The Near & Far Series

by Serena Clarke

  She must have looked as sceptical as she felt. At least he didn’t start with ‘Therese says’.

  He began again. “We were just friends. I mean, we are just friends.”

  She sighed at the cliché. “You know, I’ve had a lot of time to think lately.” Once, she spent her days remembering what they’d done the night before, and imagining what they’d do again that night. But with most of Rob’s nights devoted to the show, her empty bed had given her plenty of opportunity to think. And without the nights, the mismatch appeared in plain daylight. “We’re not really right for each other, are we?”

  “It felt right to me,” he said. “All those nights. I know you felt it too…over and over again.” He reached for her, but she stepped back. The old magic was gone, the denial no longer blissful.

  “It’s just not enough.”

  “It used to be,” he said. “We were dynamite, you know that.”

  “I know.” She looked at the hand he held out, and remembered the touch that she’d risen to meet, hungry for more. She looked at the lips that had travelled her body with intoxicating precision. Then she looked in his eyes, and remembered the truth. “But it wasn’t enough to build something real. Something that would stand up in the real world. You should be looking for more than that too.”

  He shook his head. “Last night, that was just one mistake. I don’t even know why it happened.”

  “Rob,” she said. “If you really don’t know why, maybe you need to do some thinking too.”

  He shook his head. “It’s just been a crazy time. Therese says ups and downs are inevitable when you’re in the media.”

  There it was. Therese says. She held herself steady, as she’d done so often when faced with the woman herself. “That might be true,” she said. “But it doesn’t make it okay.”

  “Babe, just think about it. Don’t make any decisions. There’s only one more night to go.”

  As she saw him out, she gave nothing away. But her decision was made. The next day, she grabbed a last-minute ticket online and packed a suitcase. Time to resume her original plan.

  On the way to the airport, her mum assured her the business would get along fine. Her dad didn’t say much, but his face was grim and his knuckles were white on the steering wheel. She sat in the back seat watching the familiar green landscape passing by, and said a silent goodbye, to more things than she could bear to think about.

  * * *

  Now she pulled herself back to the present, a different city rolling past the window. She squinted out through the London rain. She was moving on. She had moved on.

  “I think it’s lovely that you’re helping Helena so much,” Mia said, catching her eye in the rear view mirror.

  “Yes, women should stick together more than they do,” said Cass. “I don’t know why we’re so competitive and judgemental with each other. We should back each other up.”

  “I’m glad you feel that way,” Livi replied, “because I had to promise the makeup artist a free colour to get her this afternoon. She had to rearrange her clients.”

  Cass laughed. “Take me for granted, why don’t you! That’s okay. Anyway, you’re in charge of my appointments, just tuck her in somewhere secretly.”

  “We should probably do it when Nicolette’s not there.”

  “Do it at my place, if you like,” Mia offered. “I’ve got a full range. I could do dinner afterwards.”

  Cass had first met Mia at a product launch for colourists. Ending up in the same group to watch a demonstration, each recognised a kindred spirit in the other, and they were tucked up in a bar, wine glasses in hand, before the model’s last foil was in place. Since then Mia had decided she was fed up with working in a salon, no matter how swanky. She only took a few select, desperately grateful clients at her house in Notting Hill. And each of those desperately grateful clients had a clutch of desperately hopeful friends waiting for a chance to get through her front door. Mia knew, with only a look, which combinations of tones and highlights would flatter and frame even the most sallow, tired face. Those lucky ones stepped back out, almost unbelieving, looking and feeling brighter, lighter, and ready to take on the world. They invariably stopped for a moment between the pillars outside the door to feel their locks, glossy and new, before proceeding down the white steps like pageant contestants. Not surprisingly, Mia felt perfectly justified in charging a small fortune for her talents.

  Not that she needed to earn anything if she didn’t feel like it. Her father was a Swedish baron (or a count, or a knight, Livi had never figured out exactly which). After her mother died, when Mia was only three, they moved to London with her grandmother. While her father immersed himself in using the family money to build a property empire, Mia and her Farmor Ingela made a home in England.

  “Dinner? Don’t say you’ve given in and started cooking now that Farmor’s gone,” Cass teased.

  They’d come to know Mia’s grandmother so well that she insisted they also call her Farmor, explaining that it was the Swedish name for your father’s mother. In her opinion, Farmor said, the more granddaughters the better.

  “Oh, no,” Mia said now. Her neat blonde bob swung and settled again as she shook her head, and she patted her (only slightly rounded) middle. “But we’ll have real food. Farmor would be on the first flight back if she thought I was eating fast food. I found a place that does ready-made meals to reheat at home. I had a divine duck leg confit from there last week.”

  Cass screwed up her nose. “I don’t think I could eat any part of a duck.” She paused. “Though I suppose it’s the same as eating chicken, when you think about it…”

  Livi stretched her seatbelt to lean forward. “Is Farmor enjoying being home?”

  “Well, she lived here for such a long time, she says she’s not sure where home is now. So she’s experimenting. Testing it out.”

  “What about you? Have you thought about moving back too?”

  Mia shook her head. “No, not me, I won’t go back. But I’ve been here all my life. All the life I can remember, anyway. England is home for me.”

  Is home where you begin, or where you grow up…or where you end up? Livi wondered. There were times when her heart hurt for the things she’d left behind. Little things, mostly. The sweet, soft air. Walking in bare feet. The heavenly ice cream. But bigger things too. Friends. Family. The ease of being in the place that’s yours. Even if it was only yours for a while.

  “I love that you stay Swedish enough for the Saab though,” Cass said, patting the tan leather seat.

  “Of course! It was that or a Volvo. But I’m saving the Volvo for when I have some kids to put in it. Touch wood.” She pressed her fingers to the glowing woodgrain on the dashboard. Then she stopped at an intersection, and squinted through the rain at a cluster of road signs. “Could someone check the map? The Saab is great, but it won’t get us out of London by itself.”

  Cass looked at her phone. “Right,” she announced, with an air of authority. “The A23 to the M23 to the A264 to…oh, but there’s the A22, that looks better. How would you get onto that? Just a minute…”

  Mia turned to Livi with a grin. “Lucky we’re not expecting your American until tomorrow.”

  * * *

  Although it wasn’t much more than an hour’s drive, thanks to the rain they arrived in Hartfield in a gloomy half-dark. Mia found a spot in the pub car park, and they made a dash up the stairs and fell gratefully through the old wooden doors.

  “This is great,” Livi said, looking around at dark beams, comfy seats, and a sea of cheerful faces.

  Cass elbowed her and pointed out the handsome bartender. “I agree.”

  Before long, they were ensconced at a table with beer and crisps.

  “I don’t know why we let him talk us into this,” said Livi, tentatively sipping dark liquid through the foam on her Westerham Grasshopper. “Whew, I see why they call it a bitter. Thank goodness they’re only halves.” Cass had refused the barman’s offer of pints, insisting
that a half was much more ladylike.

  “This experiment seems to have an animal theme,” Mia said. “You with a Grasshopper, me with Black Sheep Bitter, and British Bulldog for Cass. Do you think he was having a laugh?”

  “Well, if he was I can’t bring myself to mind,” Cass replied, watching him pull another smooth pint. “I’d put myself in his hands any day. Although one of these will be enough, I think. It’s a bit manly for me.”

  “Good. You don’t want a hangover for tomorrow.” Mia sent her a firm look. “Now, I’ve done some finding out, as promised.”

  Because Mia was even more organised than Livi, and definitely more meticulous than Cass, she’d volunteered to do some research before their visit. She pulled a folder out of her bag and found space for it on the table.

  “A dossier!” Cass said. “I’m terribly impressed.”

  “Mock if you like,” Mia retorted. “This is good stuff.” She brushed away crisp crumbs and opened the folder.

  “So, clue number one—Cotchford Farm. Date, 8/27—tomorrow. Home of A.A. Milne, author of When We Were Very Young, Now We Are Six, the Winnie-the-Pooh books. And of his son, Christopher, as in Christopher Robin. If we have good weather tomorrow, we can go exploring in the Hundred Acre Wood. Apparently all the places in the books are based on real places around here.”

  “That’s sweet!” Cass exclaimed. “But why would Livi’s American be interested in Pooh Bear? That doesn’t seem right.”

  Livi frowned. “It does seem a bit strange. He didn’t seem that type…whatever that type would be.”

  “Ah, but wait.” Mia made a show of turning to a new page in the folder. “There’s more. A.A. Milne and Christopher Robin weren’t the only famous people who lived at the farm. Brian Jones lived there too, in the sixties.”

  Livi looked blank. “Brian Jones?”

  “You know, the Rolling Stones,” Cass explained. “He was the guitarist. Who replaced him, Ronnie Wood? Maybe there was someone else first. My dad will know, he loves the Stones. But didn’t Brian Jones drown?”

  “Yes.” Mia paused for effect. “He drowned in the swimming pool at Cotchford Farm. It was ruled death by misadventure, but some people believe he was murdered.”

  There was silence at the table while they absorbed this information.

  “That’s not so sweet,” Cass said, looking at Livi.

  “And best of all,” Mia continued, “or maybe worst of all, the Brian Jones Fan Club was selling actual tiles from the swimming pool. All numbered, with a certificate of authenticity.”

  “No!” Livi was horrified, but couldn’t help laughing.

  “Yes, one hundred and thirty pounds, plus post and packing. A bargain.”

  “I really don’t know what to make of that.” Livi shook her head. “But I think I’d prefer him to be a Pooh Bear fan.”

  “Still,” said Cass, “on the positive side, that may have solved my birthday present dilemma for Dad.” And she gave the barman a wave and her sweetest smile.

  “Maybe he just knows the people who live there now,” Livi suggested.

  “Maybe,” said Mia. “But I had a look at the other locations too. I’m not sure about the ‘Golders Green 3P’ that he wrote on the A–Z page—it could be anything. I need to spend more time on that. But there is something significant about Rue Beautreillis.” She looked at their expectant faces. “Jim Morrison had an apartment at number seventeen. He died in the bathtub there.”

  “No!” Livi said again. But this time there was no laughing. Another watery death. She could see the others struggling to think of something positive to say.

  “I didn’t want to say anything before, in case it put you off coming today,” Mia said.

  “It could just be a coincidence,” offered Cass, always the optimist.

  “I suppose so,” Livi said. But if it was just a coincidence, it was an uncomfortably unpleasant one. She took a bracing sip of the Grasshopper. He’d looked pretty clean-cut…but under the surface, it could be a completely different story. If they did find this American, she’d better be ready for anything.

  Eleven

  The clear, bright day that dawned seemed to lessen the misgivings of the night before. After a cooked breakfast, with plenty of tea, they all felt ready for action. Armed with Mia’s research and a collective sense of purpose, they headed down the high street and out of the village. In the morning light, Livi felt like she was being driven along the top of a chocolate box, the city weight of London falling away.

  “Oh, this is gorgeous,” she enthused. “Such beautiful buildings, and look, Pooh Corner!” She practically bounced in her seat, Tigger-like. “That looks so lovely, we have to stop there on the way back.”

  “Maybe your American will be in there, hanging out with Piglet and eating a pot of honey,” teased Cass. “Honey for the honey.”

  “I hope so. Better than the alternative.”

  Cass nodded. “Shame it’s not actually on the corner though.”

  Soon they were in green fields on both sides, up and back down a steep hill, and then they were turning right into Cotchford Lane. Livi suddenly felt her stomach cramp with nerves. She looked down at the leather satchel sitting on the seat next to her, and held her middle. There’s no need for that, she told her belly. All we’re doing is returning something lost.

  Mia and Cass looked over their shoulders at her. Apparently that last part had come out louder than she intended

  “Returning something lost, did you say?” asked Mia.

  “Yes, and finding something new for you too,” said Cass, sitting up straighter as Mia stopped the car in the lane. They all peered down a leafy driveway. “Something good, I’m sure. And he could be just down there.”

  “Cass, less drama, not more, would be good,” Livi pleaded. “My insides are all twisty-turny.”

  “Sorry,” she replied. “But fate can have that effect on people,” she added, looking in the direction of the farm.

  “Less fate, more action,” Mia said decisively, unbuckling her seatbelt. “This is what we came for. Bring the bag, Livi.”

  As they walked down the driveway, the house came into view, warm red brick with deeply pitched roofs, two chimneys anchoring it into the slope of the hill. Flowers bloomed in front, and climbers swathed the walls and tickled the white window trims.

  “Now that is chocolate box,” Livi said, forgetting her nerves for a moment.

  “Definitely more Pooh Bear than sex and drugs and rock ’n’ roll,” said Cass. “Although, it has a bit of Miss Marple about it. It’s very quiet.”

  She was right. There were no cars in the driveway, and the windows were all firmly shut against the morning air. Livi’s stomach relaxed a little, but disappointment shuffled quietly up behind her.

  Then a man came around the corner of the house, and they all jumped, along with her stomach.

  “Can I help you?” he asked.

  Cass and Mia both looked to Livi, two sets of raised eyebrows, but she shook her head. He was tall, and not completely unattractive, but he was carrying garden shears, and he wasn’t the American.

  “Um, we were looking for someone. An American, um, visitor…” She realised she didn’t know where to start explaining, but he saved her from further fumbling.

  “Nobody’s here today. They’ve gone up to London.” He narrowed his eyes. “It was to meet an American. He was supposed to come here. Do you know him?”

  Disappointment now gave her a hefty shove in the back. So near and yet so far. She searched about for what to say. “No, actually, we were hoping you did.”

  Suspicion hardened his expression, and he swung the sharp-looking shears around in front of him. “And you are?”

  All three of them looked nervously at the long blades. Then Cass stepped forward, smiling.

  “We’re sorry to have troubled you, we’re just doing a tour of Pooh Bear country and we were hoping to find a friend.”

  His face only softened a little as he looked her up and
down. “Well, this isn’t a tour stop, this is someone’s home. Between you crazy toy people and those Jones fanatics, there’s no peace. Honestly, a bit of respect.” He brandished the shears. “I’ve got edgings to trim and a pool to clean.” And he stomped away.

  They took their chance and scuttled back down the driveway, hearts on hold. Once they were all bundled into the car, they breathed sighs of relief.

  “Whoa,” said Livi.

  The others could only nod.

  “We were on the right track though,” she said. “He could have been here. We were so close.”

  “Fate delayed is fate denied,” said Cass sadly. Then, “I could go a drink about now.”

  “That’s justice delayed,” Livi pointed out. “And denied. But I could do with something to steady my nerves too.”

  “It’s too early for that,” said Mia. “Although, there is something else soothing we could do. It’s a surprise.” She started the car and turned it back to the main road. “I don’t think it’s far.”

  Livi and Cass wanted to know more, but she wouldn’t be drawn. Soon they were turning into a car park, still in the countryside. They all got out and Mia herded them down a path.

  “Trust me,” she said. “And while we’re walking, find some sticks.”

  “Sticks?” they both asked.

  But she just kept walking, stopping every so often to gather up a fallen twig or branch, so they did the same. Eventually, after going through woods and meadows, they were in the trees again. The sun speckled gently through the summer leaves, and a rustic wooden bridge arched over a narrow river.

  “This,” said Mia with obvious satisfaction, “is Poohsticks Bridge. I read that you can walk here from the farm, but it was probably better to drive, given the circumstances.”

  Livi’s face was stuck in a big grin. “Oh, that’s what the sticks are for!”

  “This is too sweet,” Cass said. “I love it!”

  “It’s exactly how it should be,” said Livi.

  “Good,” said Mia. “Let’s play then.”