The knot in his stomach tightened and he very carefully put down the mugs he’d been holding. He looked up at her.
‘What about them?’
‘You don’t think it’s weird that we never hear anything from – her?’
‘From your mum?’
She swallowed and nodded.
‘What’s brought this up?’ God, he wished teenagers came with a handbook. He scanned his memory, trying to think what advice Janet – who’d seen more troubled teenagers come through her doors than he’d had hot dinners – had given him in the past. He’d known Freya was going to bring it up again at some point, but it had been so long that he’d hoped maybe she’d forgotten. He shook his head imperceptibly at the ridiculousness of the idea. You don’t just forget that your mother walked out when you were a toddler.
‘I dunno. Just wondered.’
‘I don’t have any answers, sweetheart. I wish I could say something easy, but – people are complicated.’ It sounded pretty lame, but it was the best he could offer.
She shrugged, and headed back to the sofa. Under the circumstances, he thought maybe he’d leave her to it, and stop trying to force her outside for a walk. And she had spent an hour messing around at Janet’s place with Fiona. At least she’d had her daily quota of vitamin D. That was one parenting box ticked, anyway.
‘I’ll take these two for a run up to the woods, then.’
‘Okay,’ Freya replied. She didn’t look up as he headed out, calling the dogs as he went.
When he got back, he found the house empty. Despite her protestations about not wanting to go out, Freya had nipped across the road to see Bunty. It was funny how well she got on with a woman of ninety-six. There were more than eighty years between them, but Bunty had been there – a surrogate great-grandma, really – since she’d been born. She’d been a calm and capable pair of hands when Stella had left, popping by with a tray of scones or a tin of biscuits. And as Freya had grown up, their bond – and their shared love of a fiendishly difficult puzzle – had grown. Crossword puzzles were a mystery to him, but Freya and Bunty loved nothing more than to sit down together and work their way through one together. It was very sweet.
He was still standing at the sitting room window looking out when she reappeared, a pile of books under her arm. She didn’t spot him as she turned to wave goodbye to Bunty, and he sat down on the sofa, so that when Freya reappeared she had no idea that he’d seen her. She waved a brief hello, unplugged her phone from the charger on the sideboard, took a bag of crisps and an apple, and disappeared for the night.
Chapter Six
‘Hello again!’
Mel, the woman she’d met in the woods, was standing on the pavement outside the cottage looking at her phone as Lucy opened the door. Lucy wedged it with a foot, trying to sidle out without Hamish making a bid for freedom.
‘I’m not stalking you, honestly.’
‘Hi – sorry – no, back!’ She extricated her foot and pulled the door shut, turning around and trying to look composed.
‘Hello, gorgeous.’ Mel bent down and scratched Hamish under the chin. ‘Are you being a little scamp and causing problems?’ Hamish instantly sat and looked at her as if he wouldn’t dream of misbehaving, with a butter-wouldn’t-melt expression on his face.
‘Something like that,’ Lucy said.
‘Are you staying in the cottage?’ Mel took a band from around her wrist and tied her hair back in a ponytail.
How many times was she going to have the same conversation? It would be easier if she just put a little notice on the door to let everyone know. Back home in Brighton she could have been locked in the loo for a week and nobody would even have noticed – apart from at work, of course. But here in Little Maudley it seemed like everyone knew everything.
‘Just for a short while.’
‘That’s nice. You’ll have met Bunty, then?’ More proof of the small-town theory. Lucy couldn’t help smiling. It was – exactly as she’d already thought – just like living in some sort of gentle rural soap opera. As if to emphasize the point, a tractor rumbled past.
‘Yes, I’m helping out with a bit of shopping and things for her.’
‘Oh that’s nice. She’s lovely, isn’t she?’ Mel lowered her voice slightly. ‘Bit stern until you get to know her, but really, she’s a pussycat. So you’re settling in okay?’
‘Oh – um, fine.’ Lucy wasn’t sure if she should mention the random weirdo who had turned up in the garden, or . . . ‘Well, I did have a bit of a strange experience earlier.’
‘Really?’ Mel’s eyebrows curved upwards, as did her mouth. ‘Do go on.’ She leaned against a lamp-post and crossed her arms. She’d changed since earlier and was now wearing a summery, striped t-shirt dress, with bare, tanned legs and her wet hair in a ponytail. The sun was already high in the sky and the sky was bright blue. It was the beginning of a perfect English summer’s day.
‘Well, I got back from walking Hamish, and was in the process of burning breakfast –’
‘Nice start to the morning.’
‘And I opened the back door to find a man wandering around in the garden. So I tried to chase him off. Next thing, he turns up at the front door, introduces himself and says he’s trying to check a hedgehog house.’
Mel snorted with laughter. ‘That’ll be Sam.’
‘That’s right! Do you know him?’
‘I do. Definitely not a burglar.’
‘Does he make a habit of just wandering around people’s gardens?’
‘Not that I know of.’
‘Well, that’s a relief.’
‘I bet. Where are you off to?’
‘I was going to pop to the shop and get something for breakfast that isn’t burnt.’
‘I’m going the same way, I’ll walk with you.’
They headed up the lane towards the village shop. The village was humming with activity now – lawnmowers buzzing, parents and children coming and going, dressed in kit for weekend clubs. They passed two small girls in karate gear and Mel waved hello to their dad, who was locking up their cottage. A teenager in jodhpurs cycled past with a riding hat hanging from the handlebars of her bike. A group of ramblers clad in stout shoes and sensible walking clothes, led by a woman with walking poles and a loud voice, crossed the road in front of them and headed up the footpath towards the woods. Butterflies flittered around a huge buddleia bush outside the cottage by the stream.
‘We’re quite lucky,’ Mel explained. ‘We’re a bit off the beaten track for the whole Cotswold tourist thing, because we’re just on the very edge of it. So we get the pretty houses and the lovely village feeling, but we don’t get jammed up with tourist traffic for the three months of summer.’
A solitary car drove past. ‘I mean, we do get the odd one – we’ve got a few holiday rentals in the village – but it’s not mega-touristy. There’s a downside to that, though: it’s a bit everyone-knows-everyone.’
Lucy thought back to last night. ‘Mmm. I met the woman who runs the village shop yesterday.’
‘Ah, Beth. Yeah, I was just about to warn you about her. If there’s anything you don’t want everyone in the village to know within about ten minutes, don’t mention it to her. And if she starts trying to extract information, just get her onto the subject of emigrating to France. It’s her new obsession. She’ll stop giving you the third degree if you bring it up. Only trouble is, she’ll go on about that for hours, but you can’t have everything.’
‘When I met her, she was . . .’
‘Fishing?’
Lucy grinned. ‘Something like that.’
‘Basically we didn’t have a village shop for years, and then when the old post office came up for sale after it’d been lying empty for ages, we decided to do a community buy-out thing. So by rights the shop sort of belongs to all of us, but Beth’s in charge – and that means she thinks she’s a sort of village matriarch. I mean, she’s only thirty-five, but she acts about thirty years older.’
‘So who runs the cafe?’
‘Oh, Flo – she’s a genius. Best flat white you’ll get this side of London, and bacon sandwiches to die for. I wish she stayed open all day, but she’s only open from nine until two. That’s where I’m going now, if you want to join me for one? I mean, only if you want to, of course. It’s the perils of working with dogs all day. I end up chatting away to whoever will keep me company!’
‘I’d love to,’ said Lucy before she could stop herself. She was missing the bustle and camaraderie of the staffroom more than she’d expected, and Hamish wasn’t much of a conversationalist.
‘Morning,’ said a cheerful voice as they opened the heavy wooden shop door.
‘Hi, Beth.’
‘Oh, hello.’ Beth perked up immediately on seeing them. She gave a dazzling smile. ‘Hello, Mel. And hello again.’
‘This is Lucy. She’s staying in Bunty’s place.’
‘So what are you doing there, then?’
Lucy opened her mouth without thinking. ‘Oh, I’m on a sabbatical from work, so when I saw the ad Margaret had placed, it seemed like perfect timing.’
‘I didn’t know she’d placed an ad?’
‘We’re just going to have a coffee, actually. So we’ll see you in a—’
‘A sabbatical,’ said Beth, as if Mel hadn’t spoken. ‘That sounds interesting. So what is it you’re having a break from?’
‘I’m a history teacher.’
‘Oh, really? Are you going to be teaching locally?’ Beth crossed her arms and rocked back on her heels, looking at Lucy with renewed interest. She nodded towards the local paper, which had a headline about shock Ofsted school inspection results. ‘The school in Bletchingham is going downhill, if you ask me. We could do with some decent new teachers.’
‘I’m not teaching, no. Just having a break for a few months.’
‘Very nice,’ said Beth, looking impressed. ‘I wouldn’t mind a break myself. So is that like a holiday, then?’
‘Not quite . . . I’m planning to do some research into the history of the area.’
‘Oh, that sounds good. What’s that for then?’
Mel stepped sideways and tapped the side of Lucy’s foot with the edge of her shoe. Lucy realized what was happening and glanced at her. Mel was suppressing a smile.
‘Come on,’ Mel said, taking her arm. ‘I’m going to take Lucy for a coffee before you give her the third degree.’
‘I’m only asking,’ Beth protested.
‘You can grill her later,’ Mel said to Beth. ‘See what I mean?’ She made a face.
‘I didn’t mean to tell her any of that stuff! She’s a bit like an interviewer on television. She keeps asking questions and I’m too British and polite not to answer them.’
‘Exactly,’ said Mel, ‘And of course she knew exactly who you were, too. Nothing gets past Beth.’ She reached over, taking two menus and waving hello to a girl behind the counter who had a pen in her mouth and both hands occupied. ‘That’s Flo – who won’t give you the Spanish Inquisition, incidentally.’
Mel passed her a menu and scanned her phone while Lucy read it. Having burnt breakfast, her stomach rumbled at the list of food on offer. ‘Bacon roll and a flat white, please.’
‘Coming up.’
Mel headed to the counter where she stood, chatting happily to Flo, fiddling with her phone as she waited for the coffees. Meanwhile Lucy looked around. They’d turned a little side room of the Victorian post office into a dinky little cafe with five tables and an assortment of old-fashioned school chairs. On the pale grey painted walls there were paintings of dogs, cats and horses, each with a tiny pink price tag on the corner. She peered a bit closer at one of them. They were incredibly lifelike and very pretty.
‘They’re done by Sue Cassidy. She’s got a studio in her garden. She’ll paint your animals from life or from photos, and she sells these ones, too. She’s amazing.’ Mel came back, placing the two coffees on the table, noticing Lucy admiring the paintings.
‘You don’t have any dog training today then?’
‘Admin day,’ Mel wiped a coffee moustache off her lip. ‘Which means procrastinate, drink coffee and try and persuade my daughter to spend some time with me and not glued to her phone.’
‘How old is she?’
‘Cammie? She’s fourteen.’
‘Year nine? That’s a nice age. I always quite liked teaching that age.’ God, she’d been out of teaching for a few weeks and she’d already forgotten how many times she’d collapsed in the staffroom, swearing that her year nine group would be the death of her.
Mel pulled a face. ‘Teaching’s bloody brave if you ask me. Rather you than me.’
‘Not at that age. The worst stage is when they’ve been there a year and think they know everything. Year eights are a nightmare for everyone.’
‘So what is it you’re wanting to investigate, then? You know we’ve got Bletchley Park just up the road – there’s loads of historical stuff there, if it’s the war you’re interested in.’
‘It is. I’m going this week.’
‘Cammie went on a school trip last term. She said it was amazing. And that’s something coming from her, because she’s deeply in the everything is SO boring phase.’
‘Oh yes, I remember that stage too. Don’t worry, it does pass.’
‘You’ll have to grill Bunty. She’ll be interesting to talk to if you’re researching that sort of thing.’
Lucy’s heart gave a little swoop of excitement. ‘Really?’
‘God, yeah. She doesn’t talk about it, but she was something important in the war. Worked in a field listening to something or other – I can’t remember the details, but she’ll tell you all about it. Top-secret stuff. She’s a dark horse. Loads of secrets, our Bunty. I reckon she was quite racy when she was young. I’ve seen photos – she was really pretty. All pin curls and red lipstick and hourglass-shaped.’
Lucy thought of the glamorous photos she’d seen of Bunty when she was younger and nodded in agreement. She was fascinated with the story of Bletchley Park. It had taken years before what had been going on in all those little huts had come out, and even now there were men and women who hadn’t shared their stories because they’d stuck firmly to the rule they’d been given. They’d signed the Official Secrets Act, and that was that. She’d watched countless television documentaries with the people who had talked, and they were all so matter-of-fact, all of them saying the same thing – that they’d just been doing their bit – when in fact they were a vital part of the war effort. It would be amazing if she could get a first-hand account of what it had been like from Bunty.
‘I’ll ask her.’
‘Just get her in the right mood. You’ve probably not had a chance to spend much time with her yet.’
Lucy shook her head. ‘A quick cup of tea yesterday, that’s all. I get the distinct impression that I’m surplus to requirements, but I have to try and find a way to offer help, even if she doesn’t really want it.’
‘God, I don’t envy you. She’s a cantankerous old bugger.’ Mel laughed and took a sip of her coffee. ‘I mean, I love her to bits, but – yeah. Just time it right and she might share her secrets with you. Get it wrong and you’ll be booted out the door.’
They both laughed.
‘So what made you leave teaching? I’ve read loads of stuff about people being threatened with knives and all sorts. We don’t have that round here, but I’m sure it’ll be a matter of time. It’s bloody scary.’
‘It wasn’t the pupils.’ Without thinking, she rubbed a hand on her temple, thinking of the pain she’d felt that last day of school before the illness struck. ‘Just the usual stuff you read about in the papers. Stress, that sort of thing.’
‘Have you given it up for good?’
Lucy shook her head. ‘No, but I think when I do go back it’ll be part time, or I’ll work somewhere that’s not so stressy. So much of it depends on the management team.’
‘Ugh.’ M
el shuddered. ‘Just the words management team make me feel uncomfortable. Well, you’ve come to the right place then. There’s nothing much going on here. The biggest stress is Helen Bromsgrove worrying that we might not win Britain’s Best Kept Village or feature in the Guardian’s most desirable country escapes.’ She pulled a face.
‘Who is Helen Bromsgrove?’
Flo appeared at that moment with their food. She and Mel exchanged glances.
‘Oh, you’ll meet her soon enough. She’s like the upper-class version of Beth. Likes to think she runs the place. Chair of the village school PTA, chair of the WI committee, chair of blooming everything. She’s power mad.’
‘She wants the whole place to look perfect. I’ve seen her eyeing up the old telephone box. I reckon that’ll be her new project.’ Flo wiped her hands on her apron and replaced them on her hips. ‘Over my dead body. She can’t just wipe out bits of history.’
‘It is a bit knackered,’ Mel said, stirring sugar into her coffee.
‘Do you mean the one on the green opposite Bunty’s house?’
They both nodded.
‘Nobody uses it any more, because – well, who uses phone boxes these days? Anyway, apparently BT are decommissioning it. I mean, yeah, I reckon there’s been the odd after-the-pub wee in there—’
‘Mmm.’ Lucy nodded. ‘Yeah, I opened the door to look inside the day I arrived.’
‘Ugh,’ Flo giggled. ‘Why on earth would you do that?’
‘Well, it’s a phone box. The receiver was off. I think it just brought back memories.’
‘God, yeah. Memories of the days before mobile phones,’ Flo said.
‘As it happens, I’ve got happy memories of snogging in that phone box as a teenager.’ Mel looked misty-eyed for a moment. ‘I don’t want it ripped out.’
‘Nor me. I reckon we should put an anti-Helen fence around it, or something. Anyway, I better get on.’ Flo nodded towards the counter. ‘Customers waiting.’
‘I’m sure there’s something we could use it for,’ Mel said thoughtfully. ‘Just have to work out what. But I don’t want it just wiped out because people like Helen think it’s making the place look untidy.’
The Telephone Box Library Page 8
