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‘Really? He always gave the impression that he didn’t have two pennies to rub together. Are you saying he was actually rich?’
‘He certainly wasn’t poor. He left Katie and me just under eight hundred thousand pounds.’
‘What a bastard!’ Of all the reactions I was expecting, anger wasn’t one of them. Matt is unable to contain his fury. ‘So, you’re telling me that he let his wife’s pride and joy run itself into the ground, when he could have just waved his cheque book and fixed it? I bought all that bullshit he told me about how we had to cut costs to keep the café open. Do you know, I haven’t had a pay rise for five years because he said he couldn’t afford it? When he bought me that thermometer for the fryer, he gave me this big sob story about how it was the best he could do, and I actually felt grateful. I’ve half a mind to go and dig the tight old fucker up and have a word.’
‘I’m really sorry, Matt. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.’
‘No, I’m glad that you did, really. I’m just so pissed off that he played me for a mug. If there’s one thing that’s guaranteed to send me over the edge, it’s being duped.’
‘Would you like to talk about your pay?’
‘Not now. I’m trying to keep work and leisure separate. It’s the only way I can cope with you being my girlfriend and my boss. Does that make sense? Can we talk about it at work on Monday, though?’
‘I’m your girlfriend, am I? I don’t remember us discussing this!’ I laugh.
Matt goes from looking furious to totally crestfallen in a fraction of a second. ‘Shit, I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘I suppose I just assumed, well, you know, from the way things are between us…’
‘Oh, don’t be an idiot!’ I exclaim. ‘I’m delighted to be your girlfriend. I was just teasing you because I’ve never heard you use the word before. Does that mean you’ll be my boyfriend?’
‘If you want me.’
‘Oh, I want you, all right. Would you like me to show you how much?’
He nods, and we head for the bedroom.
* * *
Matt and I have got into a bit of a routine on Sunday mornings. We wake late, and he makes us coffee that we drink in bed. Quite often we’ll have sex, but only once we’ve brushed our teeth, thank goodness. I’m therefore a little surprised to wake up and find the other side of the bed empty. I pad out into the living area, where I find him sitting on the sofa with his head in his hands, looking like the world has just ended.
‘Are you okay? What’s up?’ I ask him.
He hands me an ancient-looking mobile phone that I’ve never seen before.
‘The code is one, two, three, four,’ he says. ‘Imaginative, I know. There’s a voicemail message.’
It takes me a little while to work out how to access the voicemail. I’ve only ever had a smartphone, so dealing with the buttons on this ancient Nokia is a challenge. Finally, I manage it and listen to the message, which was left on Friday.
‘Err, yeah. Hi. My name is Terry and I’m a friend of Tracey’s. I found this number on the fridge. I don’t know who you are or if this will reach you, but she’s in the hospital. I found her passed out on the sofa and I couldn’t wake her, so I called the ambulance. The paramedic guys said it looked serious. I don’t know if you know her, or if she has any family, but this was the only number I could find.’
I hand the phone back and wait for him to speak.
‘Tracey is my mum,’ he explains. ‘Although she acted like she didn’t know who I was most of the time, I felt guilty that she was going to be all on her own when I left. I wrote my number on a piece of paper and stuck it to the fridge, with a note to call if there was an emergency. When I started working here, I got a new phone with a new number, but I always kept this one and I’ve been checking it once a week ever since, just in case.’
‘Who’s Terry?’ I ask.
‘No idea. Could be a neighbour, a boyfriend, or anyone. I certainly don’t know him.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘I’m not sure. I know that sounds awful because she’s my mum, but I don’t feel any more connection to her than I do to Terry, whoever he is. I suppose I could call him to find out how she is, at least.’
He presses the button to access the calls list and calls the number. I hear it ringing, and a man’s voice.
‘Voicemail,’ he tells me, and hangs up without leaving a message.
‘I don’t want to be insensitive, Matt, but Terry rang you on Friday. If she was in a serious condition two days ago, she may not have made it. Is it worth calling the hospital to see if she’s still alive?’
‘Good idea, I didn’t think of that.’
