Then, as she walked to Live Well one clear blue morning, the perfect idea presented itself. She checked the weather app on her phone. Things were set fair for the entire weekend. It would be just what they needed.
She rang Maggie.
‘I’ve had an idea. You have to say yes. No is not an option.’
‘Good morning to you too,’ replied Maggie.
Angie could hear that there was a lightness in her voice, and she felt relieved. Maybe things weren’t quite as bad as she had feared.
‘Tomorrow we’re going to the seaside. You, me and Romany. We can do paddling and ice cream and eat chips out of the newspaper—’
‘They don’t serve chips in newspaper any more. It’s unhygienic, apparently, although it did no harm for generations,’ Maggie interrupted.
‘Don’t interrupt,’ replied Angie. ‘We’ll go to Whitby and then we can take Romany to the Abbey and tell her all about Dracula, so it’ll be educational too. What do you think, bearing in mind my previous statement that yes is the only option?’
‘Er, yes,’ said Maggie.
‘Excellent. Right answer. You’ll have to drive, though. You’ve still got a car, right?’
‘Your tact is as solid as ever,’ replied Maggie. ‘But yes, I do still have a car.’
‘Great. You can pick us up at nine. Bring a flask.’
‘Anything else?’ Maggie laughed.
‘No. That’s it. No. Wait. A towel. Right, we’ll see you at nine.’
Angie rang off before Maggie had a chance to change her mind. Then she texted Romany telling her to cancel any plans she had for the following day.
Saturday dawned just as bright and blue as forecast, and Romany appeared at eight thirty dressed as if she was going to spend the day on Ibiza in August and not the east coast of England in May.
‘You’re going to need more clothes than that,’ said Angie when she saw her in her skimpy shorts and tiny crop top. ‘I know the planet is heating up a little more each day, but it’s still not quite tropical in Whitby. And I don’t want you getting cold and spoiling things.’
Romany sighed and rolled her eyes but retreated to her room to gather more layers.
When the doorbell rang bang on nine o’clock, Angie was feeling positively excited. A day out was just what they all needed. She pulled a tote bag out of the ‘messy cupboard’ and stuffed two towels into it. Then she filled a bottle with water, found her purse and raced down the stairs, leaving Romany to lock the flat.
Maggie was on the pavement dressed in a pair of navy trousers and a Breton-style jumper with a red scarf twisted round her neck. She also had a jacket. No concession had been made for the potential warmth of the day. Maggie had obviously been to the east coast before. She still looked very gaunt, Angie thought, but there was at least some colour in her cheeks and her smile was wide and genuine.
‘Your carriage awaits,’ she said, flourishing her arm in the direction of the car. ‘Roof up or down?’
‘Down!’ chorused Angie and Romany.
‘It’ll be chilly,’ warned Maggie. ‘But I have blankets,’ she added.
Of course she did, thought Angie.
It took a couple of minutes to drop the roof on the little car and then they were off, following the coast road out of York. It seemed that plenty of others had had a similar thought and the traffic was pretty much nose to tail until they reached the turn-off for Scarborough, where most of the traffic peeled away.
Once in Whitby, they left the car down by the harbour and set off towards the town.
‘I’m ashamed to say that I’ve never been to Whitby,’ confessed Maggie as they crossed a bridge and followed the crowds towards the Abbey. ‘I know it’s only just down the road, but somehow I never made the time to visit. The downside of a busy life, I suppose,’ she mused, and Angie braced herself for the mood to slide, but Maggie seemed cheerful. ‘These days, I have no excuse not to get out and about more. Starting right now!’ She nodded decisively as if reinforcing the idea.
‘We went to Scarborough on the train once,’ Angie recalled. ‘In the third year?’ Maggie looked at her blankly. ‘Or maybe that was me and someone else,’ she added vaguely. ‘Pretty sure I’ve never been here, either.’
Romany gave her a disdainful look. ‘Call yourself a mother!’ she scoffed. ‘Isn’t making sure that I’m well rounded and know my local environment part of your job description?’
Angie doffed an imaginary cap. ‘Sorry, Miss. Will do better, Miss,’ she said in a fake Cockney accent, although why she associated servants with Cockneys Angie had no idea.