Hens Reunited (18 page)

She was just unwinding thick ropes of bindweed from a shrub and enjoying the heady fragrance from the rambling sweet pea whose flowers hung in perfumed bunches around the front door of the cottage, when she heard a voice
.

‘Hi there. Have you got a minute?’

Alice looked up from where she was crouching. At the end of the front path, leaning over the gate, was a tall, smiling woman with wayward dark curls. Alice straightened up and walked over to her. As she got closer, she could see that there was a pushchair just in front of the woman with a dozing baby inside. ‘Sure,’ she said. ‘Hi, I’m Alice.’ She smiled back expectantly.

‘I know,’ the woman said, and Alice’s heart sank. Not again. Was there anyone in this place who didn’t already know who she was?

Her feelings must have shown on her face, because the woman smiled. ‘Sorry. It’s a nightmare, this village, for the gossips. I’m a single mum, so you can imagine they’ve had a field day with me.’ She rolled her eyes. I’m Cathy, anyway, and this is Joe, who’s nine months. We’re only round the corner down from you, so if you ever fancy a coffee sometime—’

‘Yes,’ Alice blurted out without thinking. Then she blushed, embarrassed at sounding so keen. Desperate even! ‘I mean . . . that would be really nice. Er . . . Are you doing anything now?’

Cathy shook her head. ‘Nope,’ she said. ‘Well, obviously there’s a mountain of washing back home with my name on it, and all the cleaning to do, but if you’re offering . . .’

Alice grinned. ‘I’m offering,’ she said.

‘Sod it, then, the housework can wait,’ Cathy replied.

‘Great,’ Alice said. ‘Come on in!’

It was too hot for coffee, so they sat in the back garden with glasses of iced water. Cathy wheeled her pushchair into a shady spot under the cherry tree, and as the babies slept, she and Alice chatted.
Cathy
, Alice kept thinking. Why did she know the name Cathy? Who in the village had mentioned Cathy to her? She was feeling fuzzy though, after a bad night up with Iris, who was teething, and the answer didn’t come to her immediately.

‘It’s the evenings that are the worst, I think,’ Cathy was saying. ‘When you come in from the day and close the front door, and you know that’s it, you won’t see anyone else until you go out again the next morning.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘I hate that, always makes me feel a bit gloomy.’

Alice nodded. ‘Me too,’ she said. ‘I was staying with my parents after . . . after my husband left, so I was with them for the end of my pregnancy and while Iris was tiny. But now I’ve come here . . . well, it’s so much harder on my own. It feels like the walls are closing in in the evenings, when it’s just me and the telly night after night.’

They sat in silence for a moment and Alice worried that she’d been too downbeat. She’d only just met Cathy after all – she didn’t want to come across as a total doom-monger. ‘So, are you from the village, then?’ she asked quickly.

Cathy nodded. ‘Born and bred,’ she replied. ‘Left for a while to go to college in Exeter but somehow ended up back here again. It’s a lovely place but . . . kind of small-minded, unfortunately.’

‘Mmmmm,’ Alice said. ‘I can’t believe everyone seems to know who I am already. It’s a bit freaky. I was hoping to come here and keep my head down a bit, until I’d sorted myself out, but . . .’

Cathy looked sympathetic. ‘But then you get here and realize that you’re living in the gossip-centre of the West Country,’ she said. ‘There are a few people here with nothing better to do than bitch about their neighbours. The Duke of York? More like the Duke of Talk.’ She shrugged. ‘But you get used to it. And people do rally round, once they know your face. You wait, Stanley Middleton will get pissed and crash his tractor at the weekend again, and they’ll all be talking about that instead of you. You’ll be old news.’

Alice managed a smile. ‘That sounds good. I just want to be left alone to get on with my life. Oh – I don’t mean left alone by you,’ she added hurriedly, ‘but . . . well, by
men
, basically. I’ve given up on them. And I’ve met this guy in the village who seems to have told everyone down the pub that I’m some kind of slapper and . . .’ She grimaced. ‘I mean – it’s not true, for starters. And for seconds, what a cheek! Just because I’m on my own, it doesn’t mean I’m gagging for a bloke.’

‘What a prat,’ Cathy said, shaking her head. ‘Well, they’re not all bad here, honest.’

Cathy’s baby stirred at that moment and she took him out of the pushchair to cuddle him. ‘He’s so sweet,’ Alice said, leaning over to stroke his cheek. And then something clicked in her head. Joe had a mop of dark hair, big brown eyes, and a wide friendly smile. He was the spitting image of Dom! And then she remembered where she’d heard Cathy’s name before – down at the Mother and Toddler group on Monday.

I heard he wears Y-fronts
, Jen had said, making a joke about Alice and Dom’s so-called brief encounter.

And Mags had laughed, hadn’t she? ‘Where did you hear that?’ she’d asked. ‘Did Natasha say that? Or Cathy?’

The words spun in Alice’s head now as she looked from little Joe to Cathy, and the penny dropped. Oh my God. Was Joe Dom’s
son
? Clearly Dom wasn’t with her any more, though – she’d said herself she was a single mum. So what had gone wrong with Dom and Cathy, then? And oh, how awful! There he was coming on to
her
, Alice, when poor Cathy lived in the village too! Did the man have no shame? No wonder he’d got himself a name around here. Alice could hardly believe Dom Fletcher’s cheek. She despised him more than ever.

It had been on the tip of her tongue to ask Cathy about Dom, but as the afternoon passed, Alice decided not to. Why rake it all up? She’d only come across as being as inquisitive as the other village gossips if she started questioning her new friend about her love life. And she liked Cathy too – she didn’t want to jeopardize anything by poking her nose in. They’d only just started getting to know each other; there was plenty of time for ex-husband confessionals further down the line.

It was half past eight in the evening now, but still warm and light outside. Cathy had gone home to give Joe his tea ages ago, but they’d arranged to meet up later in the week. Iris was fast asleep upstairs, arms outstretched above her head.

Alice hummed to herself as she shook the grass off her rug and brought it back inside. She loved this time of year. It made her think about the first summer she and Jake had been together. They’d both been skint, her with her job in the theatre as costume assistant, him trying out for endless stage and TV roles that always came to nothing. But they hadn’t wanted for anything back then – it hadn’t mattered that they barely had enough money for bus fares into London. They spent hours just lolling around in Jubilee Gardens, holding hands as they lay on the grass, kissing and laughing about stupid things. Alice couldn’t remember feeling so happy to be doing nothing. The world was a wonderful place.

Still. That was then, of course, back when she was young and stupid. These days she knew better.

She poured herself a large gin and tonic, then flicked on the telly and sank into the saggy armchair. Thank goodness she was coming to terms with what had happened, she thought to herself bracingly. Positive thinking, that was the secret.

The picture appeared on the screen, and then her jaw dropped. All positive thoughts vanished instantly.

‘Oh, Amelia, you know it’ll only ever be you,’ Jake said, his face glowing on the old TV, his pixelated eyes dark and intense. ‘Say that you’ll marry me!’

‘Oh, Leo!’ Victoria threw her arms around his neck. ‘I am the luckiest woman in the world!’

The image of them kissing seemed to burn itself onto Alice’s brain. Her hands shook as the credits began rolling up the screen in large white letters.

LEO STONE – JAKE ARCHER
AMELIA SANDERS – VICTORIA HARTLEY

‘Flying High
returns next week at the same time,’ a hearty BBC voice announced. ‘Tune in to see if the wedding of the year goes ahead, or if . . .’

But with a strangled cry, Alice had already switched the TV off, unable to bear seeing her husband and his mistress for a second longer.

Chapter Ten

A Million Love Songs

Monday, 16 June 2008, 5 p.m.

Katie’s mind had gone blank. She leaned her head against the steering wheel, trying to think. She felt totally unprepared for the big conversation with Steve, despite her pep talk from Alice earlier. She’d panicked and driven right past her house in the end, parking up round the corner instead.

Think, think, think.
She had been so engrossed in old memories all the way home, it seemed a struggle now to shake them off and reconnect with the real world. But Steve was back. That was a good sign. All she had to do was say the right words, talk through the situation calmly and stay in control of her emotions. No crying or big scenes – she knew men hated that sort of thing. She pulled down the sunshade and flipped open the mirror there to try out a few lines from the safety of her car.

‘Can’t we find some middle ground that we’re both happy with?’ she said to her reflection. ‘I don’t want to lose you, Steve.’

No. The bit about losing him was pure TV drama. Maybe a straight-out apology would be a better opener?

She gazed at the slice of her face that stared back from the mirror. Her eyes looked bloodshot and droopy, as if she’d been up all night on the lash. The skin around them was blotchy and pink. Not a good look. It was more a Suffering-From-Hay-Fever look than Stand-By-Your-Man.

‘Steve, I’m sorry I didn’t say what you wanted to hear,’ she tried instead. Hmmm. That was the sort of sentence she might trip up on if she wasn’t thinking straight. She’d get muddled up with the ‘hear’ and the ‘say’, knowing her.

Try again. ‘Steve, I’m sorry,’ she said instead.

Yes. To the point. Easy to remember. ‘I’m sorry things went a bit wrong on Friday,’ she went on, warming to the theme. ‘It was a surprise, that’s all. I didn’t mean to hurt you.’ Good, all good.

She pondered for a moment. ‘The thing is, I just don’t think I’m the marrying type – but that doesn’t mean I want us to split up. I don’t. So . . .’

Sighing, she pulled out her lipstick and rolled some colour onto her mouth, then applied some mascara in the hope of making herself slightly less haggard-looking. You never could tell,
Steve
might actually have a speech all lined up. She might go in the house and he’d be there, apologizing to
her
for putting her on the spot, of course it didn’t matter about marriage and children, the main thing was that they were together. That was what counted . . .

She felt relieved at the idea. They could talk it out, resolve their differences, and all would be well again. She raised her eyebrows at her reflection. ‘Well, let’s find out,’ she said to herself, starting the engine.

Katie’s heart thumped as she parked near the house and opened the car door. Cool, calm, collected, she reminded herself, reaching over to grab her cardigan and bag from the passenger seat. Apologetic. Nice. Rational.

Her fingers felt clammy on the door key; it took her a few goes to get it into the lock and twist. She pushed the front door open and stepped inside. ‘Hello?’

Dead silence greeted her. ‘Steve?’ she called into the empty hall. Dust motes swayed and danced in the shaft of light streaming in from behind her. But there was no sound or sign of him.

She turned on the spot and looked out at the road. Had he gone? Her eyes searched for his car but it wasn’t there. Oh no! He must have driven off while she was parked round the corner, plotting her speech. And now she was too late!

Katie felt a wave of dismay break over her. Just as she’d been all geared up for reconciliation and UN peace talks as well! Blindly, she dumped her cardigan and bag on the little table in the hallway and kicked off her shoes, feeling as if all the life was draining out of her. She couldn’t believe she’d missed him. If she’d known he was in such a hurry, she’d have rushed here quicker, ad-libbed the whole scene.

But then a thought struck her.
Hold on a minute.
The fact that he’d come back was a good sign, sure, but where had he gone now?

Her mouth went dry. What if he’d come back for his stuff, then gone away for good?

Her legs felt like jelly as she pounded up the stairs. Their sunny bedroom at the front of the house looked different, she could tell at once. His alarm clock had vanished. There was a stray black sock on the floor. And . . . Oh God. His suitcase had disappeared from its usual place up on the wardrobe.

She sank onto the bed, trying to take it in. He’d moved out. He’d actually left her! He’d sneaked in when he thought she’d be at work, packed some stuff and gone again, without so much as a note. What a coward. What a bastard!

She put her head in her hands, too shocked to cry. She felt numb, just trying to absorb the shock. But then anger began to rise through her steadily – anger that he’d run out on her in such a crap way, ducking the problem. Probably embarrassed that she’d turned down his proposal, as Alice had suggested. But there was no need to take such drastic action, was there? Bloody hell!

That was men for you. Emotional retards, the lot of them. And to think she’d been all set to try again with him, patch things up. To think that just a few days ago, he’d wanted to marry her – and now he’d buggered off. Honestly! How pathetic could you get?

Well, good riddance to him. Yeah! Good bloody riddance, Steve. She gave a hollow laugh, her fists clenched. She didn’t need him anyway. She didn’t need anybody!

An hour later, Katie was convinced she was a complete sadomasochist. Why else would she have heaved out all the holiday photo albums to leaf through, stopping to wipe away tears and blow her nose every other page?

There they were, her and Steve outside the Grand Palace in Bangkok. Their first holiday abroad together last autumn. They’d bought return flights to Bangkok, with Steve insisting that rocking up in the hectic capital with no accommodation booked would be much more exciting and fun than having everything arranged. Katie, of course, hadn’t been able to resist poring over the Internet and her Lonely Planet book, and had secretly booked them into a B&B just off the Khao San Road. That was the difference between them, you see.