Page 27 of A Clean Sweep

‘Breast cancer. Early stages, thankfully.

Had a small op, just going through some intensive radiotherapy.

It's not been too bad, a bit like a nasty sunburn really.

It's just, my fiftieth birthday's fast approaching and I never imagined my life would turn out like this.

Then again, whoever knows what's going to happen to them?

It's only another date on the calendar, so who cares?’

You should care, thought Meryl. Someone should care. This was a lady with little self-esteem facing a tough regime of treatment and with no-one to support her at the other end.

‘When's your birthday? I'm a Leo. King of the zodiac and all that crap.’

Susan grimaced. Wiped a napkin across her mouth, removing all traces of hot chocolate residue.

'It's on the ninth of May. Taurus the bull. Seems quite appropriate for an old heifer like me! ’

Both Meryl and Susan laughed a little nervously. It was time to leave yet neither knew what to say or do next.

'I haven't planned anything. I don't exactly have a long list of people who'd want to celebrate with me. So, it'll probably be me, a cake and an early night.'

No, it won't, thought Meryl as she swallowed the dregs of her wine and slipped on her coat. I may not really know you but I will do everything in my power to give you a party to remember.

They parted ways outside, after Meryl had keyed Susan’s number into her phone and taken note of her address. She’d offered to accompany her on some of her hospital visits but Susan had politely but firmly declined.

‘That’s really kind of you but there’s no need, honestly. Maybe we could meet up again for a coffee or something? If you’re not too busy, that is.’

Meryl promised to ring her soon, watching as her new friend disappeared from view. Still a forlorn figure but with a more purposeful stride than before.

Back at the flat she quickly unpacked her groceries. Still a few hours until Miroslaw arrived so she decided to strike while the iron was still hot. She had Emily’s phone number in case of any emergency involving Tabbie but had thankfully never had to use it. Until now.

‘Emily? Hello there, it’s Meryl, Tabbie’s boss. Sorry to bother you but I just wanted to run something by you if you have a minute.’

Meryl quickly outlined her meeting with Susan, carefully omitting any mention of the cancer diagnosis. She didn’t feel it was her place to share such information and, judging by Emily’s responses, she was pretty sure Susan hadn’t confided in her.

‘She just seemed really down and when we were having a drink she mentioned her fiftieth birthday was coming up but that she wasn’t planning on celebrating it. It just struck me as really sad so I was wondering …’

Before she could finish, Emily jumped in.

‘I had absolutely no idea it was her birthday soon. Or even what age she was. The truth is, I only really know her through book club and the odd social gathering. I’ve always found her a tad irritating to be honest. A bit of a gossipmonger who knows everything about everyone.

I don’t really know who her friends are or if she has any.

I think it was Esther Thompson who introduced her to me but they never struck me as particularly close.

I know she’s never been married and she works from home but that’s about it. ’

There was a brief pause as both women contemplated what appeared to be a rather sad and lonely existence compared to their own busy and generally happy lives. Emily broke their reverie first.

‘Here’s what I think we should do. I can send out an email to all the book club members saying I’d like to host a special meeting on the evening of Susan’s birthday.

Esther was supposed to host April but I’m sure she won’t mind making it a bit later.

And we can say something about finalising the timetable for the year, getting ahead with book choices before we take a break for the summer.

Except I’ll flag the others that it’s actually going to be a surprise party for Susan’s birthday. ’

‘Are you sure she’d come? She did say she’d probably stay home alone and have an early night, poor love,’ questioned Meryl. She had visions of her and Emily having to physically drag Susan in her pyjamas out of bed, pausing only to pin a glittery ‘50’ badge on her chest.

‘I get the impression that book club is maybe the only real social activity she has, apart from the odd yoga class at the local community centre. So yes, I’m pretty confident she’ll turn up. I can do some nibbles and bits and maybe ask the others to bring a plate of something too.’

‘And I’ll rustle up a few bottles of bubbly and some party hats and decorations from my shop.

Maybe a nice birthday banner and some balloons?

I’ve got some lovely fiftieth ones in bright pink and silver.

I could come by a little earlier to get things organised if you like.

Ooh, what about a cake? We can’t have a party without a cake! ’

There was silence on the line again for a few moments until Emily came to the rescue.

‘You said you bumped into Susan at the patisserie? They do amazing birthday cakes, made to order. If we each contributed something – say ￡10 or ￡15 per person – we could easily order one…’

‘And probably have money left over to buy a little gift too!’ added Meryl. She was starting to feel distinctly excited at the prospect of staging a surprise party. As long as the intended recipient felt the same way.

They ended their chat with a promise to meet up soon and finalise the details.

Meryl felt quite chuffed with herself, suffused with a warm glow at maybe, just maybe making someone's life a little brighter.

Her own hadn't been sunshine and roses all the way but she was a glass half-full kind of girl and hated to see other people gazing bleakly into an almost empty vessel.

Another brief hose down in the shower and she was nearly ready for the main event.

Still wrapped in her favourite fluffy bathrobe with a towel around her head she headed to the kitchen.

Smoked salmon shredded and wrapped in cling film.

Check. Dressing assembled, ready for a final whisk before pouring.

Check. Lamb cutlets out the fridge to come to room temperature, chilled ready mash (a cheat, but even Delia cheated sometimes) on standby with chopped leeks to add at end, check.

Grainy mustard awaiting lamb juices and a spoonful of redcurrant jelly and seasoning to finish, check.

Tarte citron needing nothing more than a sharp knife and a dollop of cream.

The only finishing touches remaining were to herself.

There. All done. Meryl turned this way and that, pleased at her reflection and glad she hadn't gone for the suck-it-all-in underwear.

Apart from being deeply unattractive, they also forced the unwanted flesh upwards creating a virtual second bosom beneath her already not insubstantial real one.

She was confident that if they made it as far as the bedroom then Miroslaw would be happy not to be confronted with a four-breasted freak show contender.

‘Meryl! You look spectacular. Truly, you take my breath away. Let me kiss you.’

Meryl duly obliged, submitting happily to a prolonged and tongue-tinged kiss which ended only when she slapped him playfully on the shoulder.

‘Steady on! I have a gourmet feast prepared and a tummy that's rumbling. So, if you'd care to take yourself through to the lounge …’

She took Miroslaw's coat and deposited it on her bed.

Freshly made just in case. Music was playing quietly in the background.

Not ABBA but A-ha. Norwegian but similarly Scandinavian.

'Take On Me' was her favourite. She'd loved the video when she was younger and had had a bit of a crush on the lead singer.

In some ways Miroslaw reminded her of him. Maybe the chiselled cheekbones.

‘Be a darling and pour us a glass of something while I put together the starter.

Maybe the white as we're having fish,’ said Meryl, opening the fridge and removing the salmon and jug of dressing.

Miroslaw deftly squeezed in next to her and took out the bottle, sneaking another kiss as he did so.

Meryl giggled and bent over to retrieve the mixed leaves from the salad drawer.

As she began to plate up their entrees, he served the wine.

They clinked their glasses and each took a satisfying mouthful.

‘Very nice indeed,’ remarked Miroslaw. ‘A good choice, Meryl, and I have no doubt the food will be equally enjoyable. I have been looking forward to this all day.’

Not just the meal, prayed Meryl. Hopefully he had also been looking forward to taking their relationship to the next level. Now that he was here she could feel her earlier doubts fading, to be replaced by a distinct tingle of anticipation.

Seated at her bistro-style dining table which she'd set with her finest linen, cutlery and glasses they tucked into the first course. Miroslaw enthused over every morsel, declaring it worthy of any fine restaurant. Meryl blushed at his effusiveness but was extremely pleased at his compliments.

For the main course, she pan-fried the lamb cutlets and sautéed the leeks in butter, before beating them through the microwaved mash. Miroslaw laughed when she apologised for not making it from scratch.

‘There's nothing wrong with a little helping hand now and again. Since I came to this country I have developed a liking for porridge and often use those instant sachets. So much quicker and just as good, I believe!’

They'd moved on to the red wine now, Meryl returning the half-drunk bottle of white to the fridge. She wasn't sure if Miroslaw was quite as impressed with this one, but he gamely swirled it around and proclaimed the lamb a triumph.