She pulled open the door and stopped. Fran stood on the doorstep and Pamela could tell from her wincing expression that she’d heard every word.
‘Fran, what a lovely surprise,’ she said. ‘I was just on my way out…’
‘For milk?’ asked Fran, pulling a pint from her shopping bag. ‘If you be the coffee, I’ll be the milk,’ she added kindly.
Pamela smiled sheepishly. ‘Well, if you’re sure. Sorry if you heard me shouting.’
‘Don’t apologize. You should hear what goes on in my house. We’ve made shouting into an art form.’
Pamela laughed. ‘It is nice to see you. Come on through.’
‘Thank you,’ said Fran. ‘Is it okay to bring the dog?’
‘Oh yes of course,’ said Pamela, reaching down to pat Alan. ‘Such a lovely boy.’ Alan gave her hand an appreciative sniff in reply.
Fran followed her down the hall to the kitchen, pausing to admire the framed photographs of children at various ages – upward-grinning babies, gap-toothed schoolchildren and university-robed adults. ‘You have a lot of photos.’
‘My babies,’ said Pamela misty-eyed. ‘All grown up now but still my babies.’
Fran smiled. ‘How many children do you have?’
‘Three,’ said Pamela. ‘Laura, Matthew and Simon. All living wonderful lives.’
‘Do they come home much?’
‘They’re very busy and all spread out around the place,’ said Pamela hastily. ‘Simon lives in Bristol and Laura’s in north London but Matty is staying with us at the moment.’ Her eyes shone at the mention of his name. ‘He’s a writer,’ she added with pride. She loved telling people this – it made her life sound interesting.
‘Wow,’ said Fran. ‘What kind of things does he write?’
‘He’s a journalist really but he’s got all sorts of projects on the go. You know how it is.’
Fran nodded. ‘Well if he ever needs an editor, let me know.’
Pamela smiled. ‘I’ll do that – thanks, Fran. How do you fit your job around your kiddies? Must be tough juggling it all.’
Fran shrugged. ‘I’m lucky. I’m freelance and I’ve got some good contacts who trust me and get in touch whenever they need an editor. I enjoy the work, but after I had the kids, I wanted to be at home and then after Andy died, it was all a bit trickier, but I keep my hand in – I manage.’
‘You have to, don’t you? I really feel for you young women – so much pressure on you to do it all. In my day, you gave up your job when you got married, you didn’t have a choice.’
‘Sometimes the choices make it harder.’
‘Don’t they just?’ agreed Pamela. ‘Anyway, where are my manners? Let me make you that coffee.’
‘How are you getting on with your happy homework?’ asked Fran. ‘To be honest, I’m struggling.’
Pamela flicked on the kettle and fetched three mugs from the cupboard. ‘I went with the obvious.’ She handed Fran her notebook. ‘It’s my favourite hobby but I get the feeling I could do more with it.’
‘Just bake,’ Fran read out, nodding. ‘Looks good to me and, for the record, I shall do all I can to help you. I’m an excellent eater of cakes.’
Pamela laughed. ‘I might have had some chocolate muffins for you today. I had a go at that mindful baking that Nik suggested but I fell asleep and they all burnt!’
‘I think there’s a fine line between meditating and sleeping – so easy to get the two mixed up,’ joked Fran.
Pamela smiled. She liked Fran – she was easy to talk to and good fun. She felt rather protective towards her too. She was very young to be a widow and as for her poor children – Pamela’s heart went out to them.
She placed a mug of coffee in front of Fran, along with milk and sugar. She opened the back door. ‘Barry! Coffee!’
Moments later, Barry appeared. ‘Thanks, Pammy. Did you get milk then?’ he asked before spotting Fran. ‘Oh sorry, I didn’t realize you had company. Hello.’
Fran smiled. ‘Hi, I’m Fran.’
‘Fran and I are doing that course together.’ Barry nodded without comment. ‘Barry thinks it’s a lot of old mumbo-jumbo, don’t you, Barry?’
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘You didn’t need to. It’s written all over your face.’
Fran looked uneasy. ‘Well, I suppose some of it is a bit “out there”, but I was surprised how much I enjoyed it.’
‘See? Fran’s enjoying it and she’s a widow. No offence, Fran.’
‘None taken,’ laughed Fran.
‘My garden gives me happiness,’ declared Barry. ‘So if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to the pruning. It was nice to meet you, Fran.’
‘You too.’
After he’d gone, Pamela turned to Fran. ‘Sorry, lovey. That man infuriates me sometimes. All he thinks about is his garden. It’s as if I’m invisible.’
‘Maybe you should try telling him?’
Pamela snorted. Fran made it sound so easy and maybe it was for her generation, but Barry and Pamela didn’t really talk about their feelings. She would have liked to but wasn’t sure where to start. ‘You saw what he’s like. He doesn’t want to know. He can’t get back to his garden quick enough.’ She stole a glance at Fran and felt a pang of guilt. ‘Sorry. Here I am moaning about Barry when you’ve got real problems.’
Fran laughed. ‘Thanks for reminding me.’
Pamela looked horrified. ‘Sorry, Fran, I didn’t mean it like that. I get a bit carried away sometimes.’
Fran waved away her concerns. ‘It’s fine. Honestly. I’m joking.’
‘So how is your list going?’ Pamela asked, trying to cover her embarrassment.
‘Not great. I need to open up but old habits die hard,’ said Fran, pulling a face.
Pamela reached over and squeezed her hand. ‘You’ve been through a lot. You stick with me and Heather – we’ll help you.’
‘Thanks, Pamela. So what do you think Nordic Nik’s got in store for us next? Knitting big jumpers and field trips to Ikea?’
Pamela laughed. ‘I don’t know but I’m looking forward to it.’
Fran held her gaze for a second. ‘You know what? Me
