Chapter Text
The Crown & Anchor was bustling with the lunch rush. Even so, one Cockney voice rose above the din.
“Fuckin’ twats! That’s utter shite!”
Rebecca turned around and identified the speaker as a weedy pub regular, standing at the far end of the bar with two vaguely familiar youngish men. All three were staring intently at something on the telly, pints in hand.
The steel-haired, no-nonsense woman who ran the place—Mae, Rebecca reminded herself—hurried by with a tray of dirty dishes.
Rebecca leaned out to catch her. “Could you tell them to keep it down?” she asked apologetically. “God knows I get enough football at work.”
The older woman snorted. “That’s not football. They’re watching last night’s Drag Race.”
“Are these judges fuckin’ blind?” Rebecca heard the first man yell from across the room.
“Bullshit!” his friend shouted into the telly. “Kreme was robbed!”
“That wig, though!” put in the third.
Mae just shrugged and moved on. Rebecca went back to compulsively checking the time on her phone.
13:05. If he didn’t show up soon, Deborah might beat him here, and then Rebecca would have to endure several tortuous minutes of one-on-one chit-chat. Not that she had ever really hated her mother, but she certainly didn’t relish the idea of spending her lunch hour rehashing her late father’s many misdeeds. Not without a glass of wine and some back-up, at least.
Rebecca was perusing the menu for a third time when a flurry of royal blue limbs streaked by the window. Five seconds later and in bounded Ted Lasso, a bit out of breath and smelling faintly of wet turf.
“Sorry I’m late!” he cried, as he squeaked into the booth across from her. “Minor emergency with the new electrolytes.”
“Fuck me. Is everything all right?”
“Yup. Dani can feel his lips again, so I think we’re in the clear.” He pressed forward in his seat and drummed his knuckles on the tabletop. “So what’s shakin’, bacon?”
Rebecca took a wild stab in the dark and assumed Ted was asking about her day. “Let’s see,” she said, and ticked each item on her fingers as she spoke: “This morning the Footsie tanked, my tennis lesson got rained off, the telecom merger I’ve been working on for ten months fell through, and…HR informed me that we have to completely revamp the gala.”
“What? Why?”
“Apparently they don’t like the optics of selling our Black players to the highest bidder.”
“Oof,” Ted grimaced. “Never thought of it like that, but they have a point.”
“It is a bad look,” Rebecca conceded. “The upshot is that I have four weeks to find something else to sell, or we’re going to have a charity auction with no auction. And on top of all that, my mother called out of the blue, insisting we go to lunch. She says she just wants to talk.”
“Aw, that sounds nice. Any idea what about?”
“No. But if my luck holds, I’m sure it’s going to be horrid. Maybe she’s discovered yet another of my father’s affairs.”
Ted nodded in a way that told her he was about to dispense some of his trademark folksy wisdom. “You really are a glass-half-empty kinda person, aren’t ya?”
“I’m the kind of person who doesn’t let the glass get half empty, Ted. I’m a refill-the-glass-at-three-quarters kind of person.”
“Well, whenever I’m feeling gloomy about the state of things, I like comin’ here. General opinion these days is that we live in a world of hatred and greed, but I don’t see any of that at the old Crown & Anchor. I look around me, and I see—"
“Let me guess,” Rebecca cut in. “You see that love, actually, is all around?”
Ted’s eyebrows shot up. “I was gonna say ‘a tight-knit community and three straight fellas openly ogling a trans woman.’ But sure, love works too.”
“You mean you weren’t trying to shoehorn a Love Actually reference into our serious adult conversation?”
“Uh…”
Rebecca was floored. “Love Actually? British romantic comedy, came out in 2003? You’ve never seen it?”
“Oh, I gotcha! Nah, I tried to take a lady friend to see that one in theaters, but we had to scoot fifteen minutes in. Turns out she was allergic to cherry Icees.” His eyes widened. “Hold up. You don’t think Icee makes electrolytes, do you?”
“Er—no, I don’t. I have no idea what an Icee even is.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right.” Ted gave himself a little shake. “Anyway, back to the movie. I never did get around to finishing the darn thing. How’s it end?”
“It’s…rather complicated, come to think of it. Hugh Grant snogs that tea-lady everyone’s been fat-shaming. Liam Neeson’s stepson chases this American girl through Heathrow, just runs right through security. Then there’s a ghastly bit set in Minnesota or somewhere, but the less said about that the better. What?”
Ted was beaming at her from across the table, cheek rested in his hand. “Looks to me like we have a secret rom-com fan in the house.”
“Hardly,” Rebecca scoffed. “I only watch rom-coms when the rest of my life is going to shit. Meg Ryan practically carried me through sixth form.”
“Mmhmm,” he said, thoroughly unconvinced. “Whatever was going on in 2003, it musta been pretty rough seeing as you know Love Actually front-to-back.”
She shuddered at the memory. “I was dating this absolute git. What was his name? John…”
“Cusack?”
“It was not John Cusack, more’s the pity. This John dumped me on Boxing Day, and then had the nerve to ask if I would still take him to—"
“To Simon Cowell’s New Years’ Eve party?” said a voice from behind her. “Yes, I remember that.”
“Hey Deborah! Good to see you.”
“Hello, Ted. What a pleasant surprise.”
Rebecca knew that Deborah meant it, too, though few would be able to detect the real warmth under her mother’s wry unflappability. Deborah couldn’t resist a sympathetic ear, and no ear was more sympathetic than Ted’s; no wonder those two got on like a house on fire.
“Mother. I hope you don’t mind that I invited Ted.”
“Of course not, darling.” Deborah pointedly slid into the seat next to him, even though Rebecca had made plenty of room on her side. “I would never deny you your emotional support animal.”
Rebecca was about to snipe back when Mae stopped by to take their orders. Deborah asked for chips with no salt—typical, Rebecca thought—and Rebecca reeled something or other off the menu.
“Can I get you something, Ted?” asked Mae.
Ted flashed Rebecca a knowing grin. “I’ll have what she’s having.”
Mae paused to process that. “A Riesling and the salad niçoise?”
“Oh, blech, no. Just my usual, please and thank you.”
Rebecca laughed for what felt like the first time in days. But as far as she could tell, she was the only one who caught the reference: Mae just tottered off to get the drinks, shaking her head, while Deborah launched into some interminable story about her tai chi friend’s daughter’s guru.
Naturally, Ted hung on every word. “She told her to do what now with her root chakra?”
“Some kind of yoga pose. Getting sun down there is supposed to enhance the flow of energy.”
Good lord. Rebecca put her fork down and took a generous sip from her wine glass.
“That reminds me, Rebecca. I just saw my gynecologist.”
“Bloody hell, Mother. If you wanted to talk about your last cervical smear, you could’ve at least ambushed me in my kitchen again. Spare poor Ted the details.”
“Don’t mind me! I’ll just, uh, check my phone to give you ladies some privacy, and…look at that! A buncha texts from Henry!” He proceeded to pore over his messages like they contained the secrets of the universe.
“I thought you didn’t like me popping by,” Deborah said drily. “Besides,” she added with a sideways glance, “I was a tad afraid of who I might find there this time.”
Rebecca kept her composure—she’d long since been immune to Deborah’s provocations—but she took a quick look at Ted to see if the teasing bothered him. As it turned out, she needn’t have worried. He was too preoccupied to notice, frowning into his phone with what seemed like genuine distress.
She stooped a little to get his attention. “Is something the matter with Henry?”
Ted blinked up. “Oh. No, he’s good. Just school stuff. Carry on.”
Rebecca knew a white lie when she heard one. If Deborah weren’t here, she might have pushed, but she didn’t want to put him on the spot. So, with effort, she turned her focus back to her salad—and her mother.
“You were at your gynecologist,” she repeated. “And?”
“And he found something.”
Rebecca froze, a forkful of tuna hovering halfway to her mouth. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ted turn sharply.
Deborah looked between the two of them. “Don’t start writing my epitaph quite yet. So far it’s just a ‘mass of concern’ in one breast.” She circled her left side with an unsalted chip. “This one, if you were curious.”
Rebecca lowered her fork again, feeling like a complete arsehole. Here she was, grousing internally about her mother’s low-sodium kick, and all the while the woman was dealing with…this.
“Mother…”
“Sausage,” Deborah said, in a pitch-perfect imitation of Rebecca’s plaintive whine. “Really, darling, it’s fine. They’re going to do some tests, and then—we’ll see. I just wanted you to know, that’s all.”
Rebecca stretched out a hand, which her mother took and squeezed. After a moment, she sighed. “Now I’m rather sorry I brought you to lunch, Ted.”
Ted smiled gently. “I can understand that. And I don’t take it personally at all.”
Deborah pulled back to pick at her plate. “Can we go back to talking about Rebecca’s old boyfriends?” she asked in the silence. “Anything to lighten the mood.”
It was sprinkling again by the time they were finished—one of those abrupt autumn showers that never lasted long, but still somehow soaked you through. Rebecca and Deborah said their goodbyes just outside the doorway while Ted huddled under the eaves at a respectful distance.
“Are you sure I can’t give you a lift, Mother?”
“In that environmental disaster you call a car? I’ll pass, thank you. I came in the Tesla.”
Deborah leaned over for a hug. Maybe it was Rebecca’s imagination, but her mother’s bony shoulders felt brittle as eggshell in her arms.
“You will ring if you need anything?”
“I will,” Deborah whispered in her ear. Then she stepped back and said, with her usual irony: “Ted, keep her from fretting herself into an early grave, would you? It would be just like her to try to beat me there.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good man.” With one last smirk, Deborah opened her umbrella and swept down the sidewalk.
Rebecca chewed her lower lip as she watched her leave.
“Come on, now. You heard what the lady said about worrying yourself to death.”
“I can’t help it. How am I supposed to go about my day with that looming over her?”
“You’ll manage.” Ted edged a little closer, bouncing on his toes. “It’s like foldin’ a fitted sheet. It’s not gonna be pretty, but you know you’ll muddle through somehow.”
Rebecca made a noncommittal noise. “Do you want a lift? Car will be here any minute.”
“Twist my arm, why dontcha?”
Judging by his smile, she guessed that was a yes. But instead of waiting under the eaves like a normal person, he stuck his hands in his pockets and sauntered into the drizzle.
Rebecca stared for a second, mystified. “Ted. What are you doing?”
“Just waiting for the car,” he said, with perfect innocence.
She grew wary, though she couldn’t put her finger on why. “I can see that. Why are you waiting in the rain?”
His face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Is it still raining?”
Oh, God.
“I hadn’t noticed.”
Rebecca groaned. Ted jogged back under the eaves, looking pleased as punch.
She refused to give him the satisfaction of hearing her chuckle out loud. But truth be told, for a precious minute everything seemed less dire, and she thought maybe she could handle whatever life might throw at her: failed mergers, a derailed gala, her mother’s left tit. And by the time the car pulled up Rebecca felt, if not hopeful, then something nearly like it.