lou’s business venture would be, but she should have known better. Nic had been as dismissive as Hooker sometimes was. They rarely thought of the effect their words might have. Well, she’d bloody well show them that she could make a go of this. If anything, Nic’s scorn had only served to stoke the fire of Lou’s determination. Who knew? Perhaps her success would bring them closer together. Success was something that Nic, like her father, respected.
The rattle of the trolley was getting nearer. She wondered what the time was, but was reluctant to brave the glare of the cabin to look at her watch.
‘Excuse me.’ An unknown voice sounded right by her ear. ‘Would you like orange juice?’
Annoyed by the disturbance, she peeled the blanket from her head and took off her eye mask only to be confronted by a familiar face in the next seat. Her knicker rescuer. Beyond him, the third seat was empty. Where was Ali? He was passing her a plastic beaker from the stewardess. She took it and unfolded her table. ‘Thanks. But that seat’s taken.’ Realising how rude she sounded, she apologised. ‘I’m sorry, that sounded awful.’
‘Not at all.’ He inclined his head and gave a slight smile. ‘Your friend was taken ill so she took the aisle seat, but I think she may now be sleeping at the back of the plane.’
Lou composed herself. She was a fifty-five-year-old woman, for God’s sake. This man had only tried to help her, not stripped her naked in front of the whole airport. Even if that was what it had felt like to her at the time. The memory of his hand holding out her knickers came into her head and she fought a desire to laugh.
‘I’m sorry about earlier on at the airport, too,’ she said. Then, ‘I’m Lou.’
He held out his hand, at least as far as the movement was possible in such a confined space. ‘Sanjeev Gupta.’
They shook, elbows digging into their sides. Before they could continue their conversation, a stewardess was leaning across, offering trays of breakfast. Lou stared at the separated lumps of scrambled egg and the warm burned sausage that floated in a thin sea of tomato juice, before turning her tray around and picking up the yoghurt.
‘Have you been on holiday?’ her neighbour asked while cutting his sausage as if expecting something foul to crawl out. He gave up and turned his attention to the roll and butter.
Within minutes, Lou was detailing their route through Rajasthan, remembering the highlights, excited to be able to talk about what she’d seen without the rest of the group, who were scattered through the plane, interrupting. She only stopped to allow the breakfast to be removed. Sanjeev was an attentive listener, concentrating on what he was hearing, interrupting only to ask whether she had managed to visit certain places she didn’t mention: Jaisalmer, Bikaner, Deogarh. By the time they’d finished their coffee, Lou was laughing.
‘Two weeks obviously isn’t anything like long enough. We’ve missed so much. I’ll just have to come back.’
Responding to her laugh, Sanjeev smiled back. ‘To Rajasthan? Or maybe somewhere else?’
‘What do you think?’ Lou wanted the opinion of someone who knew the country far better than her.
He began to tell her about the other very different parts of his country, from the unspoilt mountain state of Sikkim that lay in the Himalayan foothills in the shadow of Kanjenjunga, to the gentle white-sanded paradise of Kerala in the south. Lou listened, entranced by his descriptions and the stories of his visits there, at the same time making plans for countless future visits. Would her new business provide the necessary income? She would have to make sure it did. He took her journeying down the mighty Brahmaputra in the state of Assam, conjuring up the crowded ferries, the riverine island of Majuli, his visit during light-filled Divali, the ubiquitous tea plantations. He was describing the steep noisy street up to a Hindu temple outside Guwahati lined with stalls stuffed with devotional objects, crowded with holy men and pilgrims who had travelled there to have their wishes granted, when Ali returned to the outside seat.
Lou smiled a faint welcome but continued to let Sanjeev talk. So caught up was she in the places he was describing, she didn’t want him to stop. However, seeing he’d lost her attention for a moment, he broke off and twisted round to see Ali. He immediately asked her if she wanted her seat back. ‘Your friend has missed you. So, if you are better …’ He let the sentence hang.
‘Thank you.’ She stood to let him out, so she could slide into the vacated middle seat.
Lou was disappointed to lose Sanjeev but Ali wasn’t to know how much she had been enjoying his company.
‘What a bloody awful night,’ announced Ali, who was looking pale despite the make-up that she’d obviously applied in preparation for landing.
‘I’m sorry. I’d no idea. How are you feeling now?’ Lou felt guilty that she hadn’t even bothered to go to the back of the plane to find out. But Ali seemed not to mind.
‘Much