I pulled the final book from the box and put it onto the shelf with a flourish. ‘That’s it,’ I said. ‘The last box has been unpacked. We have officially moved in.’
My daughter Jemima threw herself on the sofa. ‘It’s taken long enough. We’ve been here well over a month already.’
‘Don’t get comfy, Jem. These boxes all need to go out for recycling.’
Jem gave a huge, over-exaggerated sigh and dragged herself to her feet. ‘Can we order pizza?’
I shook my head. ‘But there are two in the freezer that I can put in the oven.’
Jem looked like she was going to argue but then she changed her mind and I was glad. Money was tight and little luxuries like takeaway pizza weren’t something I could just buy without thinking – not anymore. But Jem had been through a lot and I hated to remind her how much her life had changed. Fortunately, though, she just grinned. ‘Actual pizza or your fancy ones with goat’s cheese and spinach?’
‘Actual pizza.’
She nodded approvingly and started flattening a box to put it in the recycling. I looked round the tiny cottage which was finally starting to look like our home. Thistle Cottage. I’d fallen in love with the name before I’d even seen the house. It sounded like something from the Enid Blyton books I’d loved as a little girl. It had a thistle carved in the stone above the door, and a huge clump of them growing in the tiny front garden. It was very small but it was the perfect size for Jem and me. The front door opened onto the hall and the stairs up to the bedrooms. To the right was the large-ish living room with its pretty bay window and at the back of the house was the little kitchen. None of the furniture from our old house would have fitted in this quirky home, so I’d sold most of it and bought a second-hand sofa, then Jem and I had done an Ikea run to buy bookcases and a coffee table, and a desk for her bedroom. It wasn’t top quality but it was good enough. And the best thing about it was how close we were to the sea. Our house faced the beach, though it was set back enough – separated by the road, a narrow car park, and huts that had once belonged to fishermen and were now craft workshops or fish and chip shops and artisan bakeries – to be protected from the worst of the winds and the waves.
Jem took the cardboard outside and I heard her laughing. I initially assumed she was on her phone, but it was there on the shiny new coffee table. I stiffened, listening for another voice. Was she talking to someone? Who was it? We didn’t know anyone here really. Not yet. And I liked it that way. It had been six months since Alistair’s trial but it still felt raw and I didn’t want to face any questions from well-meaning strangers.
Just as I was about to go and see what she was doing, Jem bounced into the room. ‘I met our next-door neighbour,’ she said. ‘She’s really sweet. I asked her to come round and say hello.’
I closed my eyes briefly. This was exactly what I hadn’t wanted. I’d been pleased so far that there had been no sign of whoever lived next door. Our neighbour on the other side was a church and its residents – buried under the ancient wonky gravestones in the churchyard – were unlikely to cause us any trouble.
‘She’s been away,’ Jem said as the doorbell rang. ‘She’s called Eva Greenbaum. You’ll like her.’
She skipped off to answer the door and I took a deep breath, readying myself for questions from a stranger. I ran my fingers through my newly short hair, which still took me by surprise sometimes, and pasted a smile onto my face.
‘Mum …’ Jem came into the room, followed by a small woman with steel-grey hair in a sharp bob. ‘This is Mrs Greenbaum. This is my mum, Tess.’
‘Call me Eva,’ said the woman, holding her hand out for me to shake. I took her hand, impressed by her firm grip. ‘I brought some biscuits.’
She shoved a cardboard cake box at me and I took it, getting a waft of delicious sugary smells that made my mouth water.
‘Gosh, these smell amazing,’ I said.
She gave me a beaming smile. ‘My son-in-law bakes,’ she said, and I noticed for the first time that she had the hint of an accent. German, I thought. ‘He used to bake Austrian pastries for me when he first met my son, but now he no longer tries to impress me and he bakes whatever he likes.’
Ah, so not German, Austrian. I thought that she looked rather impressed anyway, no matter what she said, which made me warm to her in spite of my early misgivings about meeting neighbours. ‘Thank you. Will you stay for a cup of tea?’
Eva nodded. ‘That would be nice. I’d been wondering if you would move in while I was away.’
With a little prod from me, Jem took the box of biscuits, then she went off to the kitchen and I heard her filling the kettle and opening cupboard doors. I hoped we had enough milk. Eva and I sat down on the sofa and she looked round at the room with a little nod.
‘You’ve settled in well.’
‘We’ve actually only just this minute finished unpacking.’ I gave a little laugh. I felt a bit awkward and uncomfortable; I was out of practice when it came to small talk. ‘But we’re happy with it.’
‘It’s just the two of you?’ Eva looked straight at me and I resisted the urge to duck my head away from her glance.
‘Just us,’ I said.
Jem came back into the room, holding a tray with the drinks on it. I noticed she’d put the milk in a little jug, which was sweet. And she’d arranged the – amazing – biscuits on a plate for us to share.
‘Are you new to town?’ Eva asked.
‘I used to come here for holidays when I was little,’ I said. It was those happy memories that had made me choose this place when we were finding somewhere new. Far enough from Edinburgh that I wouldn’t bump into old ‘friends’ everywhere I went, but close enough for it not to feel too much of a wrench to leave.
‘Mum’s still working in Edinburgh,’ said Jem, taking a bite from a biscuit. ‘Oh my god, this is delicious.’
‘What is it you do?’
I shifted on my seat. I knew Eva was just being neighbourly but I didn’t like being under all this scrutiny. I’d not only chosen North Berwick because of its happy memories, but also because it was big enough that we could simply blend in among the holidaymakers and residents. We’d had enough of being in the spotlight during Alistair’s trial and afterwards. All I wanted was for us to be invisible and for Jem to go back to being a normal teenager. So being asked all these questions was making me worried that Eva had some sort of ulterior motive – but I was being silly, she was just an elderly neighbour taking an interest.
‘I’m a solicitor,’ I said. ‘Terribly dull stuff. Wills and property and that sort of thing for dusty old Edinburgh families.’
I’d had a corporate job before my husband had gone to jail. But when Alistair had been charged, my boss had taken me to one side and gently suggested that I should leave quietly with a not-nearly-generous-enough pay-out, or – he hinted – my working life would become very difficult. I’d be side-lined for big projects because no one would trust a lawyer with a husband in prison. I’d thought about fighting it, but in the end I had taken the money and thank goodness I had because Alistair, not content with breaking my heart, had somehow managed to spirit away the contents of our joint account and all of our savings long before my divorce lawyer – aka my friend Lu – had managed to get near it. That money had let me get a mortgage on this tiny cottage and I’d got a new job at Langdown & Son, a family firm in Edinburgh’s New Town, with wood-panelled offices and a sweet receptionist called Judy. It wasn’t as exciting as my old job, nor nearly as well paid, but the father and son who ran the firm left me to my own devices most of the time and either they hadn’t put two and two together – which was unlikely – or they knew exactly who I was and they didn’t care. Young Mr Langdown was only in his early thirties but he was already a tweed-jacket-wearing, whisky-drinking carbon copy of his father. They were both very posh, very polite, very old-fashioned and very kind and I was so grateful that Lu had put me in touch with them when my world had fallen apart. Another favour I owed her if I ever got things back on track.
Eva raised an eyebrow as I described my work, but she didn’t comment further. I felt oddly like I’d disappointed her. Jem jumped in again. ‘Mum’s working here, too. At some women’s centre.’
‘The Haven?’ This time Eva sounded like she approved.
I nodded. ‘An old friend put me in touch.’ It was only a white lie – that old friend had actually been the family liaison officer the police had assigned to Jem and me when Alistair was first arrested. She had been sternly supportive and I’d liked her no-nonsense attitude. ‘They needed a legal adviser. It’s just voluntary.’
‘The Haven is a good place,’ Eva said. ‘You’re doing a good thing.’
I felt that prickle of discomfort again. I didn’t deserve Eva’s praise. I wasn’t working at the Haven because I was a good person. Instead I was trying to make up for all the mistakes I’d made. I spent two days a week there, advising hollow-eyed women on their rights when it came to divorce, or child custody, or maintenance payments. Or helping them prepare to face their rapists in court. It was hard work. Some of the women were scared. Some of them were angry. The stakes were always high. But it was rewarding and I felt like I was helping. Making a difference. Making amends.
Eva drank her tea and I studied her. She was older than I’d first thought. Well into her eighties, I guessed.
‘Do you live alone?’
She nodded. ‘My husband died twenty years ago.’ She gave me a quick, mischievous grin. ‘But I am never lonely.’
‘That’s good to hear.’ I wondered – self-pityingly – if I’d be alone for twenty years, or more. ‘You keep busy?’
‘I play bridge, and I watch television, and I go for lunches,’ Eva said, waving her hands. ‘I have many friends.’
‘And is your son local?’
‘London.’ She raised her chin proudly. ‘He works in the theatre.’
‘Is he an actor? Is he famous?’ Jem said. I shot her a glance. Was she thinking about our old life?
Eva screwed her nose up. ‘He is a producer. So he gets tickets to all the shows.’
‘Fabulous,’ I said with relief. I didn’t want any unexpected paparazzi turning up on the doorstep. I’d had enough of that to last a lifetime. ‘If you ever need anything – shopping or anything – just let me know.’
‘Thank you,’ Eva said. I got the impression she was genuinely grateful. ‘And the same goes for you. If you need me, just call. And now I will leave you to your unpacking.’
She got up from the sofa in a very sprightly fashion and said goodbye. Jem showed her out and I sat back against the squishy cushions that had once belonged to someone else, and closed my eyes, exhausted suddenly. Starting a new life wasn’t going to be easy.