Jess took a deep breath and threw me an apologetic look that froze my blood.
‘I told you I was thinking of selling Holly Cottage,’ she said. ‘Well, I might ask an agent to come round to see the place and give me an idea of what it’s worth. I’m going to give you first dibs. I mean, do you wanna buy it?’
I looked into the far distance, a bit shell-shocked by this development.
‘I’d love to but I haven’t got the money at the moment. And I can’t imagine any bank would give me a mortgage.’
‘Well no, but y’know, if you had a job?’ Jess said.
Well, yes, I supposed that might have made a difference. But not quickly enough. Not with the high security clearance needed by my local supermarket. So I did what I did best under these circumstances, I prattled.
‘Will it take long to sell? Stupid question, I don’t suppose you know. I mean, gosh, the housing market is a bit…it could go in days, although the legal side might take longer. You never know, it might take a while to sell. But this is a lovely location, unless you don’t want to be so isolated. Not much they could do about that. Ha ha!’ I stuttered into silence.
Jess pulled a pained expression. ‘I’m awfully sorry, Lottie. But I did tell you I was thinking of selling. And the Websters were a wake-up call to me. A real nuisance and they’ve caused thousands of pounds of damage. Can you see why I want to sell? I do hope you do. Oh dear, I should have got Greg to come with me but he wouldn’t come. He doesn’t like coming here very much.’
‘Of course I see. I do understand, honestly. So, shall I keep on with the decorating?’
‘Yes, absolutely, if you don’t mind? You’re doing a fabulous job. And I still need to do something about that broken wardrobe and I know the loft insulation needs to be increased. I’d really appreciate it, and you still need somewhere to live, don’t you? Give us both time to think about things.’
I felt as though I was in limbo, caught between no rock and no hard place.
‘Yes, I see. Thanks.’
I realised with some dismay that in the time I had lived there I had grown fond of Holly Cottage. I loved the early morning view from my bed over the hazy hills. I could see the little branch line railway with its brave train heading off into the darkness once an hour. I had got to grips with the plumbing. I knew when the bins went out and what the recycling lorry would and wouldn’t accept. Leaving here was going to be a bit of a wrench. And on top of that, where would my sister go?
Jess patted my hand and gave me a sympathetic smile.
‘I promise I’ll give you plenty of notice. Let’s have some cake,’ she said, ‘there’s not much that doesn’t look better after a bit of my truffle cake.’
‘That’s a splendid idea,’ Jenny said, apparently not at all disconcerted by these developments.
One thing Jess had said stuck in my mind.
‘Why doesn’t Greg like coming here?’ I asked.
Jess turned round from the cupboard where she had been rummaging for small plates and pulled a face.
‘Bryn. They fell out years ago. Before I met Greg. Years before. I never did get to the bottom of it. Something to do with their mum. I can’t say much about it because I don’t know. Greg won’t talk about it.’
‘But he was upset by something Bryn did? Or didn’t do?’ I said.
Jess began carving up the cake into slabs and levering them onto plates.
‘I think so,’ she said, ‘all I know is it was something about borrowed money. And then it all turned very nasty. It never got sorted out and then Greg went to France and after that Spain.’
‘Money is the root of all evil,’ my sister said piously.
‘Actually, it’s the love of money which is the root of all evil,’ I said. ‘There’s nothing wrong with money.’
Jenny pursed her mouth and took a slice of cake.
‘Smart arse.’
By the time Jess left we were so full of cake and other carbohydrates that we could hardly move never mind carry on painting the sitting room. Outside the afternoon was warming up nicely; the sky rich and blue and cloudless.
We did a bit more painting, then Jenny said she was going upstairs to sort out some laundry but I think she was planning a nap to sleep off the calories. I went out into the garden and pottered about doing a bit more weeding and general messing about. After about an hour, I heard Bryn’s truck pulling into the drive and my heart did a little jig of excitement. I shook out my hair in what I hoped was a rumpled and attractive cloud of curls. And not as though I had just pulled off a red elastic band that I had found on the driveway where the postman had dropped it.
Bryn came to call to me over the fence between our two gardens and like a distracted child I dropped my handful of dead roses and went to see what he wanted.
‘I wonder if you could help me out,’ he said.
He was wearing his CAT boots, jeans and a white T-shirt with an artistic smear of mud across the broad expanse of his chest.
‘Sure,’ I said, deadheading a barely opened rose bud on the fence between us and trying to appear casual.
‘There’s a hot tub round the other side of my house. I don’t know if you’ve noticed it. It needs servicing but the only time the chap can come and do it is later on this week, and I’m going to be away for a few days. I’m taking Bonnie back to London.’
The only parts of this I really heard were the words hot and tub. After that I sort of drifted off. I batted away the thought of Bryn in the aforementioned tub because Bonnie’s sleek figure also featured in that particular image. I could almost picture her in a spotty retro bikini, frolicking about next to him in a very irritating fashion.
‘So could you?’ Bryn was saying. ‘Would it be convenient?’
Gosh, his eyes really were very blue indeed. I pulled myself together.
‘Could I what?’
He sighed. ‘Could you let him into the garden when he gets here and sign the docket to say he’s been round and serviced the tub?’
‘Of course.’ I casually deadheaded another rose and cut the end off a finger of my gardening glove at the same time. I made a small, shocked bleating noise that I converted into a cough.
‘You’re a love. Thanks. Here’s the key.’
I took it. ‘What’s this for?’
Bryn shook his head and laughed.
‘I told you. I knew you weren’t listening. It’s for the padlock on the side gate. I don’t need to open it very often, but I won’t be here to let him in through the house. If you could let him in when he arrives? He drives a blue van with “Tom the Tub Man” on the side. It’s a bit of a clue. OK?’
‘OK, no problem.’ I tucked the key in my pocket.
‘So how are you getting on? I haven’t seen much of you recently. I’ve been away doing some work for a client near Launceston.’
‘I’m fine! Well, no, I’m not very fine actually. Pretty crap. Well you know. Fine I suppose.’
Bryn looked confused. ‘Well which one is it? Fine or not?’
I groaned. ‘Mostly not fine, if I’m honest. Jess was here earlier; she came to tell me she’s thinking of selling Holly Cottage. It’s not definite yet but if she does I’m going to have to move out. I don’t suppose many people would want to buy a place with a sitting tenant who doesn’t pay any rent. And there’s only so many times a house needs decorating. Even I know that.’
He frowned. ‘Selling? Where will you go if she does?’
‘Dunno. Jess said she was going to think about it and then she might get an agent round to value it, so she came to tell me.’
‘That’s a shame. I’ve got quite used to you being here. You’re the most entertaining neighbour I’ve had in a long time.’ He smiled down at me.
‘I’m used to being here too. You know. Um…’
To my horror I felt quite weepy all of a sudden. I hesitated, shifting from one foot to the other, not quite knowing what to do. I managed to stand on the trailing lace of my trainer and almost fell ov
er. Bryn reached over and grabbed me, steadying me. Was it my imagination or did he hold on to my hand for longer than was actually necessary? No, it was definitely not my imagination. He was holding my hand and looking at me, his mouth curving in a gentle smile.
‘You’re the most accident prone woman I’ve ever met,’ he said. ‘How did you make it this far without serious injury?’
I enjoyed the feeling of my hand in his for a moment. Then I drew breath to tell him about my fall out of an apple tree when I was five. The many trips to A&E with various sporting-, climbing- and glue-related incidents. The time I had both legs in plaster for a week because my X-rays got mixed up with someone else’s. Fortunately before I could, Bryn looked at his watch and gasped.
‘Blast, I’ve completely forgotten. I was supposed to be on the other side of Exeter in ten minutes and it’s going to take me half an hour to get there. I’ve been working on a garden plan for Lady Trehorlicks.’
He gave me a brisk wave and left. I listened to the purr of his truck travelling down the hill and wondered why suddenly it took on a rhythmic sound. Then I realised the noise was coming from the open bedroom window. It was my sister upstairs, snoring. Typical!
I went into the kitchen and started making a bit of noise. The odd door slam and I rattled a few drawers, waiting for Jenny to come downstairs. Nothing happened. I opened a bottle of red and sloshed a good measure into a glass. I didn’t often set out with the deliberate intention of getting pissed but today I was prepared to make an exception. Still there was no sound from Sleeping Beauty upstairs, so I started bashing a saucepan with a ladle. Like you do.
A few minutes later Jenny appeared, blinking and rubbing her face.
‘What the hell are you doing?’
‘I’m getting pissed. Care to join me?’ I said.
Jenny shrugged. ‘Oh, OK, if it’s strictly necessary.’
I know my sister can sometimes be a pain but she is also very quick on the uptake when it matters.
‘It is.’
I poured her a glass and she sipped it.
‘Gosh, this is really nice. I thought you were down to Superfine Bogoff Premier Cru?’
‘Ha! One of the few things I came away with when I moved out of Ian’s house. His wine cellar,’ I said.
‘Brilliant, well done. What’s this then?’
I held out the bottle. ‘Don’t know, I chose it because it’s a nice label.’
‘Very pretty,’ Jenny said.
‘It’s a 1967 Barolo Adriano, I even have the tasting notes if you’re interested?’
‘Absolutely, go for it.’
I cleared my throat. ‘This lovely Barolo from the very good 1967 vintage is sweet and rich with a fragrant bouquet and a lovely lingering length. Drink now – 2020. I think we’ll drink it now, shall we? Although it does say it makes a good anniversary gift.’
Jenny pulled a face. ‘Ha! Good joke. Anniversary, we won’t be doing that any time soon.’
‘No, we don’t seem to have much luck with men, do we? Here’s to better times.’
We clinked glasses and I knocked back the remains of my glass and refilled it.
‘I saw Bryn while you were upstairs,’ I said, trying to sound casual.
‘Oh yes? How did you get on?’
‘I made a complete prat of myself as usual, falling over and jabbering mindlessly. Then he went off somewhere in a steaming rush. Doing some work for someone called Lady Trehorlicks down towards Honiton.’
‘Lady Trehorlicks, how marvellous. I can practically imagine her. Six feet tall, built like a battleship, in a cord skirt with a trail of Labradors slobbering all over her.’
I pulled a face. ‘Or she could be twenty-six, built like a pole dancer in designer jeans and wellingtons with a trail of men slobbering all over her.’
I refilled Jenny’s glass; the wine was slipping down nicely.
Jenny tried to quash my vision. ‘Or she could be a Miss Marple type in crêpe de chine, a hand-knitted cardigan and a straw bonnet. She’d be talking about the war all the time and insist on showing you round the ancestral pile.’
‘Hmm, or she could be—’
Jenny emptied the last of the bottle into my glass. ‘Here’s to a nice bottle of wine,’ she said, trying to distract me from a slow descent into depression.
‘There’s another one over there,’ I said, nodding at the worktop. ‘I’ve opened it to breathe.’
‘A likely tale.’
I looked back at the tasting notes. ‘Well, it is ninety quid a bottle, the least I can do is give it some air.’
Jenny spluttered a little. ‘Good grief.’
‘If Jess is going to sell Holly Cottage then it will be one less thing to move if we knock it back, I suppose.’
‘Happy to help, it really is rather splendid.’ Jenny took another slurp.
‘We should be eating something.’ I looked back at the tasting notes. ‘This fine wine is a splendid accompaniment for venison, fillet steak and all game. Fuck that for a game of soldiers. I’ve got some fish fingers. What do you think?’
‘Perfect. Although we should be drinking white with fish, surely?’
I held up a finger. Or it might have been two; everything was going a bit blurry. ‘Good point; I’ll see what I can find.’
I wandered off into the garage and came back with another bottle and held it up.
‘What do you think? It’s a 2009 Aile d’Argent Blanc Château Mouton Rothschild.’
‘It’s got a pretty label,’ Jenny said, ‘if that’s what we are judging it on.’
I carried on reading in a silly voice. ‘An outstanding 2009 vintage, this delightful dry white wine from Château Mouton Rothschild exhibits more fat than normal. More fat than normal? What the fuck does that mean?’
‘I’m exhibiting more fat than normal, too,’ Jenny said mournfully, pinching a fold of flab above her waistband.
I carried on. ‘Listen to this; Marmalade notes present in this honeyed, crisp, refreshing wine, loads of personality. Drink now – 2022. What do you think, should we wait until 2022?’
‘Oooh, drink it now,’ Jenny said. ‘After all, you’ve got the fish fingers all ready.’
‘It’s not very chilled,’ I said doubtfully, holding it against my cheek.
‘Well, stick an ice cube in it. Or run it under the cold tap.’
‘Fair enough.’
‘How much is this one?’
‘Eighty quid. No wonder Ian wouldn’t let me into the cellar. When we had dinner parties, which wasn’t very often in the last year, I’d pick up whatever was on offer at Waitrose. Two for ten quid and some free chocolates.’ I held the bottle under the cold water and dropped it with a clang. ‘Bugger. Where’s the bottle opener?’
I rummaged around in the kitchen drawer until I found one and dug the screw into the cork.
‘We don’t have to let this breathe though, do we?’
‘Deffo not.’ Jenny finished off the last sip of red still in her glass and held it out. ‘Pass some over.’
I frowned. ‘That isn’t even a white wine glass, is it? I can tell the difference you know. Ian was really particular about that.’
‘Bugger knows,’ Jenny said.
‘Don’t call me Bugger Nose,’ I said, throwing the cork at her. ‘Do you want a clean glass?’
We looked at each other for a moment before both of us spluttered with laughter.
‘I’ll stick the fish fingers in,’ I said, ‘and you can tell me all about Trent and the Atlantica.’
‘Yes, it was fantastic. A lovely ship too, but miles to walk back to your cabin if you forgot something. We had a butler called Sven, he was rather gorgeous.’
‘Sven the butler. Sven. That sounds funny, doesn’t it, when you say it a lot? Sven. Good morning, my name is Sven.’
We giggled for a bit and said his name a bit more.
‘So does this mean you’re not getting married after all?’
Jenny pulled a face and shrugged. ‘I
don’t honestly know. Why – did you fancy being a bridesmaid?’
‘I’ve been a bridesmaid three times for you. That’s enough, isn’t it? I still haven’t forgiven you for the dress I had to wear when you married Crawford.’
‘Ah, the one his sister designed? Yes, it was a bit much,’ Jenny admitted.
I thought about it.
‘A bit much? Which part, the dress, the fringe, the shoes laced up to the knee, the hat or the wide black patent belt around my fat gut?’
We screamed with laughter and I threatened to get the photo album out and remind her but then I remembered there was some dip in the fridge and some pitta bread somewhere so I went to find that instead.
‘And, and, Crawford – I can say this now, Jenny, because he’s long gone – was a complete prat. And his brother…’
I clicked my fingers at her as we struggled to remember his name.
‘Um. Tall, balding, with eyes like gooseberries.’
‘Gregor, that was it. Gregor the Groper. Well he tried it on with me.’
‘Tried what on?’ Jenny said frowning.
‘Well not my hat, dear. Not my wee tartan bonnet that made me look like I’d collided with a pheasant on my way to the wedding. He suggested we go outside for a cigarette.’
‘Yes?’
‘Via the back seat of his car.’
‘Really? He always was classy.’
I refilled our glasses.
‘I can’t taste any marmalade in this wine, can you?’ I said.
We did a bit of slurping and sucking as though we knew what we were doing – without the spitting out, of course.
‘I can taste wine,’ Jenny offered.
‘Brilliant. It says this one goes well with samphire and sea bass or the delicious fruity notes are a pleasant accompaniment to own-brand hummus and salt and vinegar crisps.’
We carried on slurping and tasting until the fish fingers were done and then had a mild argument about ketchup or mayonnaise.
‘I was fifteen when you married Jeremy and I had to wear the ruched thing that made me look as though I had my skirt tucked into my knickers,’ I said.
‘It was fashionable then.’
‘Yes, if you had a thing for the Spice Girls. Or Bananramarama. You’re lucky I’m still talking to you.’
The Summer of Second Chances Page 13
