‘Oh Bonnie,’ said her mother. ‘You’re going to quit, again? Listen… Are you listening?’
Half an hour after putting the phone down, Bonnie’s mother was at the back door. She had brought Bonnie’s father along too.
‘Talk to her,’ said Bonnie’s mother.
Bonnie’s father said to Bonnie, ‘You haven’t got an ounce of sense.’ He positioned himself in the doorway that led from the kitchen to the lounge, leaning against the frame.
Bonnie’s mother had also brought along a shopping bag full of food, as well as her apron and recipes, and clean plates and cutlery. ‘Because you don’t eat properly,’ she said, unpacking everything onto the kitchen counter. When Bonnie had still been living at home, she had tried every now and again to make the family meals, but her efforts had never gone right. She did not have the knack of getting everything onto the plates at the same time, so something was always going cold, while something else was still half-raw or half-frozen. Her father would eye with great suspicion the dishes that she made. Her mother would at least try things before saying that she was not all that hungry. Bonnie’s attempts had invariably ended with a trip to the fish and chip shop.
While Bonnie’s mother was preparing the lunch, Sylvia came into the backyard, looked in through the kitchen window and opened the door.
‘Perhaps Sylvia can talk some sense into you,’ said Bonnie’s mother, turning to Sylvia to say, ‘She’s thinking of quitting her job.’
‘Is she?’ said Sylvia, coming into the kitchen and closing the door behind her, and Bonnie felt as if she were at the centre of some kind of intervention.
‘I’m making lunch,’ said Bonnie’s mother to Sylvia. ‘You’ll stay, won’t you?’
‘I’m afraid I can’t,’ said Sylvia. ‘I just popped by to speak to Bonnie. I didn’t realise she had visitors.’
‘Well, have a drink at least. Bonnie, nobody has a drink.’
Bonnie made a cup of tea for her father, but Sylvia declined. ‘I can’t stay long,’ she said. ‘I just want a word.’
Bonnie took her father and Sylvia through to the lounge. It was the weekend of the Wimbledon finals, and Saturday’s match was due to start. Bonnie asked her father if he wanted to watch it. ‘Don’t bother,’ he said. ‘It’s only the ladies playing this afternoon.’ He tried his tea, pulled a face, and said, ‘So, you’re going down to Devon on Monday, are you?’
‘Yes,’ said Bonnie.
Her father looked at Sylvia and said to her, ‘I hope you’re doing the driving. Don’t let that one behind the wheel!’ He pointed at Bonnie. ‘If you drive,’ he said to Bonnie, ‘you’ll crash! Or else clear the roads first,’ and he put a hand up to his mouth, making it into a loudhailer through which he bellowed, ‘Clear the roads!’ He sat back, laughing.
Bonnie’s mother came in, brushing her hands off on the front of her apron, which said, ‘I’M THE BOSS!’ She said to Bonnie’s father, ‘Have you spoken to her about quitting her job?’
‘I’m sure they’ll struggle on without her,’ said Bonnie’s father.
‘That’s not what I meant. I mean she’s talking about quitting, again, and with nothing lined up, nothing to go to.’
Bonnie remembered then to say to her mother, ‘Sylvia said you used to know each other, when I was little.’
‘I thought you looked familiar,’ said Bonnie’s mother, but at the same time she was clearly struggling to place Sylvia.
Bonnie said to Sylvia, ‘How did you say you knew Mum?’
‘Do you know,’ said Sylvia, ‘I wonder if I made a mistake about that?’
‘No,’ said Bonnie’s mother, looking hard at Sylvia. ‘You do look familiar. But I can’t think… Which school did you go to?’
Twenty questions later, Bonnie’s mother was still none the wiser, and she had to go back to the kitchen to see to the meal.
‘She’s failed her test three times,’ said Bonnie’s father to Sylvia. ‘Three times.’ He held up three fingers.
‘I passed in the end,’ said Bonnie.
‘They must have been desperate to see the back of you,’ said her father.
‘Shall we watch the tennis?’ said Bonnie, but her father had the remote control.
‘Where’s your lavatory?’ he asked, and when Bonnie directed him through the kitchen, he took the remote control with him.
Now that they were alone, Sylvia turned to Bonnie and said, ‘Are you all set for Monday?’
‘Pretty much,’ said Bonnie, who had not actually started packing but planned to do so first thing in the morning, after visiting the launderette.
‘Have you managed to print out that new section of your Seatown story yet?’
‘I have,’ said Bonnie. ‘The printer’s working again.’
‘Oh good,’ said Sylvia. ‘And have you written any more?’
‘No,’ said Bonnie. ‘I was going to think about it last night, but I fell asleep instead.’
‘All right,’ said Sylvia, ‘well, give me what you’ve written and then I can read it before we go. I can’t wait to read it.’
‘I’d rather not,’ said Bonnie. ‘Not just yet.’
Her mother called from the kitchen, ‘Bonnie! I think you’ve got mice!’
‘Excuse me,’ said Bonnie.
‘Please,’ said Sylvia, gesturing towards the kitchen door.
Bonnie left the room, saying to her mother, ‘I wondered if I had. I thought I’d heard something scratching.’
When Bonnie returned to the lounge, Sylvia said, ‘I’d better go, dear.’
‘It looks as if some mice got in,’ said Bonnie.
‘All right,’ said Sylvia, as she picked her way past the road signs’ metal legs. ‘Let me know if you see them.’ As she passed through the kitchen, Sylvia peered into the pot that was bubbling away on the stove. ‘That smells delicious,’ she said.
‘The recipe’s just there,’ said Bonnie’s mother, nodding towards it while she stirred. ‘If you give me a minute, I’ll copy it out for you.’
‘There’s no need,’ said Sylvia, who had her phone in her hand and was angling the screen over the page of text. She took a photo. ‘Got it,’ she said.
‘I’m sure I do know you,’ said Bonnie’s mother. ‘I just can’t think how. Who’s your dentist?’
‘I really do have to go,’ said Sylvia, moving towards the back door. ‘I must finish my packing. Ah!’ she exclaimed, looking at the table with folding legs, which had come out from under the stairs and was now getting in the way in the kitchen. ‘I’ll take this off your hands,’ she said, picking it up. It was lightweight but long, and Bonnie took one end of it and helped Sylvia to steer the table through the doorway and into the passageway. Bonnie felt like someone in a gag trying to get a ladder through a series of doorways, someone like Stan Laurel, who was always in some kind of trouble, some kind of foolish danger.
‘All right,’ said Sylvia, when they were standing on the pavement at the front of the house. ‘This will do, you can put it down here.’
‘I can bring it inside,’ said Bonnie. ‘I can help you get it up the stairs.’ She had never seen inside Sylvia’s part of the house.
‘No,’ said Sylvia, ‘this is just fine. You can leave it with me now. You’d better be getting back — your dinner will be waiting for you.’ She looked at her watch. ‘I’m looking forward to our trip,’ she added. ‘I’ll be here with the hire car at nine o’clock on Monday.’
When Bonnie got back to the kitchen, she found the light off, the stove off. Her mother called through from the lounge, ‘We started without you.’ Bonnie went through and her mother indicated the dish on the floor. ‘Help yourself,’ she said.