Heart in the Right Home

by Lisa Hill

  She registered she was smiling back.

  ‘You’re not happy, are you?’ he asked, taking a sip of his pint of coke, looking down at the menu.

  ‘No.’ The word just popped out, surprising her. She watched him continue to look at the menu, as if he instinctively knew she was acknowledging this for the first time. ‘How did you know?’

  He looked up. ‘Let’s just say, being a tad older than you, I speak as the voice of experience.’

  Louise nodded. She knew Duncan was divorced and had two daughters, older than Megan and Cerys. They visited occasionally with boyfriends. They had Scottish accents, so she assumed they must live in Scotland with their mother, or independently even.

  ‘How old are your daughters?’

  ‘Isla’s twenty-three and Lola’s twenty-one; just completing her finals.’

  ‘Bit older than mine,’ Louise said absently, unsure where she was taking this conversation. Presumably away from the bombshell he’d just helped her identify; she was unhappy.

  ‘Aye, not by much; yours will soon be flying the nest. Don’t put your life on hold for them; that’s my advice.’

  ‘Is that what you did?’ she inwardly cringed at her invasion into Duncan’s private life.

  ‘My ex-wife chose to end our marriage. Couldn’t cope with running pubs anymore. Running a business in the service industry isn’t for everyone, as you well know.’

  Louise’s mind raced. What was he trying to tell her? Was she like his ex-wife? Was that the problem; she needed to get out of service industry?

  ‘All I’m saying,’ Duncan continued, perceivably mindreading again, ‘is don’t stay in it for the children. They’ll be gone soon, to lives of their own and what will you be left with?’

  ‘A cantankerous husband. Ah!’ Louise’s hand flew to her mouth at her subconscious admission. She watched Duncan continue to appraise her with those bewitching, dark eyes, giving away nothing of what he was thinking. ‘I couldn’t leave my girls.’ Louise said, desperate to deflect the conversation away from Johnnie.

  Duncan wriggled his nose. ‘No-one’s saying you have to.’

  Louise thought back to how negative Cerys had been about Johnnie’s behaviour, not coming out for her birthday meal at the pub last week. Would they support her if she left Johnnie?

  Left Johnnie! What a preposterous idea.

  ‘How long ago did you separate?’ Louise asked, desperate to move the conversation away from her recent admission of how she was really feeling about Johnnie.

  ‘Ten years ago. Not ideal for teenage girls to have their parents’ split up, but mine coped remarkably well, actually; Isla’s training to be a doctor and Lola’s just finishing her degree in English. She wants to be a journalist; off to London, apparently.’

  ‘Megan wants to study English at Uni too. She’s been offered a place at York.’

  ‘Ah, so no expensive halls of residence for her, then?’

  ‘Perhaps not.’ With the increasing amount of rows Johnnie and she were having, Louise felt it would be better for Megan to escape and have her independence whilst studying.

  Duncan leaned in on his elbows and looked at her with those deep, understanding eyes. ‘And what about you? What do you want to do with your newfound freedom, now the children are almost off your hands?’

  ‘Pah! Freedom! I get up every morning at five o’clock to make scones for the tearooms, I don’t start the supper until after I’ve cleaned up and swept through the shop; by nine o’clock I’m ready for my pyjamas and a mug of hot chocolate.’ Louise let out a huge breath. ‘It’s relentless.’

  Duncan chuckled. ‘I hate to admit, but you do sound a bit like Shona, my ex.’

  ‘Honestly, Duncan, I don’t know how you do it; the pub stays open until midnight.’

  ‘Aye, but we don’t open until midday; I have a much later start than you. Staff; that’s the key. If you don’t mind me saying, you and Johnnie are a bit light on those.’

  ‘Don’t go there. Johnnie’s money obsessed, always going through his spreadsheets. Now he’s taken dear, old Audrey on. She’s absolutely delightful but she’s over eighty; she’s no spring chicken.’ Louise swallowed hard, her mind still returning to how brusquely she had left the stores earlier. She owed Audrey an apology.

  ‘He’s recognising it then, that you need help?’

  Louise’s eyes brimmed with tears and she looked down at her glass, to prevent Duncan seeing. It was the word ‘help’. She felt she needed help, but she didn’t know what sort of help. Physical help in the stores? Emotional help because she did feel a bit like she’d come to a crossroads in her life and wasn’t sure where she was meant to go next? Or help escaping from Johnnie?

  ‘I guess,’ she said quietly, peering into her drink.

  ‘Then use it to your advantage! The last time we spoke you told me that when you’re decorating cakes you switch off to yours and everyone else’s problems.’

  Louise looked up at him, astonished. He’d remembered how she felt. He’d actually listened to her. Something Johnnie seemed incapable of, wrapped up in his little world of the stores’ profits and VOCAB.

  Her heart swelled with joy at someone valuing her enough to have listened and remembered what she’d said.

  ‘I hear you’ve got quite a fan base in the village now,’ Duncan continued. ‘Why not turn it into a business venture? Audrey’s an octogenarian, but she’s as fit as a fiddle. Let Johnnie give her more shifts. Use the time wisely; you’ve got the catering kitchen at the stores, put yourself out there as a wedding cake designer. See where it takes you.’

  Louise could feel her fingers tingling and her heart rate rising with excitement. Duncan made the job of wedding cake baker sound like being a judge alongside Paul Hollywood on the Great British Bake Off. He made it sound challenging, rewarding; something with a purpose.

  Louise beamed. ‘Do you know,’ she said, tucking an escaping lock of blonde frizz behind her ears, ‘I might just do that. I’ve already had a couple of bookings. I could enrol on a course at college in September and learn some more intricate techniques. Thank you, Duncan,’ she said, taking a swig of her drink.

  ‘That’s my girl, don’t let the bastards grind you down.’

  Louise almost spat her drink out. ‘Who are the bastards?’

  ‘I’ll let you come to your own conclusions.’ He winked.

  Louise was just contemplating whether her chest was swelling with pride because Duncan was referring to Johnnie as a bastard or the fact he had said my girl, when her phone suddenly burst to life. A picture of Johnnie sprung up on the screen.

  ‘I’d better get this. Hello?’

  ‘Darling, where are you? It’s manic in the tearooms; surely you won’t be much longer?’

  Johnnie, Louise mouthed to Duncan. ‘Okay, just on my way.’ She wasn’t lying.

  ‘Okay!’ The phone went dead before she had an opportunity to say anything else.

  ‘I’m really sorry,’ she said, picking her handbag up from the floor and placing it on her lap. She fumbled for her keys. ‘I’m going to have to bail on you.’

  ‘Ack.’ Duncan placed his hand on his chest. ‘You’re breaking my heart.’

  Louise stood up, circumnavigated the table and squeezed his shoulder surprised at how hard his muscles were. ‘A tough Glaswegian like you? I seriously doubt that.’

  ‘Argh!’ He feigned chest pain and laughed. Briefly he took her hand, still lingering on his shoulder, and squeezed it. ‘Until next time then, young lady.’

  So, there might be a next time? ‘Thanks for the drink.’

  ‘No worries,’ he said, picking up the menu. ‘I’m starving though, so I’ll stay on and sample the competition.’

  ‘Good plan.’ She smiled down at him. ‘Bye, then.’

  ‘Bye.’ He waved and returned to his menu.

  She lingered looking at the inverted triangle of his muscular back before quickly hurrying to her car. The last thing she wanted was Audrey collapsing from e
xhaustion.

  ‘Oh, Louise!’ Duncan called.

  Half-way across the carpark, Louise stopped and turned. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Don’t forget to eat something, or you’ll be no use to anyone!’

  ‘Okay!’ she said, giving Duncan one last smile.

  He smiled, his eyes appreciatively taking her in.

  Her stomach flipped.

  Bloody hell, Louise Edwards, you are walking a fine line.

  Chapter Twenty

  Pamela spread the documents out over the kitchen island worksurface and sighed. Steam plumed from the fresh coffee she had made, the kitchen gleamed where she had spent all morning making it spotless, she could have made a start on the living room, but she’d done enough prevaricating for one morning; she really needed to fill these solicitors’ forms in. She and Jack had been to visit Thompson & Yiend, on Drew’s recommendation, yesterday. He’d done some research – knowing Miles Thompson was an excellent conveyancer and confirming David Yiend came highly recommended about the town in divorce.

  ‘Ugh, the ‘D’ word,’ Pamela said out loud, her stomach churning. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to divorce Edward, she really did, she couldn’t marry Jack otherwise, but the thought of having to confront Edward over their settlement, possibly come face-to-face with him in court, made bile rise in her throat. He had quietly bullied and manipulated her for over forty years to get his own way; it would be even worse with a hardnosed solicitor to represent him.

  ‘What D word?’

  ‘Arrgh!’ Pamela’s hand flew to her chest and she looked up to find James filling up the kettle at the sink.

  ‘Where did you spring from?’

  ‘The front door. I did call out hello when I came in.’

  Pamela dropped her hand. ‘Sorry, I was miles away.’

  ‘About?’ James asked, placing the kettle back on its stand on the Aga, before peering over Pamela’s paperwork.

  ‘Crikey, there’s less forms involved in selling your house. Do they want to know your vital statistics too?’

  ‘And these are only the preliminary forms; they then compile the divorce petition for me to sign.’

  ‘What are you going to divorce him on?’

  Pamela looked up at her son warily, who in turn was looking down at her with concern. She felt a pang of guilt that she was even hesitating to tell James. If it was Drew, she would tell him without a second thought.

  ‘Are you likely to be speaking to your father?’

  ‘Oh, come on Mum,’ James said, flicking his chocolate locks away from his face. I might be like Dad in many ways, but I’m no spy in the camp!’

  ‘Oh, James.’ Pamela reached for his forehand and squeezed it. ‘Don’t be like that. I just don’t trust your father not to pull some sort of trick.’ She let go of his arm and watched him rooting for tea bags in the cupboard. Guilt washed over her that she had made it look like she didn’t trust James.

  ‘What are you doing home, anyway?’ She glanced at the kitchen clock to see it was gone one o’clock and, yet, she was just having her morning cup of coffee. Oh, what a dither she was in.

  ‘Had a valuation up at Rosefields; the owner is worried about the development and is thinking about selling.’

  ‘Oh? I would have thought you’d be the last person they’d want to value it.’

  ‘So, did I. Part of me wonders if they weren’t just members of VOCAB trying to interrogate me on the new development.’ He chuckled.

  Pamela laughed. ‘You could be right; that Hilary Preston-Jones is like an MI6 operative. It wouldn’t surprise me if she’s tasked one of her many spies with gleaning information.’

  ‘Well, when they found out what their house was worth, and that the new development was likely to make their property even more desirable, being more established, they said they’d wait until it was built so I’ve gained another voter.’

  ‘Ha! Well, you always did have the gift of the gab; bit like your father.’ Pamela looked down at the paperwork again and sighed.

  James made his cup of tea and brought it over with his paper bag, printed with the stores’ logo, to the island. Sitting down next to Pamela, he picked up her pen and handed it to her. ‘Best to get it done. You’re with Jack now; nothing to fear.’ He smiled, gently.

  She nodded. ‘I know. It hurts, that’s all. Forty years of my life I gave to that man and he ran off with a woman nearly half my age.’

  ‘Not exactly, she’s still working in my office, abandoned by him too.’

  ‘Oh?’ Pamela frowned. She’d assumed Rebecca had left with Edward. No-one had mentioned anything to her, not even Lottie, and she was the biggest gossip going. Well, apart from herself, perhaps. ‘You never said.’

  ‘You never asked,’ he said, before taking a bite of his pasty.

  ‘I just assumed…’ she trailed off and shrugged.

  ‘That they were living in sinful bliss, the same as you and Jack? No.’ James shook his head vehemently. ‘She’s got her comeuppance; miserable, single and desperate to leave Hardwickes, but I won’t let her.’

  ‘Why on earth not? She had an affair with your father!’

  ‘Mum, she was hardly the first; she regrets what she did, I can tell. The last thing she needs to do is follow him back down south and get herself entrapped in his web of lies again.’

  ‘You make her sound like the victim.’ Pamela bristled.

  ‘In a way, don’t you think she is? She was just another pawn in his game, like you, like all of us. Why do you think he’s sent me up here?’

  ‘To spy on me.’ The words tumbled out without Pamela engaging her brain.

  ‘Exactly. Well, it won’t work. I’m glad to be up here with you and Drew, we can present a united front.’

  Pamela beamed, suddenly feeling the reassurance Jack had been trying to give her for weeks, which hadn’t quite penetrated through.

  ‘Thank you, James,’ she said, picking up her pen. ‘That was just the pick me up I needed.’ She pulled the forms towards her. ‘But do think about letting Rebecca go, if you can, then we can just put the whole sorry mess behind us.’

  James put his pasty down and looked directly at Pamela. ‘Mum, she’s been hurt and used as much as you have.’

  Pamela looked down at the forms. ‘If you say so. Just don’t let her come across my path.’

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Louise skulked in the kitchen doorway and watched Audrey meticulously move objects and dust under them on the serving counter. She was humming, in her own little world, as closing time neared with the number of customers having significantly dwindled.

  Louise took a deep breath. ‘Audrey,’ she called out, tentatively making her way across the slate flagstones.

  Audrey looked up and smiled. ‘Yes?’ she said, yellow duster poised to give the oak counter a bit more elbow grease. ‘I, um, I just wanted to apologise about earlier; when I stormed out.’

  Audrey swatted the duster. ‘Oh, my dear, you’ve already said sorry for that, no need to go over old ground.’

  ‘I know, but it was rude of me and you haven’t lived in the village very long, and I wouldn’t want you getting the wrong impression of me.’

  ‘Why would I do that? Jude and Lottie speak so highly of you.’ Audrey’s neat, white bob wobbled in time with her head as she shook it.

  ‘Not Pamela?’

  ‘Trust me dear, if you’re doing enough to impress Pammie, you are trying too hard.’

  Louise laughed, relieved she hadn’t offended Audrey which she had been worrying about all afternoon.

  ‘I know a domestic when I see one; I think someone else should be apologising to you.’ Audrey raised an eyebrow and cast an accusing stare down through the archway to where Johnnie was enthusing in the stores. It couldn’t be described as ‘serving’ as he was talking animatedly to Hilary Preston-Jones which meant it was VOCAB business, reminding her of why she had stormed out in the first place.

  Louise leaned against the counter and sighed.
She seemed to be doing a lot of sighing recently. She rubbed her neck as she watched Johnnie continue to enthuse, arms and hands gesticulating everywhere. She wondered if he would notice if she rode naked on horseback down the village high street. Perhaps if she was carrying a SAY NO TO NEW HOUSES placard. ‘He’s so engrossed with VOCAB he lives for it. I thought he’d taken you on with a couple of shifts to help me out, but it’s really to free him up in case VOCAB need him!’ Louise blushed as she realised her voice had raised nearly an octave.

  Audrey put her duster down, placed her forearms on the counter and leaned in. ‘You know, I was once in a similar situation to you.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, when we first bought Oak Acre. I started off with the small holding, making the jams, chutneys, cakes and cheeses to sell at the local farmers market and Brian was still working at the bank. He was expecting me to get up at some unearthly hour, clean the pigs and sheep out, milk the goats, feed all the blessed creatures, come in to make his breakfast, then go back out and start in our little kitchen, which we made out of the piggeries, carry on baking and processing all day, sterilising jars; gosh, when I think back at it now, I really don’t know how I did it all on my own! Then I had to finish up by four-thirty, so I could go back up to the farmhouse and make a start on his supper.’

  ‘It all sounds very similar.’ Louise nodded. ‘Apart from the milking goats.’

  ‘Ha! Well, forget that, I thought one day. I wasn’t carrying on working myself into an early grave! So, I started sorting the animals out after he’d gone to work, and I made sure I didn’t come back up to the farmhouse until he was home from work. He was grumpy at first, but he soon got used to it and actually started helping me make the supper.’

  ‘Did you argue a lot?’

  ‘What, me and Brian? Not really, the only thing we ever really came to blows about was Pammie and regretfully, I backed down on that one and let him have his way. I should have got in the car and drove down to Oxford to find her really.’