‘Oh, I’m so sorry, Lee,’ she managed. ‘Are you okay? Are the boys okay?’
Leon sniffed. ‘Thomas is away at uni now and doesn’t seem to be bothered. It’s hit James a bit harder, but then he always was the more sensitive one.’
More like his dad than his mum, thought Maggie.
‘So where are you living?’ she asked. ‘You’re still in Leeds, I assume.’
‘Yep. Becky’s stayed in the house and I’ve got myself a little bachelor pad down by the river in the centre of town. It’s handy for work and there’s room for James to come and stay whenever he wants.’
Maggie couldn’t quite take it in. It seemed so unlikely. But then, unlikely things happened all the time. Just look at her own situation.
‘And are you okay?’ she repeated, her voice tender.
Again, there was a little pause. Maggie wondered if he might be crying, but then when he spoke again there was no indication of it in his voice.
‘Yes, I’m fine. It had been on the cards for a while, if I’m being honest. When the axe actually fell it was almost a relief.’
Maggie was dying to ask which of them had initiated the break-up, but that wasn’t the kind of question you asked over the phone.
‘And how are you?’ he asked her.
How was she? Well, for the purposes of this conversation, she was fine.
‘I’m fine,’ she said.
They finished up with a swapping of the news that she had about Angie and Tiger, wished each other a merry Christmas and then ended the call. That had been four months ago. Surely, he would be up for a night out now to celebrate the thirty years thing.
Without letting herself overthink it any further, Maggie pressed send.
It didn’t take long for her phone to ping with replies – Angie’s consisting mainly of shocked-looking emojis and redacted expletives, Leon’s more measured but still expressing surprise that it had indeed been thirty years. A plan was forged for food and wine in York the following Saturday night, Angie picking a restaurant that she knew would have enough vegan options for her to choose from.
Maggie was looking forward to seeing them both. She would do a little quiz, she decided, about things that had happened when they lived together. It would be funny, and it was nice to look back. She might even dig out some old photographs, too, although seeing the passage of time displayed quite so graphically might be a bit painful. Maggie had always thought that she was ageing well. She had hung on to her figure and kept her grey hairs at bay with regular and expensive visits to Vidal Sassoon in Leeds. Recently, though, the marks of time had become etched into her face, more deep wrinkles than fine lines. And fewer visits to the salon meant that her previously sharp cut had morphed into something more ‘mumsy’ and middle-aged.
Maybe she wouldn’t bother with the photos after all. The quiz would be enough.
32
Angie was determined to get to the restaurant first, if nothing else to prove that she could do it, but somehow time had got away from her.
‘You look nice,’ Romany commented as Angie appeared from her bedroom in her going-out dress, a pale blue tunic printed with peacocks that she wore over mustard yellow leggings. ‘Where are you going again?’
Romany was sitting at the table, surrounded by schoolbooks and printed sheets. Whatever happened to textbooks? Angie wondered. Too expensive these days, no doubt, but all those printed sheets year after year would surely add up to the cost of a textbook eventually. It didn’t strike her as very green.
Romany had her chestnut hair tied up in a messy bun from which protruded two biros and a pencil, and seeing them there gave Angie such a rush of love for her studious child that she had to give her a squeeze.
‘Oi!’ objected Romany, but she allowed herself to break off for a moment for a hug. Romany was focused in a way that Angie had never been. So often her daughter reminded her of Maggie, which she could now see, with the benefit of hindsight garnered from almost fifty years’ life experience, was perhaps no bad thing.
‘I’m meeting Maggie and Leon, remember,’ Angie said. ‘Because apparently it’s thirty years since we first met.’
‘OMG! That’s, like, a total lifetime,’ said Romany, and Angie sighed.
‘It’s actually twice your lifetime,’ she said. ‘I thought you were supposed to be good at maths. And don’t say “like”。’
Romany rolled her eyes good-humouredly. ‘It’s pretty cool though, Mum. That you’re still friends after all that time.’