‘If you like.’
Heather sighed. ‘But what do you think?’
‘Hmm.’
This was hopeless. Heather banged her spoon down on her plate. ‘Really, Brian. I am a parishioner too. If I was anyone else in the parish asking for advice you’d give me your full attention.’
The tone of Heather’s voice made Brian look up. He took off his glasses. ‘OK. This is what I think. If the new family are paid-up, card-carrying, full-on members of the Church of England they’ll be at church on Sunday come hell or high water. If they’re high-days and holidays Christians we may see them at Christmas and Easter, and if they’re neither of those, then you’ll be wasting your time and the last thing they’ll want is a visit from the vicar’s wife. Of course, if your reason for wanting to call is because, ever since we arrived here, you’ve been gagging to have an excuse to see inside that house – well, go right ahead and do it.’ Brian took a spoonful of soup and returned to his paper, leaving Heather to wonder what her motives really were, although she knew, deep down, that Brian was right; the previous occupants had been in residence when Brian had been given this living and Heather, not being friends with that family, had never been able to find an excuse to call – till now.
An hour later she rang the bell of The Beeches. A young blonde, mid-thirties, guessed Heather, opened the door. She was carrying a wad of crumpled newspaper in one hand.
‘Yes?’
‘I’m Heather Simmonds. I thought I’d drop by and say hello.’
‘Oh, well, hello then. I’m Bex Millar.’
‘I live over there.’ Heather waved a hand in the vague direction of the church.
‘That’s nice.’
‘I just wanted to welcome you to Little Woodford.’
‘Thank you.’ Behind Bex two small boys erupted out of the sitting room and thundered past the two women and into the garden. ‘No going out of the gate, remember,’ Bex called after them. Whether or not the boys heard was hard to tell. ‘My sons, Lewis and Alfie. Look, would you like a cuppa? I could do with one. Unpacking is thirsty business.’
‘Well... only if you’re having one.’
‘I am.’ Bex opened the door wide and then shut it behind Heather. She led the way into the kitchen.
‘Oh, this is lovely,’ said Heather, with genuine enthusiasm. She was quite surprised how light the kitchen was but it had been extended and had a couple of skylights in the new section which probably made all the difference. She looked around and took in the wood floor, the Belfast sink, bespoke units... so very different from her own ghastly kitchen.
‘It is rather, isn’t it? Nothing to do with me, it’s how it was when I arrived here. And it looks tidy because the kids haven’t had a chance to make it untidy yet. They will, when they’ve got all their possessions out of the boxes and the novelty of putting things away has completely worn off.’ Bex smiled. ‘Tea? Coffee?’
‘Tea would be lovely. My kitchen is awful. It desperately needs updating but well...’
‘It’s an expensive business,’ said Bex as she went about making the tea.
Heather pulled a chair out from under the kitchen table and sat on it. There was a lull in the conversation as Bex worked. Then a stunning teenager, all smouldering eyes and dark hair, wandered in. She reminded Heather of a young Sophia Loren.
‘Say hello, Megan. This is my stepdaughter.’
Which explained the complete lack of similarity between her and Bex.
Megan said hello, helped herself to a glass of water and drifted out again.
‘Does she take after her father?’ asked Heather.
‘Her birth mother was Spanish.’
‘Oh.’ Heather was bursting with curiosity to know more about the family but was far too polite and English to ask direct questions. ‘So what brought you to Little Woodford?’
‘My husband, Richard, always wanted to live in the country. So... now we do.’ Bex brought two mugs of tea over to the table and sat opposite Heather.
‘Lucky you – a dream come true.’
Bex put her mug on the table. ‘Nope,’ she said. ‘Not lucky at all.’ Heather assumed she was going to be told that it was all down to careful planning or networking or some other more prosaic reason the family had wound up here but that fate had definitely not been involved.
‘No,’ continued Bex. ‘Our luck stopped when he was on his bike on his way to work in London and a truck ran a red light.’
‘Oh, my dear...’ Heather put her mug down on the table. She gazed at Bex. ‘Oh, how terrible.’
‘Yes, it was rather.’ Bex knew she sounded matter-of-fact but she couldn’t allow herself to show her true feelings – not and maintain any sort of control. ‘So I decided we should come here anyway. A fresh start for us all, somewhere without a zillion painful memories.’
‘Of course. And how are you coping?’
‘Some days well, other days it’s awful.’ Bex shrugged.
‘I do understand. Truly I do.’
Bex looked sceptical.
‘My husband is the vicar here – bereavement is one of the things we “do”.’
‘Ah.’ Now she looked wary.
‘It’s all right,’ said Heather. ‘I’m not going to say “It was God’s will” or anything like that. If I did, I wouldn’t blame you for thumping me.’
Bex gave her the ghost of a smile. ‘I’ve heard that a fair bit and, trust me, I’ve been tempted.’
‘And I didn’t drop by to try and press-gang you into joining the congregation. Of course, if you’d like to, we’d love to see you but... Anyway, this is a genuine social call and let you know that if you want to know anything about the town, activities for your children, clubs you might like to join... the WI?’ Heather saw the look on Bex’s face. ‘Maybe not. However, may I just say, it probably isn’t a bit like you think it is. Honest.’ She saw Bex raise an eyebrow. ‘OK... But there’s a great book club run by the bookshop, the Woodford Players, a ladies’ cricket team...’ Heather petered out. Bex’s lack of enthusiasm was still apparent. ‘All I’m saying is that when you’re settled and have more time there’s a load of things to do and if you want any information all you have to do is ask me.’ She paused. ‘I don’t suppose you’re any good at flower arranging, are you?’ Bex shook her head. ‘Ah well. The flower rota needs more people and I’m always on the lookout. Right then, I’ll leave you in peace.’ Heather got to her feet and gathered her things together. ‘But if you want anything – a chat, information, whatever, the vicarage is easy enough to find. But not the lovely old Regency one. The vile sixties job a bit further along Church Road.’
‘Thanks, I’ll bear that in mind. What with you and Olivia—’
‘Olivia? You’ve met her already?’
‘She dropped in last night.’
‘Oh well, you don’t need me then.’ Heather smiled.
‘She’s very... well-informed.’
‘“Well-informed”? Is that a euphemism?’
‘Possibly.’
Heather grinned. ‘She’s not everyone’s cup of tea but she’s a grafter and she never lets anyone down. She adores this town and will do anything to keep it a lovely place that people, like you, want to move to. If she says she’s going to do something, she does it. One “Olivia” is worth three of most people.’
‘Yeah, I can see that. I think all towns should have an “Olivia”.’
‘Exactly.’
‘Even I could see how much she loves this place.’
Heather said her goodbyes and made her way back home. It was lovely to see a young family move into the town. With house prices the way they were going, the population seemed to be getting older and older as fewer and fewer of the next generation were able to afford to buy and opted to live further afield in less desirable locations. Bex and her family would definitely be an asset.
8
The following Tuesday, the alarm next to Nigel’s side of the bed went off, as it did every morning, at six. Blearily he opened an eye a
nd groaned and, as he always did, he switched the alarm off on the radio and hit the button next to it to catch the start of the Today programme.
‘Good morning,’ said John Humphrys.
‘There’s nothing fucking good about it,’ muttered Nigel.
‘Did you say something, darling?’ mumbled Olivia, her voice muffled by the pillow.
‘No. Go back to sleep.’
In the pale morning light that filtered through the plantation blinds Nigel saw Olivia roll on to her back. He got out of bed and headed into the en suite and switched on the shower. Five minutes later he was back in the bedroom, showered, shaved and wrapped in a towel. He dressed in the clothes he’d left ready the night before and then opened his wardrobe to find a sports bag. Into it he shoved a pair of shorts, spare socks and a T-shirt.
‘Ol. Oli!’
‘Wha...?’
‘Ol, have you seen my trainers?’
Olivia propped herself up on one elbow. ‘What do you want trainers for?’ She yawned.
‘I told you, I’ve joined the company badminton club. We’ve a match tonight.’
Olivia shook her head. ‘Badminton?’
‘Get with the programme Ol, I told you. The MD’s new initiative.’
‘Did you?’
‘Oh, for God’s sake, do you ever listen to a word I say?’
‘Of course. I remember now.’
Nigel, frankly, doubted it. ‘So... my trainers?’
‘Probably in your wardrobe.’
Nigel scrabbled around in his cupboard and pulled them out. He stuffed them in his bag with his other sports kit. ‘Found. Right, I’ll be late home tonight.’
‘How late?’
‘Nineish, maybe later.’
‘Fine.’
Nigel switched off the radio that neither of them had listened to and left the bedroom. Olivia sank down beneath the duvet again, certain she knew nothing about the badminton club. But it was obviously her fault. Nigel was right – she couldn’t have listened. She really ought to pay more attention or he’d have yet more excuses to lose his temper.
*
Mags was busy shampooing the doctor’s wife’s hair.
‘Have you met the new people at The Beeches yet, Jacqui?’
‘No, but I saw the van there last week. I wonder what they’re like?’
‘What, apart from filthy rich? Did you see what the previous owners were asking for that place?’
‘Wasn’t it nearly two mill?’
‘Something like that. Of course it didn’t mean they got it. It was on the market for an age.’
‘Even so,’ said Jacqui Connolly, ‘it’s a lot to pay for bricks and mortar. Makes you wonder what you’d get for your own place.’
‘Not me,’ said Mags. ‘I live in a council house, remember.’ Silence fell for a few seconds. ‘Amy said there were some kids playing in the garden.’
‘So it’s a young family that’s moved in,’ said Jacqui.
‘Seems like it.’
‘That’s nice. Reverses a trend.’
‘So it seems.’ Mags turned the taps on and started to rinse her client’s hair.
‘You’ve noticed too. There seem to be fewer and fewer young families round and about. It’s the cost of housing.’
‘Stands to reason.’
‘Well, we’ve really noticed at the surgery. The numbers for the antenatal classes are down, there are fewer inoculations each year; honestly, the entire town is in danger of becoming one big old-peoples’ home.’
Mags frowned. ‘I’ve heard the school is worried.’
‘They’ve extended the catchment area. What we need,’ said Jacqui, ‘is more affordable houses. If...’ She stopped and drew in a deep breath. ‘If Lisa had lived, there’s no way she’d have been able to afford to buy anything here.’
Oh gawd, here we go again. She was very sorry for the doctor and his wife – their daughter dying just after she’d gone to uni had been a terrible tragedy – but it had been years ago now, three at least. Mind you, thought Mags, rumour had it that Jacqui blamed herself because Lisa had phoned home complaining of feeling ill, and her mum had told her to stop making a fuss. Of course, it turned out Lisa had contracted meningitis. But even so, did Jacqui Connolly have to bang on about her daughter at every opportunity? ‘No,’ said Mags, trying to keep her voice measured. ‘But buying isn’t the be-all and end-all. My Amy rents and is quite happy about it. And there’s Cattebury.’
‘Well, yes...’ Jacqui’s tone spoke reams. Cattebury wasn’t for the likes of the doctor’s daughter.
Mags felt like saying that perhaps it was just as well she was dead and didn’t have to face the awfulness of being consigned to the sinkhole that was the next town. No, that would be going too far. ‘Water all right?’ she asked instead.
‘Lovely.’
‘Going to the WI tonight?’
‘As the new president I don’t think I get much choice.’
‘No, well...’
And the conversation moved away from the affordability of local housing.
*
Bex was making a start on the dining room. Now she had such a fabulous kitchen she couldn’t see them using it much, but maybe if they had visitors... maybe if she made friends and had people round to supper... Or maybe not. Even so, she couldn’t leave it as it was with pictures stacked against the wall and Richard’s parents’ dinner service, that they’d given him when they’d moved overseas, still in boxes.
‘Mum, Mum,’ said Alfie, racing in through the door, an expression of indignation on his face and tears in his eyes. ‘Lewis hit me.’
Bex sighed. No wonder the boys were getting cranky. They’d had precious little attention paid to them recently, all things considered.
‘Did he now?’
‘He did, Mummy, he did.’
Bex stopped opening the boxes and went to the back door. She called Lewis over and spoke to him about being nice to his little brother.
‘But he started it,’ said Lewis.
‘Didn’t,’ said Alfie.
‘Did.’
‘Didn’t.’
‘Shush. Just stop it, the pair of you.’ She walked through the kitchen to the foot of the stairs.
‘Megan!’ she yelled.
‘What?’ bellowed Megan back down.
‘You busy?’
‘I was putting away the toys in the boys’ rooms.’
‘Could you do me a favour?’
‘Hang on.’ There was some thumping and then the sound of footsteps. Megan came to the landing. ‘What?’
‘Take the boys to the park. They’re bored and need to let off steam.’
‘OK.’ Megan padded down the stairs. ‘Come on,’ she said to her half-brothers, ‘let’s go to the swings.’
Alfie stopped looking miserable and perked up and even Lewis looked less sulky.
As they got to the gate at the end of the drive, Megan grasped Alfie’s hand tightly and, with an exhortation to Lewis to walk sensibly and to look where he was going, she led them through the little town. It was, she thought, really quite pretty with the honey-coloured stone that it was built from, and moss-covered roofs that were all different angles and heights. Very different from their bit of London which had consisted of almost identical roads of Victorian, red-brick, terraced houses and a shopping mall in the unexciting high street which was much like any other shopping mall in the country. Their old suburb of London might have had a slew of amenities and transport links, but it was bland. This, on the other hand, was quite chocolate-boxy.
She walked along the high street until, finally, she reached the entrance to the park and turned in. She let go of Alfie’s hand and, with his recent tiff with Lewis completely forgotten, he and his brother raced off to play on the slide as all the other activities were stiff with children. While all the kids played, the parents – mostly mums – were clustered in groups, chatting. It hadn’t been like that in the play park near their house in London. No one had spoken to
anyone there – except their own kids.
Megan stood by the fence that delineated the boundary between the play area and the rest of the park and watched the boys. They seemed happy enough without her assistance for the time being and had now managed to insinuate themselves onto the roundabout which was being turned by a couple of slightly older kids. She leaned against the fence post and shut her eyes, basking in the spring sunshine.
‘Hi.’
Megan was jerked back into sudden reality. Her eyes snapped open and for a nano-second she was unsure of her location. Then her brain kicked in; she knew where she was, it was the school holidays and she’d recently moved house. She raised her eyes to check out who had spoken to her.
It was the boy who’d done the trick on the skateboard when she’d been up to the park before, she was sure of it. And sheesh, now she saw him close up, he was fit. She tried not to stare but those grey eyes with the dark rings around the irises, the long honey-coloured eyelashes and the dirty-blond curls... God, he was gorgeous. He had a skateboard tucked under his arm and he was wearing ripped jeans. Megan thought he was the hottest thing she’d ever seen.
‘Hello,’ she said shyly.
He frowned at her. ‘Look... I know this is going to sound like I’m a bit of a saddo but you’re new around here, aren’t you?’
‘Might be.’
‘Thought so.’
Megan pulled a brunette lock across her cheek self-consciously.
‘So, you’ve moved into The Beeches then, have you?’
‘Yeah,’ said Megan, nodding. ‘How did you know?’
‘You’re kidding me, right? You move into the biggest house in town and you don’t reckon that everyone is going to take an interest?’
‘I suppose.’
‘Trust me, there’s not much to talk about around here so when anything does happen... well, the likes of my mum and gran have a field day.’ He gave her a wide smile.
Megan smiled back.
‘So, where’ve you come from?’
‘London.’
‘Shit, you’re going to find this place a bit quiet, aren’t you?’
‘Perhaps.’
‘Seriously, you want to take a look at the local paper. The only headlines we get is stuff like “Church fête runs out of cucumber sandwiches”.’
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