Katie Fforde - Going Dutch

‘I've cooked a meal,' said Karen as they headed out on to the motorway. 'I nearly let Dad pick you up on his own but I couldn't wait to see you. I hope it's all right.’

The two women talked – mostly about what Karen had been getting up to in Toronto – non-stop all the way home while Philip just drove. Eventually he said, 'Here we are,' and they realised they were home.

He opened the boot and got out Jo's luggage, which included what she'd bought while she was waiting for her flight.

‘Well, I suppose I'd better go back to the Travelodge,' he said.

‘Where's – er – Samantha?' asked Jo, not wanting to hear that she was waiting for Philip in a motel.

‘With her parents. She's fine about being at home for a while, being spoilt.' He smiled at Jo in the conspiratorial way of parents.

She smiled back. 'Eventually the roles reverse and now Karen's spoiling me.’

Karen glanced from one to the other. 'Do stay for dinner, Dad. I've made loads.’

He looked at Jo a little diffidently. 'Yes, stay,' she said, her love for her daughter overflowing to her father for a moment, 'I've bought a bottle of malt.'

‘I thought you couldn't get duty-free stuff unless you went outside the EU,' said Karen, taking her arm.

‘No you can't, but they do have good offers and I've got some wonderful chocolate.'

‘You should see what I got you!' said Karen. 'A Touche Eclat for one thing.'

‘Darling!'

‘Well, I always felt guilty about stealing yours. And I suppose you do need a concealer a bit more than I do.’

Jo laughed and hugged her daughter. 'Cheeky!’

Philip said, 'Let's go in and have a drink.’

'This is quite like old times,' said Karen, putting her fork straight on her plate and screwing her napkin into a ball.

‘Yes,' said Jo, who was slightly dizzy through a com bination of excitement, alcohol and a lack of sleep. She didn't feel she could add jet-lag to that – the journey was only about an hour – but she did feel it made its contribution to how she felt. She took another sip from her glass which Philip had filled while she hadn't been looking. 'The three of us together.' It was surprisingly easy, although Jo couldn't help wondering briefly what Marcus was doing and if he was thinking about her too.

Philip sighed with satisfaction. 'That was a lovely meal, darling.' He got up and kissed his daughter on the top of her head. 'You've inherited your mother's cooking skills.'

‘I'm glad you liked it, Dad.' Karen got up too and returned her father's kiss before gathering the plates. 'Are you staying the night?’

There was a moment of stillness before he said, 'Better not. I'll come and see you again though, if that's all right,' he added to Jo.

‘Of course it's all right. This is your home, not mine.'

‘It's your home too, Jo,' he said and kissed her cheek. He left the room, leaving the two women still at the table. 'What does he mean, it's my home too?' muttered Jo, tired and confused.

‘Oh never mind that,' said Karen dismissively. 'Let's open the chocs you brought and go into the sitting room. I think there's something good on.'

‘Yes. This spindly little table is no good for real conver sation – there's no room for elbows.’

The following morning Jo remembered what it was like to be taken in hand by her bossy, adored daughter.

‘Mum, your hair, it needs a really good cut and colour,' she said as they ate some disgusting breakfast product Karen had found in the cupboard. It seemed to be a combination of pet foods, predominately parrot, but it promised such amazing rejuvenating effects that Jo chewed it stoically. 'You have let yourself go a bit.'

‘I'm sure if we planted this, we'd get some interesting hallucinogenic plants.'

‘Don't change the subject. Your hair.'

‘I'll make an appointment-'

‘No, not lovely Joy in the village. I know you adore her but she's been doing your hair in the same way for years. You need a new look.’

Jo sighed, accepting the inevitable. 'Where then?’

‘In town. A place Janet told me about.'

‘Who's Janet?

‘A friend from uni. She's moved to the area and so I got some info from her. You need a leg wax and a St Tropez, I think, although you do have a nice colour. Oh, and definitely some new bras.'

‘Darling, are you giving me a make-over?'

‘Absolutely!' said Karen, getting up and clearing the table. 'We're going to make you the most glamorous perimenopausal woman on the planet.'

‘I didn't know you knew words like that,' said Jo, rather wishing her daughter wasn't so well informed.

A day later Karen and Jo stood outside the shop in Knightsbridge. There was a security guard outside.

‘Look,' whispered Jo, 'they check you're posh enough to buy bras here, and I'm not!'

‘You look great! You've had your hair done now, and those highlights work really well. No trace of grey any more and your skin is looking fab after that facial.’

Jo had to admit she did feel a lot more human again. She couldn't help wondering if Marcus would like the new, improved, less woolly Joanna.

‘Come on, Mum,' Karen chivvied.

‘But my underwear-'

‘Is fine. After all, you'll take your bra off.'

'Why don't you come too?'

‘Way too expensive for me, Mum. I'll meet you here in half an hour. If you come out sooner than that, ring me.' Bravely, Jo smiled at the security guard and went into the shop. A well-dressed woman in her fifties asked her if she'd ever been before, assuming the answer was no. Admitting this was the case (was this omission so obvious?) she was ushered to the counter where there was a queuing system.

‘Please take a number and wait until you're called,' said the woman, who was wearing what appeared to be a designer suit.

‘What, like at the cheese counter?' Jo asked before she could stop herself.

The woman smiled – slightly. 'That's right, but as we're not busy this young lady will help you.’

Feeling as if she was going for a dentist's appointment where they would tell her she didn't floss enough, or the doctor's where they'd tell her she was overweight, Jo duly followed.

‘In here please, madam.’

Jo couldn't help noticing the signed photograph on the wall. It was of the young Queen with her husband, children and corgis. Prince Philip was looking particularly dashing. Having them gazing down at her did not give her confidence.

‘Strip to the waist, madam, and I'll see what size you are. We don't use tape measures here.' The young woman was from some mittel-European country that had possibly been a police state. Jo was wearing a dress and duly stripped, grateful that she'd had the forethought to put on a slip, so her knickers, which, while perfectly respectable and fairly new, would not be on show. There are some embarrass ments not even childbirth can prepare you for.

Her upper body was peered at by the young woman. Jo had always felt fairly happy with her breasts, but now she wondered if she was more than averagely lopsided, or if Marcus's fingerprints were somehow visible. She pulled her shoulders back a fraction. At some point she was going to have to tell Karen about Marcus.

‘Wait here, I will be back.’

Although she was alone, Jo crossed her arms over her breasts as she stood before the picture of the Queen. It seemed disrespectful to do otherwise. Of course, Karen was grown up now, but Jo sensed she really wanted her parents back together again. What child wouldn't, whatever their age? With Samantha out of the way, and despite the baby on the way, Karen might well be thinking that getting back together was possible. Even without Samantha, Jo wouldn't want that now, she realised. She would just have to make that clearer to Karen as gently as she could.