Cupid's Way

by Joanne Phillips

  Which was both a relief and a shame, to be honest.

  ‘Have you spoken to your grandparents this morning?’ Michael said.

  ‘I have. It’s turned out fine, actually. The meeting I told you about? It was put back to this afternoon.’

  She wondered about his offer of a lift – would he bring it up again or was it up to her now? Evie didn’t want their connection to end just yet. She nursed her coffee and watched his hands as he ripped open a sachet of sugar and poured it into his drink, trying not to imagine those hands exploring her body the way they had in her early morning daydream.

  ‘What exactly are they expecting of you?’ he asked, dragging her back to the present. ‘You mentioned something to do with their house. Is that why they need you? Because you’re an architect?’

  ‘I’m not really … Well, yes. Sort of. They live in this beautiful old Victorian street – Cupid’s Way it’s called, and it’s amazing, so full of character. It’s under threat from some horrible cut-throat developer who wants to build a shopping centre on the land, or something equally awful, and they’re hoping I can help organise some kind of realistic opposition to put to the planners. But today, this afternoon, I’m pretty sure it’s just an initial meeting. You know, so they can let the little guys see who they’re going up against and get all intimidated. I know exactly how these kinds of things work.’

  That at least was true. Lee, Lee and Meredith had been involved in enough high-powered planning wrangles for Evie to have the inside track on dirty tactics.

  Michael had stopped stirring his coffee, his hand suspended above the white china mug. His eyes seemed fixed on a point just beyond her left shoulder, and Evie swung around to see what was there. Nothing. She turned back to find him pushing his chair away from the table and standing up.

  ‘Evie, I have to go. I’m sorry … I’ve just realised I’m going to be very late.’

  ‘But I thought you said your–’

  The look on his face stopped her mid-sentence. The easy smile had disappeared; the dimples were a memory. His expression was blank, almost stern. Except that was ridiculous. There was no reason for him to suddenly go all cold on her.

  He reached down and brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. His touch was so light, if she hadn’t seen him do it she would have doubted it even happened.

  ‘Good luck, Phoebe Sloan,’ he said, and then he was gone.

  Chapter 4

  Evie’s train pulled into Bristol bang on time. She stepped onto the platform and let out a sigh of relief. Even after eight years of living away, the city still felt like home. Meeting Michael, giving her talk, the stress of even getting to the conference in the first place – right now it felt like it had happened to a completely different person. At least she could relax now, spend a couple of weeks being cosseted by the sweetest people she knew. They loved her no matter what. It was exactly the sort of love she needed.

  Evie spotted Mavis and Frank immediately. Truth is, they were kind of hard to miss.

  ‘Gran, you look amazing.’ Evie held the older woman at arm’s length and laughed in delight. Mavis Stone was resplendent in a hot pink leisure suit, complete with Reeboks, and sported a new dyed-blonde hair style that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a woman half her age. Or possibly a third her age.

  ‘She’s a stunner, alright,’ Frank Stone agreed, pulling Evie into a bear hug. He towered over her, and Evie could feel the bones in his back through his woollen coat. She ducked out of his embrace and held onto his hands.

  ‘You’re both completely gorgeous. And a sight for sore eyes, I can tell you. At one point yesterday I really didn’t think I was going to make it here at all.’

  ‘Neither did we.’ Mavis and Frank spoke in unison, and Evie laughed again.

  ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Let’s get back to your place and I can tell you all about my trip.’

  Frank drove a Motability supermini so narrow there was barely enough room on the back seat for Evie and her suitcase. His scalp brushed against the roof of the car every time he turned his head.

  ‘Does this thing even go over thirty miles an hour?’ Evie said when they joined the bypass.

  ‘Not with this old grouch driving,’ Mavis told her, craning her neck to see into the back. ‘He’s worried about losing his licence. Thinks if he gets so much as a ticket the police will whip it off him before you can say “bus pass”.’

  ‘Bus passes aren’t such a bad thing, are they?’ Evie watched a cyclist overtake them on the inside lane.

  Mavis put her finger to her lips. ‘Frank has a new saying – “We’re not old, we’re retro.” I think he’s in denial.’

  Evie smiled to herself. Her grandfather wasn’t the only one, by the looks of things. She leaned her head against the window and watched the familiar sights roll by. The nightclub where she’d had her first kiss. The river that ran through the centre of the city, where she’d walked hand in hand with Petey Bateman fifteen years ago, feeling buoyant and full of promise. The branch of Superdrug where she’d first experimented with make-up, and the old part of town, home to countless doorways perfect for secret snogging, or just for hanging out with her friends.

  Happy memories. Most of them, anyway.

  ‘Weren’t you affected by the storm here at all?’ she asked as they passed some hoardings behind which huge cranes posed like giant metal swans. One of the hoardings had come loose from its concrete base, slumping back on itself at an odd angle, but this was the only evidence of wind damage Evie had seen so far. Mavis started to answer, but Evie interrupted her. ‘Hold on, isn’t that where the coach station used to be?’

  Mavis nodded. ‘Another casualty of progress. It’s going to be a fancy-schmancy hotel, I heard. Or possibly more shops.’

  ‘Because what we really need around here is more shops,’ Frank said. His voice held more venom than Evie had heard in a long time.

  ‘You don’t sound too happy about it, Gramps. Has this got something to do with Cupid’s Way?’

  ‘Kind of.’ Mavis looked at her husband’s stony profile, then turned back to Evie. ‘It’s the same company – Dynamite Construction. They’re everywhere right now, and not just in this city either. We looked them up on the computer and they are huge. I mean, enormous. They’re building shopping centres and retail parks and those leisure complex thingies. And houses too, of course. All over the place. Frank says it’s hopeless, going up against a company like that.’

  Frank made a huffing sound as he flicked down the indicator. Mavis paused, but when he didn’t speak she carried on in a hushed tone.

  ‘Their CEO is going to be at the meeting today. He’s flying in from Germany, apparently. It’s got the others really het up. They’re talking as if it’s a done deal already, but it can’t be, can it?’

  ‘Of course not.’ Evie took her grandmother’s hand in hers. She was taken aback by how light it felt, dry bones wrapped in tissue-paper-skin. ‘It’s not a done deal until planning consent has been given, Gran, and even then there’s an appeal process. But we’re eons away from that stage. This is just a preliminary meeting, you said. Just for the residents of Cupid’s Way to see what’s being proposed.’

  Mavis opened her mouth to speak, but whatever she was about to say was drowned out by a torrent of abuse from the driver’s seat. Frank swerved so sharply Evie nearly hit her head on the window. He stopped the car and yanked on the handbrake. Evie pushed herself upright and peered between her grandparents’ heads.

  In the middle of the narrow street stood a white shire horse – a monster of a beast, with a long fringe over blinkered eyes and white fringing over its hooves. The horse stamped and whinnied, thrashing its head from side to side. Evie had no idea how to size horses, but she reckoned this one must be the maximum number of hands possible. Attached to the horse by a wooden harness was a cart with four red-painted wheels. At first glance there didn’t seem to be anyone in the cart, or indeed anyone tending to the horse at all, but when Evie shuf
fled further forward she caught sight of the top of a man’s head. It was bald, with a tuft of ginger hair above each ear. As she watched, the mystery driver cracked a whip and nudged the horse on. Straight towards Frank’s supermini.

  ‘Reverse, reverse,’ Mavis cried, but Frank was already half out of the car.

  ‘Gran, we’d better get out too.’ Evie grabbed her suitcase and reached for the door. ‘Come on, over here.’

  They pressed themselves against a brick wall out of harm’s way, and watched Frank advance on the horse and cart, shaking his clenched fist.

  ‘This is the bloody end for you, Peacock. I’ve told you a million times you can’t bring that mangy old nag up here. What the bloody hell do you think you’re playing at?’

  ‘What on earth is going on?’ Evie’s heart was racing and she felt the urge to pinch herself. A horse and cart in the middle of a cobbled street; two old men, their jaws set in anger, squaring up to each other. Evie shook her head and looked around for some kind of orientation. To her right was one of the gates that led into Cupid’s Way, and she could see the first of the twelve Victorian houses above an expanse of evergreen hedging. It was just like the others – perfectly preserved, with Gothic revival architecture and tall sash windows, a tiny yard out back and a lawned garden in front. All the gardens were communal now, with a cobbled path running down the middle of the facing rows of two-up, two-down houses. Evie held up her hand to shield her eyes from the winter sun. The window frames could do with a good coat of paint, and some of the roof tiles had slipped into the drooping gutter, but apart from that this house at the end of the street hadn’t changed since she was a child.

  Evie had grown up five minutes from here – her mum and her grandparents were close, back then – but while Cupid’s Way itself was unchanged, she couldn’t say the same for the surrounding area. Most of the terraced streets had been bulldozed, making way for modern housing that favoured cul de sacs and crescents, not the linear configuration of old. The curved grey back of a vast warehousing complex bounded the street to the north, while the glittering mirrored facades of a new retail park threw back the sun from the south. And looming behind number one Cupid’s Way, so close it seemed to be leaning over it, was the McAllister building. It was stern and uncompromising – architecture for architecture’s sake, in Evie’s opinion. She regarded it for a moment, taking in the boxy concrete design, and wondering what the hell the city planners had been thinking when they gave the green light to such a monstrosity.

  She was quite looking forward to meeting the planners that afternoon, in fact.

  The man in the cart was standing now, barely as tall as Frank despite being a good two feet off the ground. He shook his fist right back at Evie’s grandfather, and the breeze made his two patches of red hair flip up around his ears like feathers. He puffed out his chest and stamped one foot; the horse whinnied and shook its head, flicking away the long white fringe and glaring back at the cart and driver.

  ‘Frank,’ Mavis called. ‘Think of your blood pressure.’ But Frank wasn’t listening. He reached into the cart and grabbed the smaller man by his grubby jacket.

  ‘Gran, he looks like he might be about to do some serious damage.’ Evie took a step forward, but jumped back again when the horse turned her way. ‘Whoa there, big fella. Nothing to see here.’

  Mavis and Evie began to back away down the street, palms held out in front. ‘Come on,’ Mavis said, tugging on Evie’s sleeve. ‘We can slip around the back and go in the other side.’

  ‘What, and leave Gramps out here on his own? Isn’t that a bit dangerous?’

  ‘He’s a danger to himself these days, but I don’t think he’s a danger to anyone else. Least of all Bob Peacock. They’re both full of bluster and hot air. Always have been.’

  ‘That’s Bob Peacock?’ Evie followed her grandmother along a row of back yards with low wooden fences. ‘I can’t believe it. He used to have so much–’

  ‘Hair? Well, it must be nearly fifteen years since you last saw him. People change. Haven’t I changed?’

  ‘You never change. But I was going to say dignity. He worked for the council, didn’t he? Something to do with roads.’

  Evie remembered the Peacock clan so clearly. There was Alun and Eloise, and old Rolo, who would be ancient by now, if he was still alive. She’d gone to school with little pig-tailed Eloise, but they’d never been what you’d call friends, despite the Peacocks living next door to Evie’s grandparents. Next door three times over, in fact – the Peacocks had bought three of the terraces in Cupid’s Way and, without so much as a nod to building regs, had knocked them into one.

  Mavis reached the gate that led to the north end of the street and held it open for Evie. ‘He was a bin man. He used to call himself a road hygienist. Even then he was a complete tosser.’

  ‘Gran!’

  ‘I’m sorry, Evie, but that man is driving my Frank crazy.’ She sighed and closed the gate behind them, latching it carefully. From the other end of the path they could hear shouts punctuated by occasional neighing. Mavis rolled her eyes to the sky. ‘They’re as bad as each other. Come on, I’ll make us a cuppa and tell you all about it.’

  Evie fell into step beside her and looked around. It was astonishing, really, how little Cupid’s Way had changed over the years, even if it was looking a little rough around the edges. The glass and concrete and sharp lines of the surrounding buildings only provided a counterpoint to the warm red brick and cute little porches. Once you were enclosed within the gardens you could hear birdsong, and the wind rustling through the branches of the hundred-year-old trees, and you could smell the greenery, even in the middle of February. As they turned down the path to Mavis and Frank’s house, Evie saw patches of white in the grass. Snowdrops. She smiled and took a deep breath.

  ‘You could turn this place into holiday cottages,’ she said. ‘I’d pay to escape here – it’s an oasis of calm amidst all the madness.’

  ‘Don’t you believe it.’ Mavis put her key in the door and turned to look back at the gardens. ‘There’s more madness in these twelve houses than in the rest of the world put together.’

  ‘Oh, come on. It’s like some secret haven in here.’

  ‘And turning it into holiday cottages would be the least of our worries. I don’t think Dynamite Construction have anything quite so picturesque in mind.’

  ‘No, probably not.’ Evie paused, then lowered her voice. ‘I’m so sorry you’re having to deal with this, Gran. This business with the planners. It’s so beautiful here, I can’t imagine what you must be going through, thinking there’s even the slightest possibility of being forced out.’

  Privately, Evie didn’t think her grandparents had anything to worry about. Developers had tried to get hold of Cupid’s Way before. It sat on land worth millions, so they’d been told, and over the last twenty years various schemes had come and gone, each more ambitious than the last. McAllisters had come the closest, but even their plans came to nothing. It wasn’t so easy to slap compulsory purchase orders on home owners, and Evie fully expected it to blow over in a couple of months, the way these things always did. But living through it, when it was your home being fought over? A home you’d lived in for almost eighty years? Evie was telling the truth – she couldn’t imagine how Mavis felt. And she didn’t much want to try.

  ‘Ah, that’s not the half of it, my love,’ Mavis said. Her face, usually so bright, so upbeat, was pensive. Evie reached out and stroked her arm. Mavis shook her head slightly and smiled. But not before Evie had seen a sadness in her eyes that tore at her heart.

  ‘Come on, then,’ Mavis said, slapping Evie on the back. ‘What are we doing hanging around out here? It’s bloody freezing, my girl. Let’s get in and have that cup of tea.’

  Chapter 5

  Evie sat on the single bed in her grandparents’ spare room and looked at her phone. On a whim, she’d left a note for Michael at the hotel reception that morning. She still couldn’t understand why he’
d rushed off so suddenly. Maybe he’d got cold feet after offering her a lift and felt awkward. Or maybe he’d seen someone he had to talk to, but didn’t want to have to explain. And why should he, after all? They’d known each other less than a day, had spent an evening together, not by any means alone, and had shared … what, exactly? A few anecdotes, some fragments of history. A meal, a few laughs. Some cocktails.

  Still, Evie had felt the loss of him the moment he left the restaurant – like that feeling you get when someone rests a hot hand on your leg for a while, then takes it away. She wasted no time grabbing her luggage and checking out. But not before writing him a note. Her phone number, a smiley face, and the words “Call me.”

  She didn’t think for one moment he would. And so far she’d been proved right.

  ‘Evie. Lunch is ready.’

  She got up and smoothed out the quilt – one of her mother’s cast-offs, no doubt. Evie stopped for a moment, resting her hand on the chipped windowsill. She watched a peach-coloured bird eating seeds off a table in the middle of the gardens, and wondered what it had been like for her mother growing up in a place like this. Angela Stone hadn’t wasted any time escaping – as soon as Evie started sixth form she’d packed a bag and answered the call to adventure that had grown over the years from a whisper to a scream. Now she lived in Canada with the man of her dreams, ten acres of land and four golden retrievers. Evie couldn’t blame her, but that didn’t make it any easier to live with.

  Across the path, the door to number eight opened and a woman stepped out, followed by a man wearing overalls. The overalls looked brand new, with creases still in the trousers, and were slightly too big for his frame. The woman handed him a canvas tool bag that also looked new, and touched his arm briefly. As the man walked away, turning right at the end of the path, Evie noticed the expression on the woman’s face. Longing. There was no other word for it. Evie smiled to herself and shook her head. Never had she seen a man so unlikely to produce that level of longing in a woman, but it just went to show – you never could tell.