Page 54 of Between Us

He signed off with one small kiss, which signified respectful affection but not coupley warmth. Roisin was glad, and returned the courtesy.

Want me to bring anything back, sweetheart? Xwas the only slightly peculiar one, received at one a.m., which she put down to delayed flight boredom and gin-pissedness.

Yes, please, a large bottle of Elizabeth Arden 5th Avenue, a tin of Bailey’s fudge and your interest in me.(Instead, she went for:No, thanks, I still have lots of Toblerone left!)

Standing in Reserve Wines on Burton Road, Roisin felt the usual foreboding at having a bracing, mood-altering interaction with her mother. There was no way of knowing if she was in Lorraine’s good books – Roisin’s popularity ratings rose and fell in her absence, without her needing to have done anything to affect them.

She slid the bar to Accept Call before the heavy reluctance could overtake her.

‘Hi, Mum.’

‘Hi. Is it a bad time?’

‘No …?’

‘Oh. You were using that voice.’

‘What voice?’

‘TheHI MUMtense one, in a high register,’ Lorraine said. ‘I can call back. Don’t want to be anuisanceto my children.’

And we’re off.

‘It’s fine,’ Roisin said, jaw muscles already locked. ‘I’m buying some booze to take to Meredith and Gina’s tonight for dinner.’

‘That’s nice. Girls’ night? Joe’s away?’

‘Yes, Joe’s away in America again. Back Tuesday.’

‘Ahhh. I’ve not watched his new thing yet, sorry. I’ve recorded it. Terence said it’s very blue!’

Roisin’s stomach swirled with acid; she wanted to unscrew the wine and start swigging it before she’d paid for it.

‘How is Terence?’ she said, something she’d never asked with such desperate eagerness before. Terence was her mother’s daytime barman of fifteen years standing. A stranger fit with the so-called ‘hospitality’ industry you’d never find.

‘You know.Terency.I put salami sandwiches on the menu this week and he accused me of trying to turn it into “one of those gastric pubs”.’

Roisin was grateful to laugh.

‘Actually, the pub is why I’m calling …’

Here it is: The Thing You Want. They never ever had ahow are youcatch-upwithout an angle. Although, if she made this complaint, Lorraine would say Roisin didn’t want those chats either, which was true.

‘… I’ve had a staff walk out. I’m down to just me in the evenings until I find someone, and the agency’s slim pickings are absolutely shocking, honestly. Since Brexit, no one’s around who wants the work.’

‘OK …?’ Roisin said, extremely apprehensive about where this was heading.

‘I wondered if you could pop in and help me. Only until I hire someone.’

‘Mum, I’ve started my six-week break … today,’ Roisin said, with a careful amend.

‘I know! It’s ideal for you to come and help your mother when she’s in a pickle. You’ve not been back for ages. It’ll be fun.’

Fun. Rinsing drip trays, pouring pints of mild, parrying flirtatious remarks from sixty-seven-year-olds, and scraping leftover food into the pig bin. The emotional blackmail section had commenced, natch. Roisin cursed herself for answering.

‘You’re seriously asking me to move to Webberley to work a summer job, the moment I’ve got a holiday from my very pressuring actual job?’

Roisin recalled the panic attack for the hundredth time, and wanted to curl up and die.

---