the kitchen, where she sees the table set for three. “Oh! You have dinner plans. I didn’t want to intrude.”
“Don’t be silly.” I pull her into the kitchen. “Sam’s coming for dinner, and there’s more than enough for all of us. Why don’t you stay?”
“Really? You’re sure you have enough?”
“Absolutely. Stay.”
* * *
Sam adores my mother. Everyone adores my mother. Sure enough, when he walks in, as handsome as ever in his slick shorts and polo shirt, his face lights up as he spies her.
“Audrey!” He envelops her in a hug, pulling back to give her the traditional double kiss. I have become accustomed to hugging, me, who never liked anyone to touch her. It’s a program thing, hugs being doled out at the end of meetings like candy. It took me a while to get used to, the all-embracing hugs. I have come to not only accept it, but actually welcome it.
“Sam! So lovely to see you! It has been much too long.”
We take the pitcher of iced tea outside to the terrace, as Annie tempts the neighbor’s cat to come and roll around on the gravel with us.
“You look gorgeously tan,” says my mum to Sam. “Have you been somewhere dreamily exotic?”
“The spray-tanning place off South Molton Street,” says Sam with a smile. “Not quite dreamily exotic, but I can’t seem to get my act together with a summer holiday this year. I wanted to go to Lamu, but I’m worried it’s not very safe anymore. Also, summer’s not really the time to go to Africa anyway, even if I decided to risk it.”
“There’s always the South of France,” says my mother.
“There is, always, the South of France.” Sam rolls his eyes, which I find hilarious because only Sam could find the South of France boring, which he does; he says everyone he has ever met is always in the South of France and it’s the most stressful place he ever visits.
“What about you?” Sam turns to me. “What are you doing this summer?”
When Jason and I were married, we did great holidays. Winters saw us in the Caribbean, and summers renting lovely old stone houses in Provence or Tuscany. Now my budget is something I’m constantly aware of, and even though we are always fine, we are just on the edge of fine, and I never think I have enough money for extravagant things like holidays.
“I’m hoping to find a travel piece,” I say, for I am friendly with the travel editor of the Daily Gazette, and every now and then he will send a piece my way, often a fabulous and free hotel, and sometimes even free flights too. Last Christmas, Annie and I left on Boxing Day for Antigua, an all-inclusive, all-paid-for holiday. I had to write a thousand words on how fantastic the place was (which it was), and we had a brilliant time, with yacht trips and spa treatments provided to seduce us into writing a decent piece. As if we needed seducing. “The travel editor often knows of a villa somewhere knocking around.”
“What a great idea,” Sam says. “I should ask our travel editor if they have anything going. Why don’t we go away together?” I nod enthusiastically as he turns to my mother. “Audrey, you should come too!”
“I’m already going to Greece,” says my mother. “A friend’s boat. If there was room I’d invite you.”
“We’ll miss you,” he pouts, “but I love the sound of you, me, and Annie going somewhere together. Let’s both speak to the travel people we know and see what we can come up with.”
“Deal,” I say, and pour them all some more tea.
Twenty
I try very hard to have something punctuate my day so I have to leave my house. If I don’t have something, even a coffee at the dingy little café next to the tube station, it is quite possible that I would never get out of my pajamas, and that isn’t healthy or productive for anyone.
Often I go to a noon meeting, and today I am on my way when Maureen’s number flashes up on my cell.
Maureen is my sponsor. She’s one of the all-time great sponsors, at least that’s what I have heard: the kind of sponsor that everyone wants. I knew, as soon as I heard her talk in a meeting, that she’d be perfect for me. I never thought in a million years she would say yes. I was newly sober, struggling, and here was this woman my mother’s age, who