It's Raining Men (14 page)

The trouble was, times were changing fast. For a start there was that Internet thing that could spread information and rumours around the world in seconds. The world was shrinking and their
peaceful, isolated life was under threat. People were even starting to come to Ren Dullem. That hadn’t happened for many years. Gladys knew that yesterday the first lot of offcumdens had
arrived in the cottage Gene Hathersage had decided to rent out.

From now on Gladys was going to have to be very watchful and very careful.

Clare was still in bed when Lara and May returned to Well Cottage. May put the battery back in her phone to find there was another missed call from Michael from the previous
evening. Just seeing his name on the screen pierced her below the rib. She should go into Contacts and edit his name to ‘lying dickhead’ because that’s what he was. So why was she
suddenly having a rush of missing-him feelings? How long would it take her stupid heart to catch up with her more sensible and dignified brain?

She handed the phone over to Lara, who was eager to get them out of this mess. Lara fiddled with the phone then growled to the heavens.

‘I can’t believe it. There’s no signal. What a godforsaken hole.’ She thought for a moment, tapping the phone against her lips. ‘Okay, here’s what we do.
We’ll book in at the spa and just leave the cottage. I’ll pay for it.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said May, squeezing her arm. She didn’t want Lara to be upset. It wasn’t the end of the world that a mistake had been made. May was just
happy to be anywhere but Surbiton expecting Michael to turn up with a charm offensive.

‘No, I got us into this mess, I’ll get us out.’

‘There’s a landline phone. I’ll ring directory enquiries,’ said May, crossing to the table in the corner where an ancient black Bakelite phone stood. ‘I’ll
see what the spa say. Fingers crossed they’ll understand.

‘Bet it doesn’t work,’ tutted Lara, cross now that she had destroyed her phone and couldn’t retrieve the booking confirmation to see what it said.

The old phone did work though. May rang and wrote down the number for the spa at Wellem and then rang it. The half of the conversation Lara was listening to didn’t sound too promising.

‘They’ve got no vacancies,’ said May, covering up the mouthpiece as she conveyed the message to Lara.

‘None at all?’ groaned Lara. ‘They must have. Speak to the manageress.’

‘I am. But she’s not being very helpful.’

‘Let me have a word,’ said Lara, who had a much more authoritative voice than May’s gentle tones.

‘Be my guest,’ replied May, handing over the phone. Lara was so much better at confrontations than she would ever be.

‘Good morning,’ began Lara in her best I’ll-get-my-own-way-so-let’s-not-waste-time-twatting-about-shall-we? voice. ‘I understand you have no vacancies.’

‘That’s correct,’ said the voice at the other end, immediately summoning up in Lara’s head a picture of a woman whose mouth was stuffed with Krug-soaked plums.

‘My friend has, of course, explained to you—’

‘I’m afraid there are no vacancies however much you want to dress up the facts. Not until the seventeenth of October,’ said plum-filled-gob woman with an exasperated little
laugh. Was everyone in the area determined to be impolite and unhelpful?

‘I’m sure if I were Kylie Minogue arriving with an entourage you’d find us a vacancy,’ Lara snapped.

‘Probably, but you aren’t, are you?’ And with that the phone went down before Lara could answer her, which was just as well because Lara’s face was turning puce.

Lara put the receiver back on the cradle and tried not to scream. It was only then she saw the writing on a piece of paper tucked underneath the phone:
All phone calls will be billed
separately.

As if the man wasn’t getting enough of their money.

Lara’s next call was to the Superior Cottages Holiday Agency but apparently the girl who had made the original booking had left, and though the manageress made a lot of sympathetic noises,
she did point out that if the booking was incorrect the error should have been pointed out at the time. She pulled up the confirmation email at her end and the booking read:
We l l Cottage,
Dullem.
So no, they couldn’t have a refund. Lara, for once, found herself beaten.

‘What the hell are we going to do?’ she said. She felt like crying, which wasn’t like her at all. She was Miss Super Efficient, who never made mistakes and never took no for an
answer. ‘Shall we go home?’

May was horrified at the idea. Home was the last place she wanted to go. She wanted to be as far away from Michael as possible, and the bonus for her was that if they weren’t in Wellem, as
he thought, there was no chance that he would turn up out of the blue. ‘Why don’t we stay?’ she suggested.

‘Here? In this . . . this . . .’ Lara was going to say dump, but it wasn’t really. A little shabby in a chic kind of way, but clean and cosy and so very peaceful. And the
terrace was lovely. The thought of going back to Surrey and picking up the pieces of her relationship, sifting through them for any hope, turned her cold. That was if any of that relationship still
existed. She couldn’t be sure that Tianne hadn’t bagged all her clothes up and left them out for the Monday bin men. And as her flat was being rented out, she didn’t have a home
of her own to go back to. She was between the devil and the deep blue sea. And, at this moment, the deep blue sea was marginally closer.

‘Morning,’ said a voice, interrupting her thoughts. Into the lounge walked Clare, in very baggy pink pyjamas, rubbing her hands together. ‘What’s happening? Are we
heading up to the spa, then? I want to check out the super-duper pool with the Grecian pillars.’

‘Do you want the bad news first,’ replied Lara, ‘or the really bad news?’

‘And how does he get off charging one hundred and fifty pounds for a bit of bacon and cheese?’ Lara snapped, looking in the fridge at the contents of the
far-from-luxury hamper. She heard a snap behind her and turned to see Clare putting on some rubber gloves.

‘You’re not serious,’ she said, guessing exactly what was going to happen next.

‘If I’m going to be staying in this cottage, it’s getting a fettle,’ Clare said. Her words came back at her as a faint echo – she couldn’t remember the last
time she had used the word ‘fettle’. The first time she had used it in front of Ludwig he had said, ‘I have lived in England since I was ten years old and I have never heard this
word. What on earth does it mean?’ Then he had tried the word in his mouth and laughed like a drain for no real reason, which set her off laughing and they fell onto the sofa and the laughter
gave way to some serious snogging. She stole a look at her watch and wondered what time it was in Dubai. And what Lud would be doing. And with whom.

‘Well, I don’t know about you two, but I’m starving,’ said May. Her stomach was making all sorts of feed-me noises. ‘Shall we go and find somewhere to eat and do a
bit of exploring before you whisk out your bleach?’

On cue, Lara’s stomach grumbled. She’d been so cross she’d forgotten they hadn’t had breakfast. And she didn’t fancy cooking up what
that man
had left on
the table. Luxury hamper indeed. She’d get her money back for that as well or die in the process.

They walked down the hill again and Lara showed Clare where the rude Hathersage bloke lived and the shop of staring people.

‘What the heck are those?’ Clare asked, pointing upwards. ‘I’ve never seen such pathetic clouds in my life.’

‘God knows. This place is weird with a capital “W”. The people are even weirder.’ As Lara said this, they passed a row of houses and in every one of the five a curtain
drew back and a male head was seen, candidly staring out. ‘See? I’ll have a complex by the time we get back home. If we get back home. We might have been imprisoned in a new
Wicker
Man
and burned by next week.’

‘Can you smell the sea?’ said Clare, pulling the salt air up into her lungs. She could live without the promise of a gorgeous spa pool if she was able to swim in the sea, which she
would much prefer, if she were honest. She was a bit concerned about the hygiene of pools but not at all about the sea, even though Lara had once teased her about whales weeing in it. Clare loved
the sea. She had always wanted to live by it, but had never had the chance – work kept her away. And being near to the great expanse of water now brought all those longings flooding back. She
could have been living in Dubai, she thought, with the ocean on her doorstep. Lud was a strong swimmer too. They loved to swim together . . .

She shook the thought of Lud away. There was no point thinking of him now; she had made her bed and would have to lie in it, and it was a bed without the once-loving German man who had ranked
her above his work. She couldn’t have Dubai and him if she wanted the job of a lifetime and her parents’ approval and there was no point in choosing a man for whom she was obviously
losing her value. There had only been one decision she could have made in the end.

Coming up the hill was a crocodile of ten small children all waving home-made flags with lettering on them:
Dullem Summer School
. They were led by a very good-looking male teacher with
curly blond hair and Paul Newman baby-blue eyes. As they passed, he and the children – all male – stared at the women in the way that May and Lara were fast becoming used to.

‘What the heck is wrong with us?’ hissed Clare. ‘Have they never seen a stranger before?’

‘Tell you what I haven’t seen yet – any women,’ said May.

They carried on wending their way down the hill, passing a cute little school on the right with a tiny square of playground. The building looked as old as the rest. A row of houses on the left
looked abandoned, the roof crumbling in on three of them. Ribbon-thin cobbled streets, far too narrow for cars, spidered off on both sides of the road and looked ripe for exploring.

May sighed. ‘This would be so beautiful if it weren’t for those damned clouds casting a grey gloom over everything.’ She visualized the sun lighting up the white-painted
buildings and shining down on the pocket-sized beer garden of the pub they were just about to pass, the Crab and Bucket. It had a chalkboard sign outside which read:
Today’s special,
fisherman’s pie
.

‘Nice name. Are we going in, then?’ said May.

‘What, and have the whole pub stop drinking and stare at us? No, thanks,’ said Lara.

‘I’m not going into the bar with my eyes,’ added Clare.

‘Well you can’t go in without them, lovely,’ laughed May. ‘Anyway, you have beautiful eyes.’

‘Which just happen to be different colours. Why couldn’t they both be green or blue? Why did I have to have one of each?’

‘Vive la différence,’ grinned Lara.

But May knew where Clare was coming from. Like her friend, May wanted to blend in and not stand out. If there had been an operation to shrink her and totally erase that silver line of scar from
her face, she would have had it immediately.

‘They’ll burn me for being a witch,’ Clare went on.

‘Well, let’s carry on a bit further and see if we can find a nice café,’ May suggested, noticing another curtain twitch in another house. Jesus. It was like being in a
John Wyndham novel. She’d bet anything that when they got to the heart of the village they would encounter a load of white-blond kids and some walking man-eating plants that turned everyone
blind.

They passed a butcher’s shop, a greengrocer and an equally small bakery, all of them with just enough room for the counter and two customers. The shopkeepers – no surprise –
stopped serving to look at the three strangers passing by the windows.

‘Still no women,’ said May, out of the corner of her mouth. ‘That’s bizarre.’

There was a pretty post office covered in ivy and next door to it a shop that, if the bay-windowed display was anything to go by, sold an assortment of sweets, gifts, pipes and wrapping paper.
They passed some more rundown cottages that looked on the verge of crumbling like shortbread biscuits, a shop with a window display full of blue school uniforms, then – at last – they
were at the sea front and there they found a café called, not very imaginatively, the Front Café.

‘Hallelujah,’ said Lara. ‘Now we’re talking. Get ready for more stares.’

Seeing customers inside, she paused before pushing open the door. It wasn’t pleasant being the focus of this sort of attention; in fact it was downright creepy.

‘Let’s just go in and get it over with,’ said Clare. ‘They’ll take one look at my eyes and I’ll be the one up for sacrifice, so you shouldn’t
worry.’

Lara opened the door and, sure enough, everyone’s conversation cut off. Those in chairs with their backs facing them turned round to see the newcomers. Lara, May and Clare sat down at the
nearest table and each picked up a menu, keeping their heads down until the novelty value wore off. Lara fished her glasses out of her handbag, grateful that whilst the words on the sheet were
clear through them, the rest of the room was blurred. Ah, the joy of being long-sighted. It seemed ages until a general hum of conversation started up again and people returned their attention to
their coffees.

‘The waitress is a woman,’ whispered Lara. ‘They do exist in Ren Dullem after—’ She bit off the rest of the sentence as a young, generously built woman with a very
bonny face waddled over, taking a notepad out of her pink stripy apron pocket.

‘What can I get you . . . ladies?’ she said briskly, but pleasantly. She looked quickly from one to the other, her eyes reaching Clare last. And then a curious thing happened: her
mouth rounded into a silent gasp and her whole face softened into a smile. Her eyes were locked on Clare’s as if they couldn’t believe what they were seeing. ‘Oh, my.’ Clare
was used to people taking a second glance at her different-coloured eyes but she’d never had someone stare at them so brazenly.

‘Erm . . .’ Lara traced her finger down the page. ‘Could I have a cheese and ham toastie, please?’ It was a bit early for chips but she ordered them anyway.