through the house.
She’s still not convinced. ‘But I’ve never decorated before, not personally.’
The part where I pull her along on a wave of enthusiasm isn’t working. ‘We’ll do the easy bits, and call in the pro’s when we get stuck.’ Apart from anything else, it’s good for me to get back to practical tasks. Aunty Jo’s day room is only small and the ceilings are low so decorating it should be a great way to ease myself in and progress with ‘the quest’ at the same time.
When we were kids Tash and I used to scrap over helping Dad with the decorating. I was chief wallpaper paster, and a dab hand with a paint pot, so even if I didn’t run interior jobs I’d know what I’m doing. I slide my fish slice under a join in the design near the floor. As I ease the edge away there’s a wonderful ripping sound, and an entire panel of paper tears free from the wall. I bundle it up and grin.
Aunty Jo coughs and frowns down at a flake of paint on the floor. ‘It’s looking awfully messy, shall I get the vacuum?’
‘For now, why not rip off?’ However much she looks on the verge of a breakdown, this is my kind of fun and I can’t let her miss out. So I pass her a slice and a bin bag. As I dip a sponge in my bucket of suds and slosh soapy water onto the bits of paper still clinging to the wall I take pity on her.
‘Don’t worry, we’ll tidy later.’
She’s still hesitating, but now she’s staring at my legs. ‘Why not borrow some of Harry’s pyjamas? I’ve got lots of second-best ones.’
‘I’m probably okay, thanks all the same.’ Her wearing them is bad enough, but I can’t tell her that so I take a different tack. ‘How about some music?’ I always work better with some trashy pop to help me along. I’d sort it myself but my speaker is upstairs, and, even if I’m ripping her living room to pieces, I’m still very much a visitor when it comes to choosing music and TV.
She hugs her chest. ‘Would you like some Tchaikovsky? Or Vivaldi’s Four Seasons?’
‘Not if there’s anything else.’ We already had The Nutcracker right through our porridge and chia seeds. ‘How about music for cleaning?’
‘You mean Housework Songs?’ Aunty Jo’s brow furrows. ‘It’s not something I ever needed. In Harpenden I always had help.’
Of course she did – how did I not remember? ‘Loaded and spoiled with it’ was how my more robust mum put it, in her meaner, more frustrated moments. She taught French full-time and looked after a family of four, while Aunty Jo, who didn’t work and only had her and Harry at home, had at least two cleaning ladies, window cleaners, personal shoppers and an army of outdoor helpers at any one time.
‘Something similar, then?’ My fingers are tightly crossed under my slice. ‘A ‘hills are alive’ nun-in-the-mountains singalong would be good. Or Mamma Mia?’
‘Will this do?’ She fumbles in the sofa footstool and comes out with a CD case that she holds out to me.
And this is why I’m here and not at work. A few simple words for me to read, and any pretence of me being a normal, functioning human adult comes crashing down.
‘Sorry, that might as well be written in Chinese.’ I know a few of the letters on their own, but when they’re strung together in a line I have no chance. I take a deep breath. ‘Read me what it says, then I’ll tell you.’
‘I can’t bear anything too jolly.’
I take it that’s an excuse for what’s coming next, not the title. ‘So?’
‘The One Hundred Best Tearjerkers of All Time.’
I give way to a silent WTF? moment. ‘You’re sure?’
‘It flashed up on my laptop after I lost Harry, it seemed like a sign, so I bought it.’
That’s modern technology for you. I’m not even going to ask what the tracks are, with my wonky emotions I’m practically crying buckets already.
‘They’re miserable, but in a good way.’ She’s already holding the disc up to the light and blowing the dust off.
‘Watch out!’ I leap across the dust sheet to grab my shades from the coffee table before the flash hits my eyes. For the first time since I arrived there’s a break in the grey outside. Sun bouncing off things that shine is a whole other issue for me. Who knew one CD could throw up so many problems?
‘There you go, Everybody Hurts.’ She presses play then stands back to listen. ‘Aren’t those lyrics lovely? Then it’s Candle in the Wind and All by Myself.’ She’s not even reading, so she must know it off by heart. As for All by Myself, even Tash weeps at that one and she’s got a husband, a job, a house and two kids more than I have, so there’s no chance for me.
As if that wasn’t enough to make my heart sink to my elasticated ankle boots – which neatly sidestep all that tricky bow-tying that takes so long, in case you’re wondering why I’m not in Converse like everyone else my age – the stare she’s giving me is about as penetrating as a CT scan.
‘Which reminds me, I haven’t seen you practising your calligraphy.’
Why she’s jumped to that I don’t know, but I can’t say the same for her. ‘You’ve been doing enough for both of us.’ Her pile of sheets practically reaches the ceiling.
‘And your mum was asking about your reading too.’ Her stare powers up a notch.
Crap. I hadn’t expected she’d be on my case like this. To be honest, I’ve made so little progress so far, I’d decided to give it a rest for a while. I was hoping if I stopped worrying, when I came back to it in a few weeks’ time I might have made one of those huge accidental leaps of progress. I’m opening and closing my mouth to say that, but nothing’s coming out.
‘You’re going to have to put the time in.’ Three more power notches, and her eyes are like saucers. ‘I mean, it’s not going to happen by itself, is it?’ How did I ever have her down as a lightweight?
‘Well …’ I’m wondering how to explain that’s exactly what I’m planning, but I’m saved by a knock on the French window.
‘Barney! Again! So soon!’ My jump of surprise as I open the door and stand back to let him in sends my slice skittering across the floor, but I still get in first to stop Aunty Jo over-gushing. However much I wish he was anyone else, saying ‘hi’ to him is a damn sight easier than dodging awkward questions from Aunty Jo. I know I don’t have wet patches on my bum today, I’m not crawling through any upstairs windows, and I escaped the embarrassment of getting caught wearing Harry’s cast-offs, but I’m still kicking myself for rushing my eyeliner and skimping on the highlighter. ‘If you’re planning a two-minute trip round the bay that lasts all day, I’m probably too busy.’
‘Great to see you too, Edie.’ He picks the fish slice up and passes it back then he turns to Aunty Jo. ‘Sorry – am I missing something here? Are those Christmas reindeer on your pyjama jacket?’
Some of us would have shrunk in the spotlight, but Aunty Jo stands her ground. ‘They’re Harry’s, he had so many pairs I’m using up the festive ones for decorating.’
‘Go,
