To My Best Friends. Sam Baker

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      ‘And even if it wasn’t a wilderness,’ Lizzie’s tone, now verging on hysterical, took Jo by surprise. She looked as panic-stricken as she sounded, ‘I’m not Nicci. I’ll never be Nicci. I don’t know a bromeliad from a perennial.’

      The others looked at her in astonishment.

      ‘What’s a bromeliad?’ Mona asked. ‘Just out of interest.’

      ‘I don’t know!’ Lizzie wailed. ‘That’s the point. I got a book from the library, and then I got three more. And now I wish I hadn’t. It might as well be Chemistry A level, for all the sense it makes. I mean, it has charts, diagrams, tables.’ Lizzie looked at Jo – the mathsy one – as if she could make it all clear.

      Jo had made sure the bills got paid at uni. She divided them up, told you what you owed and you paid. If not for her, the rest of them would have been sitting in the cold, probably in darkness.

      ‘It can’t be that hard,’ Jo said. ‘Diagrams!’ Lizzie repeated. ‘And tables. You should see the list of things Alan Titchmarsh reckons need to be done by April. Even if I did nothing but garden full time between now and June I couldn’t catch up.’

      Jo slid her arms around Lizzie and suppressed a laugh as Lizzie buried her head in Jo’s shoulder. Over Lizzie’s head she saw Mona stuff her hands over her mouth.

      ‘I mean,’ Lizzie’s words were muffled, ‘how did Nicci fit it all in?’ She let out a wail and Mona, unable to contain herself, dissolved into fits.

      ‘Come on, Lizzie,’ Jo said, gripping Lizzie’s shoulders and fixing her with an encouraging smile. ‘It’s just a garden. Do it if you want. Don’t if you don’t. But if you decide to do it don’t try to do it Nicci’s way. Otherwise you’re setting yourself up for failure. Do it your way. You know Nicci, she probably just did the bits she wanted to and ignored the rest. That’s how she did everything else. Get out there and scratch the surface and you’ll probably find it’s not as magazine-perfect as it used to look from a distance.’

      They were sitting at the refectory table watching Lizzie tear off sheet after sheet of kitchen roll, blow her nose, and toss it aside. She was nursing a mug containing the lukewarm dregs of a pot of coffee. All three women jumped when the phone rang.

      It rang three more times before Jo found the handset under a tea towel on the worktop. ‘Hello?’ she said. ‘David Morrison’s, erm . . .’ Jo looked at the others but they just shrugged. ‘Residence?’ she finished.

      Mona sniggered and Lizzie waved a hand to shush her. ‘Hello? Hello?’

      There was no answer, just a distant click at her third ‘hello’. But just like last time she had a distinct feeling someone was there.

      ‘Who was it?’ Mona asked.

      ‘No one. It sounded like there was someone there when I answered but the line went dead when they heard my voice.’

      ‘Probably a call centre in India,’ Lizzie said. ‘You know how the line goes quiet for a minute or two after you answer, like it’s waiting for a connection. Always freaks me out.’

      ‘Didn’t sound like that. More like there was someone there, then they hung up. It happened that evening I came round to see David about Charlie and Harrie, too.’

      ‘David’s got a mystery lover,’ Mona laughed.

      ‘In your dreams!’

      ‘I heard the phone.’ David was standing in the open back door. ‘Who was it?’

      ‘Oi, goalie!’ Dan shouted. David let the door swing shut on Mona’s son’s protests.

      ‘Nobody,’ Jo said. ‘I’d have called you.’

      ‘Didn’t they leave a message?’ he asked, crossing the kitchen and checking the little red light.

      ‘When I say nobody, I mean, literally, nobody,’ said Jo, trying to hide her irritation as he checked there was no one on the line anyway. ‘Like last time,’ she said when he replaced the receiver. ‘Remember? Probably just a call centre.’

      ‘Are you expecting a call, David?’ Mona asked pointedly.

      ‘No,’ he said, but he seemed on edge. ‘Just had a couple of strange calls lately, bloody irritating.’

      ‘God,’ Jo muttered when he’d rejoined the game, ‘what’s eating him? Perhaps you’re right, Mona. Maybe he’s being consoled by a nurse from the hospice.’

      Lizzie sprayed her coffee. ‘Stop it, you two!’ she said. ‘David wouldn’t do something like that.’ She pushed the coffee away. ‘It must be wine o’clock by now, surely?’

      ‘It is by my watch,’ Mona said.

      The cork was out of the bottle and three indecently large glasses filled with Pinot Grigio when the phone rang again. This time David was in the kitchen before Jo could pick up.

      He listened and then dropped it back onto its charger. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I don’t mean to be paranoid. It’s just I keep having these nuisance calls. They’re getting to me a bit.’

      ‘You can report them, you know,’ Lizzie said. ‘There’s a number you can call to get your number put on some list that means they can’t cold-call you. I’ll find out what it is, if you like?’

      ‘Nah, it’s fine, thanks,’ he said, taking a swig from Jo’s glass before heading back out into the garden. ‘I’ll do it.’

      Only Jo noticed him pull the wire from the socket before he left.

      ‘Nom nom,’ Dan said, walking mud across the slate floor. ‘Smells brilliant. What is it?’

      ‘Roast pork, roast potatoes, veg, apple sauce, nut roast for Mum,’ Lizzie reeled off without taking her eyes off the gravy. There were lumps. There were always lumps. Carefully she chased one to the edge and squished it against the pan with the back of her spatula. Cornflour blossomed white in the golden liquid and dissolved.

      Dan was right. The food smelled amazing. The rosemary and thyme that had been tossed in olive oil with the potatoes mingled with the scent of succulent pork, which was now crisping in the oven. Broccoli, green beans and peas were set to boil on the hob, their steam condensing on the windows overlooking the garden.

      ‘Talking of Mum, where is she? I thought she was in here.’

      Jo looked up from the Observer in surprise. ‘Didn’t realise she wasn’t. Where’d she go, Lizzie?’

      ‘Loo, probably. Dunno, though. She’s been gone for a while.’

      ‘Typical.’ Dan rolled his eyes and grabbed a handful of crisps from a bowl on the side. ‘She’s always doing that.’

      ‘Doing what?’

      ‘Vanishing,’ Dan said. ‘On her mobile a-gain, I bet.’

      ‘Her mobile?’ Lizzie and Jo exchanged glances. СКАЧАТЬ