The Waitress (7 page)

‘Fine.’

‘Yes?’

‘Yes.’

With her back to her daughter, Deanna squashed the suds against the plate.

‘Anything interesting happen recently?’

Katie considered this. ‘We had a woman in with a beard the other day.’

Her mother’s back curved towards the sink and Katie couldn’t work out if this was because she was putting elbow grease into the washing up or crying. ‘Hm.’

‘Unless it was a man with breasts of course.’

No response.

‘And a blind man hit Alec in the shin with his stick.’

Her mother turned round, Marigolds dripping on the tiled floor, fringe in her eyes.

They stared at each other across the kitchen.

‘And that’s interesting, is it, Katherine?’

Katie shook her head resignedly. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Not really. But it was funny.’

Deanna took off her gloves, left them on the draining board and came and sat at the table.

‘Darling,’ she said, patting her hair out of her eyes, ‘I am seriously worried.’

‘Mm.’

‘This is not something you can keep putting off.’

‘I’m not putting it off.’

‘It’s bad enough you can’t commit to a man, but at least try and commit to a job. You need direction.’

Katie counted to ten. ‘Well, we all know I’ve got a lousy sense of direction,’ she said.

‘Don’t change the subject,’ said Deanna tartly.

There was a pause.

‘You need a career,’ she clarified.

‘
You
didn’t.’

‘I certainly did, young lady,’ scoffed Deanna. ‘I brought up a family of three. Like Bea probably will. But you’re different. Can you imagine marrying someone like Maurice?’

‘God, no.’

‘Katherine.’

‘Sorry.’

‘All you have to do is decide. Great-Aunt Edna is just waiting for the word.’

‘How is she?’

‘She’s fine. But the point is she’s determined to give you her money only when you decide what you truly want to do. Not a moment before. She’s so rigidly principled that she complete refuses to take our advice and give it to you sooner rather than later.’

‘Good. Well perhaps you could take a leaf out of her book.’

‘Oh for goodness sake, Katie,’ shouted Deanna, leaning forward over the table. ‘Don’t you see?’

‘See what?’

‘She’s an old woman.’

‘What’s that got to do with it?’

‘She may die before she changes her will.’

‘Why does she need to change her will?’

‘Because,’ sighed Deanna, ‘at the moment she’s leaving small amounts to loads of people she doesn’t really care about. But as soon as she hears from you, she’ll change her will and give you everything.’

‘What, and take money out of other people’s hands?’ asked Katie. ‘Why would I want her to do that?’

‘Because these are people who will hardly remember her,’ said Deanna fiercely, ‘and the amounts are not enough, to remotely transform their lives. Whereas if she changes her will, your life will be dramatically improved. But,’ she pointed out, ‘she cannot change her will if she’s dead.’

‘Well,’ retorted Katie. ‘That’ll give her something to live for.’

Deanna sat back in her chair. ‘You’re just like her,’ she muttered. ‘Mad.’

‘Thank you.’

Deanna shut her eyes. ‘It’s your future, Katie.’

‘So why can’t she just put it in a trust fund for me?’

‘I will pretend I didn’t hear that.’

‘That’s good of you,’ said Katie, contrite.

‘Your Great-Aunt Edna has always been . . . eccentric, shall we say, and it matters to her that she’s not just giving you money to squander. She thinks if you have a trust fund you won’t become self-sufficient, you’ll become spoilt. She wants you to find a career. Although she probably had no idea it would take you quite this long to find one.’

‘Mum, I can’t decide my future because a weird old lady might die.’

‘Katie!’

‘Sorry.’

‘That money is not to be sniffed at. You’re incredibly lucky that she’s picked you.’

‘Am I?’

‘Of course you are,’ exclaimed Deanna.

Katie sighed. ‘I don’t know. If I didn’t have this Damocles sword hanging over me –’

‘
Damocles sword
!’ Deanna exploded. ‘Seventy thousand pounds and you call it –’

‘Yes but it comes with such strings attached. At least Bea and Cliffie know they’ll get her antiques and will be able to do what they want with them.’

Deanna snorted. ‘I doubt it. Those antiques of hers are incredibly precious and I bet there’ll be some disclaimer in the will about what they do with them. Anyway, she’s making it tough for your own sake.’

‘If you choose to give, you give for the sake of giving . . .’

Deanna shook her head firmly. ‘No,’ she said. ‘She’s just ahead of her time and knows what’s best. Her mother was marching for votes for the likes of you.’

‘I know, I know.’ Katie had heard it all before.

‘I hope you’ll be visiting her before lunch.’

‘I suppose.’

‘Good.’

They heard Bea thump down the stairs, moaning with the temporary added weight and internal discomfort.

‘Fresh cup?’ asked Deanna.

‘Ooh lovely,’ said Katie.

Bea walked into the kitchen.

‘Cup of tea?’ asked Deanna brightly.

Bea wasn’t fooled. ‘You’re not discussing it again, are you?’

‘Of course we are,’ sighed Deanna.

‘It’s what I come home for,’ sang Katie. ‘I long for these discussions.’

‘If only you could decide –’ said Deanna.

‘Actually, I have decided,’ Katie interrupted.

Her mother perked up considerably. ‘You could have said something.’

‘I’m going to be an educational psychologist,’ announced Katie, ‘I think.’ There was silence. ‘And guess what?’ she continued. ‘It only takes four more years’ training. I’ve even got the right degree.’ There was more silence. ‘Any more tea in the pot?’

The three women stared at each other.

‘Don’t you want to do something
nice
?’ Deanna asked eventually. ‘How about a nice job in publishing? You could get yourself a lovely little flat in Fulham –’

‘I don’t want a lovely little flat in Fulham –’

‘– or Chelsea. How about working for Sothebys?’

‘
Mu-um
.’

‘Breda Witherspoon’s daughter Vanessa started off as a receptionist at that big publishing house’ – Deanna ignored Katie’s head dropping on to the table – ‘the one that started eating up all the little ones, and now she’s Children’s Books editor for one of the companies they bought. She’s so happy. And she earns a lovely little salary. Breda’s so pleased; it means she’s self-sufficient but can’t afford luxuries so still needs a man.’

Katie started humming quietly into the wood of the table.

‘Barbara Maythorpe’s daughter Sandra,’ continued Deanna, louder, ‘has a
lovely
little job at Sotheby’s, where she has to look after a place when Sotheby’s go in and stock-take after someone wealthy’s snuffed it. She says it’s absolutely fascinating. Absolutely adores it.’

Katie lifted her head. ‘No thanks.’

‘And she meets all these wonderful men through it. Men who share her interest in antiques.’

Deanna cupped the teapot with one hand and stretched across to flick the kettle on with the other.

‘You can’t tell me,’ she said, a hint of firmness in her voice, ‘you just
can’t
– that you’d rather train for four more years, or wait tables in a crummy little café than get a nice job in publishing.’

Katie scrunched her eyes shut.

‘I simply refuse to believe it,’ continued Deanna. ‘Waitressing is what you were doing at sixteen.’

‘You were proud of me then.’ Katie sat up.

‘Of course. It showed initiative
then
. You were going to become the next Conran restaurateur.’

‘Yes well,’ said Katie. ‘We all have silly dreams.’

‘Exactly,’ said Deanna.

‘How are they all at Ye Olde Tea Shoppe?’ asked Katie.

‘Fine. They always ask after you. Mrs Blatchett sends her love.’

‘Is she still alive?’

Her mother closed her eyes in answer.

‘It’s a perfectly sensible question,’ Katie told Bea, who nodded agreement.

‘Yes,’ sighed Deanna, slowly opening her eyes. ‘She’s still alive.’

‘Although it’s hard to tell from the service,’ muttered Bea.

‘The service isn’t quite as fast as it used to be,’ conceded Deanna, ‘but she’s still got all her marbles.’

‘Just make sure you never go their hungry,’ said Bea.

‘Mum,’ started Katie. ‘I don’t wait tables
instead
of working in publishing. I wait tables until I know what I want to do.’

‘But when will you find out? You’re twenty-four –’

‘I know how old I am.’

‘I don’t want to see you throw all that potential away,’ said Deanna.

‘Please stop sending me job applications in the post, Mum. I recognise your hand-writing,’ continued Katie. ‘Not sending me a note inside does not make them anonymous.’

‘Oh, what are we going to do with you?’ sighed Deanna.

‘You’re not going to do anything with me. I’m big enough and ugly enough to do what I want.’

‘You are not ugly. Or big.’

‘That’s me,’ said Bea happily, putting another slice of toast in her mouth.

‘I will decide what I want to do in my own time,’ explained Katie, ‘and when I decide, I will follow a career path of my own choosing.’

Her mother chewed her lip. ‘You’re not serious about becoming an educational psychologist are you?’ she asked eventually.

Katie sighed before shaking her head, suddenly certain. ‘No.’ Since her epiphany she’d watched all the children in the café with new interest. ‘Children are revolting,’ she said. Bea gasped. ‘Not yours of course,’ she rushed. ‘Yours will be beautiful.’

‘Well, it’ll be a baby first,’ said Bea, a little quietly. ‘Maybe that will help.’

‘I’m sure it will,’ assured Katie, ‘but I still couldn’t be an educational psychologist.’

‘Thank God for small mercies,’ sighed Deanna.

One hour later, Katie rang the bell of Great-Aunt Edna’s cottage and could hear sounds of movement from within. It wasn’t that she didn’t like her mother’s aunt, she just didn’t know her very well. Apparently, as a baby she’d bonded with her and would go only to her at family functions. This had worked its charm on the old bird and now Katie was to get the money – if she decided what she wanted to be before Great-Aunt Edna died – and Bea and Cliffie the contents of her minuscule rented cottage which was stuffed with antiques.

‘Just a minute!’ came a thin voice. Katie wrapped her scarf tighter round her neck. Great-Aunt Edna had a thing about saving money, so rarely had the heating on.

The door opened and a wisp of a woman stood before her. A thinning cloud of white hair was swept off her face, highlighting the sharpness of her blue eyes. Katie was always struck by her aunt’s frailty, until the woman spoke. Her body and features might be slowly shrivelling, but her mind was as sturdy as ever.

‘Let me have a look at you,’ she said, clasping her favourite great-niece’s chin.

Their eyes met. Great-Aunt Edna grinned. ‘Not bad,’ she beamed proudly. ‘You’ll do, you’ll do.’

They kissed hello and then made their way slowly down the cold dark hall into the kitchen. ‘What will you have to drink?’ asked Edna, patting Katie’s arm, which made her
feel
like a giant in Mrs Tiggywinkle’s house. Once in the kitchen, a hot blast of air hit her – this was clearly where Great-Aunt Edna spent her day. The old woman settled herself at the table and instructed Katie where to get the things out for tea. Everything in the cottage, from the priceless ornaments to be exquisitely decorated cups and saucers, was old, collectible and in pristine condition. As soon as Great-Aunt Edna had become unable to manage it herself, she had taken on a girl from the village to help clean her home. She was not a spendthrift, but she was proud and determined that nobody could say she kept a dirty home.

Katie made the tea and sat with her back against the wall, the kitchen clock chiming every precious quarter of an hour.

‘So,’ said Great-Aunt Edna, pouring milk from the jug into the china cups. ‘What have you got to tell me?’ Desperate not to talk about work and not to leave too long a gap before answering, Katie found herself saying, ‘I’ve met a man.’

Great-Aunt Edna’s eyebrows, fine arches of smoke, rose as she took the tea cosy off the teapot.

‘Is he handsome?’

Katie smiled. ‘Yes, he is.’

Great-Aunt Edna nodded as she placed the tea strainer on to the cup.

‘Is he wealthy?’

Katie considered this. ‘I suppose he must be,’ she answered.

Great-Aunt Edna placed one hand on the teapot lid and slowly poured out two perfect cups of tea. She placed
the
pot down heavily, just missing the doily, then she neatly replaced the tea cosy.

They drank their tea.

‘So he could be a provider then,’ considered Great-Aunt Edna.

‘I hadn’t thought of it like that.’

‘You probably didn’t realise you did,’ said Great-Aunt Edna, ‘but you’ve been conditioned to think of exactly that.’

Katie frowned. ‘I just like him.’

Great-Aunt Edna placed her teacup in its saucer and treated herself to a custard cream straight out of the biscuit tin. (‘We don’t need to stand on ceremony here.’)

‘Would you like him as much if he were as poor as a church-mouse?’ she asked, dunking the custard cream into her tea and sucking thoughtfully on it.

‘Yes,’ said Katie. ‘In fact, I’d probably have preferred him.’

Great-Aunt Edna bit into the rest of her biscuit. ‘Ah dear,’ she said. ‘If only it was irrelevant.’

Katie nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘But I suppose you could say the same about him.’

Great-Aunt Edna smiled at her great-niece, her eyes suddenly pretty in their red-rimmed sockets.

‘Yes dear,’ she said warmly. ‘If you weren’t quite the lovely girl you are, he probably wouldn’t be interested.’

‘Thank you,’ said Katie.

‘Oh it wasn’t a compliment, my dear,’ the old woman said, dunking the last of her custard cream. ‘It’s pure economics.’

The kitchen clock had chimed the quarters four times
before
Katie finally made her way back through the chilly hall. She had asked Great-Aunt Edna to join them for lunch, as she always did whenever she did her duty visit. And Great-Aunt Edna had smiled and said thank you but no, as she always did whenever asked.