oatmeal biscuit.
‘It’s my medicine.’ She smiled, sitting down beside Sally.
‘You’re so kind, Lizzie. I suspect that’s why people tell you things,’ Sally said, gratefully drinking the tea.
‘They tell you things too,’ Lizzie pointed out. ‘The salon’s like a confessional, with people revealing all sorts of stuff to you as they lie back being pampered.’
A faint grin touched Sally’s wan cheeks. ‘I think I’m too distracted this week to have anyone want to tell me their secrets,’ she said. ‘I’m worried about the boys and their tonsils, and I’m worried about poor Steve. He’s working himself into the ground. I ought to make an appointment for myself too,’ she added. ‘I’ve been feeling a bit run down lately. Nothing out of the ordinary,’ she went on, ‘just I’m a bit weary. Mind you, isn’t everyone?’
‘It’s good to hear you worrying a bit about yourself,’ Lizzie soothed, checking the appointment book. ‘You do too much, Sally. Running the salon, taking care of the boys and Steve…’
Sally laughed. ‘I don’t do too much,’ she said. ‘I don’t do half enough. You want to see the pile of ironing…’
‘You never stop,’ Lizzie said firmly.
‘Don’t bother getting me an appointment yet, Lizzie,’ Sally replied. ‘I’ll phone you for one when I’ve got time. Ruby’s away so the salon is madly busy, and Delia, Steve’s mother, is off on holiday soon, so she won’t be able to look after the boys, so I’ll be running round like a headless chicken for a few weeks. I’ll come and see the doctor after that.’
‘You have to look after your health,’ Lizzie said, waggling a finger in mock disapproval.
‘I promise I’ll phone you when everything calms down,’ Sally said.
The door to the doctor’s room opened and the last patient emerged with Dr Morgan close behind.
Lizzie got up to see the patient out, and Clare Morgan led an eager Jack into her office.
‘Thanks, Lizzie, you’re a star,’ whispered Sally as she got up to follow with Daniel.
On Thursday, Lizzie had a day off and Gwen arrived to take her shopping. They were not looking for clothes for Lizzie, who had already bought her wedding outfit – a lemon suit, which was the subject of much worry. She went to the spare-room wardrobe and looked at it every few weeks, hoping that the yellow colour wasn’t quite as sharp and hard as she remembered. It had looked fine in the shop during the heady days of the previous year’s August sales, when the thought of getting a bargain had outweighed all other considerations. Now, she wasn’t so sure.
‘Could I sell it in the small ads?’ she asked Gwen idly. ‘“Mother-of-the-bride outfit. Never worn. Makes MOTB look like before picture in makeover article.”’
‘You wouldn’t get the proper value of it,’ advised Gwen. ‘Sure, just plaster more make-up on for the wedding and you’ll be fine.’ Today’s trip was to buy clothes for Gwen and Shay’s cruise. Ten days on the Star of the Mediterranean in April would require lots of outfits, and Gwen, who wasn’t usually even vaguely interested in what she wore, had entered into the whole cruising notion with great vim and vigour. She’d been scouring the local boutiques for nautical outfits, and had gone so far as to make a list of suitable evening clothes from her own wardrobe so that she could be sure of not doubling up on anything.
Lizzie thought this was unlikely. Gwen’s life had not lent itself to cocktail gowns. A passionate knitter, she was far more likely to be remembered for her selection of oatmeal-coloured sweaters that could keep out even an Arctic chill. Unlike Lizzie, who could never resist colourful tops and flowing, gypsy skirts, Gwen preferred sensible outfits. Even her hair was sensible: cut short without any artifice covering the grey.
‘Shay’s giving out yards about having to buy a dinner jacket,’ said Gwen when they were both settled in her car and driving at a sedate pace down Lizzie’s street. ‘I told him to shut his trap and stop whingeing. I said you’d come with me if he didn’t. That shut him up.’
Lizzie grinned. Gwen and Shay had already warmly invited her to go with them, saying she hadn’t had a holiday for years and she’d be welcome.
‘You don’t want me along,’ Lizzie insisted. ‘You’ve both been saving for this for years and it’s special.’ She didn’t add that as well as being completely broke she hated to feel like the third wheel, and even Gwen and Shay, who hardly qualified for love’s young dream and who bickered amiably twenty-four hours a day, could do without a gooseberry. The world seemed very coupley these days and Lizzie felt like a gooseberry a lot of the time.
‘Did I tell you about the jumper I got in Marks?’ Gwen continued. ‘Pale blue ribbed cotton. The girl at the till said it was very Ralph Lauren, whoever he is when he’s at home. I told her I was going on a cruise. She was dead jealous, I can tell you. Everyone is jealous!’
In the shopping centre, Gwen headed straight for the sort of glossy clothes shop she’d never stepped into before in her life. She bypassed sensible coats and tweedy skirts for the shimmering evening wear. Within minutes, she was wearing a royal-blue floor-length jersey that clung to her ample curves with the shop’s three sales assistants standing around discussing how much the skirt needed to be taken up.
‘I’m going on a cruise, you see,’ Gwen informed them all gravely. ‘This needs to be perfect.’
It took ten minutes and lots of humming and hawing to get it perfect.
‘It mustn’t be too long or you won’t be able to tango,’ Lizzie said, her face serious.
The three assistants’ eyes widened.
‘She’s a marvellous dancer,’ Lizzie added. ‘And as for her husband…’
The blue jersey column began to shake with laughter. Shay had last danced at his own wedding and had refused to put a toe on any dance floor ever since.
‘Don’t mind my sister,’ Gwen warned. ‘She’s a menace. Tango indeed. Who was in that Last Tango film? Burt Reynolds, wasn’t it? And there was some furore about margarine, was it? How can a bit of margarine have caused so much fuss? I don’t know. Although it’s hard getting grease marks out of clothes…’
Lizzie kept her head down.
By the time they left, the sales assistants and Gwen had decided that the royal blue would be perfect for the captain’s dinner, and that the silvery grey scarf would look great with the long black skirt and pale blue crepe blouse.
‘Imagine me at the captain’s dinner,’ sighed Gwen. ‘Who’d have thought Shay and me would ever be on a cruise?’
‘You’ll be the star of the ship,’ Lizzie said fondly, linking her arm through her sister’s. ‘That royal blue will be gorgeous, just perfect.’ And then she stopped. She and Myles had never been on a cruise. Now they never would together…Gwen was the one sailing into uncharted waters, the one who’d know all about tipping the staff on the ship and what the midnight buffet was like. Lizzie was left in the shadows.
‘You’ll have to tell me all about it,’ Lizzie said, rallying. ‘I want a detailed account of everything, from how big the cabin is to what the style is like at night.’
‘You could have come, you know,’ Gwen said again.
‘Nonsense,’ said Lizzie briskly. ‘Haven’t I so much to do here? Debra’s wedding is only round the corner and the organisation takes up so much time.’
Gwen, who had two sons and had managed to get them married without any fuss from either side, held her tongue about what she privately thought about Debra. The truth, Gwen knew, was that Lizzie couldn’t afford to go on a cruise with her daughter’s extravagant demands to pay for.
A cup of coffee