Part of the problem had been that she hadn’t wanted to alarm Ty. His dad might be ill, or struggling in a way he might not understand. So her questions had had to be vague, and his answers had been just as unfathomable. There were all different kinds of ‘OK’.
She rang Ben’s phone again.
Nothing.
This was ridiculous. She was working herself up about nothing! After all, Ben had people around him – Emily had been popping over regularly and she’d reported that he was out and about, seeing a counsellor, making it to work but not letting it consume him. That he wasn’t ‘out of the woods’ but well and truly on the mend.
And what? One missed call and she was panicking.
She scrolled through her phone to Ben’s mum. But what was she going to say to Maureen? Get her to race over thirty miles because her son wasn’t answering a call from his ex-wife?
The feeling of anxiety still thundered inside her, but she tried to put it into context. She’d woken anxious after a dream, she had a big and daunting day ahead. Yes, it was natural to worry about Ben, but her worry had been overblown by the feeling of fear she was already experiencing.
Maybe he hadn’t answered because he just didn’t want to speak to her.
He was probably out for the day, or catching up with work and preoccupied with some sort of spreadsheet related conundrum. The text message had meant nothing. He’d probably forgotten he’d even sent it and would think she was crazy for reading too much into it. Ringing him four times? Ringing their son? She was overreacting.
It was just a feeling. It didn’t mean anything. Ben would be fine.
It struck her that other than Emily, there was no one else she could really call about this. Nobody whose opinion she’d want to ask. Nobody who knew Ben. Nobody she really felt able to properly confide in.
David, in Australia, might be sympathetic but wouldn’t understand. Ty would be frantic if he knew how worried she was, but didn’t have the age or experience to help.
Memories of calling Mum in the past flooded her mind – times when she was worried about Ty, or had had a fight with Ben; when she was waiting on medical test results, or stressed about work. Everyone thinks their mum is the best mum, don’t they? But to have a mother you could call any time, day or night, who would always seem pleased to hear from you, would always have advice to dispense – perhaps not always the advice she’d wanted to hear, but advice nonetheless - she’d been so, so lucky.
Mum would have known what to do now.
Her eyes began to fill with tears and she coughed them away. This was ridiculous. It was the day of the party – a day of celebration. And what? One text message sent in error and suddenly she was approaching emotional collapse?
The grief for Mum would never leave her, the grief at her and Ben breaking up was still raw too. But this wasn’t the time for grief. There was so much to celebrate too. She’d just woken up on the wrong side of bed.
Shaking her head, she put her phone down and purposefully turned over the screen so she couldn’t glance at it for a bit. Instead, she made her way upstairs and began to fill the bath. It was going to be a long day, so she should take a bit of relaxation where she could.
35
‘Wine?’
‘Ah, yes please,’ she said, settling down on the bench in their back garden. ‘Fill it up!’
‘Long day?’
‘Something like that.’
It was bright, but chilly; she pulled her cardigan more closely around her shoulders. ‘Just think,’ she said. ‘When we move to France, we’ll be able to do this every evening. Without a cardigan.’
‘I think they still have winters in France.’
‘OK, in front of roaring log fires too then.’
‘Sounds perfect.’ They clinked their glasses together and fell into silence.
‘Ben,’ she asked. ‘When do you think we might do it?’
‘Not yet,’ he said. ‘But one day. Definitely one day.’
She couldn’t have hoped for better weather. The garden was flooded with sunlight, but the temperature remained a pleasant twenty-four degrees, meaning she wouldn’t have to worry about her lack of sunshades as her guests probably wouldn’t feel the need to crowd under the meagre shadows cast by the pine trees at the end of her garden. The weather forecast had predicted showers later, but without a cloud visible in the sky she was pretty confident they were set for the next few hours.
The food – such as it was – was ready. She’d opened packets and jars, tipped salads into plastic bowls, covered pots with cling film and everything was ready to be served. She’d even managed to fit four bottles of wine into the fridge, and there were more lined up ready to replace them once the party started.