Sweet Temptation (23 page)

‘Sounds good to me,’ Maddie said.

‘Me too,’ I agreed. ‘You’re on.’

‘So here we are again,’ Lauren said. We’d chatted all the way to the pub and now we were sitting on the same velvety banquette as last time, with three drinks on the table. ‘Let’s have a toast to Ms Weightloss and Radio Star herself, Maddie!’

We clinked our glasses together. ‘And cheers to you two as well,’ said Maddie. ‘This was a good idea, Lauren. Sorry I haven’t been around lately – I’m a useless Diet Buddy. Have you two been in touch much over the last few weeks?’

We looked at one another and I felt embarrassed. I hadn’t phoned Lauren and she hadn’t phoned me. I found her a bit scary, to be honest, and I got the feeling she didn’t think much of me. ‘Um . . . no,’ I faltered.

‘God, I’d forgotten all about the Diet Buddy thing,’ Lauren confessed breezily. ‘Sorry, I’m useless.’

‘Oh well, any time either of you want to ring me, do,’ Maddie said. ‘I called Jess when I was having a wobble, didn’t I? And Lauren, I’ve got to tell you, she was brilliant. Kept me on the straight and narrow when I was about to go diving for biscuits. In fact, that turned out to be the day I first made it to the gym, and ever since then . . .’ She shrugged. I blushed, embarrassed and pleased all at once with the warmth of her smile. It was nice to be told I’d helped.

‘I really should start doing some exercise,’ I said, feeling guilty about my decidedly inactive lifestyle. ‘I can’t afford gym fees, though – not on my salary.’

‘I know, they’re extortionate, aren’t they,’ Maddie said. ‘I only got the membership because . . . well, my mum basically pushed me into it.’

A sadness came over her face like a veil dropping, and I put an arm around her without thinking.

‘Still,’ Maddie said bracingly. ‘You can just go to the classes there without being a member.’ Her eyes brightened. ‘Hey – we should go together. Solidarity against the skinnies and all that. There are loads of beginner classes where you don’t have to be an athlete to join in . . . what do you think?’

What did I think? I had a flashback to PE lessons at school, the misery of cold rainy hockey fields with grey culottes chafing against my red-raw legs, missing catches in netball, pretending to have my period to get out of swimming . . .

‘Um . . .’ I said, trying to think of an excuse. ‘I’m not sure my boss would approve. She keeps saying what a bad advert I am for the salon. If she saw me red-faced and dripping with sweat, she’d probably sack me on the spot.’

Lauren was hesitant too. ‘Maybe . . .’ she said unconvincingly to Maddie. Then she turned to me, looking indignant. ‘That boss of yours sounds a right bitch, Jess. Surely it’s none of her business what you do in your spare time.’

My face felt hot. Lauren was right, but I knew I’d never have the bottle to say as much to Louisa. ‘She’s just got it in for me,’ I mumbled. Aaargh. I wished I’d never mentioned Louisa. I was coming across as a total victim. Luckily a more positive thought struck me.

‘Actually, I was thinking about trying salsa dancing,’ I said quickly. ‘But I’m not sure I’ve got the guts to do it on my own – and I doubt I’ll be able to persuade my fiancé to come along. I don’t suppose either of you fancy it, do you?’ My heart thumped as the words came out and I braced myself for them rejecting the idea. Why would they want to go dancing with me?

Lauren looked interested, though. ‘How funny – I was thinking about salsa dancing too. One of my former clients is a salsa teacher and—’

‘It’s not Francesca, is it?’ I blurted out, then felt like an idiot. There had to be hundreds of salsa teachers in a city like Birmingham.

But her eyes had widened in surprise. ‘Yes!’ she replied. ‘I went to her wedding on Saturday – I introduced her and her husband through my dating agency. Why, are you friends with her?’

I smiled. ‘No, not friends. She’s one of
my
clients too. I did her nails for the wedding,’ I said. Lauren looked blank, so I added, ‘I’m a beautician.’

Lauren laughed. ‘Small world!’ she said.

‘I’m starting to think you know everyone,’ Maddie added, smiling.

‘How
was
the wedding?’ I asked Lauren eagerly, leaning forward on my seat. ‘She was so nervous about it the first time I met her, but then when she came in on Friday, she seemed really excited and happy.’

‘Oh, she was,’ Lauren said. ‘It was a great wedding – and that’s coming from a diehard cynic like me. Her nails looked fab too, by the way – you did a good job, Jess.’

I blushed again. I was like a traffic light tonight. ‘Cheers,’ I said.

‘Is that what you do, then?’ Maddie asked Lauren. ‘Lonely hearts and all that?’

Lauren nodded and wrinkled her nose. ‘I’ve been feeling kind of blah about it, to be honest,’ she admitted. ‘I’m a divorcee and was starting to think I was in the wrong job – too bitter to work in the lovey-dovey romance business. But this wedding was just . . .
lovely
, and Francesca made this little speech thanking me, and . . .’ She laughed, looking faintly embarrassed. ‘Well, it kind of restored my faith in
lurve
. And now I feel really upbeat about work again and want to give the agency a big push, throw everything into it.’ She smiled at me, looking excited. ‘Hey, and now I’ve found out you’re a beautician, Jess, I’m thinking I could bring some of my ladies along to your salon for a pre-date pampering session . . . what do you reckon?’

My ears pricked up at once. ‘What a great idea – I’m sure we could do some kind of promotion together,’ I said. ‘I’ll talk to my manager about it.’ Anything to get into Louisa’s good books for a change.

‘And I bet we could feature you on the show at some point too, Lauren,’ Maddie put in. ‘Valentine’s Day would be the obvious tie-in, but we could definitely do a puff piece about your agency in the meantime – maybe even get this Francesca on to tell us her side of the story . . .’

Lauren looked absolutely thrilled, her green eyes sparkling and a huge smile splitting her face. ‘You two are brilliant,’ she said. ‘Thank you so much! I’m starting to feel really grateful to FatBusters – not only have I lost a few pounds, but I’ve met you two as well. That’s pretty good going, I’d say.’ She raised her glass in the air. ‘Cheers, girls – to fat-busting and friendship!’

We all smiled at one another and clinked our glasses together. ‘To fat-busting and friendship,’ we chorused.

Chapter Thirteen

Bittersweet

Maddie

August got steadily worse. Mum started the cycle of chemotherapy, which left her very tired. I watched her like a hawk for deterioration and noticed that she was forgetting things more and more – if I told her something, she wouldn’t be able to remember it the day after, and I found myself getting frustrated and depressed by it. She was also suffering some unpleasant side effects – the inside of her mouth was sore, and she had to take steroids to combat the nausea and diarrhoea. By now, she was also in a lot of pain, so Gerald and I decided she would be better off in a hospice with round-the-clock care while she was suffering.

I took Emma and Ben to see her as often as I could, and tried to keep her spirits up. But when it was just the two of us, she confessed to me how scared she was of dying. She kept agonizing over and over again about what it would feel like, how frightening, how painful. She also kept crying about how sorry she was to leave me, how angry she was with herself for being ill like this. It just broke my heart, but I knew it was important to let her talk; I wanted her to feel that she could say anything she wanted to me and I would always listen. I had leaned on her so many times in the past, and she’d been the strong one. Now it was my turn to be strong for her, to try to comfort her, and hold her hand while she poured out her fears.

Then, one morning, at the beginning of September, on a warm, clear, yellow-leafed day, the phone call came. She had died in her sleep, just stopped breathing. Her body had given up, ceased to work. She had gone.

‘No, no,’ I cried down the phone. ‘Not yet. Not yet!’

It was so soon, so sudden. Just six weeks earlier she’d seemed as right as rain, bossing me about, sorting my life out, my best friend and closest ally. And now . . . now she was gone. I felt as if my heart had been torn out of me. I could hardly breathe, with the pain.

I don’t know how I got through the next few days. I was numb to everything, everyone. I couldn’t sleep, I could barely string a sentence together, I wasn’t functioning at all. The only thing going through my head was that she’d died, that I’d never see her again, never talk to her . . . the thoughts kept running around my mind in a loop I couldn’t escape from. I felt terribly guilty that I hadn’t spotted that something was wrong with her before; angry with myself for not paying enough attention. What if we’d caught the cancer sooner? She could have lived for years if she’d had an earlier diagnosis.

The grief was overwhelming. It literally engulfed me, completely took me over. How could I carry on with life as normal without her?

‘Mummy, I’m so sad that you’re sad,’ Emma said to me one day, her small hand tentative on my back.

‘I’m sorry, darling,’ I choked, putting my arms around her. Sorry that I’m flaking out on you just before you start the ordeal of secondary school. Sorry that I can’t stop crying and want to spend the rest of my life in bed.

I took her hands in mine, trying to pull myself together and say something reassuring. But as I did so, I noticed her hands. I hadn’t looked at them properly for ages and something tightened in me as I did. ‘You’ve got Granny’s hands,’ I said, blinking through the tears. ‘Oh, Ems . . . your hands are just like Granny’s – look at your lovely long fingers, so shapely, just like hers . . .’ And then I was kissing her hands, raising them up to my lips, and hugging her again, laughing and crying at the same time.

I saw her everywhere, after that. Mum, I mean. Ben’s wide mouth was just like hers – why hadn’t I noticed it before? The way he’d set it in a moue if displeased, the way he’d laugh so heartily – that was her. I even saw her in my own face in the mirror at times – a tilt of my head, the generous fleshy lobes of my ears – and it made me think of her with a pang. Why hadn’t I noticed these things before? Why hadn’t I paid attention to the links between us, the traits that passed through the generations? Or was I deluding myself now, was I clutching at straws, trying to comfort myself that a part of her was still with me, hadn’t completely vanished?

The funeral was pretty tough going. There’d been a piece in the
Post
about her death, with a lovely obituary and details of the service. I knew she was well loved in the city – she’d turned on the Christmas lights and opened supermarkets in her hey-day as well as appearing at all sorts of charity dinners and what-have-you over the years – but I’d never expected the hundreds of people who came along to the crematorium to pay their last respects. It choked me to see the enormous crowd of fellow actors, friends, neighbours and fans. Emma and Ben were there with Paul and me, but they were both pale and tearful, clinging to my side, and it was all I could do to keep my arms around them. I half wondered if my dad would rock up for the show too, but if he did, I didn’t recognize him. It had been almost thirty years since I’d last seen him, after all. I didn’t even know if he was alive.

Gerald, who seemed to have shrunk in the last month, gave a speech and read ‘Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep’, which got us all going, and then it was my turn. I really wanted to deliver a eulogy, but I felt so emotional I wasn’t sure I could even walk to the front of the room, let alone get out all the things I wanted to say about her.

‘My mum was a wonderful person,’ I began, my voice breaking on the word ‘mum’. It seemed to stick in my throat and I had to take a second to compose myself before going on. ‘She lit up the room with her smile, she made everyone laugh with her stories, and she was fantastic on stage. She loved performing, she loved entertaining, she was sociable and fun, gregarious and big-hearted. Away from the spotlight and the parties, she was also incredibly kind. She brought me up single-handed and I can honestly say she was there whenever I needed her.’ Tears brimmed in my eyes, and I swallowed. This was the hardest thing I’d ever had to do. ‘I miss her so much already. I miss being able to pop round for a chat, I miss hearing her laugh, I even miss the way she was always trying to sort my life out.’ A sob escaped and I held my body clenched for a moment, fearful that I was about to lose control.
Come on, Maddie
, I told myself.
Just the
reading to get through, then you can let go.

I took a deep breath. ‘Her first role on stage was right here in Birmingham at the Rep, as Miranda in
The Tempest
, a play she loved,’ I said. ‘And now I’d like to read a short piece from that play.’

Another deep breath. I wanted to do her justice, make her proud, especially when there were so many actors in the room.

‘Our revels now are ended . . .’ I began, my voice wobbling precariously. I almost made it through without breaking down, but when I got to, ‘We are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life is rounded with a sleep’, I was incoherent with sobs. Paul came up and stood beside me, his hand on my back, and I just about managed to thank everyone for coming before totally losing it.

She’d wanted to be cremated, and much as I hated the idea of her being buried and her beautiful face rotting away underground, I couldn’t watch as the curtains closed around the coffin and the first notes of ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow’ started up.

‘Will we ever see Granny again?’ Ben asked, his hand creeping into mine as we made our way out.

‘No, darling,’ I said, squeezing his fingers. ‘We won’t.’

The following Saturday, we drove out with Gerald to the Lickey Hills Country Park and climbed to the top of Beacon Hill. Mum had always loved it up there, gazing out at the city – you could see for miles on a clear day. It held loads of memories for me too – sledging down the hill as a child on snowy days, walks through the woodland, stopping for ice cream at the cafe . . . My eyes leaked tears again as the images rushed into my head.