Penny stepped back, and, as a van went by on the main road, there was a sudden burst of light and she could make out the shape of a bloke sitting on the ground at the back of the bus shelter, clutching his little dog to himself. The man’s face was turned to her, twisted up as the headlights swept over it, and she realised that she knew who it was. One of the neighbours from round the back, the one who went marching about the place in his combat trousers.
‘Hello,’ she said uncertainly. And then she thought, bugger this, and dashed off across the grass and round the corner. The grass would be clogged with dog shit and things you couldn’t see in this light, but she was past caring. At last she burst through her own garden gate and fiddled for her backdoor key. Then she saw that all the downstairs lights were on. Liz was still up. Waiting up and worried. From inside came the muffled sound of a record, an old one. Rod Stewart, Penny thought. The odd thought struck her that maybe, when her daughter wasn’t around, Liz allowed herself the luxury of being nostalgic.
‘It’s nice, this,’ Jane was saying. ‘I get so bored at nights with no one round.’
Liz went to turn the record over. ‘But you say you do a lot of reading?’
Jane drummed her fingers on the six-high stack of novels she was borrowing. ‘Oh, I do. I read these one a night. But you finish one book, and you start another, and you read that, and you finish it… nothing seems to happen in between.’ Jane looked down at the novels. Glimpsing their titles, the promise of their cover illustrations, she felt with a flush the inadequacy of what she’d said. When she had a book on the go, it was all right. She was in that world. It was somewhere to go back to. A place where everything fitted together.
‘Well, it’s nice to have friends to visit as well.’ Liz sneaked a look at her watch. Jane had been round for seven hours. She had followed Liz into the house on their return from town. At first Liz had assumed she just wanted to see the house, to see what things Liz had. Nosy, but natural enough. And of course the house was in chaos, with boxes and crates still blocking the hallway, the settee under plastic wraps. Jane had plonked herself down on it, drinking tea and eating biscuits, rustling the plastic all the way through the evening. She seemed impressed by Liz’s belongings. She sighed with pleasure at her ornaments from around the world, Liz explaining that each knick-knack had its separate story, and she smiled at the records Liz set about unpacking for the first time from her cardboard boxes.
‘All a bit before my time,’ Jane said.
‘Are they?’ asked Liz tersely. She was tired and worrying about Penny. Jane was trying to give her a crash course in what went on in Phoenix Court. She’d already talked her through Fran and Frank’s marital problems, all the scandal that went on round the flats when someone’s bairn vanished last Christmas, and the tale of Jane’s mam Rose and her one-legged lover. ‘I don’t think she should encourage him,’ Jane was saying as Penny let herself into the kitchen. ‘I mean, she throws away so much of herself on these men. She never gets anything back.’
Penny was surprised to hear anyone else there. ‘Who’s that?’ she shouted through.
Jane, misunderstanding, explained as she followed Liz into the kitchen. ‘My mam. She’s marrying a bloke with a wooden leg.’
Liz put the kettle on. She gave her daughter a searching look and said in one breath, ‘You’ve met, haven’t you? Jane, Penny, Penny, Jane. Penny, I’ve been worried sick.’
Jane laughed. ‘It’s rubbish, Penny. I’ve been here all night and she’s never mentioned you once. We’ve had the sherry out.’
‘Actually, you’re wrong.’
There was an awkward silence. Penny slung her coat off and hugged it to her.
‘So, where have you been, Penny?’ Saying this, Liz felt terrible. She never talked this way to Penny. She was worried, but she was also aware that she was performing for Jane’s sake. Jane was nodding. They were mothers together, wanting explanations.
‘I went to Darlington with Vince… the man you saw me with.’ Penny felt pinned to the Formica bench.
Jane took the last drop of sherry and prepared to go at last. She said, ‘You’ve both been lucky today. Your mam was asked out by that lovely bus driver.’
She hadn’t kept the resentment out of her voice. They all noticed.
‘Are you going to see him, Liz?’ Penny asked.
‘You call your mam by her name?’
‘Um ... sometimes.’
‘My mam would kill me if I did that. Different generation, I suppose.’
‘Something like that. Are you going to see him, then?’
Liz handed Penny a cup of tea. ‘I doubt it. But the lasses round here are organising a night out. Jane’s been egging us all on. Tomorrow. I’m going out then.’
‘You’re mad not to see the bus driver,’ said Jane, pulling her coat on. ‘I suppose it means he’s not married, anyway...’ She did her zip up thoughtfully.
‘Doesn’t prove anything,’ Liz said, opening the door. ‘What people claim to be has nowt to do with anything. People lie.’
‘She’s a philosopher,’ Jane told Penny.
‘No, I’m not. Good night, Jane.’
Jane blinked, aware she had said something wrong and not sure what. ‘Thanks for the books. I’ll probably pop in tomorrow, then.’
‘You do that.’ Liz forced a smile and hustled her out. She slammed the door behind Jane and rounded on her daughter. ‘Well?’
Penny was looking shamefaced. ‘I haven’t done anything silly.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Not the silly you think.’
‘And Vincent?’
‘I got the last bus home by myself. Vince stayed
