I opted for leggings instead of jeans. I wasn’t sure they made much difference so I put on a different tunic as well. And when that didn’t help much, I removed the cardigan. I would wear a jacket instead. A jacket would help.
I went downstairs. Josh was waiting in the hallway. He was wearing jeans, a T-shirt and a hoody and was effortlessly hip with it. I tried to recall whether I’d been theslightest bit hip at his age. If I had, it certainly hadn’t been effortless.
He glanced up at me. ‘Where’s your cardigan?’ he asked.
He didn’t mean it nastily, I knew that. I also knew that Chris would have cracked up laughing, had he heard it.
‘I’m wearing a jacket,’ I replied, hooking one off the coat stand.
He shrugged and opened the door. He looked even paler than usual.
‘Are you OK?’ I asked.
‘Yeah,’ he said. He didn’t sound too sure, though.
‘Remember what Dad said. He’s OK with you seeing her.’
‘I know. It still feels wrong, though. Like I’m consorting with the enemy.’
‘She’s not the enemy.’
Josh looked up at me. ‘Then why have I been hating her all these years?’
* * *
Lydia was already there when we arrived. I saw her through the glass as we approached the Milk Bar. Sitting on a high stool near the window, like some strategically placed mannequin designed to bring the punters in. There was something of the sixties about her. The long, straight limbs and the eyeliner. Her posture, even. I had no doubt that, pre-smoking ban, she would have been puffing away on a cigarette. She used to chain-smoke. Chris had told me that once. He’d blamed her for getting him started. And been cross with her for starting up again after Josh wasborn, though he’d managed to kick the habit for good by then.
I glanced at Josh as we entered; his eyes were already on her. He was like a kid seeing an object of beauty for the first time. His mouth gaping slightly, his movements awkward and uncertain. We walked over to her. She was engrossed in the review section of the
Guardian
. And she had the air of someone who knew she didn’t need to look out for anyone, because she would be spotted first.
‘Hi,’ I said.
She looked up, and her gaze passed straight over me to Josh. I saw the tears rush to her eyes, saw her swallow hard and look as if she might collapse for a moment. She didn’t, though.
She slid down from her stool and smiled at him. ‘Hi,’ she said. ‘Thanks for coming.’
A second later she had her arms around him. Not a big, embarrassing mother-bear-of-a-hug but a seemingly casual good-to-see-you embrace.
Josh stepped back and glanced at me, as if to check that physical contact with his own mother was acceptable. I smiled at him, keen to reassure him that it was all right.
‘Can I get you a drink?’ I asked Lydia.
‘No, I’m fine, thanks,’ she said, pointing to a half-drunk cup of black coffee in front of her.
‘What would you like, Josh?’
‘A Coke, please,’ he replied.
I nodded and went up to order. I glanced back over at them a couple of times. Josh had climbed up on the stoolnext to Lydia. They appeared to be talking to each other. I wondered if anyone looking at them would think they were mother and son. Probably not. She looked too hip to be anyone’s mother.
I walked back to them, put my tea and Josh’s Coke down and wriggled up on to the stool in what I hoped was a not too embarrassing fashion. Lydia looked across at me as if seeing me for the first time. I wondered what she made of me. Whether she was wondering how the hell Chris had ended up with someone like me.
‘Thanks for letting Josh come,’ she said. ‘And I’m sorry for turning up out of the blue like that.’
‘It’s OK,’ I said. ‘It was just a bit of a shock, that’s all.’
‘Well, please pass on my apologies to Chris. I didn’t mean to freak him out.’
‘Sure,’ I replied, trying to ignore the fact that the way she said Chris’s name made my stomach twist
I went downstairs. Josh was waiting in the hallway. He was wearing jeans, a T-shirt and a hoody and was effortlessly hip with it. I tried to recall whether I’d been theslightest bit hip at his age. If I had, it certainly hadn’t been effortless.
He glanced up at me. ‘Where’s your cardigan?’ he asked.
He didn’t mean it nastily, I knew that. I also knew that Chris would have cracked up laughing, had he heard it.
‘I’m wearing a jacket,’ I replied, hooking one off the coat stand.
He shrugged and opened the door. He looked even paler than usual.
‘Are you OK?’ I asked.
‘Yeah,’ he said. He didn’t sound too sure, though.
‘Remember what Dad said. He’s OK with you seeing her.’
‘I know. It still feels wrong, though. Like I’m consorting with the enemy.’
‘She’s not the enemy.’
Josh looked up at me. ‘Then why have I been hating her all these years?’
* * *
Lydia was already there when we arrived. I saw her through the glass as we approached the Milk Bar. Sitting on a high stool near the window, like some strategically placed mannequin designed to bring the punters in. There was something of the sixties about her. The long, straight limbs and the eyeliner. Her posture, even. I had no doubt that, pre-smoking ban, she would have been puffing away on a cigarette. She used to chain-smoke. Chris had told me that once. He’d blamed her for getting him started. And been cross with her for starting up again after Josh wasborn, though he’d managed to kick the habit for good by then.
I glanced at Josh as we entered; his eyes were already on her. He was like a kid seeing an object of beauty for the first time. His mouth gaping slightly, his movements awkward and uncertain. We walked over to her. She was engrossed in the review section of the
Guardian
. And she had the air of someone who knew she didn’t need to look out for anyone, because she would be spotted first.
‘Hi,’ I said.
She looked up, and her gaze passed straight over me to Josh. I saw the tears rush to her eyes, saw her swallow hard and look as if she might collapse for a moment. She didn’t, though.
She slid down from her stool and smiled at him. ‘Hi,’ she said. ‘Thanks for coming.’
A second later she had her arms around him. Not a big, embarrassing mother-bear-of-a-hug but a seemingly casual good-to-see-you embrace.
Josh stepped back and glanced at me, as if to check that physical contact with his own mother was acceptable. I smiled at him, keen to reassure him that it was all right.
‘Can I get you a drink?’ I asked Lydia.
‘No, I’m fine, thanks,’ she said, pointing to a half-drunk cup of black coffee in front of her.
‘What would you like, Josh?’
‘A Coke, please,’ he replied.
I nodded and went up to order. I glanced back over at them a couple of times. Josh had climbed up on the stoolnext to Lydia. They appeared to be talking to each other. I wondered if anyone looking at them would think they were mother and son. Probably not. She looked too hip to be anyone’s mother.
I walked back to them, put my tea and Josh’s Coke down and wriggled up on to the stool in what I hoped was a not too embarrassing fashion. Lydia looked across at me as if seeing me for the first time. I wondered what she made of me. Whether she was wondering how the hell Chris had ended up with someone like me.
‘Thanks for letting Josh come,’ she said. ‘And I’m sorry for turning up out of the blue like that.’
‘It’s OK,’ I said. ‘It was just a bit of a shock, that’s all.’
‘Well, please pass on my apologies to Chris. I didn’t mean to freak him out.’
‘Sure,’ I replied, trying to ignore the fact that the way she said Chris’s name made my stomach twist
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