Blames his arthritis but, basically, he’s a boring old fart. As he’d tell me though, it takes one to know one. I love him really, and given tonight’s crowd, I can’t say I blame him.
God, what a dull lot. In the next breath, they’ll all be complaining that the youngsters leave the village at the first opportunity. Can you blame them? There’s more life in the graveyard.’
‘I’m enjoying myself,’ Jill said, amused by Ella’s scathing comments.
‘Ah, but as the new resident, you’re obliged to say kind things about us all.’
Mary soon put an end to their conversation.
‘Come along, everyone,’ she called, clapping her hands to round up her guests. ‘Time for the fireworks.’
They trooped out into the garden to watch the display. It was, as might be expected, Jill supposed, spectacular. Mary wouldn’t do anything by half measures. They oohed and aahed dutifully, although Jill had never been a fan of fireworks. She was pleased when they were ushered inside again, and she could warm her hands.
She was wondering if it was too early to make her excuses when Tony Hutchinson sought her out.
‘I’ve been sent to apologize,’ he said sheepishly. ‘Liz thinks I was rude to you.’
‘Not at all.’ Jill was surprised.
“I really was fascinated by the case,’ he explained, ‘and I didn’t stop to think how you must have felt when you realized it was the wrong man.’
‘It goes with the territory,’ she told him. ‘You can’t win ‘em all.’
‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘I’m sorry. Me and my big mouth, eh?’
‘Don’t worry about it.’
‘So,’ he said, ‘are you really looking for a builder?’
“I certainly am, yes.’
‘Then you won’t go far wrong with Bob. He’s fair and reliable, an excellent chap. Mind you, he has to be. Living in the village, we’d soon be up in arms if our houses started falling down.’
‘Tony, there you are.’ The lovely Liz appeared at his side, swaying even more noticeably now. “I might have guessed.’
“I think it’s time we got you home,’ he said tightly and, again, Jill was struck by the animosity.
‘Time I left too,’ Jill said. ‘Do you mind if I walk with you?’
She’d done enough socializing for one evening and her feet were objecting strongly to being forced into shoes that boasted a small heel. Besides, she didn’t relish walking home in the dark with only exploding rockets for company.
‘We’d be honoured,’ Tony said, adding a scathing, ‘When Liz falls over, it’ll be easier to put her back on her feet if there are two of us.’
‘You bloody superior shit!’ Liz’s first job was to pour herself a large vodka. ‘God almighty, you’re pathetic. You have to bloody fawn, don’t you?’
Her husband, the fine upstanding headmaster, said nothing. No surprise there. While he was more than happy to creep and grovel round everyone in the village, he knew his silent, superior air pissed her off. She was convinced he had perfected it deliberately. Every time they went out together, which wasn’t often, he made a complete prat of himself, embarrassed her, and made a mockery of their marriage. Not that making a mockery of their marriage took much effort; everyone in the village must know how shaky that was by now.
‘As soon as Mary said the new woman had been invited, I knew you’d be falling all over her.’
“I was merely being polite, Liz, and now I’m going to bed. Are you coming? Or are you going to keep your bottle company?’
‘It’s better bloody company than you are.’
‘Suit yourself.’
He walked off, loosening his tie as he went. Sanctimonious pig.
Liz would have followed, if only to give vent to her anger, but she knew it was a waste of time. What would he do? Apologize for ignoring her all night, sweep her off her feet and make mad passionate love to her? Some hope of that.
She kicked off her shoes, stretched her toes, and threw herself down on the sofa.
There was a time when he’d swept her off her feet, figuratively speaking of course. She’d come over from the States to work in England, met Tony, been completely dazzled by him, and forgotten about returning to America.
They’d been married less than four months after that initial meeting.
What had appealed to him? That she was American?
That she was ten years his junior?
Sadly, twenty years later, she no longer looked ten years his junior. While he was terrified of growing old and took every precaution known to man, she was drinking herself into an early grave. Perhaps it was this fear of growing old that made him such an incorrigible flirt. Or perhaps he was simply bored with her.
She refilled her glass, then carried that and the bottle back to the sofa.
‘The drink will numb the pain/ she promised herself. ‘It always does.’
‘Good party?’ Tom asked.
Ella bent to kiss her husband’s head, took off her coat, and made straight for the kitchen.
‘Interesting. I’ll bore you with the details as soon as I’ve made a brew. Do you want one?’
Silly question, Ella thought, smiling to herself. In the forty years they’d been married, had Tom ever refused a cuppa? She couldn’t recall an occasion.
Her hands were cold and she warmed them on the kitchen radiator as she waited for the kettle to boil. Moving from a large three-storey house to a small bungalow had come as a bit of a shock but, three years on, Ella was glad they’d done it. The bungalow was easy to keep clean and, more importantly on nights like this, easy to keep warm.
When she carried the tea through, she was pleased to see he’d switched off the television and folded his newspaper.
He might not be interested in local gossip, but he was a good listener. A good husband.
‘Was I missed?’ he asked.
‘Of course not. I excused your absence by telling people you’re a boring old fart. Actually, I did,’ she recalled, laughing. “I met Jill Kennedy, the new woman at Lilac Cottage. I liked her immediately. She’s one of those people you instantly warm to, you know? Anyway, I told her you were too boring to meet people. I don’t think she believed me, though.’
‘I think I’ve seen her about,’ Tom said. ‘Slim? Short blonde hair? Drives a blue Seat Leon?’
‘That sounds like her, although I’ve no idea what car she drives. Andy Collins has his eye on her, I know that. He was quite peeved when Mary insisted on dragging her off to meet people. I was one of those she had to meet. I’m the resident historian. It’s official.’
Tom laughed at that.
‘Tony and Liz were looking daggers at each other all evening,’ she confided, clucking her teeth. ‘Liz had had too much to drink, as usual, and Tony was busy flirting with Jill Kennedy, Alice Trueman …’ She paused, then laughed.
“I think I’m the only woman he didn’t flirt with.’
‘He knows the competition’s too stiff.’
Ella reached out and gave his hand a squeeze. ‘Perhaps he does at that.’
Tears welled up in her eyes and she had to blink them back. What was she going to do without her Tom?
When she’d stood in the church all those years ago and vowed to love him till death parted them, she hadn’t realized that death would come long before she was ready to face it. Tom was only sixty-seven. He’d been by her side, putting up with her funny ways for forty years. She couldn’t imagine, didn’t want to imagine the day when he wasn’t there. Yet that day was rapidly approaching.
Today was one of his good days, one of those days when she could pretend the word cancer didn’t exist. Tomorrow could be a different story altogether.
‘Six months,’ the doctor had said. ‘Maybe more …’
It was no use getting maudlin. That helped no one.
‘Jill Kennedy’s a widow,’ she went on, forcing her mind to other matters. “I had such a shock when she told me. It doesn’t seem right, someone so young. I don’t know what happened. I was still getting over the shock when we started talking about something else. Bob Murphy was there, and you know how all the young ladies lust after that finely toned body of his. Liz’s eyes were out on stalks, but Jill barely spared him a second glance. Still mourning her husband, I suppose. Lord, Bob’s a handsome chap, though. If I were forty years younger ‘
‘If you were forty years younger, my love, you wouldn’t be allowed to go gallivanting on your own.’
Alice was exhausted when she climbed into bed. It had been a long evening; she’d found it difficult to pretend that everything was as it should be. She’d imagined people must know her secret.
It couldn’t go on, the strain would kill her.
Jonathan came out of the bathroom and climbed into bed beside her.
‘I’ll invite Jill Kennedy to lunch one day,’ she said, ‘so long as you promise not to talk religion.’
‘Alice,’ he scolded, smiling indulgently, ‘how am I supposed to do my job when I’m not allowed to talk religion?’
‘By example/ she retorted, dragging a smile from God only knew where. She rolled over, feigning a yawn. “I don’t know about you, but I’m shattered.’
‘It’s been a tiring day,’ he agreed.
Every day was tiring. It was so hard to live a lie. In the last seven days, there had been twenty minutes of joy in her life. Life was so empty that she was reduced to counting the minutes. Was it so terribly wrong to want more?
She had Michael, of course, and she should be grateful for that. Next September, though, Michael would be away at university and then her days would seem endless. Pointless and endless.
‘It was a good party, though/ Jonathan was saying.
‘Yes, Mary always throws good parties. I sometimes feel sorry for Gordon. After working in London all week, you’d think he would want the house to himself.’
‘Perhaps he does. Mary rules at the manor, though, and she can’t seem to go a month without having a party for something or other. Tonight’s fireworks must have cost a small fortune, too.’
‘Hateful things/ Alice said.
Jonathan switched out the light. “I enjoy Mary’s sense of fun, though, don’t you?’
“I do,’ Alice murmured.
People did have fun - unless they lived at the vicarage.
Life should be lived to the full, and that’s what most people did. They grabbed it with both hands.
How long was it since she’d done something impulsive, something purely for the fun of it? A long, long time ago.
It was a time she tried not to remember.
In the morning, she promised herself, she would sort out her life. On that optimistic but frightening thought, she drifted into a restless sleep.
Jill held the phone away from her ear as her mother coughed and spluttered on the other end of the line.
‘Still not given up the fags then, Mum?’ she said when normality returned.
“I need some pleasure. And if your dad can throw his money at the bookie, I can spend mine on fags. In any case - God, I meant to tell you. You know the Kelly family?
Moved into number 14?’
‘No.’ Her mother forgot that Jill hadn’t lived on the estate for sixteen years.
‘Moved in last year. A mother - as rough as a badger, she is - one son and a daughter. Well, the lad’s been arrested for stealing a car and dangerous driving. I always knew they were a bad lot. Like the Westons. He’s been done for aggravated burglary. Did I tell you? They should lock ‘em up and throw away the bloody key. And then you what?’
Jill rolled her eyes at the conversation, bickering more like, that was taking place at number 27, River View.
‘Your dad wants a word,’ her mum said, coming back on the line.
‘OK, Mum, I’ll speak to you soon. And I’ll try and make it for your birthday.’
‘That would be smashing, love. If you’re not too busy, of course.’
The guilt was like a kick in the stomach. Jill really would have to visit. It wouldn’t hurt her.
‘And how’s my favourite brainbox?’ her dad bellowed down the phone.
‘In Lancashire, not on Mars,’ she replied fondly. ‘There’s no need to shout, Dad. And I’m good, thanks. How are you? Hey, I won a few quid on Manor Girl on Friday’
‘What on earth made you back that old thing?’
‘Just a hunch. And that old thing, as you call it, came in at 22-1.’
‘Huh. Give me a bell if you get any more hunches.
I haven’t had a decent win in ages. Not that I’d have backed Manor Girl ‘
Again, Jill had to hold the phone away from her ear as her dad broke off to have a slanging match with her mother. Even with the phone six inches away, she caught the gist of it. Her dad, a man who fished as a means of escaping the house more than anything else, had committed the ultimate crime. He’d left his maggots in the fridge - again.
‘They’re in a bloody box, woman/ he was shouting.
‘How the ‘ell can they do any harm?’
Jill wondered, not for the first time, how she and her sister had survived life at number 27. Fights between their parents were a regular occurrence and the bickering was constant. To an outsider, it must look like hell on earth. The most amazing thing, however, was that they were devoted to each other. If her dad won on the horses, he’d walk through the door hidden behind an extravagant bouquet of flowers and his wife would melt in his arms. There would be kisses and cuddles for, oh, at least five minutes.
Then the bickering would start all over again.
‘Your mum’s in an evil temper today,’ he chuckled, coming back on the line. ‘I’d better go and sort her out.’
Mum, Jill knew, would take some sorting out. She was a strong woman. Strong, opinionated, pushy - and Jill thanked her lucky stars that she was. If it hadn’t been for her mum, pushing her to do schoolwork and get into university, Jill might be raising half a dozen kids at River View.
‘OK, Dad. You take care and I’ll be down to visit soon.’
She replaced the receiver and immediately picked up her diary. Perhaps this Saturday would be a good time to visit …
‘It’s open!’ The shrill ring of her doorbell had her sliding her feet into her shoes but she didn’t get a chance to grab the cash she’d put ready.
‘Then it bloody well shouldn’t be! Jesus Christ, Jill!’ Max slammed the door shut and strode into the sitting room.
‘Why in hell’s name can’t you use the bloody lock? God, if you saw a tenth of what I see ‘