by Ruth Hogan
Sunshine decided to try to be helpful. The blond woman was looking really furious now, and Sunshine was worried that she might break the doorbell.
“Perhaps he’s hiding with Laura,” she suggested. “He really likes her,” she added.
Sunshine’s words didn’t seem to help as much as she had hoped.
“You mean the bastard’s probably humping the help?”
The woman crouched down and began yelling through the letter box.
Freddy shoved his way into the pantry beside Laura and pulled the door to behind him. It was Laura’s turn to raise her eyebrows.
“It’s Felicity,” he hissed. The scorn had disappeared entirely from his voice to be replaced by an edge of desperation.
“And . . . ?”
It was Freddy’s turn to sigh.
“We had a date last night, except I couldn’t go, but I didn’t exactly tell her until it was too late and I guess she’s pretty mad . . .” He trailed off lamely.
Despite being cold, feeling sick, and with a head that was about to explode, Laura couldn’t help but smile. Her next words were delivered with as much relish as crammed the shelves that she was leaning against.
“Well, at least have the guts to go and make your excuses to her face.”
Freddy looked at her, astonished, and then his handsome face broke into a lopsided grin.
“I know you’re in there, you bastard!” Felicity’s voice shrieked through the letter box.
“You and that tart of a housekeeper! Well, if that dried-up, scruffy old bag lady is the best you can do, you were clearly punching well above your weight with me. You were crap in the sack anyway. She’s welcome to you!”
Sunshine stood next to the incandescent Felicity, uncertain how to proceed. She had gathered in all the words that had been spoken, or rather yelled, and was hoping to sort them out into some kind of sense later. Perhaps when Laura had stopped hiding, she would help her. Felicity appeared to have run out of steam. She gave the front door a parting thump and strode off the way she came. Moments later, Sunshine heard a car door slam, an engine rev, and tires squeal as Felicity took her leave, in a foul temper, leaving a good deal of rubber on the tarmac. Just as Sunshine was about to go home, another visitor arrived. This woman was older; smartly dressed and smiling.
“Hello,” she said. “Does Laura live here?”
Sunshine wondered what this one was going to do.
“Yes. But she’s probably hiding.”
The woman didn’t seem at all surprised.
“I’m Sarah,” she introduced herself. “I’m an old friend of Laura’s.”
Sunshine offered her a high five.
“I’m Sunshine. I’m the new friend to Laura.”
“Well, I’m sure she’s very lucky to have you,” the woman replied.
Sunshine liked this new woman.
“Are you going to yell through the letter box too?” she asked her.
Sarah pondered a moment. “Well, I thought I might just try the doorbell.”
Sunshine was hungry. It didn’t look like she was going to get any lunch at Padua today.
“Good luck,” she wished Sarah, before setting off for home.
Freddy and Laura were still dithering in the pantry, straining their ears to hear if anyone remained at the front door. The doorbell rang again. A single sound, followed by a polite pause. Laura retreated back into the pickles.
“You go,” she pleaded with Freddy. “Please.”
Freddy relented, fueled by remorse for the insults Felicity had aimed at Laura.
He opened the door to an attractive, middle-aged brunette with a confident smile and a firm handshake.
“Hello. I’m Sarah. Can I see Laura?”
Freddy stood back to let her in.
“You can, if she comes out from hiding in the pantry.”
At the sound of Sarah’s voice, Laura hurried into the hall to meet her.
“You were hiding in there too!” she reminded Freddy.
Sarah looked at them both and winked at Laura.
“Hiding in the pantry! Now that’s a euphemism if ever I heard one.”
“Not a chance!” Freddy’s answer was a knee jerk, but a kick in the teeth nonetheless for Laura.
Sarah, as usual, saw what was required. She took Laura by the arm.
“Why don’t you make me a lovely cup of tea? And by the way, your hair looks gorgeous.”
CHAPTER 25
Sarah Trouvay was a first-class barrister with a stellar career, two healthy, rumbustious young boys, and a rugged architect husband. She also had an unexpected talent for yodeling, which had earned her extravagant plaudits as Maria in the school production of The Sound of Music. She and Laura had met at school and remained close friends ever since. Not close in terms of geography or frequency; they rarely met or spoke more than two or three times a year. But the bond between them, formed at an early age and tempered over time by triumphs and tragedies, remained as durable as it was dependable. Sarah had witnessed the bright, sparky, dauntless young Laura gradually, relentlessly diluted by a bad marriage and a barrage of self-doubt. But she had never given up hope that one day, the real Laura would reemerge victorious, in glorious, shining Technicolor.
“What on earth are you doing here?” Laura asked as she filled the kettle.
“Well, the six very drunken and virtually unintelligible messages which you left on my voice mail in the early hours of this morning might have had something to do with it.”
“Oh God! I didn’t, did I?” Laura hid her face in her hands.
“You most certainly did. And now I want to hear all about it. Every last sordid detail. And I think we’ll begin with ‘Poor Graham.’ Who the devil is ‘Poor Graham’?”
Laura told her almost everything. Beginning with the dress, which was still hanging half out of the bin, and ending with the sinking of the second bottle of prosecco in front of the fire. The rest of the night—including the phone calls—had disappeared forever into alcohol-induced oblivion.
“Poor Graham,” Sarah was now able to agree. “Whatever made you agree to go out with him in the first place?”
Laura looked a little embarrassed.
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe just because he asked. Nobody else has. He always seemed nice enough. Nothing obviously wrong with him.”
Sarah shook her head in disbelief.
“Nothing wrong doesn’t make him ‘Mr. Right.’”
Laura sighed. If only she could stop thinking about “Mr. Wrong” as “Mr. Right.”
She hid her face in her hands again.
“Damn that ruddy gardener!”
She had said it out loud, before she could stop herself.
“Who?”
Laura smiled ruefully. “Oh, nothing. I’m just talking to myself.”
“That’s the first sign, you know.”
“First sign of what?”
“The menopause!”
Laura threw a biscuit at her.
“I should have known it was never going to work when he started going on about Nordic walking.”
“He was trying to impress you with his pole!”
Sarah spluttered with laughter and even Laura couldn’t stifle a guilty giggle.
And then she told her about the kiss on the porch. That dreadful, interminable kiss.
Sarah looked at her and shrugged her shoulders in exasperation.
“Well, what in God’s name did you expect? You don’t fancy him. You never have. It was always going to be like kissing cardboard!”
Laura shook her head emphatically.
“No. It was much, much worse. Cardboard would have been infinitely preferable.” She remembered the slug with disgust. “And a lot less wet.”
“Honestly, Laura, why didn’t just offer your cheek, or failing that, pull away a bit quicker?”
Laura’s cheeks were blotched with laughter and embarrassment.
“I didn’t want to be rude. And anyway, his lips locked on to m
y face like a lunar module docking.”
Sarah was helpless with mirth. Laura felt bad. Poor Graham. He didn’t deserve to be ridiculed. She remembered the bewildered look on his face when she finally broke the suction between them and garbled her good-bye before fleeing inside the house and slamming the door behind her. Poor Graham. But that didn’t mean that she ever wanted to see him again.
“Poor Graham be damned!” Sarah always had the uncanny ability to know what Laura was thinking. “Sounds more like ‘Poor Laura’ to me. He’s a bad kisser with a dodgy pole. Swill your mouth out and move on!”
Laura couldn’t help but smile, but just as her spirits were beginning to lift, a memory knocked them down like a rogue breaker, toppling a tentative paddler.
“Shit!” She slumped forward in her chair and once again buried her head in her hands.
Sarah put down her cup of tea, ready for the next revelation.
“Freddy!” groaned Laura miserably. “He found me this morning.”
“So?”
“He found me this morning; my face stuck to the sofa with dribble, wearing last night’s smudged makeup and not much else, surrounded by empty bottles and two glasses. Two, Sarah! He’ll think Graham ‘came in for coffee’!”
“Well, however compelling the evidence might be, it is purely circumstantial. And anyway, what does it matter what Freddy thinks?”
“He’ll think I’m a drunken harlot!”
Sarah smiled and spoke gently and slowly, as though to a small child.
“Well, if it matters that much, tell him what really happened.”
Laura sighed despondently. “Then he’ll think I am just a ‘dried-up, scruffy old bag lady.’”
“Right!” Sarah slapped the palms of her hands down on the table. “Enough of this moaning and wallowing. Upstairs, bag lady, and make yourself look presentable. After you’ve dragged me away from work to listen to your pathetic and tedious complaining, the least you can do is take me out to lunch. And I don’t just mean a sandwich, I mean a proper hot meal. And a pudding!”
Laura clipped the top of Sarah’s head playfully as she passed her on the way out of the kitchen, mussing up her perfect cut and blow-dry. Almost immediately, Freddy came in the back door.
Sarah stood up and offered him her hand and her brightest smile.
“Hello again. I’m afraid I didn’t introduce myself properly. I’m Sarah Trouvay, an old friend of Laura’s.”
Freddy shook her hand but refused to meet her gaze, turning instead to the sink to fill the kettle.
“Freddy. I’ve just come in to make a coffee. Can I get you one?”
“No thanks. We’re just going out.”
The silence, deliberate on Sarah’s part and embarrassed on Freddy’s, was broken only by the rattle of water boiling in the kettle. Looking everywhere but at Sarah, Freddy caught sight of Laura’s dress, hanging out of the bin. He fished it out and held it up.
“Hmm. Nice dress.”
“Yes. I bet Laura looked absolutely gorgeous in it.”
Freddy shifted uncomfortably in his muddy boots. “I wouldn’t know.”
At the sound of Laura’s footsteps coming down the stairs, Sarah stood up.
“I know it’s probably none of my business, but sometimes someone has to say something, even if they’re the wrong person. Last night; it wasn’t what it seemed.”
She turned to leave the kitchen and over her shoulder added:
“Just in case you’re interested.”
“None of my business either,” Freddy muttered sulkily as he poured boiling water into his mug.
Liar, liar! Pants on fire! thought Sarah.
The Moon Is Missing was hosting a wake for a ninety-two-year-old former boxing coach and horse dealer called Eddy “The Neddy” O’Regan. The mourners had clearly been toasting the dear departed enthusiastically for some time already, and the mood was cheerful, rowdy, and sentimental. Laura and Sarah managed to squeeze into one of the booths, and over saucisson cassoulet and puréed potato, washed down with a glass of house red for Sarah and a Diet Coke for Laura, they caught up with each other’s news. They had spoken briefly after Anthony died, but since then Sarah had been working on an important case that had only just been heard in court.
“Did you win?” Laura asked.
“Of course!” said Sarah, poking with her fork at the rather mushy-looking sausage and bean stew on the plate in front of her. “But never mind about that. Tell me everything.”
Laura did. She told her about Anthony’s will and the letter; the study full of things; hiding from Sunshine; and being the latest and juiciest subject of local gossip. And Felicity.
“I mean, it’s lovely in one way; the house is beautiful, but the monumental lost property department that comes with it is another matter entirely. How the hell am I supposed to return all that stuff? It’s madness. I have no idea what to do about Sunshine, there’s no guarantee that the website will work, and most of the locals think I’m a money-grabbing slapper. I’ll end up living in a house full of mice and cobwebs and other people’s lost property, until I’m one hundred and four, and when I do die, it’ll be months before anyone notices, and by the time they break in and find me, I’ll be liquefying on the sofa.”
“And not for the first time,” Sarah replied with a wink. But then she put down her knife and fork and pushed away her plate.
“Laura. My dear, lovely, funny, clever, absolutely bloody infuriating Laura. You’ve been left a great big beautiful house, full of treasures with a dishy gardener thrown in. Anthony loved you like a daughter and trusted you with everything that was precious to him, and instead of turning cartwheels, you sit here whingeing. He believed in you; I’ve always believed in you. It’s not just Sunshine that you’re hiding from; it’s everything. And it’s time to stop hiding and start kicking life up the arse. And to hell with what anyone else thinks,” she added, for good measure.
Laura took a sip of her Diet Coke. She wasn’t convinced. And she was terrified of disappointing yet another person who loved her.
Sarah looked into her dearest friend’s troubled face. She reached over and placed her hand over Laura’s. It was time for some long-overdue home truths.
“Laura, you have to let go of the past. You deserve to be happy, but you have to make it happen yourself. It’s down to you. You were seventeen when you met Vince; still a child; but you’re a grown woman now, so start behaving like one. Don’t keep punishing yourself for things you did then, but don’t use them as an excuse either. You have a chance now to make a really good life. Grab it by the balls and get on with it.”
Sarah sat back to see what impact her words were having. She was probably the only person in the world who could, and would, talk to Laura like that. She was determined to find the woman whom she knew was still in there and get her out. By force, if necessary.
“You do realize that we all fancied Vince, back then?”
Laura looked at her incredulously.
“Seriously. It wasn’t just you. He was handsome, drove a flash car, and smoked Sobranies. What more could a girl ask for? We all thought he was sex on legs. It was just bad luck that he chose you.”
Laura smiled.
“You always were an insufferable clever clogs.”
“Yes, but I’m right. Aren’t I? Come on, Laura. You’re better than this! When did you turn into such a wimp? This is a once-in-a-lifetime, twenty-four-karat-gold, fuck-off fantastic opportunity that most people can only dream about. If you chicken out of this one, I’ll never forgive you. But more importantly, you’ll never forgive yourself!”
Sarah raised her glass in a toast.
“And as for it being madness, well, that should suit you perfectly. You always were a complete loony tune!”
Laura smiled. It had been Sarah’s nickname for her all those years ago at school, when life had still been exciting and full of possibilities.
“You complete arse!” she muttered.
“I beg your pardon
?” Even the normally imperturbable Sarah looked a little shocked.
Laura grinned. “Me, not you.”
“I knew that.” Sarah grinned back at her.
It was slowly dawning on Laura that life was still exciting and full of possibilities; opportunities that she had wasted years of her life wishing for instead of chasing. She had some serious catching up to do.
“What about Sunshine?” she asked. “Any advice?”
“Talk to her. She has Down’s syndrome, she’s not daft. Tell her how you feel. Work something out. And while you’re at it, tell her what really happened on your date. If you won’t tell Freddy, I’m pretty sure she will.”
Laura shook her head. “You heard what he said when you suggested that we’d been up to no good in the pantry. Not a chance.”
“Oh, Laura! Sometimes you can be really thick.” Laura resisted the urge to stab her in the back of her hand with a fork.
“Do you remember Nicholas Barker from the boys’ school?”
Laura remembered a tall, freckled boy with strong arms and scuffed shoes.
“He was always pulling my hair on the bus or ignoring me completely.”
Sarah grinned. “He was shy. He did it because he fancied you!”
Laura groaned. “Oh God. Don’t say we’re no further forward than we were in the fifth form.”
“You speak for yourself. But in my opinion, you’ve definitely got some serious ground to make up. Especially if you fancy Freddy as much as he obviously fancies you. And now I want some pudding!”
Sarah called a taxi from the pub to take her back to the station. As they stood waiting in the car park for it to arrive, Laura hugged her friend gratefully.
“Thanks so much for coming. I’m sorry I’ve been such a pain.”
“No change there,” quipped Sarah. “But seriously, it’s fine. You’d do the same for me.”
“Damn well wouldn’t!”
That was Laura; always hiding behind a joke, shrugging away compliments. But Sarah would never forget that it was this Laura, eight years ago, who sat wiping away her tears, in a side room of a hospital ward, while Sarah’s shattered husband paced the car park chain-smoking and sobbing. It was Laura who held her hand while she delivered her first child; a precious daughter who died before they had a chance to meet. A daughter who would have been christened Laura-Jane.
