All the Little Things Sarah Lawton (red white royal blue TXT) 📖

finally have his number. I’ll have to think of something clever to text him. Something to make him want me.

Rachel

I don’t know why I didn’t tell Vivian about Alex coming over. I wasn’t sure if he went to the school or not – he changed the subject when I asked him – and frankly I thought she might be embarrassed if she knew a boy from school was coming for lessons. I imagined they would bump into each other soon enough anyway, in such a small place. Alex was handsome enough to be noticed wherever he went.

I suppose a small part of me just wanted something new for myself. Everything I did was centred around Vivian, her and her feelings. I had given everything up to look after her properly, but maybe it was time I had something too. It was nice to have a new friend, unconventional as it may have been, considering the age gap. There weren’t any other creatives in the village either, so to have someone to really talk to about something I loved without having them look bored enough to cry was a real treat. I was thinking of all the different artists I wanted to talk to him about, the books I could lend him. I had flights of fancy about going to his first exhibition, wandering around with a glass of champagne and telling people that I had helped him when he was a young man. He was capable of a career as a painter, I could see it in him already. It distracted me momentarily from thinking about Tristan, but unfortunately that didn’t last.

I had meant to go to the supermarket before Vivian had got home, but Alex hadn’t left until two and it had slipped my mind, the distinct lack of any sustenance in the house. I called up to Vivian that I was heading out and asked her if she needed anything and got the usual noncommittal grunt in return. She would probably text me something when I was in the car on the way home and then be furious when I turned up without it. Well, she had legs, so she could get herself to the bloody shops on the bus if she needed something. I was getting more annoyed with her by the day.

I’d managed to choose the wonky trolley as always at the shop, and was trying to unfold my shopping list one handed when I banged into someone by accident.

‘Oh, I’m so sorry…’ Then my words dried up. It was Maureen, Tristan and Tilly’s mum. I felt sorrow like a stone plunge into my stomach, closing up my throat. I didn’t know what to say to her, though I desperately wished I did. I could barely cope with the burden of my own issues and always went to pieces when confronted with the raw and bleeding aspect of someone else’s emotions.

‘Maureen, I…’

‘Don’t, Rachel, please. It’s fine. I wouldn’t know what to say to me, either. I don’t even know what I’m doing here!’ She gave a short, almost hysterical bark that was nearly a laugh, nearly a scream. ‘I forgot my list. I forgot my bags. I can’t remember where I’ve parked.’

‘Oh, god, Maureen, can I help? Can I give you a lift home? Maybe Bob could come and get your car later, I could bring you some shopping…’

‘He’s a mess, Rachel. He’s completely destroyed. He’s lost his boy, our boy!’ Pain ravaged her voice, ripped at it with cruel fingers. Tears spooled in her eyes, spilling at the first blink down her plump red cheeks. ‘Oh, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!’

‘Please don’t say that, Maureen, please, let me help, let’s find your car, I can drive you home and I’ll come back for mine. Come on, darling.’

I abandoned my trolley and she let me lead her out of the aisle and through the gust of air conditioning by the door, into the still baking, glaring sunshine. I had to hold her elbow and gently guide her steps; she was blind with tears. I gave her a tissue from my bag but she just clenched it in a white-fingered fist and let them run down her face, quiet but wrenching sobs shaking her shoulders. I couldn’t speak past the lump in my throat. There weren’t many cars in the car park, but I knew their car and it was easy to spot: a huge, bashed-up, ancient Land Rover. I had no idea how the hell I was going to drive it but Maureen wasn’t in any fit state to and I couldn’t speak to call Bob.

I had to take her handbag and get the keys out, help her climb into the cab. I don’t think she knew where or even who she was by that point; she wrapped her arms around her waist and bent herself double, making small noises full of hurt. I felt every one. I managed to get her seatbelt on her and I started the car, the clutch stiff beneath my foot. A small, irreverent thought wormed its way into my brain, that Maureen must have a left thigh of steel, and for one horrifying second I thought I would laugh, but it whipped itself away as quickly as it arrived. I stalled at the lights on the way into the village but eventually made it to the turning off the high road where the chippy was, the forlorn ‘Closed’ sign hanging askew in the door. I don’t know how I got her out of the car, or to the door. It burst open as we arrived and Bob stumbled out, whey-faced and wild.

‘Mau, Mau! Where did you go, where were you?’ Behind him was Tilly, ashen. She looked up at me and attempted to smile but failed utterly, merely twisting her face. Maureen just staggered past them and up the stairs, followed by her husband. I had to pass the car keys and Maureen’s handbag to Tilly who took them