Rosie Meadows Regrets...

by Catherine Alliott

  I stared in disbelief at her retreating back. Then I got up and scurried after her. ‘But – what are we going to do, Alice? I mean, shouldn’t I be ringing solicitors, beetling off to barrister’s chambers, that sort of thing?’

  ‘Hmmm?’ She took her head out of the fridge and gave me a vague look. ‘Oh no, the last thing you want to do is get a solicitor. He’ll only charge a fortune and for what? For listening politely to your story and then telling you to sit tight and do absolutely nothing before handing you a socking great bill. Well I can do that.’ She smiled. ‘Without the bill of course. Look, Rosie,’ she said patiently, ‘you haven’t been arrested and you haven’t even been charged, so you don’t actually need professional advice. Honestly, you just wait, in a few weeks’ time it’ll all have died down and you’ll have forgotten all about it, I promise. Ah, I’ve got them. Slightly past their sell by date, I see, but never mind. I’ll put three in, shall I? And a bit of cheese too?’

  I wandered back to the sitting room, biting my nail. I perched on the edge of the sofa, watching her bustling about. Could she possibly be right? Were they just putting the frighteners on me, testing the water in case I coughed? In case I admitted it? Suddenly I thought of something.

  ‘We still haven’t had the inquest yet of course,’ I called to her. ‘I mean Harry’s inquest.’

  ‘When is it?’

  ‘Well, the police said it can take anything up to a couple of months.’

  ‘Well, there you are.’ She broke an egg into the pan with a flourish and turned, smiling confidently. ‘The coroner’s bound to bring in a verdict of accidental death and then everything will be fine! You wait, Rosie, the truth always outs in the end, all you have to do is keep your chin up and lie low for a bit. Don’t let the bastards grind you down.’

  I bit my thumbnail a bit more. Chin up, keep cool, sit tight, lie low – God there were so many bloody inert things I had to remember to do, but I could do them all right. I could lie so low they’d have to take the floorboards up to find me. There I’d be, huddled in the foundations, cool, tight, and low, but with my chin well up. And with Ivo snuggled in beside me too, of course. With any luck they wouldn’t find us for years and we could come up for – ooh, his eighteenth birthday or something. Have a nice little celebration.

  As promised, Alice stayed, and actually played a blinder. She refused to indulge my tendency to lapse into sudden hysteria and then convalesce in a heap on the sofa, and bullied me relentlessly into carrying on as normal. First we trailed around the fields for ‘a breath of fresh air’, and then when we came back she insisted on clearing out all the kitchen cupboards. Well, actually it was me who cleaned them out because she insisted on mixing up some filler to mend the cracks in the kitchen wall, an apparently crucial job which needed seeing to instantly. Then of course, having mended all the cracks, we had to paint the wall. It wasn’t exactly what I felt like doing on the day I’d been accused of murdering my husband, but I have to admit it took my mind off things and I felt totally exhausted afterwards, which I imagine was the general idea.

  After that we sat in front of the fire, listened to music and chatted a bit, but she refused to discuss my predicament further, dismissing it as ludicrous and not worth wasting our breath on. Gradually some of her bravado rubbed off on me and I was able to relax a bit, but I was never able to forget. I was also aware of Alice’s deliberate ploy to distract me and that worried me somewhat. She was almost too determined, too single-minded in her mission, as if actually she, too, was secretly worried sick. Now and again I’d catch her looking at me, but if my eye snagged on hers she’d prattle on again, about the children, about how lousy it was living in London, about her painting, about anything uncontroversial, and occasionally I’d find myself actually listening to what she was saying without permanently being in a state of blind terror. But it was always there. That ghastly black cloud, lurking ominously and threatening to roll in from the back of my mind.

  She stayed the night, sleeping in Ivo’s room, and the next morning got up early and left for London before I was up. I found a note on the table downstairs.

  ‘Stop worrying! Everything’s going to be absolutely fine – you’ll see! Love and kisses, Alice. PS – Read these, v. good for stress!’

  Underneath the note was a book called Learning to Breathe Again and another called Yoga for Life. There was also a packet of herbal tea and a cassette entitled Relaxation Made Easy. I smiled. All very alternative, and all very Alice. The hearts and flowers approach to the gritty reality of life.

  Nevertheless, as I flicked through the books while I ate a piece of toast, I found that my tummy wasn’t churning quite so dramatically as it had last night. Twenty-four hours and a good night’s sleep had helped to distance that ghastly interview and cast it, almost, into nightmare realm, so that it seemed to me, as I sipped my tea in my sunny little kitchen, that it might never have happened. Gosh, perhaps Alice was right, I thought as I stared out of the window at the dew-soaked fields, cradling my mug. Perhaps I was getting my knickers in a twist over nothing here and perhaps they did pressurize people on a routine basis just to see if they squealed. Well if they did there should be a law against it, I thought angrily. It was not only highly unsociable but extremely upsetting and I had half a mind to write to my MP. Yes, the more I thought about it the more outrageous it became – harassing a grief-stricken widow? It shouldn’t be allowed! I’d write to him this morning, or her of course, no need to be sexist.

  I finished my toast and was just about to jog up the drive to Farlings with a slightly lighter heart when I remembered the milkman wasn’t delivering over New Year and we’d need milk. I’d have to pop to the village first. I grabbed the cassette Alice had given me to listen to in the car and as I did, her note dropped on the floor. When I picked it up, I realised she’d written something on the back.

  ‘PPS – It’s just possible they may be watching you to see if you try to get in touch with Tim or any of his cronies, so just be aware and act perfectly naturally. Above all, don’t panic!’

  I dropped the note in horror. Christ! Watching me? Where? I ran to the window. A snowman stared back at me. I recoiled in horror. Was there someone in there? I crept forward. Oh, don’t be stupid, Rosie, you made that with Ivo for heaven’s sake, she’s just warning you to be careful, that’s all. I took a deep breath and for a moment considered not going out at all, just staying in my nice cosy cottage with my thumb stuck firmly in my mouth. But then I rallied. I seized the car keys, stuck my chin out and strode off down the path. Admittedly as I got in the car I glanced about furtively, but then again, what was I looking for? Undercover agents posing as rhododendron bushes?

  I drove off, humming ‘Greensleeves’ slightly hysterically, and trying to keep my spirits up, but at the same time wondering melodramatically if I shouldn’t be savouring these moments. Driving a car. Going to the shops. Were these to be my last days of freedom? I looked up at the vast expanse of sky as I entered the village. That’s what everyone said they missed in prison, wasn’t it? Seeing huge skies. As I gazed at it wistfully I suddenly had to brake hard to avoid crashing into Ted Parsons the butcher, as he parked outside the post office. Sorry! I mouthed through the window with a grin as he got out of his car. He caught my eye but turned and hurried away. Oh well, I thought as I got out, perhaps he hadn’t really seen me. Or perhaps he thought a near miss wasn’t all that hysterical. I slammed my door and made my way along the frosty pavement to the Spa.

  It was buzzing as usual, crowded with old women in headscarves busily popping Carnation Milk and Rennies into their wire baskets. I smiled to myself. These days practically every shop opened whether it be a Sunday or even a bank holiday, but anyone born before 1960 still acted as if the world might stop turning at any moment and the doors clang shut. There was certainly some panic buying going on over there by the fridge, it was three deep with yakking Vera look-alikes, and I waited patiently for a few tweed coats to clear before I could reach in for my own
few pints of milk. But as I loitered, a couple of heads turned, and suddenly all the women stopped talking. A deathly hush fell. I glanced over my shoulder, disconcerted. What? What was happening? When I looked back, I realized they were all staring at me. I flushed, confused, then in a second all was back to bustling normality again, except that my way to the milk was clear because the women had suddenly found business elsewhere. The fridge, it seemed, had lost its appeal. Slowly I took my cartons. I turned and walked to the till. The shop seemed to go quiet. I swallowed hard. No, I must be imagining this, this was surely nothing to do with me. Old Miss Martin, a great buddy of Vera’s, was dithering over the Weetabix as I passed down the cereal aisle.

  ‘Morning,’ I murmured.

  No answer. But then I had said it very softly, hadn’t I? She can’t have heard. My heart was pounding as I joined the back of the queue for the till. Mrs Fairfax was smiling and chatting behind the counter as she packed people’s bags, and I relaxed a bit. She was so nice, a mate almost, and a great fan of Ivo’s. On the counter was the usual box of cut-price items which had passed their sell by dates and were being sold off cheaply. When it came to my turn I picked out a bar of chocolate and a few old Christmas cards.

  ‘May as well get well ahead!’ I said cheerfully as I handed the cards to her.

  ‘Looks like you might have to,’ she said grimly.

  Everyone stopped what they were doing and stared. Mrs Fairfax had now made it a very public humiliation. Very, very slowly she packed my bag, taking an inordinately long time to ring up four pints of milk, a bar of chocolate, and a few Christmas cards. Long enough, in fact, to give everyone time to witness me flushing from my toes to my fingertips and right up to the top of my fringe. Only when I was well and truly burning with shame did she let me go.

  ‘That’ll be two pounds eleven pence then.’ She held out her hand and met my eye defiantly. No cosy dimples, and no apples in the cheeks either.

  I handed her the money and with as much dignity as I could muster walked from the silent shop, aware of a dozen eyes burning into me. My hands shook as I got in the car. I turned the key in the ignition and drove off at speed. As I did my tummy flipped over and my hand flew to my mouth. Oh God, they knew! Everyone knew and what’s more they believed it too, they thought I was guilty! Guilty. It was as if it had been branded on my forehead with a red-hot iron, and before I’d even had a chance to plead my innocence. And here, in a village I thought I knew, in a place where I was beginning to feel I belonged and was among friends! Oh God!

  As I swung round a bend, desperate to get away from all those censorious eyes, I spotted Alice’s relaxation tape on the seat beside me. I seized it. Yes, that’s what I needed, some deep-breathing exercises. Perfect. Just don’t panic, Rosie, don’t panic, and remember – this is village life, that’s all. It’s just small-minded, parochial people with nothing better to do than gossip and snipe, and you heard what Alice said, don’t let the bastards grind you down. Well that includes this bunch of peasants too! I glanced down at the tape. ‘Learning to Relax Again’ – perfect, yes, I’d like to do that, I really would, but very difficult to get into, particularly with one hand, and particularly when the sodding thing was hermetically sealed in snug-fit cellophane wrap plastered with Annabel’s smug face. God it would have to be one of hers, wouldn’t it? I dug at it with my nails, then went for it with my teeth, swerving all over the road as I bit into the wrapper. Finally I managed to rip it open, but as I flipped the box open with one hand, it promptly broke and the tape fell on the floor. Veering dangerously, I lunged down at my feet. Where was it now? There? No, that was the brake. Ah, here – bugger – WATCH THAT CAR, ROSIE! Swerving out of the way of a blue Audi but determinedly clutching my tape, I rammed it into the cassette player. I gripped the wheel and waited – as a high-pitched, constipated groan was emitted from what was palpably a broken tape. Furious, I punched it out, but its entrails were stuck in the mechanics of my cassette player and reams of tape came with it.

  ‘Cow!’ I shrieked. ‘Call this bloody relaxing? Do you? DO YOU CALL THIS BLOODY RELAXING!’

  In a fit of fury I buzzed down my window and flung it out as hard as I could. Unfortunately, I just happened to be passing Miss Martin’s cottage where her sister, another Miss Martin, was standing at the garden gate, no doubt anxiously awaiting the arrival of the Weetabix. It caught her a glancing blow – crack! – right on the temple.

  ‘Oh shit!’ I gasped, staring in my rear-view mirror at her stunned, white face. Horrified, I sank down low in my seat. Oh God, don’t let her die. Please don’t let her die! Please don’t let me have struck that spot that literally takes no more than a tap to send an octogenarian reeling into her grave. I couldn’t stand any more dead bodies!

  I could still see her in my rear-view mirror, dazed and rooted to the spot, staring after me. I quickly swung a left off the main road to get out of her line of vision. At some point, somewhere down that dark, tree-lined, shady lane, I drew into the side of the road. My whole body was shaking with the sheer accumulation of disasters and I simply couldn’t drive any further. Apart from that, I didn’t know where I was going. Actually, I thought I was going to faint. I bent my head forward on to the steering wheel and moaned low. Then I breathed deeply. In … out … in … out – you don’t need a frigging tape to teach you how to breathe – in … out … in … out.

  Gradually I felt a bit better. A bit calmer. And when I did finally raise my head from the wheel, I realized that actually, I did know where I was. Oh yes, this was Alex’s lane wasn’t it? I blinked my blurry eyes. In fact there was his rather racy green Mercedes down there, outside his cottage at the end of that row. How odd that he should be at home and not at his surgery although – no, of course. He wouldn’t be working today. Suddenly I brightened. Oh for a cheery face. Oh, for an unconditional hug, an unquestioning smile, a friendly greeting. Yes of course, Alex! Why didn’t I think of him before? Eagerly I sat up and started the car. I plunged into first and purred the few hundred yards up the lane to the row of beautifully converted, workmen’s cottages with the stream running through the gardens at the back. I pulled in behind his car.

  Alex had knocked the end two cottages together so that they made quite an impressive pad. They were detached from the rest of the row, separated by a narrow alleyway that he’d lined with terracotta pots and urns which were spilling over with herbs and variegated ivy. Yes, it was really rather idyllic, and as I approached, I felt a bit better.

  I knocked at the green front door and waited. Nothing. I waited a bit longer, then rang the bell. I stared up at the house. Damn, he must have popped out. Disappointed, I pressed hard on the buzzer, just to get rid of some irritation. After a few moments I moved across to the bay window and shaded my eyes with my hands, peering in. An anglepoise light was on at the desk in the corner, papers were scattered on the floor along with a coffee mug, and a fire was burning in the grate. I frowned. Wouldn’t he have put a guard up? I went back to the door and rang once more. Perhaps he was in the bath, or on the loo or something.

  Finally, I had to give up. Disappointed, I started back to the car, but as I passed the bay window again I suddenly saw movement. Yes, there he was, bent double, right under the window seat. What the hell was he up to? I rapped on the window.

  ‘Alex! It’s me!’

  He popped his head up in surprise. ‘Oh! Hi! Hang on.’

  A second later the front door opened. ‘Sorry, I dropped a contact lens. Were you ringing?’

  ‘For ages! Didn’t you hear me?’

  He grinned. ‘Must be going deaf. I had some music on too.’

  ‘I can’t hear any.’

  ‘I turned it off as I came through.’

  ‘Oh, right.’ I smiled. He smiled back. But he didn’t seem to be forming the words ‘Come in’, and he was standing squarely in the doorway.

  ‘I – just wondered how you were,’ I said brightly.

  ‘Me? Oh fine! Fine!’

  I nodded, �
�Good. Haven’t seen you for a while.’

  ‘No, well, I’ve been terribly busy, Rosie, it’s been absolutely horrendous actually. I’ve been up to my eyes.’

  ‘Really? Over New Year?’

  ‘Well, animals don’t stop being sick just because it’s a holiday, you know.’

  ‘No, I suppose they don’t.’

  There was a pause. Well he obviously was very, very busy or he’d ask me in. I hesitated. I wasn’t sure I could spill the murder inquiry beans right here on the doorstep.

  ‘Oh well,’ I said cheerily, ‘I’ll see you next Saturday then.’

  ‘Saturday?’

  ‘The cinema. Remember you asked me at the surgery? You let us jump the queue.’

  He clapped his hand to his forehead.

  ‘Saturday! God, I completely forgot! I’m so sorry, Rosie, something’s come up.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yes, my – my sister’s coming over.’

  ‘Oh! Oh right. I didn’t know you had one.’

  ‘Yes, she’s – been away.’

  ‘Oh really. Where?’

  He stared. ‘Peru,’ he said finally, nodding hard. Then he scratched his head sheepishly. ‘Can’t really get out of it, I’m afraid, it’s been so long since I’ve seen her. Sorry.’

  ‘That’s okay. Some other time then?’

  ‘Oh, definitely! Definitely. Um listen, Rosie, I’d love to stand and chat but I’ve just put some bacon under the grill. Shall I give you a ring?’