by Jenny Harper
‘Yeah, I know. Prince Charming and Snow White all rolled into one.’
Kate put down her coffee and stared at Charlotte. Was she being sarcastic? ‘It was a bit like a fairy tale. I remember pinching myself a hundred times to check I wasn’t dreaming.’
‘And found you weren’t.’
‘What is wrong with you, Char?’ Kate frowned.
‘Wrong? Nothing. Why? Were you expecting me to sit back and reassure you and say that of course Andy’s not having an affair? I can’t do that. Not because he is, but because I’d hardly be likely to know about it if he was screwing the entire Scottish membership of the WRI.’
‘I suppose not.’
‘What’s sparked this off, anyway?’
‘Initially, something Ninian said.’
‘Yes?’
‘He said Andrew’s been acting weirdly.’
‘And has he?’
‘I hadn’t noticed, no.’
‘And what does Andy say?’ Charlotte was the only person Kate knew who called her husband Andy.
‘I haven’t mentioned it.’
‘I thought you guys talked about everything.’
‘We do, we—’ We used to, she corrected herself in surprise. When had they last had any kind of frank discussion? ‘Don’t look at me like that.’
‘Like what?’ Charlotte lowered her raised eyebrow and sipped her coffee. ‘You’re worrying about Andy because of something Ninian said. Is that reasonable?’
She said slowly, ‘Ninian has been rather difficult recently. He may just be looking for attention.’
‘Well then.’
Kate said nothing. She thought of the silent phone calls. She’d assumed they were something to do with the Summerfield project. Yet Andrew had missed the Council meeting – he’d been out all day, he’d put on aftershave. He’d bought her a gift.
No. Surely not. He wouldn’t …
He wouldn’t do to her what she’d done to Val.
Charlotte lifted the biscuits and thrust them out at her. ‘It sounds to me like an issue of trust. Do you trust Andy or don’t you?’
‘Of course I trust him.’ Doubt made the assertion emerge with force.
‘Have a biscuit.’
Kate ignored Mrs Gillies’s irresistible cherry and macademia cookies. She didn’t even look at the tin, she looked at Charlotte. ‘What do you think, Char? Truly?’
Charlotte, who ate voraciously and always stayed thin, lifted a biscuit out of the tin and bit into it. ‘These are terrific,’ she said through a mouthful of crumbs. ‘She’s a treasure, your Mrs G.’
‘Char.’
Charlotte’s slim shoulders lifted in a shrug.
Kate wanted reassurance, not uncertainty. Charlotte’s opinion had so well and truly communicated itself to her that she left The Herons feeling more unsettled than she’d been when she arrived.
Forgie was just a dozen miles from Edinburgh. Its location – on a hill overlooking the Firth of Forth – was spectacular, as settlers across the centuries had discovered. There were Pictish remains and traces of Roman occupation, though most of the surviving buildings were Georgian or Victorian. They stood, foursquare and gracious, behind high walls, protected from casual curiosity and shielded from traffic along the one main street.
Willow Corner was one of the oldest houses in the village. It was harled and colourwashed in a traditional deep rose and the small burn that ran through the garden provided the water source for the thirsty willows after which the house had been named. Kate loved her home. She thought of it as much more than a home – it was a precious link through the years to the people of the past who had the money, the vision and the aesthetic good sense to build for elegance and pleasure, and for posterity.
Pleasure and posterity. What kind of posterity was she creating? Kate trudged back to Willow Corner the long way round so that she could gather some composure. Her conversation with Charlotte had left her disturbed. Surely the edifice she’d constructed half a lifetime ago with such passion and optimism could not possibly crumble around her?
‘Mrs Courtenay?’
Kate stopped abruptly. ‘Hello.’
Nicola Arnott, the head teacher she’d met last night, was desperately trying to restrain a frisky West Highland terrier. Its nose to the ground, it strained and tugged, lured by some scent too enticing to resist.
‘Darcy! Behave!’ She looked at Kate and laughed. ‘I know. Stupid name for a dog. It was my daughter’s idea. How funny to meet you again so soon. I’ve been thinking about you.’
‘Nothing too awful, I hope. I just do my job.’
‘I thought you did very well last night. It won’t be an easy ride, though.’
‘I know,’ Kate smiled in rueful acknowledgement of this. ‘I’m prepared for that.’
‘Are you? Well, you have my vote, but there’s going to be a lot of resistance. I guess I’m not telling you anything new. Anyway, enough of that – I need some advice.’
‘Oh yes?’
‘How well do you know Summerfield?’
‘A little.’
‘There’s a piece of waste land next to the school. Darcy!’ She tugged at the lead.
‘I know it, yes.’
‘I must have complained about it to the Council a dozen times. It’s a mess. The children throw their sweet wrappers there, and heaven knows what other rubbish is lurking among the weeds and rubble. Sadly, I’ve only ever met indifference.’
‘Oh yes?’ Kate, who’d had many dealings with the local Council, was not surprised.
‘On the last occasion, though, I finally spoke to a young man who showed some intelligence and interest. He promised to do something.’
‘That’s good.’
‘He called me back last night, just before I left for the meeting. Apparently it belongs to the school.’
‘Really? How come?’
‘The school was built on a plot of land that included this area, but it was never turned into a playground or, indeed, anything useful at all.’
‘That could be good news, couldn’t it? I imagine it’ll take some tidying, though.’
‘Sure.’
There was a pause. Kate waited, curious.
‘The thing is, well, I was wondering – do you have any ideas about what we might do with it? After it’s cleaned up?’
‘Me?’
‘I’ve been led to believe you have expertise in this area. Ways of using bits of land, planning applications, project management, all that kind of thing.’
‘I’ve never been involved in a school project, or anything like what you’re describing.’
‘There’s a first for everything.’ Nicola smiled her ready smile. ‘Your experience would be hugely appreciated.’
‘Who did you say gave you my name?’
‘Mark Matthews? He works at AeGen.’
Kate shook her head in amused exasperation. Local knowledge. He’d set her up. ‘Well, I have no ideas off the top of my head, but I’ll certainly give it some consideration.’
‘Thanks.’
There was a low growl as Darcy’s solid behind waggled deep in the weeds beside the pavement. ‘What have you got there? I’d better get going.’ She smiled apologetically. ‘He needs a walk. I don’t usually come this way but my daughter was going to a friend’s near here. I guess Darcy’s excited by all the new smells. Will you give it some thought? Can I phone you in a few days?’
Kate took Nicola’s outstretched hand. ‘Of course.’
The encounter cheered her up. It was a change to come across someone who valued her opinion.
A few days later, a heatwave catapulted Forgie into an early summer. Kate, on her way home from work, pulled up in front of The Herons to return a book she’d borrowed from Charlotte months ago. She’d never finished it – in truth, novels weren’t her thing and now she was too busy to read for pleasure in any case. It would be a good excuse to have another chat with Charlotte, clear up some of the comments she’d made.
&nb
sp; She smelled the barbecue the moment she climbed out of her car.
‘Hi Kate! Good to see you.’ Mike Proctor, ultra casual in shorts and a baggy tee shirt, was brandishing barbecue tongs in one hand. He held them away from her and bent to kiss her cheek. ‘Come on in. Drink?’
Kate grinned at his well-padded figure, remembering him as he was during the brief period they’d dated at uni, so skinny she’d felt compelled to feed him up on pasta. She tugged playfully at the shorts, which were smeared with oil and flour and what was almost certainly charcoal.
‘Great look, Mike.’
‘Less sarcasm, missy. Charlotte’s out the back. I’ve got a jug of Pimms in the fridge, let me get you a glass. I was heading there anyway, we need more burgers.’
‘I just came to drop this off.’ Kate waved the book.
Charlotte and Georgie, who was fourteen now and looking sweet in tiny shorts and a crop top, were lounging on cushioned deck chairs, reading. Charlotte’s toenails were a vivid green, Georgie’s purple. The pretty floral tones made Kate feel horrendously overdressed in dark business suit and tights.
‘Hi, Kate!’ Charlotte waved and touched the arm of the recliner next to her. ‘Great to see you. Come and sit down.’
‘I mustn’t stay. I need to get home to convince Andrew he has a real wife and not an absentee one.’
Charlotte squinted sideways at her. ‘Call him. Mike’ll throw some more chops on the barbecue.’
‘Nice thought. Thanks. But there’s Ninian—’
‘Get him along here too. We haven’t seen him for ages, have we Georgie?’
Ninian and Georgie used to play doctors and nurses, but those days of innocence were long gone. Now her teenage son was embarrassed in the presence of the girls. ‘I don’t know if he’ll come. I suppose I could ask.’
‘Not even for a barbied sausage?’ Mike handed Kate a glass of amber liquid, decorated with sprigs of mint and slices of cucumber.
‘Do call,’ Charlotte urged.
One grateful gulp of Pimms and Kate succumbed and called home on her mobile. ‘Andrew? Mike and Charlotte are asking us to join them in the garden. Mike’s got his chef’s pinafore on and the smell’s pretty tempting. … Right. … Okay.’
‘He’ll be round in ten minutes,’ she said in answer to Charlotte’s unspoken question, ‘but he doesn’t think Ninian will come.’
‘Fine either way. Listen, you’re looking roasted, why don’t you nip in and raid my wardrobe? There’s a pair of flip-flops on the floor in our room, and you can grab a tee shirt, you know where they are. Go on, you’ll be a lot more comfortable.’
By the time Andrew arrived, cool in cropped trousers and a polo shirt, Kate felt considerably more relaxed.
‘Hello Andy.’ Charlotte rose from her lounger and raised her face for a kiss. ‘You’re looking gorgeous, as usual.’
Andrew obliged, laughing. ‘Flatterer.’
‘Shorts maketh the man.’
‘That’s not what you said to me,’ Mike grumbled from behind the barbecue.
Charlotte always flirted with Andrew, she’d done it for years. ‘Fetch Andy a drink, Mike, why don’t you?
As they all settled with drinks, Kate said, ‘You know Summerfield Primary? They’ve discovered that that bit of land next to the building actually belongs to the school.’
‘Really? What are they going to do with it?’
Kate closed her eyes and felt the warmth of the evening sun on her face. ‘The head teacher wondered if I could suggest anything. Anyone got any ideas?’
Andrew said, ‘A new school library.’
‘It’s all computers these days,’ Charlotte teased him. ‘By the time those kids grow up, no-one will be reading your books, Andy. Not as books, anyway.’
Andrew grunted. Although he wrote on a computer, his knowledge of how to use them was basic. He had an almost pathological dislike of modern technology, particularly e-books.
Mike suggested, ‘A music room? School hall? Gym? Some of those kids look as though they could do with some exercise.’
‘Look who’s talking,’ Charlotte said. ‘What about a community space?’
‘That’s it!’ Kate exclaimed.
‘What’s it?’
‘A community space. Something everyone can get involved in. But not a building. A garden.’
‘A garden? It would get trashed.’
Kate shook her head. ‘Not if the whole community was involved in creating it. There’d be pride of ownership. Bet you.’
Mike was doubtful. ‘Good in theory, Kate.’
‘A garden’s something everyone can get involved in. The kids themselves, of course, but you could get the Summerfield residents engaged too – not just clearing the land, but planning what to do with it as well. And you wouldn’t need planning permission.’
‘I suppose it could be used as a teaching tool,’ Andrew said, his old training emerging. ‘They could learn about plants and the environment, maybe have a pond, and frogs and fish.’
‘You could have a maze,’ Charlotte contributed. ‘A summerhouse. A pergola. Use it for projects, like art and creative writing. Growing food and herbs.’
‘Hang on, Kate,’ Mike said. ‘Put the brakes on. I hate to be a spoilsport, but surely this would all cost money, however willing people might be.’
Kate said, ‘Yes – and I know where I could get my hands on some.’
Charlotte laughed. ‘Won the lottery, have you?’
‘The Summerfield Wind Farm Community Benefit Fund.’
‘The what?’
‘It’s not just the farmers who get rent from the land when we build a wind farm, AeGen always gives money back to the local communities the site might affect – in this case, Summerfield, primarily. The school would have to apply for it, of course, but I’m sure it would get funding. A scheme like this would be just the kind of thing they’d kill to put money into, something that benefits children and locals alike.’
Mike stood up. ‘Food for thought. And talking of food, time to eat.’
As the sun finally dipped behind the trees at the far end of Charlotte’s garden, Kate felt more content than she had for weeks. All projects have their challenges and Summerfield, perhaps, would have more than most, but good things would come out of it too. And she had her family, and her friends. What was there to complain about?
Chapter Ten
Frank Griffiths’ living room was packed – which wasn’t difficult, because it was quite small. Nevertheless, there were – Ibsen did a swift head count – eighteen people crammed into the space. Five on the sofa (three on the seat and one on each well-padded arm), three on each of the matching chairs (one on the seat and one on each arm), one on a footstool, one on a piano stool and five standing.
There wasn’t a single face he recognised, except Frank himself.
‘Good evening, everyone,’ Frank boomed above the hubbub.
A hush fell.
‘It’s great that you’ve all turned out tonight. Thank you. It shows, I think, how strongly we all feel about this.’
There was a mutter of approval and nods all round. A wiry-looking woman with a frizz of grey hair and a hard mouth, called, ‘Right on.’
Ibsen shifted from one foot to the other. ‘Feel free to bring Wellington,’ Frank had said when he’d invited him to the meeting, but he was glad now that he’d left the dog with Tam. Wellington liked space.
‘Right, first of all, I have to make it clear that I’m not acting tonight as Chair of the Community Council. The Council has not yet defined its official position but you all know I’m personally opposed. Clear?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘Sure.’
‘Good. So let’s assess where we’re at. AeGen have put in a planning application for a Met mast on Summerfield Law. We’ve been told they’re planning to build twelve wind turbines on top of this wild beauty spot. My first question is, what do people think? Are you for or against?’
There wasn’t a single pe
rson here from Summerfield, Ibsen noted. Perhaps later, when they understood the impact more fully, the council estate would rally – or perhaps, like Mary Tolen at the meeting, they’d be seduced by AeGen’s promise of hard cash.
But money could never make up for the ugliness of the turbines.
‘Outrageous—’
‘Spoil everything—’
‘We don’t want turbines here—’
‘It’d never be the same again—’
This crowd, at least, was firmly opposed to the plans. Ibsen scanned their faces. Well-heeled, middle class to a man and woman, people his father would call ‘Nimbys’ – the Not In My Back Yard brigade. Is that what I am? But his objections weren’t because the wind farm was near him, they were about protecting an area of outstanding natural beauty.
Ibsen shivered, though the room was warm to the point of stifling. One day, five years ago, he’d climbed Summerfield Law with Lynn and her family, with his own parents, and with Cassie and Ian. The small lead canister in his arms weighed as heavy as the world and his legs had dragged unwillingly to a place he normally loved. It would have been fitting if the weather had been stormy, or icy, but there’d been no synchronicity – it had been a flawless day.
They scattered Violet’s ashes on the heather with a poem and a prayer. He’d put his arm round Lynn as they watched a playful breeze waft all that was left of their baby up to the heavens.
And now they wanted to plant a crop of turbines there, dig vast holes in the earth and pour in concrete, desecrate the loveliness of place with ugly machines.
‘Our task is to do all we possibly can to prevent them. Agreed?’
Ibsen tried to concentrate. The people at this meeting, at least, were behind Frank Griffiths.
‘What do we have to do, Frank?’ someone said above the chatter.
‘Okay, let’s talk about that. I suppose the first thing is to campaign against the planning application for the mast. If that gets turned down, end of story.’
‘What’s the importance of the mast?’
‘They need to test the suitability of the site, weather-wise.’
‘So it mightn’t be suitable at all?’