Page 25 of My Summer of Magic Moments

‘Hello, darling!’ Her mum Jane swept her into a perfumed hug under the red-brick arches of Newcastle-upon-Tyne’s railway station. She was dressed smartly in beige chinos and a white blouse, her hair styled in its usual grey-blonde bob. Then she stood back, eyeing her daughter up and down swiftly as mothers do: the two-second scan of health and mind-set. It was usually a pretty good gauge. ‘You’re looking well, Claire. The sea air and break must have done you some good.’

‘Yes, I think it has.’

‘Your sister mentioned it wasn’t the most luxurious of cottages.’ She raised her neatly plucked grey eyebrows.

Understatement of the year. Claire smiled. ‘It was fine. It had a lovely view.’ She decided to stick with the positives.

‘Now then, I’ve got a lasagne made ready to pop in the oven if you’d like to come back to mine for a couple of hours. We could have a nice catch-up and some early supper.’

‘Yes, that would be lovely. Thanks, Mum.’

So, that was it – she was swept up under her mother’s wing and driven back to her rather plush semi-detached in Jesmond for an afternoon of tea and chat, and a warming, tasty supper. Her mother was a good cook, and it was lovely to be looked after for a while.

It was eight o’clock by the time her mum dropped her off at her own house in Gosforth. The ‘For Sale’ sign looked stark in the small square of her front garden. She was back to her home that was no longer home.

‘Do you want me to come in?’ Her mum seemed to sense her unease.

‘No, I’m fine, Mum. I’m actually quite tired, so I’ll just get my bags in, probably set off a load in the washing machine and have an early night. Thanks again for a lovely meal.’

‘Well, you know you’re always welcome. And I’ll see you soon.’

‘Yes, will do. And thanks for picking me up from the station.’

‘Oh, Sally mentioned something about Sunday lunch, if you’re interested. A little get-together before you head back to work on Monday.’

‘Hmm, sounds good.’ Sally’s roasts were legendary. ‘Are you all trying to feed me up or something?’

‘Absolutely.’ Her mum smiled. ‘Well, see you soon.’ Her Audi car gave a little rev, and started to moved forwards. She waved out of the car window as she drove off.

Claire found her house keys, walked up the black-and-white tiled pathway to the front door and turned the lock. It felt chilly and so very empty as she walked over the threshold. Too quiet. The contrast with earlier times struck her forcefully. A year or so ago, Paul would be in watching TV, or trying to cook something basic, if she was late home from work. His culinary skills had never got much past a rather tasteless chilli con carne or heating up a frozen pizza and tossing a bag of salad into a bowl. But at least he tried to do his bit in the house, and he was a dab hand with a hoover.

She thought back to when they’d moved in. The first few years of their marriage had been lovely, exciting times. Learning all those new things about each other, from his favourite coffee brand, Nescafe – nothing too fancy – to the way his fingers felt as they traced her inner thigh. The house seemed all the more quiet somehow, having once known a happy marriage there. They had been happy. But so much had changed. They had changed. Though the wallpaper, the carpets, the curtains they had once chosen together remained the same, piece by piece her old life had been chipped away.

On Saturday morning, as Claire sat in her kitchen with a cup of tea trying to get used to being back, her mobile buzzed into action.

‘Hi, Andrea.’ She’d spotted the caller name. Her ally from the Herald.

‘Hey, are you back yet?’

‘Yep, just yesterday.’

‘Fab. Do you fancy coffee and cake over at Café 9 this aft? We have some serious catching up to do.’

‘I might be tempted. When are you thinking?’

‘Two-ish? Danny’s out playing football today – he’ll be a couple of hours at least. Time for us to put the world to rights. I’m dying to hear all about your holiday.’

‘Okay, sounds great.’ Far better than packing up boxes on her own.

‘Meet you there then.’

‘Yep, okay. Thanks. See you later.’

It was just a short walk from the house to the café, a favourite haunt of theirs. They did the most amazing chocolate fudge cake, served hot or cold, with cream or ice cream – fantastic at any time of year. They’d often met there in the good times between chemo sessions when her appetite and energy levels were back; by then she was well ready for chat and cake and it was a relief to do something normal. To talk about normal girlie things. Claire had been intending to phone her friend for a chat that evening, but meeting up in person would be even better.

The corner table by the window – there she was with a big grin, dark-brown hair flicked out somewhat chaotically yet trendily from her face, her trademark bright-red lipstick, and two cappuccinos, their usual, before her.

She stood up and gave Claire a kiss on the cheek.