‘She doesn’t even know their names!’
‘She does!’
‘She didn’t even bother with Pippa’s first communion. There was an empty space at the table at the reception.’
‘I know,’ said her mother. That had been a bad one.
‘She texted me twenty-four hours later to say “Soz.” Soz.’
‘She doesn’t know what it’s like,’ said her mother. ‘Having children. When you think about them all the time. When they are so central to you. She doesn’t get that at all.’
‘I know,’ said Sofia.
‘When you worry and worry about them and if one of them is unhappy, you would do literally anything to make it better … ’
‘You’re laying it on with a trowel, Mum!’
Sofia’s busy mind, though, was already turning.
‘I mean, was she any good at her job? Really? Or just hanging about taking the piss like she did at school?’
‘No, she was,’ said her mum. ‘Everyone got their bridal from her, back when you still did that and didn’t order it off the internet.’
‘Is she still dragging those scary men home?’
Her mother winced.
‘It’s been tough on her.’
‘Remember the poet?’
‘I do,’ said her mother. ‘The Sunday lunch where he declaimed a full sex sonnet in front of your father was quite something.’
They both laughed, then stopped because it was mean to laugh about Carmen. But sometimes she brought it on herself.
‘Ugh,’ said Sofia.
‘Ooh,’ said her mother. ‘That means you have an idea … ’
Sofia thought furiously, and finally said, ‘If she messes it up though … ’
‘She’ll be fine!’ said their mother, crossing her fingers tightly.
It was just a thought, Sofia reminded herself the following day. Not a commitment. Not a promise.
But Mr McCredie had been a client for so long, since before Sofia’s time. If – and it was a big if – Carmen was a good shop assistant, well, this could be just the thing to stave off the worst, at least until they could find a buyer. And please her mother. And maybe even make Carmen a little grateful and pleased. So.
It would be one nice piece of news to impart, hopefully, on a day when she had very little good news to impart.
Most people who came into her office were pleased to see Sofia’s bump, or at least offered good wishes or made a polite enquiry. Sofia’s client that morning, Mr McCredie, was not most people. He seemed extremely uncomfortable that it even existed, averting his eyes from her middle.
She smiled more than usual and did her best not to mind: Mr McCredie was eccentric, after all, and the news was so bad, it was probably best not to have gushing congratulations over the baby before having to tell him the worst.
‘So?’ He looked nervous and glanced at his very old, very large watch. He hated these meetings. Sofia wasn’t overly fond of them either.
‘Mr McCredie, I have done what you asked for but I have to tell you – and you should speak to your accountant too – but I’m afraid that’s it. This is nearly the end. There’s almost nothing left to sell.’
It was heartbreaking. A family fortune, a good name, a huge Highland estate which had brought in income for years.
But Mr McCredie had no interest in managing the estate, had let it go to rack and ruin, the huge house falling apart. He had no family, no siblings to take it on. He had the Edinburgh flat and the bookshop, but the latter was making absolutely no money and so he had sold more and more land, and spent more and more of his inheritance, his capital, just to live.