Page 67 of The Woman Who Said Yes

Sam frowns. ‘What d’you mean?’

‘I mean, I’ve got them all beautifully framed now and that’s what I wanted.’ Her eyes glint and Sam realises with alarm that she is tearing up.

‘You mean you’re not going to paint any more squirrels?’ He’s thinking maybe she’s moving onto rabbits or foxes or hedgehogs? He knows how some people have ‘their’ animal and that’s their theme.

‘Oh, they’re not mine,’ Brenda says quickly. ‘I mean, I didn’t paint them. It was my husband – once he got into something there was no stopping him. Obsessed, he was! It was wood carving for a while and then tapestry. Can you believe that? A man in his eighties doing that?’

‘Well, why not?’ Sam asks.

She smiles, nodding. ‘And then it was watercolours and the garden’s always been a squirrels’ playground, so that inspired him I suppose…’

‘So, what’s he doing now?’ Sam asks.

Brenda presses her lips together and removes a glove before reaching into her brown leather bag. ‘Nothing.’

‘Oh.’ Sam frowns, unsure of what to say next.

‘He passed away.’

‘I’m so sorry!’ Sam flushes, mortified. This is why Farrah handles most of the dealings with customers.

‘Thank you. I’m fine. It’s been a while now – five years,’ she explains. And then, as if reading his mind, she adds, ‘I’ve saved up to have his paintings framed. That’s why I’ve brought them in to you one by one. I mean, I could’ve saved enough to have them all done at once but then how would I have got them all home?’

‘I wish you’d said,’ he exclaims. ‘I could have helped…’

‘…And I think bringing fifteen framed squirrel paintings into the house all at once might’ve made me a feel a bit…’ She tails off.

‘Overwhelmed?’ he suggests gently.

She opens her purse to pay him and raises a wry smile. ‘More like outnumbered.’

* * *

Later, back home, Sam finds himself wanting to tell Theo about what happened with Brenda today. Not the part about him refusing to take any payment; Theo has a strong aversion to – what’s it called again? Virtue signalling. No, he wants to tell him that she hadn’t painted them after all, and that he’d got it all wrong.

In fact, Theo isn’t home to tell anything to, and Sam doesn’t hear him come in until much later. There’s a brief exchange in the kitchen, during which Sam asks if he’s had a good night. Surely that’s not a gross invasion of his privacy? ‘Yeah, okay,’ Theo says quickly.

The kid is twenty, Sam reminds himself later, when Theo has gone to his room. By that age Sam had left home and was juggling several jobs – including the knitwear store, which he’d kept on even when he’d started college. It was worth it to be able to afford a room in a place of his own. His parents were lovely, but his mum liked to know every detail of what was going on in his life, and he wanted his freedom.

Sam never asks Theo whether he is seeing anyone, although the occasional person has been smuggled in and out of the flat like contraband goods. Sam has only encountered a couple of girls face to face. One exclaimed, ‘Oh, hello!’ as if surprised to see this craggy adult in Theo’s home. The other time, a girl in a puffa was just leaving when Sam stepped into the hallway. She’d actually yelped, as shocked by his presence as if a fox had appeared from the kitchen.

He settles in front of the TV now, channel-hopping, trying to distract himself from the wedding that’s happening in three days’ time. Will Andie bring Phil, he wonders? The only wedding he’s ever seen Phil at was his own. And what a day that had been, with Andie’s mum sobbing the whole way through the speeches, and her dad looking so proud. Sam was thrilled for her too. Of course he was. If he’d also felt the tiniest smidge of sadness, then he’d quickly banished it from his mind.

These memories have led him neatly to the thorny matter of his own speech for Eva’s wedding, which triggers a wave of panic. He gets up and pads through to the hallway, about to fetch his laptop from his bedroom, when he hears Theo on the phone. ‘Hi, yeah, I think I can. Yeah, I think it’s possible.’

What’s possible? It’s not that Sam is eavesdropping. He just happened to be right outside Theo’s bedroom door. ‘I hope so,’ his son adds. ‘I’d love to come. Really.’

Sam hates himself for hovering, but he seems to be frozen on the spot. Is that his mum he’s talking to? Theo rarely makes phone calls. It’s pretty much all messaging, and Sam can’t think of anyone else with whom he might be communicating with his actual voice.

Then, ‘No, I haven’t told Dad yet.’

Sam’s heart lurches. Told him what? Is he such a terrible father that his son can’t talk to him about important stuff?

‘I’m just not sure how he’ll react,’ Theo adds. ‘You know what he’s like.’

What? Sam thinks wildly. What am I like? His mouth is sandpaper-dry as he tries to reassure himself that it’s probably nothing. Surely Theo would have had to tell him, if it was something really serious?

‘Yeah, okay,’ he goes on. ‘I’ll check out flights.’