they didn’t look outwards any more. That was one of the things she liked about Lou, her interest in the world around her. But Ali’s friends saw her as a professional mistress – serially monogamous with other women’s husbands. And not all (if any) of them approved or thought it as amusing as they might once have done, especially not after they’d got married themselves. Then their views on marriage underwent a sudden transformation. Ali had become a threat to all they held dear. To hell with them. How gloriously gobsmacked they would be at the change in her fortunes now Ian had come along.
Opening her eyes again, she was confronted by the on-screen flight information. The cartoon plane had barely moved since she last looked. She fiddled with the control pad, trying to switch off the image. What did she care about the temperature outside the plane right now? She wasn’t intending to experience it for herself. She looked at Lou who had pulled her blanket right over her head, now dead to the world. Ali felt her stomach contract again. Cursing quietly, she excused herself from the row once again. ‘I’m so sorry but I’m not too well.’ To say she had Delhi belly seemed a somewhat insensitive euphemism to use to a native Indian. ‘Rather than disturbing you through the night, I wonder if we could swap seats?’ Lou would be horrified, but needs must.
‘If you think that would be better for you. Of course,’ he said, disentangling his headphones and gathering his possessions – a paperback, his airline toiletry bag and a bottle of water – and stood to let her past.
‘I think it might.’ Propelled by a certain degree of urgency, she transferred her belongings to the outside seat, then abandoned him to make his own arrangements.
When Ali returned, he was asleep in front of the thriller. She sat down, resigned to a long sleepless night ahead. She tuned in to an anodyne family comedy that required neither concentration nor intelligence but even so she could only think of Ian.
He had noticed how uncomfortable she was with the way he talked about his wife, and had hugged her tighter.
‘I don’t want her spoiling what we have. When I come here to your flat, I can forget everything else. I feel a different person. Do you understand that?’
‘I suppose so,’ she murmured, enjoying their closeness enough to drive away her concerns. ‘But we can’t exist in this weird little bubble forever.’
‘We can try.’ He began to kiss her again.
Once again, she pulled away, this time to his tsk of annoyance. ‘Where will we live?’ she asked.
‘Where?’ He let her go. ‘What’s wrong with here? I love this place.’
‘So do I. But if we’re going to have a new life together then I’d like to live somewhere that’s ours. Yours and mine. A new start.’ She snuggled up to him. He just hadn’t thought this through. She had moved into her flat when she had accepted she was probably going to be single forever so this was her domain, her home. The place held too many memories that had nothing to do with him, and, if she was honest, were hardly appropriate to the life they were planning. No, if they were starting a life together, they needed a place of their own. She could tell from his silence that she had surprised him. One all, then.
Despite his apparent lack of enthusiasm, she’d made up her mind that was definitely what was going to happen. She’d already put out a few feelers before she came away but as soon as she got home she’d be combing the property pages and pestering the agents. He’d come round when he realised how a move made sense. Then she’d have to broach the idea of a baby. Too much too soon? But time was against them. If they didn’t talk about these things now, it might be too late. And Ian loved her. He would understand.
Moments later, she had to leave her seat again. At the back of the plane, the cabin crew were in the galley, whiling away the hours until their more active duties resumed. The blonde I’m-Clare-fly-me one noticed Ali’s coming and going, and asked if she could help. So it was that, provided with a beaker of water, Ali found herself lying full length on an empty row of seats, reasonably comfortable at last. By the time the stewardesses began the breakfast round, she was fast asleep.
Lou was woken by the sound of the trolley and distant voices. Keeping the blanket over her head, she swallowed and ran her tongue around her mouth. The metallic taste was the side effect of her sleeping pill but her head was clear. Only a few hours and she’d be home, taking down the Christmas decorations. They’d looked so pretty all ready for her pre-Christmas Christmas dinner that she’d had with the kids before she left for India and Jamie and Rose his fiancée left for Tenerife to visit her family in their 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
