‘You shouldn’t be mixing alcohol with medication,’ I said.
‘Oh, what do you know, Miss Sensible? You sound just like Auntie Shirley.’
She found a glass, helped herself to a hefty slug of whisky, topped it up with water, opened the kitchen door and went outside.
After a moment she came back in, her eyes bright.
‘Well, I spy with my little eye something beginning with Hunk. Who is that gorgeous chap next door? He’s doing stuff in the garden, about six two, built like a brick outhouse, no shirt.’
‘Oh, that’s just Bryn. My neighbour,’ I said, resisting the impulse to go outside and look at him too. We would have looked a right pair; a couple of sisters standing ogling the same man.
‘Oh, that’s just Bryn, my neighbour,’ Jenny mimicked, a wicked grin across her face. ‘Swipe right! Ding Dong!’
It was wonderful to have some company for a change but I soon began to suspect this new domestic arrangement was not going to work. My sister was used to more wardrobe space, shops and general excitement. The cuteness, the silence, the isolation of Holly Cottage was too much for her. It was like putting a hungry cat in a carry case with the expectation of taking it to the vet for neutering.
We had just finished breakfast one morning and were about to resume decorating when she suddenly reached the I can’t not say anything any longer point.
‘I don’t know how you can stand living here! The broadband is a joke, there’s no phone reception to speak of and it’s so quiet,’ she said. ‘Beautiful, of course. A philistine could appreciate that. But there’s nothing to do here, is there? Unless you’re a farmer.’
‘Or a writer,’ I countered rather self-importantly.
‘And how is that coming along?’ she asked a trifle waspishly. ‘I haven’t noticed any literary activity since I’ve been here.’
‘I sold a couple of short stories last year.’
She made a dismissive noise. ‘Well that won’t buy the baby new shoes, will it? Why don’t you write a bestseller?’
I rolled my eyes at her. ‘Gosh, that’s a good idea, Jenny. Why didn’t I think of that?’
My sister always had trouble registering sarcasm.
Her face brightened. ‘Erotica. That’s all the rage now, isn’t it? And I noticed on board the Atlantica there was a bookshop and there were a lot of novels about cake or vampires. Perhaps you could write a bestseller about a girl who falls in love with a vampire?’
‘It’s been done.’
‘Really?’ She frowned and then started laughing. ‘Porn then? A porn star who falls in love with a vampire and they open a cake shop called the Fondant Fancy-a-Bite.’
‘Not if I was starving.’
She pouted at my lack of enthusiasm, levered the lid off the paint and began to stir it.
‘But it would be funny! A whole new genre – vampire/porn/cake-lit. You could call it Vampoke.’
Bored, she chucked the paint stirrer wooden spoon down and went to flick the kettle on for her third coffee of the day, spooning the coffee into the cafetière with a generous hand. I wondered if she had any idea how expensive ground coffee was. I went to help her; for some reason she found it almost impossible to work in my little kitchen without making an incredible mess. I assume she was used to Trent’s staff clearing up after her.
Jenny stopped stirring the cafetière and looked thoughtful.
‘I suppose those years with Ian have knocked all the joie de vivre out of you. The first time I met him he was wearing slacks and slip-on shoes that looked like Cornish pasties. That told me everything I needed to know. By the way, I forgot to tell you, the Harpy wants to see you.’
‘What?’ I staggered a little and nearly dropped the mugs I was holding.
‘The Harpy – Susan, she wants to see you. When I was talking to her on the phone a couple of weeks ago. I was trying to find out where you were, remember? She said she wanted to talk to you.’
‘Why?’
Jenny shrugged. ‘How should I know?’
‘Tell me what she said, then. The last time I saw her was at Ian’s funeral where she didn’t speak to me at all.’
Jenny poured the boiling water on the coffee and stirred the cafetière, the fragrant steam encircling her face. She breathed it in.
‘Wowser, I love that smell. D’you think I’m addicted to caffeine? I was once told I had an addictive personality. A Swami in India…such an attractive man. He had an enormous—’
‘Jen! Concentrate. What did Susan say?’
‘Um, she said she wanted to talk to you. Something about Truly? Trixie? Trilby?’ She shot me a look. ‘What’s the matter? You’ve gone a funny colour.’
‘I don’t want to talk to her and I certainly don’t want to talk to her about Trudy,’ I said.
Light dawned on my sister’s scattergun brain. ‘Oh Trudy! Yes, of course. The erstwhile mistress. How odd that she should come up in the conversation. It’s almost worth ringing the old bat to find out what she’s got to say.’
I shuddered. ‘No, thanks. Let sleeping dogs lie.’
‘In my experience when you let sleeping dogs lie they do one of two things. Either they get in the way or you invariably step on them,’ Jenny said, ‘and then they bite you.’
‘Oh very profound. And that’s three things.’
‘Let’s go out into the garden and have this,’ she said, picking up the coffee tray. ‘That neighbour of yours might be out there. What does he do, by the way?’
I considered this question while I pulled out the garden chairs and the metal table and Jenny fussed about with a milk jug and teaspoons.
‘Do you know, I have no idea. I think he used to be a footballer.’
Jenny sat down and sipped her coffee, eyes narrowed.
She shook her head. ‘No, he doesn’t look like a soccer player. I’m just curious to know what he does. I’ll ask him next time I see him.’
I seized the opportunity to change the subject and ask the question that was uppermost in my mind.
‘So what are your long-term plans?’
I hadn’t actually seen my sister for three years. We had phoned and Skyped but after she met Trent she had gone to live at his gated community mansion outside Houston where they seemed to spend their days at the golf club (strange, because my sister’s third marriage to Crawford came to grief because of his obsession with the game), wandering around their eleven bedrooms, having lunch with friends and presumably admiring Trent’s impressive collections of modern money and classic Pringle sweaters.
‘I don’t know,’ she said, sending me a pitying look, ‘obviously I need to look after you for a while. You’re looking very drawn.’
Drawn. What did that mean? I looked tired? Ill? Old?
My sister put on a noble expression. ‘I didn’t know I missed you so much until I saw you.’
This statement reminded me of I didn’t know I loved you till I saw you rock and roll and I was distracted enough to try and remember who sang it.
‘I’m perfectly OK,’ I said at last, rather irritated. Evidently my sister had entered a rare ‘caring’ phase. For a day or two she would treat me as though I might expire at any moment and encourage me onto the sofa with a blanket over my knees and then she would get bored and revert to her normal behaviour.
She gave me a patient smile. ‘I know you. You’re just being brave. But you’ve had to put up with a lot, it’s hardly surprising if you look a bit haggard.’
‘Haggard?’
She nodded. ‘And drained.’
‘Haggard, drained and drawn. Thanks, that makes me feel a lot better.’
‘Ha ha, sounds like hung, drawn and quartered doesn’t it? You need some summer sunshine.’ She looked a bit misty eyed. ‘Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, and summer’s lease hath all too short a date. Tumpty tum tee tum, then there’s something about death. You’ve had your buds shaken now you need something else. I know; I’ve had a brilliant idea! Let’s go to Spain.’
�
��Let’s not,’ I said, ‘let’s get the painting finished and let me find some money from somewhere.’
She slumped down in her chair, disappointed with my reaction.
‘I’ve got money. You don’t think I left Trent empty handed, do you? I’ve been squirrelling money away for months, just in case. It’s a pity you didn’t do something similar really, isn’t it? I know, let’s go on the Internet and book a last-minute thing. Somewhere like Malta or Majorca. Somewhere that’s hot without actually frying your brain every time you go outside.’
‘I want to get this painting finished, and get a proper job and a home of my own – and then I might have some money for holidays. Until then I’m lying low and regrouping.’
She thought hard for a moment. ‘Well how about if I pay someone else to do the painting?’
‘That’s cheating and not what I agreed with Jess. I’m trying to feel good about myself. This is the first step.’
‘How bloody tedious. Well, just think about it, that’s all I’m saying.’
‘I have some savings, so you don’t need to press cash into my palm, and Jess is letting me stay here for nothing in exchange for my decorating and cleaning skills.’
‘But what then? And what have you actually done about getting a job?’
‘I’ve got a few feelers out with local doctors surgeries and I keep meaning to go into Stokeley to go to the supermarket. Oh I don’t know. What can I do? I’ll take to lying on the sofa, watching afternoon TV and knocking back cheap lager.’
‘Don’t be ridic— Ooh. Hello! I think he’s there!’
We heard Ivy Cottage’s back door slam and footsteps on the gravel. Jen twisted in her seat and looked over her shoulder. After a moment she turned back to me and raised her eyebrows in a silent question.
‘You go and adios the dishes and I’ll get him talking,’ she hissed.
Adios the dishes? To say I was embarrassed would be an understatement of titanic proportions. I got up and went indoors before Jen could start up an inane conversation with me so as to attract Bryn’s attention. As I began to adios the breakfast dishes in the sink I heard her calling out to him across the garden.
‘Howdy, neighbour!’
Howdy? Really?
Then she disappeared through the garden gate and I heard her laughing. A laugh that had probably tinkled through the clubhouse of the Jack Nicklaus-designed course at the end of Trent’s grounds. Careless, relaxed. One to show her ease with her surroundings, her absolute willingness to be happy, something I realised I had never managed.
Once I had finished the washing up we were supposed to be painting the sitting room. A space that was temporarily unfit for any sort of sitting. The chairs and sofa had been pushed into the middle of the room and covered with a dustsheet. Greg hadn’t replaced the damaged rug yet so for now there was just a bare stone floor. I opened the windows, filled up the roller tray with paint and began work.
Outside I could hear voices. The deep rumble of Bryn’s voice counterpointed at intervals by Jenny’s bright chatter and gay laughter. I ground my teeth and painted on. After half an hour I heard her come in and start rummaging about in the kitchen. Then I heard the kettle boiling. Hang on! Was she was making him coffee? How much coffee did she need? Starbucks would open up a branch in the village if word got out that she was living here. I heard her opening and closing cupboards and I narrowed my eyes warily. She’d better not be taking my secret stash of KitKats.
Forty minutes later I had finished one wall and was gasping for a coffee myself. I went out into the kitchen, crouched under the window like a burglar avoiding CCTV cameras. I straightened up with indignation. Not only had she taken the KitKats (how the hell did she know to look in the empty Oat So Simple box?) but she had used the last of the milk! A burst of hearty laughter out in the garden only heightened my fury. I peered around the curtains to see where they were. They had wandered into Bryn’s garden and were busy inspecting some climbing plant. At that moment Jenny looked round and saw me. She waved.
‘Cooee!’
I mean, who actually says Cooee? Interfering, terminally embarrassing sisters, that’s who.
‘Cooee, Lottie. Come and join us!’
I closed my eyes in despair and went out into the sunshine.
Jenny waved at me again and beckoned me over. Bryn was chuckling and doing something in the bushes with a pair of lethal-looking loppers. He turned and grinned at me.
I didn’t believe my sister’s chatter had been all that amusing so I could only assume she had given him a potted biography of my school, dating and relationship history. She had probably told him how I wet myself on my first day in school. Cheers, Jen.
‘Not seen you for a few days,’ Bryn said.
His eyes were just as beautiful as I remembered. I could feel my usual blush starting and I tried to think of something – anything – else so that I didn’t blurt out something about the impressive size of his tools.
‘No, I’ve been incredibly busy.’ I tapped my wrist and looked at my watch to reinforce my busy-ness. Unfortunately I had taken it off when I started painting so all I was doing was looking at my paint-splattered arm.
‘Half past brilliant white,’ Bryn said, his mouth twitching as though he wanted to laugh.
I gave a sickly grin.
‘She’s been quite the recluse, Brian –’ Jenny said, leaning towards him in a conspiratorial fashion.
‘Bryn,’ I muttered.
‘– and she’s had a terrible, terrible time. I was telling you, wasn’t I? I came back from Texas at the first opportunity—’
‘As soon as Trent could manage without you,’ I said. ‘That’s her latest man.’
Jenny and I exchanged wide-eyed glares.
‘Of course, but my little sister always comes first. I was just asking Bryn if he has any children and he doesn’t. He doesn’t have a wife either, he’s not married, isn’t that nice?’
I fought down the twin impulses of stuffing my paintbrush in Jenny’s mouth and curling up on the ground and turning to stone like an ammonite.
‘It must be nice for you both to get together, Jennifer,’ Bryn said.
My sister and I glowered at each other for a few seconds.
‘Hmm. Well, we must be getting on,’ I said. ‘Jenny’s only here for a few days.’
I grabbed her by one arm and steered her, protesting and see-you-soon-ing, back towards Holly Cottage.
‘He owns a shop,’ she said as I closed the kitchen door and bolted it in case she made a break for freedom. ‘Just the other side of Exeter. He’s got two others too. One near Okehampton and the other in Dorchester.’
‘So?’ I said.
‘So he must be loaded. Think about it. Three shops, he owns that house too, I asked him.’
I groaned and hid my face in my hands at this point.
Jenny pursed her mouth. ‘You could do a lot worse for yourself. He’s well set up, easy on the eye—’
‘I expect he’s got all his own teeth too! Did you ask?’ I stifled a scream. ‘I won’t be able to look him in the face again. You really are the limit!’
Her eyebrows shot up into her expensively highlighted hair.
‘What? What have I done? You’re hopeless. You moon around wishing things could be different and longing to meet Mr Right but do nothing to help yourself…’
‘I’ve not mooned around once! And who said I wanted to meet Mr Right? Just because you can’t stay single for more than five minutes!’
‘You always used to complain how hard it was to meet people when all you did was go out drinking with a gang of girls and moan that all the good men are taken. After Jeremy died, Paul and I were married inside six months. I got Crawford to propose in two weeks. I proposed to Trent the night we met.’
‘You’re not married again though, are you?’
‘You’re getting very sour, Lottie. It doesn’t suit you. I’m sorry for Ian, of course I am, but I’m far sorrier for you. You aged five years for eve
ry one you were with him. You were middle aged before your time. Dull clothes, dull life, dinner parties, it was awful to watch. Him and that old bat of a mother – pah! You’re only thirty-four, Lottie. Don’t you think it’s time you had some fun before it’s too late?’
She pulled a face and fiddled with her tiny Cartier Tank wristwatch as she tried to organise her thoughts.
‘Look, I like men, Lottie. I’ve never had any trouble with men, and nor did our mother. Right up until she died. Don’t you remember visiting her at that nursing home? Those doctors adored her. And so did the male nurses. She always got the best room and first go in the biscuit tin. It’s something in our genes. Nothing to do with looks it’s all to do with attitude. Yes, my marriages didn’t last forever. I’m probably impossible to live with –’
‘You don’t say?’ I said, marvelling that I had managed to get a word in edgeways.
‘– but they were jolly good fun! Why don’t you try it? It’s better than dripping about waiting to die.’
My sister does love the sound of her own voice but on this occasion, once I got over my annoyance, I had the sneaking suspicion she was right.
Still, I thought she deserved the silent treatment for a while so I washed my paintbrushes, found my laptop and flounced off to the supermarket to get milk.
In a determined frame of mind, I went to stand near to the customer service desk without actually catching anyone’s eye. Two women in stiff polyester suits and matching purple nail varnish were standing there, discussing someone called Josie who had apparently been out on a hen night in Torquay and ended up in Grimsby. From the little I heard, I thought she sounded quite fun, despite the fact that she had both ‘let down the team’ and apparently ‘caught the eye of management’. At last the elder and blonder of the two realised I was lurking.
‘Can I help you, dear?’
‘I wondered if I could, I mean is there any chance…are there any jobs available at the moment?’
The blonde woman looked at her companion and they pursed their lips at each other.
‘Nothing going at the moment, is there, Sandra? Mr Phillips was only saying in the staff meeting yesterday there was going to be a bit of a crematorium on jobs.’
The Summer of Second Chances Page 10
