by Jenny Kane
Closing her eyes, she felt tired despite the early hour. She knew if she was going to stay true to herself she couldn’t let the Cassandra situation go on. The image of her new neighbour, sad and possibly tear-stained, the previous day kept elbowing its way to the front of her mind, despite all the other stuff cluttering her head.
As Beth, looking happy, and proving that fake-sneezing wasn’t her forte, came back from the receptionist clutching a scrap of paper containing an appointment time, Abi knew she was going to have to try and speak to Cassandra again.
Everyone deserved a second chance. Abi had got hers when she’d met Max and Beth. They’d been far kinder to her than any stranger ever had before. Perhaps Cassandra simply needs someone to be kind to her? Abi wasn’t sure if she’d live to regret it, but she knew she’d be knocking on the door of number two Miners Row as soon as she’d got home from work.
Chapter Eleven
The sunshine was beating through the gallery’s picture windows so fiercely that Abi had to pull some of the blinds down to see clearly enough to work. Not that concentration was ever likely to have come easily today. Usually, if anything was playing on her mind, Abi would soon become absorbed in her illustrations, so that real life became temporarily lost in the process of creativity.
Today however she was glad of the steady trickle of early holidaymakers who came in to view the exhibition side of the Art and Sole Gallery. The majority ran curious eyes over her work, and many pointed delightedly at the pixie gang that was taking shape on her latest page. At least interacting with the visitors stopped her obsessing over whether she should check on Cassandra, what she could say to Sally, and if she should ask Max to move in with her.
Abi had flirted with the idea of asking Max to live in her house on and off for the last six months. But she’d had to fight so hard for her own home and her own space that she had decided to keep her cottage her own for a while. Max had always been supportive and happy with that arrangement, and she knew he understood her desire for space after such a suffocating marriage. Over the past few weeks, though, Abi had begun to wonder if they were missing opportunities by not being together all the time.
It’s just Stan’s wedding and Beth’s baby news that’s making you think this way. If Max wanted us to live together he’d have asked me by now. He’s an old-fashioned guy. I can’t ask him, it would make him feel rushed. He’d hate that.
Putting a final sheen to the tip of the chief pixie’s hat, Abi laid down her paintbrush and stared across at the gallery. The quilts, which had proved so popular with the past four weeks’ worth of visitors, would have to be taken down that evening and replaced by a display of watercolours by local artist Serena Browne first thing in morning.
Serena had proved very popular locally when she’d displayed her work there eight months ago. Abi was looking forward to seeing the artist again, but wasn’t sure anyone should have to face Serena’s exuberance before eight o’clock in the morning; she was rather over the top. Resolving to have an early night, and glad that Max had already agreed to come and help her take down the quilts later, Abi felt her habitual smile return. At least Serena was too busy to attend the exhibition every day, and was leaving any sales to Abi. Occasional visits were fun, but Serena’s constant presence in the gallery would put her work back weeks, as the artist rarely stopped talking and Abi herself always felt duty bound to listen.
It was already nearly three o’clock. Beth would be home in an hour. Perhaps she should ask Beth about Max? The idea was appealing, Beth had known Max longer than anyone; and if he’d talked to someone other than Abi about the future, it would have been her. Tempting though it was, Abi quickly dismissed the idea. It was unfair to add to Beth’s worries at the moment, especially as her doctor’s appointment had been booked for five o’clock that evening.
She was about to put the kettle on when Jacob bounced through the main gallery door.
‘Hey, Abi, fancy making that coffee for two?’
‘Sure.’ Abi grinned in the face of the potter’s happiness. ‘You’re back early.’
‘Beth called; she wants me to come to the doctor’s with her.’
‘Of course she does. Exciting, isn’t it?’
Jacob was obviously hyper and restless, but as Abi sensibly reached for the decaf coffee he frowned. ‘I can’t help wondering though; what if she isn’t pregnant? The test was positive, of course, but what if it was faulty? I know Beth was worried about telling me, but now we’d both be gutted if she wasn’t expecting after all.’
‘I’m sure she is. All the signs are there.’
‘She isn’t being sick though.’
‘Then she’s either very lucky,’ Abi stirred some milk into Jacob’s mug, ‘or she hasn’t reached that stage yet. Beth doesn’t know how far gone she is, does she?’
‘True.’ Jacob blushed with uncharacteristic coyness. ‘It’s not like she’s…regular and stuff. You know.’
‘Yes, I know.’ Abi laughed. ‘Now, why don’t you drink this, try and calm down, and tell me all about the new studio you’re taking over?’
‘I could help you take down the quilts if you like.’
Abi considered how nice it would be not to have to come back to the gallery that evening, but one look at how skittish Jacob was told her it would be a bad idea to let him loose with exhibits worth over two hundred pounds apiece. ‘Thanks, Jacob, but I promised the artist they’d be up right until close of work today, just in case we get a random last-minute sale.’
‘Probably for the best, I’d hate to catch a thread or something.’
‘Max is going to help me take them down later.’
Jacob leaned against the counter and sipped his drink. ‘How about you then, Abi? Fancy making Max a daddy one day?’
***
Abi checked her watch for the third time as she walked home from the gallery. It was six minutes past five. Assuming the doctor wasn’t running late, Beth would be having her pregnancy confirmed right now. Or, at the very least, would be peeing into a cup so that a final test could be taken.
Up until Jacob had asked her straight, Abi had tried not to picture herself in Beth’s position, but now she was finding it increasingly hard not to think about her and Max having children. Luke had never wanted a family. Or rather, he’d told Abi he did – right until after their honeymoon, when suddenly there had been a ‘no children’ rule, and a myriad of other embargos which had stifled the life out of her.
Max was Luke’s polar opposite, and although he’d once told Abi he wanted children, the ‘family’ conversation had never come up again. Now that Beth was expecting, it seemed to be hovering between them – and he didn’t even know yet! She didn’t want Max to think she only wanted children now because Beth was going to have one.
Abi gave herself a mental shake. She was being silly even thinking like this. It was a non-problem, she loved Max and he loved her. She was only thirty-three. They had time for all that. If she wanted to worry about something constructive, she should be worrying about what to say to Stan’s daughter.
Lost in thought about how to tackle the forthcoming Skype call to Australia as she climbed the hill towards Miners Row, Abi didn’t notice Cassandra in her front garden. It was only when she heard a snuffling noise that Abi turned to look at the pile of abandoned bits and pieces, and saw her neighbour sitting on the small remaining patch of grass, her laptop resting on her knees and an expression on her face that was so defeated that, despite their last encounter, Abi had to ask if she was alright. Which clearly, she wasn’t.
‘Hello? Are you OK?’
Cassandra blushed, her red cheeks glowing against the backdrop of her yellow hair, which looked as though she’d been repeatedly raking a hand through it. ‘I’m fine. Thank you.’
Abi watched as her neighbour, clearly angry with herself for being caught crying, rubbed her bloodshot eyes with her wrist and got to her feet.
‘Cassandra, isn’t it?’
‘Yes… how did you
know?’
‘Max, your decorator; he’s my boyfriend.’
Cassandra was about to fire off a blunt comment about client confidentiality, when she remembered where she was and how ridiculous she’d sound saying that to her neighbour if the decorator she’d hired lived next door. ‘He never said.’
‘Max wouldn’t have wanted you to feel obliged to hire him because he stays on your doorstep sometimes.’
Cassandra nodded. ‘He seems a good man. You are very lucky.’
‘I think so.’ Abi felt awkward, she didn’t feel she could leave her neighbour so plainly distressed, but at the same time she didn’t want to intrude. ‘I was going to make tea, would you like to join me for a cuppa?’
Abi wasn’t sure if the Londoner was more stunned or upset by the offer.
‘But I was horrid to you.’ Cassandra stared at the pile of wreckage in front of her. ‘You were being thoughtful and I… I’m not used to neighbourly stuff.’
A genuine smile of understanding crossed Abi’s face. ‘Well, if you live in anything like the part of London that I lived in for so long, then the concept of neighbours means competition, not consideration.’
‘That’s exactly what it’s like.’ Cassandra looked confused. ‘Forgive me, but you don’t come across like you’ve lived in London. Were you a student there or something?’
‘I was, and then I lived there for several years. I’ve only been in Cornwall for eleven months.’
Cassandra’s mouth dropped open. ‘But you act like a local.’
‘Thank you!’ Abi laughed. ‘Sorry, I’m not laughing at you. It’s just good to know I appear to fit in. I didn’t fit properly in either London or Surrey. Although I did try to belong.’
Tapping the lid of her laptop, Cassandra gave Abi a weak grin. ‘I’d love that cup of tea, thank you. I can’t now, though, I have to sort something out that won’t wait.’ She glanced at the computer.
‘Ah, that’s why the front garden. You get a signal here?’
‘A bit of one.’
‘Well, if you want to chat, just come on over, OK?’
‘Thanks, umm?’
‘Abi. My name’s Abi.’
‘Like the house?’
‘Just like the house.’
Cassandra tilted her face under the full flow of the shower, letting the water stream through her hair and pound her shoulders. The terrace may have been sorely in need of decorative work, but at least the previous owners had understood the requirement of a good power shower.
The tension that knotted her whole body, however, had stubbornly withstood the heat of the water, and as she got out and draped herself in a towel, Cassandra felt no better than she’d had before she got in.
This really is happening.
Mr Clearer had sent an email, and there was no mistake. It had been a Mr Justin Smythe who’d set the wheels in motion to sell off The Pinkerton Agency to an American company who were intending to expand their nanny business in the UK.
Justin was still not answering his phone, and now Crystal was ignoring her calls as well.
Cassandra felt lost, humiliated, hurt, confused, and angry all at the same time.
How much else had been a lie? The divorce? The fact he loved her? Had Justin ever seen her as more than a leisure pursuit? A convenient woman to use when lust arose? Someone whose business he coveted–had he merely been using her while he waited for the moment when he could swoop in and steal her business? Justin had even mentioned marriage and she’d believed him.
I am a fool. A totally stupid, bloody fool.
Cassandra scrubbed her body hard, taking out her frustration on the droplets of water that drenched her flesh. I believed every word he said. I let him basically run the legal side of my business without ever checking up on him.
Of course you did, you love him. You trust him. Trusted…
Trying not to scream at herself for being so blind, Cassandra pulled on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. She had to go and find Justin, there was no other answer. ‘But first you are going to decide what to say to him, and how you are going to reverse all this. You have to make a plan. Once you have that, then you are going to give the people who have rented out your flat two months’ notice and go home.’
Cassandra sat down with a despairing thump. Suddenly she felt very, very tired.
***
Max parked outside Abi’s House, and cast an eye over the mess in Cassandra’s garden, trying to work out if it would all fit into the back of his van, or if he’d have to move some of his tools out first.
He was picking up an old shutter when he caught a glimpse of his client behind the window at the front of the house. He could have been imagining it, but he’d have sworn she was crying, a fact that did not fit with the together businesswoman he’d encountered so recently.
Quietly, Max put the shutter back down, closed the van doors, and went indoors to find Abi.
‘Abi, lass, how about Cassandra helps you to take down the quilts in the gallery while I clear up her garden? I’ve just seen her, and frankly she needs a friend whether she wants one or not.’
Chapter Twelve
Knocking on the door to number two Miners Row, Abi felt awkward. She couldn’t stop Beth’s voice echoing in her ears, telling her how much Cassandra sounded like Lucinda, Max’s ex. If a shoulder to cry on was required, though, she’d rather it was her shoulder Cassandra cried on, and not Max’s.
‘Abi? Hello. Again.’ Cassandra had changed into less summery clothes, and was rubbing her arms as if she was cold, despite the gorgeous burgundy fleece jumper she wore, which Abi knew would have cost more than the average person’s monthly wage. The dark shadows that underlined Cassandra’s eyes had almost been hidden by a good concealer, and if she hadn’t seen her earlier, Abi might have thought Max had been exaggerating her neighbour’s distressed state.
Nor sure where to start, she decided to take a leaf out of Stan’s book, and dived straight in with a big smile. ‘I hope you don’t mind me interrupting, I just wondered if you wanted to escape for a while.’
‘Escape?’
‘Well, you’d be doing me a favour actually.’ Abi found herself rubbing her own arms as if in sympathy with her unseasonably cold neighbour. ‘I run the Art and Sole Gallery in the village. This month’s display has to be taken down. Max was going to help me, but he wants to get on with clearing your front garden and ordering in your paint so he can crack on with the decorating the minute his current job is done.’
Cassandra was openly amazed. ‘You run that gorgeous studio gallery on the corner of the Cove?’
‘A little less shock in your voice would be nice, but yes, my friend Beth owns it and I manage it for her. Have you been in?’
‘No, I haven’t, although I’ve passed it. I haven’t had the chance to go in yet.’
Abi could tell Cassandra was undecided whether to go with her or not, so she pushed her advantage home. ‘I know it’s an awful cheek to ask you when we don’t know each other, but if Max can make a start here…’
Cassandra didn’t wait for Abi to finish her sentence. The possibility of being out of Cornwall and back in London even a day sooner was a chance worth taking. ‘I’ll get my bag. Do I need anything else?’
‘Not a thing. Thanks, Cassandra, I appreciate it.’
Stopping just long enough to leave a spare set of keys to number two with Max, and for Cassandra to ask if he’d check whether the larder door should be saved or replaced, the women walked down the lane towards town, each frantically wondering what on earth they could talk about.
Not wanting the silence to become uneasy, Abi adopted what she assumed would be safe conversational ground.
‘Beautiful here, isn’t it?’ She pointed out across the unfurling view as the seascape came into sight.
‘Do you think so?’ Cassandra sounded far from convinced.
Abi stared at her companion in astonishment. She’d never come across anyone who had to stop and consider whether the sp
arkling sea and yellow sand, backed by stunningly rugged rocks, was beautiful or not. ‘You don’t?’
‘It’s just the seaside, isn’t it? I mean, the sand gets everywhere, and it’s never terribly relaxing, what with non-private school children being on holiday pretty much all the time these days.’
Abi opened her mouth, and then closed it again. She had absolutely no idea what to say as Cassandra expanded her point.
‘I mean, look at those overflowing rubbish bins, and the seagulls fighting over those fish and chip papers. And don’t even get me started on the smell.’
‘Smell?’ Confusion crossed from Abi’s expression into her voice.
‘Salty air and boat oil.’
Abi took a surreptitious sniff. There was a hint of oil in the air, she supposed, but then, they were near the harbour, so it would have been odd if there wasn’t. And of course there was salt in the air. It was the coast!
Cassandra glanced at Abi and started to laugh. It was a sound that fell halfway between genuine amusement and hysteria. ‘I’m sorry, Abi. I’m not laughing at you; it’s just that I’ve never seen anyone gobsmacked before. Why does everyone look like that when they meet a person who isn’t keen on the seaside? It can’t be that rare, surely?’
‘Well, I…’ Abi shrugged. ‘I guess if you choose to live by the sea, it must always seem odd that other people wouldn’t want to live there as well. Especially when so many people can’t wait to escape to the coast for a break from everyday life.’
‘And that’s fine for them. I understand the need for a radical change of scene every now and then, but it isn’t the coast that does that for me. I love picturesque villages and little boutiques, antique shops, and galleries. I even found a wonderful shabby chic furniture place in Truro, which I could have spent years in, but the actual seaside…no thanks!’
