by Jill Barry
“We’re seriously considering Wiltshire, because of Penny and family, or maybe the Bournemouth area. Do you know that coastline? We both miss the sea, to be honest. Much more than we do the bright lights.” She laughed but no one else joined in.
“Maybe you never should have moved to live inland then.”
Suzanne’s lips tightened, enhancing the fine lines between her nose and mouth.
“Your daughter’s still living in Salisbury, isn’t she?” Ruth kept her tone calm. Caring.
“Yes, she’s very happy there but I know she’d love us to move closer. It’s not easy for her, having to be a single mum when Declan’s regiment is posted to some outlandish spot.”
“With us around, she’d have free childcare for the ankle biters.” Eddie guffawed. “Save herself a fortune.”
“Don’t listen to him, sweetie. He’s soft as butter with the grandchildren. And with our son working in Dubai and heaven knows where after that, it’d be sensible for us to move closer to Penny.”
Ruth watched Suzanne’s face pucker. She heaved a sigh.
“But?” Ruth probed.
“We left so many close friends behind in Sussex. It was probably arrogant of me to think we’d ever make enough new ones to replace the old gang.”
Ruth unclenched her fists beneath the table and forced herself to raise her mug to her lips. She took a sip of the hot brew. “Delicious coffee, Eddie.”
“Good show. Plenty more where that came from.” Eddie sat back and folded his arms across his chef’s apron bib.
“Don’t they say it’s never advisable to return to a place, once you’ve made the break and left? I was just trying to recall how many of your old friends have come to see you since you moved here.”
She watched Eddie’s expression darken. Sensed his anger.
“And what about the friends you’ve made in Wales? Do they not count at all?” Ruth’s bitterness burned too strongly for her to subdue a disapproving sniff.
Suzanne reached out an arm and hugged her round the shoulders. “Oh, sweetie, of course we’ll miss all the lovely folk we know here. Especially you. You must realise that. We’ll always keep in touch, have you to stay as soon as we’re settled in the new abode.”
Ruth’s head swam. The stupid woman would be offering her a lollipop next. Maybe her friend needed a swift jog of the memory. “So, Suzanne.” Ruth sat back in her chair and folded her arms, a mirror image of Eddie across the table. “Whatever happened to that plan we hatched?”
Chapter Two
“I’m sorry?”
“Come on, Suzanne. Surely you recall that afternoon we spent drinking the teapot dry in front of my log burner? It was only a couple of winters ago, after all.”
Suzanne froze. She drew her arm back from Ruth’s shoulders.
“All right, then how about the time we sat here in your kitchen talking practicalities, while Eddie was on the golf course? If only Sparkles could speak!” Ruth waved a hand at the golden Labrador snuggled in her basket beside the Aga.
“What’s all this about a plan?” Eddie raised his eyebrows, dark and shrimp-like, in harsh contrast to his snowy cap of hair. He shot a puzzled look at his wife.
Suzanne shrank down in her chair, reminding Ruth of a floppy rag doll. She seemed to find gazing at the coffee machine easier than looking at either her husband or her friend. Ruth experienced a frisson of satisfaction. This was a woman who shied away from confrontation.
“I’m talking about the agreement we reached regarding the future. A way of life to suit all three of us.” Ruth met Eddie’s gaze. Beneath the table she tapped her left foot in a faint, percussive beat of disapproval.
Eddie’s jaw slackened. “But you must be fifteen years younger than the two of us. You don’t need to think about growing old yet, surely?” He flinched as Ruth banged her mug down on the table. “You know plenty of folk around these parts. Surely you understand it’s that support system Suzanne and I are missing? The kind of network that takes years to build.”
“Isn’t he aware of what we decided?” Ignoring Eddie, Ruth placed her hand on Suzanne’s arm. “Why don’t you tell your husband what you said to me? What you insisted should happen a few years down the line. I can’t believe you’ve forgotten. How could you possibly ignore something so important?”
Suzanne’s mauve-tinted eyelids quivered like butterfly wings. “But we were conjecturing, surely? Wasn’t it the kind of thing people muse about after a couple of glasses of vino? Throwing ideas around?”
She retreated a little further, the movement hardly discernible, but feeling Suzanne cringe from her touch, Ruth knew a physical blow couldn’t have hurt more. She cleared her throat, stroking the fingers of her left hand down it in an instinctive gesture.
“So, my agreement to move in one day as your housekeeper and companion means nothing? I love this house. You know I do. I’d happily keep it in order.”
She looked from one to the other. Neither responded. Neither met her gaze.
“You wouldn’t need to worry about night driving becoming difficult because I’d do it! Do all the driving, shopping, most of the gardening. You know how much energy I have. More than enough for all three of us.”
Eddie spoke first. “You’re an angel, for sure you are. We’ve truly valued your friendship all the time we’ve lived here. Right from the start.”
Ruth expected him to utter a comforting there, there, as though she’d fallen over in the playground and bloodied her knee.
“Naturally, I realised the plan wouldn’t come to fruition for at least five years,” she said. “But I’ve always assumed we had an understanding. Suzanne, are you honestly telling me we didn’t?”
Eddie rapped on the tabletop like a chairman calling a rowdy committee meeting to order. He looked Ruth straight in the eye. “I know nothing about your so-called plan. It’s the first I’ve heard of it but what I do know is it’s time for Suzanne and me to face facts. The logical step is for us to downsize. After all, we do have family to consider.”
Ruth frowned. Family. Did her friendship and support count for nothing at all?
“He’s right, sweetie. I remember that kind offer of yours, but you must know, it surely wouldn’t have worked?” Suzanne’s laugh tinkled again. “You know what they say about two women in one kitchen?” She clawed at her coffee mug.
“My. Kind. Offer?”
Sparkles whined. Ruth stared through the window at the scudding clouds. The rain had at last stopped scouring the landscape. She heard Eddie crunch another piece of homemade shortbread. When she looked at him, she watched his tongue flicker like a lizard’s as he licked a crumb from his upper lip. Suzanne sought something fascinating among the fronds of the parlour palm in its plump terra cotta pot. A plant that fitted. Well-nourished. Like the couple currently shutting her out.
Ruth finished her coffee. She’d pushed enough. It was time for damage limitation. She knew what must come next. Knew the importance of regaining their confidence.
“Phew. I was on shaky ground for a while there. Completely taken by surprise.” She turned to Suzanne. “You’re absolutely right. Frankly, your decision comes as something of a relief. I didn’t like to mention it before, but I was a little concerned over surrendering my independence.”
“I should say so!” Eddie nodded. Smiled his approval.
“Far better you two downsize,” said Ruth. “You need to find somewhere more convenient to your daughter’s home. I have plenty of friends around these parts, as you quite correctly point out. Forgive me for being so thoughtless.”
She patted Suzanne’s hand. Watched the woman’s petite frame relax.
Eddie sat back in his chair. “You had us going there, girl, for a while.”
“Of course, we won’t be off yet,” said his wife. “It could take ages to find a buyer.”
“Absolutely,” said Eddie. “Though our estate agent’s very confident.”
“Obviously not everyone enjoys living somewhere as is
olated as this village,” said Suzanne. “It’s a place that seems idyllic when you first discover it. Ten years down the line, a house in the middle of nowhere can turn into a millstone.”
“Indeed. Some might say why not wait until the daffodils are in bloom again, but if your move is meant to be, the right buyer will surely come along.” Ruth smiled at the slumbering dog, silently complimenting herself upon converting her fury into reassurance. “So, I imagine you’ll be looking for help sorting out and packing up? It’s the perfect opportunity to throw out unwanted items.”
Ruth sat hunched over her laptop, eyes widening in disbelief as she digested the obscene amount the agency website specified. She knew it must be realistic and that buying into the rural lifestyle was an important factor. Unless you craved roses round the door, timber beams and lime washed walls, the couple’s house ticked all the boxes. They’d transformed the interior and turned it into a sought-after residence, according to Eddie, who would watch a TV programme featuring a multi-million-pound rabbit hutch if his wife permitted.
A click on the slide show allowed Ruth to move forward until she reached the beginning again. She went on watching the rooms materializing on the monitor like Tarot cards flipping over, each image revealing its own message. Creamy neutral walls bounced back light in all the right places. Eddie’s north-facing study defied convention with its bitter chocolate paintwork and peacock blue wallpaper.
Ruth had slept in the house on several occasions, the first being when the couple booked a cruising holiday a year or so after they moved in. When she offered to house and dog sit, Suzanne jumped at the suggestion, admitting she dreaded leaving their beloved Labrador in untried kennels. By contrast, Eddie displayed a certain reticence. After Ruth took up temporary residence and began her observational tour of the property, it didn’t surprise her to discover he’d locked his study, as well as the master bedroom.
She couldn’t help feeling proprietorial. They’d been kind to her in many ways but their current level of insouciance probed a very raw nerve. Somehow, they must be made to pay. This was her future they were tossing out like a bundle of rags.
Ruth logged out of the BCB website and called up a national one, typing in her criteria to search on properties in the Bournemouth area. The ludicrous number of upmarket houses and bungalows for sale, in and around the seaside town, horrified her. Where on earth were all these people hoping to move? She called up Brighton properties, only to be dazzled by scores of secluded gardens and stunning sea views wrapped around houses whose sale prices read like telephone numbers.
So, Suzanne and Eddie would weigh up the benefits of proximity to their squeaky-clean daughter and over-indulged grandchildren against moving back amongst silver surfers who existed perfectly well without their erstwhile friends. Ruth felt sure her gibe had hit its target. To her certain knowledge there’d been no visitors to Three Roads from this magic circle of cronies for whom Suzanne professed to pine.
Ruth sat staring at other people’s properties, wondering what to do. Wondering how best to make Eddie and Suzanne recognise the massive mistake they were making. She had much more need of them than did their daughter who already had child-minding facilities plus friends of her own age. What would happen when the military family was next uprooted and replanted miles away? Would Granddad and Grandma put their new house on the market and up sticks yet again? Had they even considered this possibility?
It was no use ranting and raving in an undignified manner. This could only result in the Deacons closing ranks, thereby preventing her from following their progress. They might remain in their current home for months yet, as Suzanne had intimated. Even if they found a purchaser, everyone knew how precarious the situation became if that buyer formed a link in a chain of people, nail-biting and counting the days until contracts were exchanged. Such uncertainty didn’t bode well for Suzanne who detested inconvenience and insecurity. It could be a long autumn, leading to a winter of discontent.
A fledgling idea trembled in the dark recesses of Ruth’s imagination. She sucked in her breath. Up went her hand to stroke her throat. It was an audacious notion. Some might say vicious. But surely it wouldn’t hurt to put this flash of inspiration into practice? Discover whether she could make it work? It was a while since she’d needed to delve into her spare bedroom wardrobe, unless checking for moths or signs of damp. Why wait to find out? Heart bumping a little faster, she closed down her laptop and prepared to go to town.
Chapter Three
Ruth cherry-picked items and folded them into a rucksack. She left her cottage via the back door, checked the petrol gauge and set off, opting not to use the main road but following a woodland track through giant conifers, a route hardly ever used by villagers. Most people didn’t relish being confronted by gigantic forestry vehicles. Ruth drove purely for convenience, not to satisfy any desire for speed, and she negotiated the winding trail in low gear until joining the main road leading to Llanbrenin Wells, a town once much favoured by Victorian ladies and gentlemen seeking to take the waters in congenial company.
As to what exactly she hoped to achieve once she transformed her appearance didn’t particularly bother her. She might drop into the office of the freebie newspaper and make it known a certain house with a dubious history, in the village of Three Roads, was fresh on the market. Or she could visit the estate agency, pretending to be seeking a suitable home for her and the occasional visiting grown up children she didn’t possess.
Of course, she daren’t make an appointment to view The Sugar House and turn up in disguise, but she could drip feed snippets of information in the hope that an employee might wonder if such unsavoury details would deter prospective purchasers.
Thankfully the rain had stopped. She left her vehicle tucked behind a people carrier at the car park’s far end, and headed for the public conveniences. Once inside a cubicle, Ruth shucked off trainers, sweatshirt and jeans and pulled on a lime green cotton top over a plunging padded bra. Casual cream linen trousers and long line oatmeal-colour cardigan came next. Bronze leather loafers completed the disguise, with the vital addition of an auburn brown curly wig, hiding her geometric coal-black bob.
At home she’d applied a layer of bronze nail varnish. Now she added a spray of perfume. Neither the metallic polish nor the sweet spicy fragrance would ever be worn by Ruth Morgan. She hadn’t used scent or fussed over manicures since her residential job near Edinburgh, years before, when she worked as a housekeeper companion to an elderly couple, both retired doctors. They’d known her as Julia Hayes, a blonde softly spoken widow from Bristol. How shrewd she’d been to have adopted a new persona when applying for that position. No one in mid Wales could possibly suspect her of being anything but an upstanding citizen.
Ruth, with her everyday garments stuffed into the rucksack, waited to ensure no one who might have noticed her enter the ladies’ toilets still lingered inside. When all she could hear was the drip-drip of a tap, she slipped out to leave the rucksack in her car and collect a hessian shopping bag which she thought suited her style.
She walked up the ramp to the main street in a different manner from her usual purposeful stride, hoping she portrayed a woman who suited casual clothing yet still looked stylish. Ruth had morphed into a person her imagination named Delyth.
She sauntered along the high street, gazing up at architectural triumphs and minor atrocities before pausing to examine the offerings of two different estate agents. Each time, Ruth took out a pretty floral notebook and jotted down a reference or two, taking care to appear engrossed in her task, and avoiding eye contact with passers by.
When she arrived at the offices of Briggs, Caldwell and Balls, she noticed a burly man checking out the window. He took no notice of her but concentrated upon two sets of particulars highlighted in the display. After a woman endowed with ample curves arrived, hooked her arm through his and snuggled into him, Ruth still kept herself to herself while she pretended to scrutinize a different set of details.
“I bought toothpaste,” said the woman. “Silly me, forgetting to pack it! Can you see anything interesting, babes?”
“I quite like the look of one or two.” Babes pointed to The Sugar House’s photograph. “This here’s property of the week. I reckon it’s either just on the market or it’s sat around so long, the owners are wetting themselves.”
Ruth sidled closer. Cleared her throat. “Hello. I’m sorry to intrude but I couldn’t help overhearing. I know this area well so if you have any questions and don’t want answers wrapped in estate agency jargon, just say the word.”
The couple chuckled. Visibly relaxed.
“Oh, that’s so kind,” said the woman. “My hubby has taken a fancy to that one.” She poked a plump finger towards The Sugar House details. “I notice it’s approached down a track. We’re looking for somewhere nice and quiet but just how far from civilisation is this Three Roads place before we go in and get cross-examined?”
“Aw,” said Ruth. “It’s hard going, isn’t it? Anything to do with property is always stressful.”
“Are you house hunting, too?” The husband looked her up and down.
“Possibly,” said Ruth, pulling a wry face. “I’m contemplating down-sizing now the children have left home.” Her fictitious offspring would be Marc and Ffion if this pair bothered to ask. Delyth would choose such names. No husband around, and of course she still missed poor Geraint.
“But you asked about Three Roads. The name’s deceptive in that it makes the place appear more impressive than it is. There’s a narrow track leading from the village through forestry commission land, and there’s the main road leading to Knightly.”
“I don’t think we came through there,” said the husband.
“It’s a small town between here and the village. The other road climbs up to the ranges and meanders down to the A40. You get lots of Outward-Bound activities happening in those parts, camping and orienteering – you know the kind of thing.”