Be Careful What You Wish For

by Vivien Brown

  Joe? Madi had no idea who Joe might be and didn’t think it her place to ask. She bit her tongue. If this Prue didn’t want to be found, it wasn’t for her to give the game away. ‘Sorry. No.’

  ‘Right. Well, if you do hear from her, would you let me know?’

  Madi gave a non-committal nod.

  ‘Anyway, I mustn’t keep you. Nice to meet you, Madi, and if you fancy a chat or a coffee, I’m just down the lane there. Orchard House. Not that we’ve got an actual orchard, or even one apple tree these days, but these old names stick, don’t they? Like the snowdrops here.’ She pointed at the name on the cottage door. ‘You’ve probably seen that there aren’t any. Still, any morning will suit me, if you want to pop down. I’m working up at the new vets’ surgery in the afternoons. Well, not every afternoon, but still helping out when needed. My husband’s the vet, you see. The senior partner.’

  ‘Yes, I know the place. I went there for the keys when I arrived. I met … Sian, was it?’

  ‘Ah, yes, Sian. Lovely girl. Prue’s best friend, ever since they were at school together, and even she doesn’t know where she’s gone. Or, if she does, she’s not telling. Kids, eh?’ She let out something that sounded halfway between a huff and a snort, and retreated back through the gate, waving over her shoulder but not looking back.

  Madi waited until she had walked off to the right, gone around the corner and out of sight before following her as far as the gate and then turning the other way. Best to keep her distance for now and avoid another grilling about something that really was none of her business.

  She walked slowly, enjoying the peace and quiet. So, Prue was young then? A kid, her mother had called her, although judging by the best friend she had met yesterday, she guessed they were probably both in their early to mid-twenties. A lot younger than she had imagined Prue to be, from the outdated look of the cottage, but the fact it had until recently belonged to her elderly grandmother explained a lot.

  This time, she didn’t take the turning by the church that led up to the surgery, but carried on past it, back in the direction from which she had driven into the village the previous afternoon. She remembered passing a small row of shops, although they had looked closed, it being a Sunday, and a sleepy-looking pub, The Brown Cow, caught in the lull between lunchtime and evening drinking hours, with only a couple of cars in its gravelled car park. Today things were different. There was a delivery in progress at the pub, with all the banging and crashing of barrels and trap doors, and someone cursing as they dropped a box of crisps. Alongside it was a small antique shop that Madi made a mental note to investigate later and, strangely, for such a small village, an estate agency. She stopped to look at the photos and read the cards in the window, amazed at just how cheap property was around here, when compared to the exorbitant prices she was used to back at home.

  At the end of the row, the village shop was definitely open, with piles of goods lined up on the narrow pavement outside. From buckets and mops to bags of potatoes and with an ice-cream advertising plaque, a lottery sign and a rack of newspapers attached to the wall, it was clearly one of those places that sold anything and everything. Madi peered in through the window and was amused to see a pair of eyes looking right back at her. She was about to walk past, leaving any shopping until her return journey, but a head appeared at the open doorway and a hand beckoned her in.

  ‘Ah, you must be Prue’s friend. My daughter, Sian, said she’d met you. Come on in and rest your legs a while.’

  Madi smiled. The jungle drums had clearly not been slow to beat out news of her arrival and, having only walked a hundred yards or so from her front door, her legs were not yet in need of a rest, but she went inside anyway.

  ‘Now, my dear, let me introduce myself. Patty Martin, that’s me. Shopkeeper, postmistress, dog walker, mobile hairdresser. You name it and I’m probably it. I run the local branch of the W.I. as well, if you’re interested. We’re always happy to welcome guests.’

  ‘Well, you certainly keep busy!’

  ‘I try. Not one of those who can sit about doing nothing. Idle hands and all that! I help out in our little lending library too, when I can. Not that it’s the sort of library you’re probably used to, but we do our best. Donated books mainly, stored in a corner of the village hall, but it can be a lifeline to the older folk, and those that live on their own. We open twice a week, Wednesdays and Saturdays, just for an hour or so in the afternoons, if you fancy borrowing something to read while you’re here.’

  ‘Thank you. I’ll keep it in mind. Maybe just a newspaper for now?’ Madi went back to the still open door and pulled one down from the rack. ‘And I was going to wait until I came back past later to pick up a few other bits …’

  ‘Of course, but if you want to do your shopping now I’m happy to hang on to it for a while until you collect it.’

  Madi nodded. ‘Okay.’ It would have seemed rude somehow to say no.

  ‘Just grab a wire basket from over there. Shout if you can’t find what you want. It can be a bit of an Aladdin’s cave in here until you get used to the layout. Not enough space, but I pride myself on offering a wide choice.’ The woman slid back behind her counter and picked up what looked like a piece of half-finished crochet. There were no other customers in sight.

  Madi wondered how a place like this could possibly make any money but she was grateful it was here, nonetheless, saving her a drive to the nearest town.

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t catch your name,’ the woman said five minutes later as she totted up Madi’s purchases on an old-fashioned till and piled them up at the end of the counter. ‘Or if our Sian told me, I’m afraid I’ve already forgotten it!’

  ‘It’s Madi.’

  ‘Nice to meet you, Madi dear, although I’m sure I’ve seen your face somewhere.’ She tilted her head as if trying to remember something. ‘You’ve not been to Shelling before, have you?’

  ‘No, never.’ Madi smiled to herself. It was good to know she wasn’t the only one who struggled to remember things sometimes.

  ‘Oh, well. Never mind. It’ll come to me, I’m sure. Now, I’ll keep this little lot safe until you walk back, don’t you worry. And you know where I am now, so don’t be a stranger. Always nice to have someone new to chat to.’ She smiled, switching to a ridiculous American accent and adding, ‘Have a nice day,’ as Madi went back out into the street, the empty shopping bag still swinging on her arm.

  Chapter 6

  It’s not her feet I hear on the stairs. Too fast, no high heels, too light a tread. No, there’s definitely someone else there. Coming. Going. Living.

  It’s not like her to have someone stay the night, so something’s changed. Has she taken in a lodger? A carer? Perhaps I was wrong about her getting over her illness. Perhaps she’s sicker than I thought. Or maybe it’s a man! I try to imagine her having a love life. A sex life. Finding someone new, at her age, and after all this time. It’s not something I want to think about too deeply. It conjures up images I’d rather not explore.

  But if she has … what then? Will she marry? Move away? Leave the flat empty? I have imagined many things, but never that. There is nothing I would like more than for her to leave, but something tells me she’s here for the duration. Or would like to be. The memories tie her down, just as mine do. We are where he wanted us to be. Kept close. Linked. Like a prized stamp collection, or a tea set, all the pieces having to stay together or they will be incomplete, lose their worth, their usefulness, their reason for being.

  There’s only really one way out, of course. And only one way to win. And that’s to drive her away, to be the last man standing. Or the last woman, should I say? One down, two to go. It’s either her or me now. I’m not sure if she realises that. If she even knows who I am. But one thing’s for sure. I know who she is, and I’m going nowhere.

  Chapter 7

  PRUE

  There was another letter for Madi in the tray in the hallway and it looked important. Not that you could always tell,
but this one had the NHS logo plastered right across the top, and they had used first class post. Prue picked it up and shoved it into her coat pocket for safety.

  She walked quickly to the nearby shops to buy a bottle of milk and a box of Coco Pops, and then went straight back up to the flat. Whatever sightseeing plans she had for the day were pretty vague and there was nothing to stop her putting off her trip for an hour or so while she sat down and sent an email to find out what she should do about the letters, and any more that might turn up. Leaving them in a public hallway where anyone could take them or tamper with them just felt wrong somehow. It would be a nice gesture to check that Madi was settling in okay anyway, and emailing would give her a chance to ask about Flo, whom she missed really badly every time she thought about her.

  She dropped the letter on the coffee table with the others, dug out her old laptop and tried to switch it on, but the battery was dead. She pulled out the cable from its case and plugged it into the mains, then, while the system was firing up, which took ages these days, she went on a hunt for the wi-fi code that Madi had been unable to remember but had assured her, in her last hastily written email before she left, must still be there, written on the original installation sticker on the back of the router. Prue found it on a high shelf in a corner of the kitchen, the blue light at the front reassuring her that everything was in working order, and hurriedly grabbed a pen and scribbled the code down on a sheet of paper from a narrow pad headed ‘Shopping List’ which she spotted stuck to the side of the fridge.

  There were eleven unopened emails waiting on the screen, none of which she had any intention of dealing with. Work, junk, work, Sian, Mum, more work … They could all wait. What was the point in hiding away and wanting some time alone if she then went straight back to communicating with the very people she was hiding from? She scrolled down the list until she came to one of Madi’s brief messages, and clicked the Reply button.

  Dear Madi,

  I hope you have arrived and settled in and that everything in the cottage is OK. My main reason for getting in touch is to ask what you would like me to do with any post? There are already a few letters waiting for you. Should I send them on? Similarly, I assume you might receive some for me, so we could perhaps exchange them every now and then? Just in case anything might be urgent. Can you let me know that Flo is all right too? Give her a big cuddle from me. Your flat is beautiful, by the way, and I am loving London. We must swap more often!

  Very best wishes

  Prue

  Of course, it was unlikely that she would receive a reply straight away. In fact, Madi might well be avoiding emails in just the same way she was. It had been made clear that she was looking for a place to escape to, although she had never mentioned what she was escaping from, and keeping in touch with a stranger was probably way down her to-do list. Prue switched the laptop off again, afraid she might be tempted to start reading her own mail and get dragged back into real life before she was ready. She wound the cable up and opened the laptop case to stow it away. Inside was a smaller cable for charging her phone. Should she? She had deliberately kept it switched off since she’d left Shelling but she really should at least glance at it in case of any missed calls or messages. What if there was some emergency? Her dad taken ill? Her boss telling her she was being made redundant? Joe ringing to say he had made a terrible mistake and that he did want to marry her after all?

  She pulled the phone out of her bag, flicked it on and stared at it. No need for a charger. It had not been touched for days, so it still had plenty of life in it. And three missed calls. All from her mum. Nothing from Joe at all. She closed her eyes and sighed. This was exactly what she had wanted to avoid. Thinking about Joe, waiting for him to call, hoping he would apologise, worrying that he might be waiting for her to apologise. They were supposed to be friends, and friends should be able to deal with anything. Anything but that, obviously. They should be able to laugh it off, kiss and make up. Well, maybe not kiss. Not any more. She didn’t often swear but oh bugger! She had come here to get herself away from all that misplaced expectation and the sickening feeling of disappointment, and it was time she pulled herself together and got on with her life the way it was destined to be from now on. Without him in it.

  She clicked on her messages. One voicemail. Mum again. She knew exactly what it would say. Where are you? Why did you run away? Are you eating properly? When are you coming home? Maybe she should just hear her out, get it over with. But no. She had come here to free herself of that life for a whole month, to get away from all their sympathy and their questions, no matter how well-meaning, and that was what she was going to do.

  She wrote a two-word text. I’m fine. Then she added a row of crosses as kisses, pressed send, quickly turned the phone off again and made a promise to herself. She would try to look at it just once a day, and her emails too, last thing before she went to bed, to reassure herself that nothing dramatic, nothing life or death, had happened and that she could sleep easy, but that was all. Minimal contact, and definitely no letting slip where she was so they could come after her and try to take her back. A month away from it all meant just that and, apart from being separated from Flo, she was really looking forward to it.

  Considering that it was still early March, the weather was surprisingly good. After a cup of tea and a bowl of cereal, Prue headed back out, taking the street map she had printed off before she had left home, a rolled-up mac in case of rain and her favourite camera in her big professional camera bag. It would be heavy to lug about all day, but she fancied taking some proper photos today. Not just snaps, but good photos of a London she had yet to explore, maybe taken from some unusual viewpoints and angles. Real hang-on-the-wall photos, if only she had any wall space left where she could put them. And where better to start than at the palace? She had promised herself the full Christopher Robin changing the guard experience and, if she was lucky, there might be horses. She had always enjoyed photographing horses. And the royal family, although the chances of spotting one of the princes chugging up the drive, or the Queen pottering in her garden, were admittedly remote.

  As she pulled the front door closed behind her, a young man, probably no older than eighteen or nineteen, came hurrying up the steps from the street, one arm stretching out towards the door as if he was trying to catch it before it banged shut. His head was bent down over his phone, a thumb prodding at the keypad, his music so loud she could still hear it despite the headphone buds stuffed into his ears.

  ‘Oh, just too late,’ he said, looking up at her accusingly as the door closed and switching the music off. ‘I’ll have to find my keys now.’ He started digging around with one hand in the depths of his jacket pocket, still clutching his phone in the other, pulling out a paperback book and an open packet of extra strong mints.

  ‘Sorry,’ Prue said. ‘Didn’t see you in time. But …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Well, I don’t know who you are, do I? I can’t hold the door open for just anybody and let them in, can I?’

  ‘I suppose not. Not that I know who you are either.’ His glare seemed to have toned down now into something more resembling a look of curious annoyance. ‘You don’t live here, I do know that much.’

  ‘Well, that’s where you’re wrong, because I do. For the next month anyway. I’m Prue. Flat nine.’

  ‘Ah, so you’re staying with the actress, are you? I’m Aaron. I live with my mum, in flat six, right underneath yours.’ He located his keys at last and inserted one in the lock, stuffing the book back into his pocket and a mint into his mouth. ‘I heard a rumour she’d been in hospital, that another of the neighbours had been looking in on her, but I’ve not seen her about lately. Not heard her telly so much either, which you do sometimes, with floors and ceilings as thin as ours. Your turn now, is it? To be nursemaid? How is she anyway? All right?’

  ‘I don’t know actually. And I’m not staying with her exactly, or here to look after her. She’s gone away for a while �
� a sort of holiday – and I’m here until she gets back. I’m Prue Harris, by the way.’

  ‘Hi, Prue. Flat-sitting, eh? Makes sense, I guess, not to leave the place empty. Friends, are you? Or family?’

  Prue hesitated. This stranger was rather nosey, and it wasn’t always a good idea to divulge too much. ‘Something like that,’ she muttered. ‘But I must get on. See you again maybe?’

  ‘Maybe.’ He yawned, showing a row of not quite even teeth. And then he was through the door and gone. It closed behind him with a slam.

  So, Madi had been ill. Maybe she still was. That might go some way towards explaining her need to get away. She could be convalescing. Clean fresh country air, and a quiet peaceful life. There was nowhere quite like Shelling to provide all of that. And he’d said she was an actress. What with the theatre posters on the walls and the colourful, flamboyant clothes, that came as less of a surprise. She had spotted some sort of a trophy thing on the shelf over the fire too, although the date on it told her it had been awarded many years ago. Slowly, Prue was finding out a little more about Madi, and getting the impression that Madi was probably a good deal older than she was. The only real mystery now was the photo by the bed, and who the man in it might be. She smiled to herself. She was turning into a right little Miss Marple. All she needed was a magnifying glass and a little notebook to complete the transformation. And she’d thought that Aaron was being nosey!

  By the time she arrived home soon after five, the strap of her camera bag having dug what felt like an inch-wide ridge in the flesh at her shoulder and her feet aching, all she really wanted was a strong coffee, a few chapters of her book and a long hot bath in which to lie back and enjoy both. Thank God for Madi’s super-efficient heating system, with hot water more or less in constant supply.