by Fiona Field
‘Then Maddy should know. I should tell her.’
‘No, leave it all alone and move on. And Maddy doesn’t need you to tell her what her husband is like. Seriously, she doesn’t.’
Michelle might have pretended to agree with Sam, but what did her friend know? What did Sam know about her and Seb and their feelings for each other? Nothing, that’s what. No, she wasn’t going to listen to Sam, no way.
If only she had a phone number for Maddy. But she knew where she lived, so that was something. And hadn’t Sam told her that the advance party, which included Seb, was due off to Kenya right at the start of the New Year, leaving Maddy on her own.
Michelle thought she might spend the evening watching the New Year’s Eve fireworks on the telly and then, the next day, head down to Warminster and create some of her own there.
19
‘So this is the family estate,’ said James as he greeted Sam after she pulled her car into the drive in front of a stockbroker-belt, half-timbered semi on the outskirts of Guildford. ‘Please note the landscaped gardens, the work of Capability Rosser, the stunning portico and original Elizabethan beams – that’s Elizabeth Windsor, not Tudor.’
Sam grinned. ‘Blenheim Palace had better watch out,’ she said. ‘I’m surprised the National Trust hasn’t made a bid for it.’
‘OK, I exaggerate.’ James gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. ‘But it’s home.’
Sam thought it looked like a happy house.
‘Come on,’ said James. ‘We’ll leave the bags. I’ll drag them in for you later. Come and meet Ma and Dad.’
Sam got out of the car and followed James across the wide gravel drive. The door stood wide and framed in it was a man who Sam could only suppose was James’s dad.
‘You must be Sam,’ he boomed. ‘Welcome.’
‘Sam, this is my father.’
‘Lovely to meet you, Sam, and call me Duncan. Come in, come in. You don’t want to be hanging about in this weather.’
No, she didn’t. It was already spitting with light rain and the sky threatened worse to come.
As she stepped over the threshold a hand descended on her shoulder and gave it a friendly squeeze. ‘I’m so glad you agreed to come over. James says you’ve got a lively sense of humour and the old fogies who live here could do with livening up. I look forward to being kept in stitches while you’re here.’
Sam was a bit worried about poor Mrs Rosser being classed as an old fogie but she was more concerned about her apparent billing as the comedy turn, so she just smiled a little, nervously.
‘I said nothing of the sort, Dad, and you know it,’ said James. ‘You’ll frighten Sam off before she’s even got her coat off.’
‘Just living in hope, my boy, living in hope. I like a good laugh now and again.’ He winked at Sam.
Sam grinned back. James’s dad was obviously bonkers, but nice bonkers. She thought the next few days were probably going to be quite fun.
‘It was lovely of you to invite me,’ she said to Duncan.
‘Nothing to do with me,’ he said. ‘All James’s idea.’
‘Even so,’ she said firmly. As she spoke she took in the hallway; there seemed to be bookcases everywhere and it smelt of furniture polish with a hint of toast. In fact, it smelt like a home ought to, thought Sam. None of that fake air-freshener pong that so many houses seemed to smell of, and it was full of clutter and dust-traps and pictures and knick-knacks. Yes, it was full of all the things her father’s various quarters had been completely devoid of. Yes, a happy home, a lived-in home.
‘Now,’ said Duncan as he glanced at his watch, ‘I don’t reckon it’s too early to open the bar, do you? Sun’s over the yardarm and all that.’
‘But it’s only five,’ said James in protest.
‘Somewhere it’s gone six,’ said Duncan with a twinkle. ‘What’s your poison, young lady?’
‘I’d love a G and T,’ said Sam.
‘Mother’s ruin! Excellent choice. I’m assuming you’re on the beer, James.’
James nodded. ‘We’ll go and find Ma while you get the drinks, shall we?’
He pushed open a door at the end of the hall which led into a den with an Aga at one end, a couple of beaten-up armchairs, one occupied by a black Labrador with a grey muzzle and which thumped its tail when it saw James. James patted it as he went past.
‘Hello, Buster, old boy. He’s very ancient,’ explained James. ‘He doesn’t do much more than totter down the garden and back these days. It’s hard to think that he used to come with me on five-mile runs until only a few years ago. Now, some mornings, he has to be helped off this chair.’
Sam felt sympathy for the ancient dog’s current plight, but it had obviously had a long and happy life.
‘Anyway, let’s find Ma.’ James opened another door and there was the kitchen and the most wonderful smell of baking. Standing by the counter, with a tray of freshly baked biscuits beside her, was a woman who reminded Sam of Mrs Tiggywinkle: short, stout, with boot-button eyes and a large white apron tied firmly around where her waist ought to be. She smiled when she saw her son and her cheeks dimpled.
James bent down and kissed his mother’s rosy cheek. ‘Hi, Ma. Here’s Sam.’
‘Sam. How lovely, and welcome. I am so pleased to meet you at long last. I’m sure we’re going to get on.’
‘It’s lovely to meet you too,’ said Sam.
‘Now, I hope you’ve got a good appetite, because it’s so nice to have more than two people to cook for and I might have overdone things a bit.’
‘I’m sure you haven’t,’ said Sam. ‘And I love home cooking. The food in the mess is grand, of course it is, but nothing, nothing, beats home cooking.’ She didn’t mention that after being fed like a goose destined to produce foie gras by her gran she’d resolved to go on a diet. Oh well, a diet could start in the New Year.
‘We,’ said James’s ma, firmly, ‘are going to get along fine. I can tell. And I’m Betty, by the way, as James couldn’t be bothered to do proper introductions.’
The kitchen door opened and in came Duncan, carrying a tray laden with drinks. He handed them round.
‘Cheers,’ he said.
‘Cheers,’ replied everyone.
Sam sipped her drink and felt her eyes goggle. Where the hell was the T in this G and T?
The two men went off to the sitting room, leaving Sam in the kitchen. Sam had a sneaking feeling that they both thought that was where she’d prefer to be, except it wasn’t her natural environment at all. After a bit, her lack of domesticity became apparent to Betty and she gently suggested that maybe she’d like to sit in the den and enjoy her drink with the day’s paper.
‘And it’ll let James and his dad do a bit of bonding, get it out of their system for the duration and then they won’t talk boring old shop for the rest of your stay.’
Sam was happy to take Betty’s advice, the Telegraph and her drink and a few seconds later she was sitting in the den with Buster.
She’d started to read the paper, and was turning to the inside pages when she heard Duncan and James’s voices drifting across the hall from the sitting room.
‘So… Sam,’ said Duncan. ‘You and she…?’
‘Dad, if I’ve told you once I’ve told you a dozen times, we’re just friends.’
‘Oh.’ Even at this distance Sam could hear the disappointment in Duncan’s voice.
‘Sorry, but that’s how it is.’
‘I don’t know, son, isn’t it about time you thought about having a nice girlfriend? From what I hear, the army’s much better these days about keeping families together.’
‘But I don’t want a family yet. Apart from this one, that is. It’s early days and I really want to concentrate on my career.’
‘Your mum’d love grandchildren.’
‘Dad! I’m not going to rush things just for Mum.’
James doesn’t sound keen, thought Sam, but then the kitchen door opened and out bustled Betty, bearing a
tray of nibbles and wanting a refill and by the time the men had got back to the conversation the subject had changed to defence cuts.
As Sam went to bed, in a rather more tiddly state than she’d anticipated, she was fuzzily pleased that she and James were just good friends. She loved their uncomplicated relationship. It was, she thought, how it might have been if her twin had survived; having a man to look out for her, squire her around but wanting nothing more than companionship in return. She hoped the status quo remained. As she got undressed she realised that there was another positive to staying friends with James; she could pretend Betty was her mother. She wondered if her mother had been as good a home-maker as lovely Betty. She hoped so.
On the first day of January, Susie Collins decided she could slob for a bit with a book and a cuppa and not feel guilty, as Mike and the girls had gone out for walk. After all, she deserved it – she’d changed the beds, done the laundry and the ironing and produced a roast lunch. It was definitely time to relax. As she filled the kettle she looked out of the window.
Across the road there was a car parked. Nothing unusual in that except it was outside the Fanshaws’ house and they were still away. She peered at it, through the geraniums over-wintering on the windowsill. There was someone in it. Odd. Why would someone loiter outside an empty house in the middle of winter?
Like most people connected to the armed forces, Susie was slightly wary of strangers hanging around. The days of random, drive-by shootings or terrorist bombings in the married patches were, thankfully, long gone but there were still plenty of extremists who didn’t much like the military. The Woolwich murder had borne horrific witness to that fact.
She stared at the car for a few seconds with narrowed eyes as she considered the situation and then made a decision. She dried her hands on a tea-towel, headed out of the front door and crossed the street. She rapped on the driver’s window. The window was wound down and Susie saw a face she recognised but couldn’t instantly place. Then it clicked: it was that rather sulky friend of Sam’s who had been at Maddy’s lunch party and was called… Michelle? Yes, that was it, Michelle. Except she looked shocking – ill almost.
‘Oh, hi,’ said Michelle.
‘Hi. Forgive me for being nosy, but were you expecting to see Maddy?’
‘I… Yes.’
‘But she’s away. Seb too.’
‘Away?’
‘She and Seb are staying with her parents over the leave period. Maddy’s going to stay on with them when Seb goes off on that exercise in Kenya with the rest of the battalion. He’ll be coming home for a few days to get his kit ready before leaving with the advance party but I’m not expecting Maddy back till February, when Seb’s due back from Africa.’
‘Oh.’ Michelle looked completely downcast.
‘Looks like you’ve come here on a wild goose chase.’ Susie felt herself soften slightly; the girl did look terrible. ‘I’ve got the kettle on. Before you go, would you like a cup of tea – or a coffee?’
Michelle stared at the steering-wheel, seeming to consider this offer, then finally she said, ‘That’s kind. Yes, wasted journey.’
Susie wondered if she was going to cry. There really was something very odd about this woman but if she was a friend of Sam’s… well, the least she could do was play the good Samaritan. She waited for Michelle to get out of her car and lock it up before she led her back into her quarter.
‘So, you didn’t know Maddy planned to be away?’ said Susie. ‘Tea or coffee?’
‘Oh, coffee, please.’
Susie spooned granules into a mug before flicking the switch on the kettle to bring it back to the boil.
‘No… I never thought,’ said Michelle. She sounded dull and utterly listless. ‘Stupid of me.’
‘Oh dear. You should have phoned her.’
‘I don’t have a number,’ said Michelle.
Susie made the coffee and handed her a mug. ‘Milk? Sugar?’
‘Just milk, please.’
Susie gave her the jug. Not, she thought, that Michelle looked like she needed caffeine. She looked so taut and tense she could probably vibrate like a violin string. ‘I’ve already told you I’m nosy.’ She gave Michelle what she hoped was a disarming smile. ‘But is something the matter?’
‘No!’ Michelle’s voice was a little strident, a little too emphatic. ‘No, nothing’s the matter. I wanted to see Maddy, that’s all.’
Susie felt she really couldn’t pry further, although she longed to know why Michelle needed to see her neighbour. ‘Can I help? Pass on a message?’
Michelle shook her head and then sipped her drink.
Susie got a tin of biscuits down from a shelf. ‘Let’s go into the sitting room and sit down.’
Wordlessly, Michelle followed her.
‘There, this is more comfortable, isn’t it?’ said Susie brightly. For a second she almost wished she was back on the booze again. A stiff drink might help both of them and even if Michelle didn’t want one, for the first time in an age Susie felt a real craving.
‘Do you have a number for Maddy?’ asked Michelle suddenly.
‘I do, as it happens.’ Susie got up and went to the kitchen to fetch the babysitting circle contact list. ‘Here.’ She handed it to Michelle. For a second she wondered about the wisdom of doing this but hell, Maddy had invited this woman into her home, they had mutual friends and she was a serving officer too, for heaven’s sake. She was hardly some random off the street.
Michelle fished her phone out of a pocket and began to programme the number into it. Susie noticed her hand was shaking. Again she wanted to ask if she was all right but she couldn’t keep asking the poor girl questions. It was already a bit like the Spanish Inquisition.
‘Thank you,’ said Michelle as she handed the sheet of names and numbers back.
‘So…’ said Susie, once again, ‘you’re not involved in the high jinks in Africa?’
‘No, no, nothing like that.’ Michelle took another slug of her coffee, draining her cup. An awkward silence descended. Then she dumped her mug hard on the table and stood up. ‘I mustn’t hold you up, I expect you’re busy. Thanks for the coffee. I must be going.’
Susie thought she looked quite manic and wondered if she ought to try once again to get Michelle to open up. It was obvious that something was bothering the girl. Susie toyed for a second about offering her a shoulder to cry on, because she really looked as if she had something serious on her mind, then dismissed the thought. It wasn’t her responsibility to offer counselling or advice.
‘I hope you manage to get hold of Maddy. Send her my love when you do.’
‘Yeah, of course.’ But it was said so grumpily Susie very much doubted that the message was going to get passed on.
Curiouser and curiouser.
Michelle drove away from the married patch and headed back towards Surrey and her unit. She’d gone about ten miles or so when she spotted a lay-by at the side of the road and pulled her car into it. What a nightmare that trip had been – and a waste of time. And that bloody Susie woman prying like that. But, on the other hand, she’d got a number for Maddy so it wasn’t a complete cluster-fuck. Michelle pulled her phone from her bag, stared at it, then made her mind up.
He doesnt love you he loves me.
She hit send. That’ll tell her. Maddy needed to know the truth about the situation. It was only fair after all. Seb obviously wasn’t going to man up and sort things out, so it was up to her.
Maddy was in her mum’s kitchen, grilling a couple of fish fingers for Nate’s tea, when her phone pinged. Eagerly she grabbed it. Could this be a text from Seb to say he’d made it safely back to their quarter? She looked at the display in disappointment. Pah – a mobile number, not a name. Obviously this was some spammer, not a call from Seb or even a mate. Out of vague curiosity she opened the text to see if she was being offered free laser eye surgery on her already perfect, twenty-twenty vision, or a chance to claim against some missold insurance she’d never
bought, or maybe she’d got whiplash from a car accident she hadn’t had. Who knew?
He doesnt love you he loves me.
For a second her blood ceased to flow though her veins and then reason kicked in. A text had been sent to a wrong number; this was two teenagers having a spat over a boy and one of them had pressed a wrong digit and the message had winged its way to her phone by accident. But even as she tapped the delete key and the message was wiped, another thought struck her… All teenagers – in fact, most people – had almost everyone they knew on their phone’s system. If you wanted to send a message you didn’t key in a number, you pressed the button against a name. But it was too late now to retrieve the details, she’d deleted the message and, anyway, Nate’s fish fingers were ready and she really didn’t have the time or the inclination to mess about with silly texts which had nothing to do with her.
Susie was getting ready for bed later that night when she saw a light on in the Fanshaws’ house.
‘Mike,’ she said as she drew the curtains, ‘I thought the Fanshaws were still away.’
Mike, cleaning his teeth in the basin in the bedroom turned around. ‘No,’ he said dibbling toothpaste foam down his chin, ‘Seb’s due back any day now.’ He turned back and rinsed and spat then dabbed his chin on a towel. ‘The advance party is due to fly out this week.’
‘Oh, I wish I’d known.’
‘Why?’ Mike pulled back his side of the duvet and hopped into bed.
‘He and Maddy had a visitor today. I gave the girl duff information – well, not really duff, but I didn’t know Seb was going to be back today. Maybe she could have waited and seen him.’
Mike shrugged. ‘Not your fault. Who was it?’
‘That friend of Sam Lewis’s.’
