wouldn’t have to sell after all. It seemed impossible that she would no longer wake up in, come home to, this house.
Tina talked on, estate-agent speak about photographs, online presence, Foxtons percentage, most of which Jo tuned out, her mind on the past, not the future.
‘Right, fine.’ Tina seemed to have finished. ‘So why don’t you let me know when you’ve done the paint job, and I’ll have Mike come over and do the photos. And if there are any other questions . . .’ She handed Jo her card.
When Jo closed the door on Miss Brechin, she went and curled up on the sofa, drawing the soft tartan-wool rug close around her body, up to her chin, and wept silent tears of loss.
*
The following day, Travis moved in. He and Nicky arrived around five in the afternoon, with one small wheelie case. And Jo was surprisingly glad to see them.
‘Is that it? Or is this the advanced guard?’ Jo asked, indicating his luggage.
‘Nope, this is it. I travel light.’
‘I’ll take him up,’ Nicky said, grabbing the bag.
‘Will you both stay for supper?’ she asked, when the two men came down half an hour later. Nicky shook his head.
‘Thanks, Mum, but I’m meeting someone at seven.’
Travis looked awkward suddenly. ‘I . . . thought . . . if it’s OK with you, that I’d stay in, sorta settle myself. But you don’t need to do dinner for me, Mrs Meadows. I can pick up something round the corner.’
‘Jo or Joanna, please. If you’re going to stay here, you can’t call me Mrs Meadows,’ Jo said. ‘House rule.’ And it came to her that in truth she no longer
was
Mrs Meadows. She’d kept her maiden name for her books: Joanna Hamilton. Maybe she should call herself that in future.
Travis grinned. ‘Jo . . . OK.’
‘And I’ve got food, if you want to join me. It’d be a good time to discuss all the arrangements.’
The American nodded. ‘Yeah, great, if it’s not any trouble.’
‘Right, guys. I’m off. I’ll leave you to it,’ Nicky declared, with the slightly smug air of having accomplished his goal.
In a way, despite Jo’s sudden nervousness at being left alone with a virtual stranger who would not be going home, she was glad when Nicky left, forcing her to bite the bullet and get used to Travis one-to-one.
‘Hot date.’ Travis nodded his head towards Nicky’s departing figure.
‘Really? I’m just his mother. I know nothing.’
‘Seems pretty intense about her. But he hasn’t introduced us yet.’
‘Hmm . . .’ Nicky rarely brought his girlfriends home. Jo knew that when he did it would be serious. She handed Travis a beer. ‘You can have wine if you’d prefer?’
‘Yeah . . . wine’d be good . . . only if you’re having some.’
Jo poured him some red and then they caught each other’s eye and both laughed.
‘We’ve got to stop being so polite to each other. It’ll exhaust us.’
‘Hey, I come from the have-a-nice-day culture . . . I can’t do anything else.’
They carried their glasses to the table, where they sat opposite each other.
‘Yes, but I like that American courteousness . . . for instance the way characters in films often say “Ma’am” or “Sir”.’
Travis smiled. ‘Sorta old fashioned, I guess.’
‘It’s respect. We seem to have completely lost it over here.’ She suddenly heard what she’d said and shook herself. ‘Christ, I sound like Disgusted of Tunbridge Wells.’
The allusion was lost on Travis, who just raised a puzzled eyebrow.
‘It’s the prim middle classes expressing moral outrage. I promise I’m not really that kind of person.’
‘Oh those guys! We have them too . . . whole swathes of the Midwest. But I’m from the west coast. We’re mostly laid back surfer-dudes. Nothing prim about a Californian.’
As supper went on, Jo realized she was enjoying herself. Travis was charming, well-read and interested in a wide range of subjects. He made her laugh too, a rare commodity in recent months. When they finally
Tina talked on, estate-agent speak about photographs, online presence, Foxtons percentage, most of which Jo tuned out, her mind on the past, not the future.
‘Right, fine.’ Tina seemed to have finished. ‘So why don’t you let me know when you’ve done the paint job, and I’ll have Mike come over and do the photos. And if there are any other questions . . .’ She handed Jo her card.
When Jo closed the door on Miss Brechin, she went and curled up on the sofa, drawing the soft tartan-wool rug close around her body, up to her chin, and wept silent tears of loss.
*
The following day, Travis moved in. He and Nicky arrived around five in the afternoon, with one small wheelie case. And Jo was surprisingly glad to see them.
‘Is that it? Or is this the advanced guard?’ Jo asked, indicating his luggage.
‘Nope, this is it. I travel light.’
‘I’ll take him up,’ Nicky said, grabbing the bag.
‘Will you both stay for supper?’ she asked, when the two men came down half an hour later. Nicky shook his head.
‘Thanks, Mum, but I’m meeting someone at seven.’
Travis looked awkward suddenly. ‘I . . . thought . . . if it’s OK with you, that I’d stay in, sorta settle myself. But you don’t need to do dinner for me, Mrs Meadows. I can pick up something round the corner.’
‘Jo or Joanna, please. If you’re going to stay here, you can’t call me Mrs Meadows,’ Jo said. ‘House rule.’ And it came to her that in truth she no longer
was
Mrs Meadows. She’d kept her maiden name for her books: Joanna Hamilton. Maybe she should call herself that in future.
Travis grinned. ‘Jo . . . OK.’
‘And I’ve got food, if you want to join me. It’d be a good time to discuss all the arrangements.’
The American nodded. ‘Yeah, great, if it’s not any trouble.’
‘Right, guys. I’m off. I’ll leave you to it,’ Nicky declared, with the slightly smug air of having accomplished his goal.
In a way, despite Jo’s sudden nervousness at being left alone with a virtual stranger who would not be going home, she was glad when Nicky left, forcing her to bite the bullet and get used to Travis one-to-one.
‘Hot date.’ Travis nodded his head towards Nicky’s departing figure.
‘Really? I’m just his mother. I know nothing.’
‘Seems pretty intense about her. But he hasn’t introduced us yet.’
‘Hmm . . .’ Nicky rarely brought his girlfriends home. Jo knew that when he did it would be serious. She handed Travis a beer. ‘You can have wine if you’d prefer?’
‘Yeah . . . wine’d be good . . . only if you’re having some.’
Jo poured him some red and then they caught each other’s eye and both laughed.
‘We’ve got to stop being so polite to each other. It’ll exhaust us.’
‘Hey, I come from the have-a-nice-day culture . . . I can’t do anything else.’
They carried their glasses to the table, where they sat opposite each other.
‘Yes, but I like that American courteousness . . . for instance the way characters in films often say “Ma’am” or “Sir”.’
Travis smiled. ‘Sorta old fashioned, I guess.’
‘It’s respect. We seem to have completely lost it over here.’ She suddenly heard what she’d said and shook herself. ‘Christ, I sound like Disgusted of Tunbridge Wells.’
The allusion was lost on Travis, who just raised a puzzled eyebrow.
‘It’s the prim middle classes expressing moral outrage. I promise I’m not really that kind of person.’
‘Oh those guys! We have them too . . . whole swathes of the Midwest. But I’m from the west coast. We’re mostly laid back surfer-dudes. Nothing prim about a Californian.’
As supper went on, Jo realized she was enjoying herself. Travis was charming, well-read and interested in a wide range of subjects. He made her laugh too, a rare commodity in recent months. When they finally
Similar Books
