She took her own advice, walking slowly down the back stairs in her unsuitable silver heels. At the foot of the stairs, she was greeted by Linda, who raised a bottle of … oh, it looked like pink lemonade … and said, ‘Cheers, kid. Don’t worry. It’s lemonade.’
Jenna admired Linda’s new hairstyle and the new dress they’d shopped for together at John Lewis. She looked years younger after her beauty counter makeover, and her eyes were clear and focused. If Jenna hadn’t recognised the familiar voice, she might have wondered if this was even the same woman.
‘Lemonade?’ said Jenna, smiling.
‘Yeah. So I’m not going to get plastered and make a show of our Jase. Those days are over.’
‘Are you saying you’re on the wagon?’
‘Three weeks and counting,’ said Linda proudly. ‘Ever since I saw our Jase in that hospital bed. It made me think, you see. I missed so much of his life through being out of it …’ Her lip wobbled and she looked away to hide the mist of tears, but Jenna had seen it and she put a hand on Linda’s. ‘The booze … it stole his mum away from him. I’ll never be able to give him his childhood back, but I can be here for him now, and watch him make a go of his life.’
Now it was Jenna’s turn to be misty-eyed.
‘Oh, Linda, that’s so …’ She swallowed. ‘Lovely. Really lovely. And you know, he will appreciate it. No matter what’s happened in the past, he loves you, and I know you love him.’
The two women embraced, choking back their emotions.
‘Watch the dress,’ said Linda with a self-conscious laugh, stepping back. ‘This cost about ten times more than owt I’ve ever had before.’
A woman in a pair of headphones carrying a clipboard waved at Jenna from the front door.
‘Are you ready for the speech yet?’ she called. ‘Everything’s set up out there.’
Jenna nodded briefly and followed the woman out into glorious late September sunshine, beneath which a good-natured crowd milled, looking at stalls and gravitating slowly towards a stage area festooned with bunting and piled with recording equipment.
A group of little majorettes were twirling batons to booming music beneath a banner reading: SEVENTY-EIGHTH BLEDBURN MINERS’ GALA.
Jenna’s eyes alighted naturally on Jason – she could pick him out from a crowd of millions – who stood watching near the front, pint in hand, exchanging the odd word with Parker at his side.
He certainly didn’t look like a man who’d been recently treated in hospital for the effects of severe smoke inhalation. He didn’t even look like the half-feral creature she’d found asleep in the attic a few months ago.
He looked tall, straight, clean, relaxed, confident and utterly, mesmerisingly desirable. Whilst she had, with hindsight, possibly overdressed for a fun community event, Jason had got the balance right. In smart jeans and a well-cut leather jacket over an open-necked white shirt, he looked ready to both party and make historic speeches.
Jenna cut through the crowd, smiling and nodding as people tried to make contact, on her way towards him, touching him on the shoulder when she was beside him.
‘Yeah? Oh, it’s you, babe. Where were you?’
‘Showing off your genius to the leading lights of the art world,’ she replied, linking her arm with his. ‘They want us to do the speech next.’
‘What do you mean, “us”?’ he said, giving her a vivid, dark look. ‘I thought you were doing it.’
‘I was asked to do it,’ she corrected him. ‘But I want you to speak too. It’s your house, morally speaking. Harville never really had the right to sell it to me.’
‘Yeah, but … I don’t do speeches! I’ve never done one before.’
‘You’ll be perfect. Honestly, you’re the man for the job. And I want Deano and Kayley up there with us too. Where are they? Have you seen them?’
Jason shrugged, shaking his head.
‘Not since the end of the talent contest.’
‘That was an hour ago. Where is he?’
‘Where is she?’ said Jason.
They stared at each other.
‘Do you think they’re …?’