Page 92 of A Secret Cornish Wish
‘Which one has a girlfriend?’ I ask. George and Freddie were just little boys the last time I saw them; I can’t imagine them having girlfriends now.
‘George. Her name is Lucy and, according to George, they just “hang out together”. Claire does the air quotes with her fingers.
I smile. ‘George is actually a year older than I was when I,’ I do the air quotes now, ‘ “dated” Rob.’
‘Gosh, yes, so he is. I hadn’t thought about that. Goodness, where have those years gone?’
I shake my head. ‘Beats me.’
‘But it’s lovely we’re all still friends,’ Claire says. ‘Not many people can say they’re still friends with the same people they were twenty-five years ago at school.’
‘No, I suppose not.’
‘Right, I’ll leave you to unpack and get settled in. Dinner will be ready in about half an hour if that’s OK?’
‘That’s lovely, Claire. Thank you for letting us stay with you.’
‘The pleasure is all mine. Ooh, it really is so good to see you again, Frankie.’ She gives me another hug. ‘It’s been too long. We have so much to catch up on.’
Twenty-Four
Claire and I sit in Claire’s large kitchen diner, finishing off a bottle of red wine. We’ve all enjoyed a very tasty homemade lasagna with garlic bread and salad. Claire and I remained at the table while Alice – who is back home for the summer holidays – and Freddie took Rosie through to the lounge to play some computer games with her. George politely asked to be excused after dinner, so he could go and meet Lucy.
‘Your children really are a credit to you, Claire,’ I tell her, sipping on my wine. ‘They are so polite and well mannered.’
‘Thank you. Rosie is a delight too. I see so much of you in her, Frankie.’
‘Really?’
Claire nods. ‘She’s quite laid back on the surface, but she’s got a real determined streak running through her. Just like you had when you were younger.’
I smile. ‘Yes, she has. I really hope she makes a better job of her life than I have.’
‘What do you mean?’
I shrug. ‘Oh, you know, something better than being a single parent, living on benefits in a tiny flat, with no garden, no view, and, most of the time, no hope either.’
Claire looks genuinely shocked. ‘But you’re not on benefits, are you? You have a job?’
‘I have a part-time job that’s topped up with benefits.’
‘But I thought you worked at the gallery?’
It must be the wine. I’ve already said more than I planned to tell Claire about my life. I planned to fudge over the gorier details and focus on the things that sounded better. ‘I used to work at the gallery. But I left a few years ago now. I work in a local corner shop part time these days.’
Claire stares at me, trying to piece together what I’ve just told her, and I know she wants to ask why. But I assume that she won’t. The Claire I used to know wouldn’t dare, but I’ve forgotten this is a new Claire now, one whowillsay boo to a goose. And today that goose is me.
‘Why did you leave – you loved that job?’
‘I had to,’ I reply reluctantly. ‘I got . . . ill, and I had to give it up. I’ve been working in the local corner shop for a while now. They’re really good at working around Rosie and school hours – I can pick her up from school and not have to pay for childcare.’
‘What do you mean you got ill?’ Claire asks with concern. ‘With what?’
I take another swig from my glass. ‘Depression.’
‘Depression?’ Claire looks just as traumatised as my insides feel from telling her. ‘Why didn’t you tell me? Are you all right now?’
Depression crept up on me slowly. I didn’t even know that was what was wrong with me until I saw a segment about it on daytime television, and everything both the TV doctor and the callers to the phone-in were saying struck a chord.
