Page 23 of The Last Kiss Goodbye

She stopped at the gate to number 22. White, wooden, the struts fanned in the shape of a rising sun; she knew exactly how it would creak the second she pushed it.

‘Is that you?’ shouted a voice before she was even through the doorway.

It had been cold, dark and raining when Ros had got off the train, but the kitchen was flooded with warmth from the oven, mixed with the smells of cooking and early daffodils in a jug on the table.

Clearly her mother had been baking: there were a variety of mixing bowls, jars and packets on the counter top, next to a set of scales and an open recipe book, everything covered in a thin layer of flour.

‘Excuse the mess,’ said her mother, moving a pile of books from the wooden table and pulling out a chair.

‘Your father’s in the greenhouse, planting tomatoes. God knows why we don’t just buy them from the greengrocer like everyone else, but he swears they taste better.’

Rosamund looked out of the window and smiled.

Samuel Bailey had spent his days working in a high street bank, opening accounts and setting up mortgages and modest loans, a job that Ros had always got the sense he never much cared for. But in the evenings and at weekends, he would throw himself into a dazzling array of hobbies. The house was stuffed with the results of his enthusiasms: a wonky toast rack from his dalliance with woodwork, an abandoned clarinet from when he was going to be the new Benny Goodman, the many shards of glass and broken pipe stems in a cabinet in the entrance hall testament to the time he had read a book on archaeology.

‘Dad, come in,’ she called, suddenly feeling the urge to speak to him.

Her mother poured her a cup of tea and sat down opposite her.

‘How was your day?’ Ros asked.

Valerie barely glanced in her direction. ‘We’d better wait until your father comes in to discuss that one. Get the cutlery and glasses and put them on the table, would you? The dumplings just need another couple of minutes, but then we’re ready to eat.’

Samuel Bailey came into the house and kissed his daughter on the top of her head.

‘All done,’ he smiled, washing his hands with the bar of coal tar soap by the kitchen sink. ‘We should have tomatoes, runner beans and onions by June.’

‘I can make chutney,’ said Valerie vaguely.

Ros found herself smiling. Sometimes she felt a bit of a loser for still living at home at the age of twenty-four; everyone else she knew – school and college friends – was either married or had little bachelor flats or house shares around the city. She was aware that the arrangement saved her a great deal of money; she would never be able to afford to work at DAG if she had to pay rent. But it was more than that. Passion and emotion was the office oxygen at the Direct Action Group, but that made it stressful, and so she enjoyed returning to Teddington every night, away from the bright lights of Soho and the struggles of the world, to her parents’ homely chit-chat.

Wearing two oven gloves, Valerie lifted a casserole dish on to the kitchen table and asked her husband to pour them all a glass of water.

‘Marion next door gave me the recipe,’ she said, waiting for her family to taste the food and compliment her.

‘Delicious,’ said Samuel, noting his cue.

‘So? Your news?’ asked Rosamund.

‘It looks like Grandma and Grandad are moving in,’ said Samuel bluntly.

‘Why?’ asked Rosamund with surprise.

‘Grandad is suffering with his leg, and Grandma’s wrist hasn’t been the same since she fell outside the post office,’ explained her mother. ‘The truth is, they’re struggling, so I suggested they’d be better off here.’

‘They suggested,’ muttered Samuel from his seat.

Ros felt a flutter of panic, quickly seeing the implications of this move.

‘Where are they going to sleep?’

She didn’t miss the look between her mother and father.

‘There’s only one option really. They’ll have your room and you’ll move into the box room.’

‘The box room?’

‘I know it’s not ideal, darling, but we don’t have much choice. They’re my parents, your grandparents, and they need us. They need help.’