FIVE

Once, Gus had run his own photographic shop. Now he spent most of his time watching sport on a widescreen television. The loft conversion above him must be driving him insane, so it was not surprising that, when Jane decided to go and buy a new light bulb for her fridge, she found him standing staring up at the scaffolding. He was dressed in baggy trousers and a brown pullover, and, in spite of it being well after lunchtime, was still wearing his bedroom slippers.

‘Good morning, Gus.’

‘Jane.’

‘How’s the conversion progressing?’

‘You may well ask.’ Gus had an interest in wildlife, but Jane doubted if many birds nested in Faraday Road, or were starlings and sparrows immune to the noise of loft conversions?

‘Has Mrs Garcia been round lately? I wonder who she’s planning to let it to.’

He gave a sour laugh. ‘As if we’d have any say in the matter. I chose a top-floor flat so I wouldn’t hear footsteps tramping up and down. That Noel has a lot to answer for.’

‘His are not the only loft conversions.’

‘If you say so. As a matter of fact, I’ve been thinking of moving. Finding somewhere —’

‘Moving?’ Jane’s stomach lurched. ‘Oh, you don’t want to do that, Gus, you might find the new place was even more noisy. Besides you have friends in Faraday Road. You like it here.’

‘If you say so.’

‘We’d miss you. I know Simmy would. Only last week, she said you were like the bear in a favourite picture book she had when she was small. She meant because you hibernate in the winter. Not that I blame you. My windows let in awful draughts. I ought to do something about them. One of Eddie’s is being replaced at the weekend.’

‘Are you all right, Jane?’

‘Me? Why do you ask?’

She had said too much, shown herself up. But why not? Why pretend? Gus was her friend and having him living next door was important. They were on the same wavelength, had the same sense of humour. At least, she liked to think they had.

A familiar four-wheel drive was coming up the road, black with tinted windows, an absurd affectation and highly inappropriate when it came to finding a parking space.

‘Talk of the devil.’ Gus whipped off his fisherman’s cap and gave an ironic bow. ‘Here comes his lordship.’

‘Is Corinne with him?’ Strictly speaking, Noel and Corinne’s house was not in Faraday Road. It was right at the top, on the corner, and its front door was in Vernon Road, where the houses were semi-detached and double-fronted. Four bedrooms or, if a loft conversion had been added, five, not to say, six. Why had Noel bought a four-bedroom house when, until Corinne turned up on the scene, he had lived alone? So many lacked a decent home, while others saw property as an investment. Still, for all she knew, he had inherited the place.

‘I suppose she must be good in the bed department.’ Gus gave a disparaging laugh. ‘How long do you suppose it will last?’

‘Apparently Corinne abandoned her husband and son to move in with him.’

‘More fool her. Where did she meet him, d’you know? If she’d taken the trouble to find out ...’

‘Find out what precisely?’

Gus smiled to himself. He liked to give the impression he was the easy-going type, but his darting eyes gave him away. ‘Rumours abound, Jane, rumours abound.’

‘But they are only rumours.’ Why was she defending Noel? Perhaps it was poor Corinne she was thinking about. Poor Corinne, who had left her husband and child.

Gus was muttering something about an airhead.

Jane looked up at him. ‘I’ve never known what that meant.’

‘Yes, you have. Nothing between the ears.’

‘She’s nice-looking, takes trouble with her appearance.’

‘If you like that kind of thing.’

‘Don’t all men?’ It was a ridiculous conversation, one she wished she had never started. Had she started it? She felt upset, out of all proportion. She had let Gus know she would miss him if he moved and he had not responded how she hoped he would.

Noel had pulled up close by, and Jane noticed how the passenger seat was piled high with supermarket bags. His job to do the weekly shop? Surely not. No, she was in danger of gender stereotyping, not that Corinne was likely to have been chosen for her housekeeping skills, although she could well be someone who shopped locally for particular delicacies, a special kind of cheese or those melt in the mouth tarts from the Portuguese café.

Eddie had always loved sweet things. Country walks had usually ended with a self-indulgent afternoon tea – scones with cream and jam, followed by home-made lemon drizzle cake. Memories of Eddie, before the illness took hold, should be happy ones. In the main, they were, except the contrast between then and now was ever-present, and sadness as everyone knows is a far stronger emotion than happiness. That was why the soap operas were always full of misery and pain.

Gus was pointing at Rousseau, strolling down the road. ‘Been sniffing that clump of weeds.’

‘Has he? Cats have a superior sense of smell, but not as good as dogs’ I believe.’

‘Cats are killers. Millions of feathered victims every year.’

‘Rousseau’s too well fed.’

‘Oh, it’s nothing to do with hunger.’

‘Yes, well, I know how you feel.’ Rousseau was rubbing his face against Gus’ shoe, moving on to Jane and curling his tail round her leg. Noel had joined them. He bent to stroke the cat but Rousseau turned away, letting out one of his ear-splitting yowls.

‘Discerning creatures, cats,’ Gus said.

‘How right you are.’ Noel snatched Gus’ cap and crammed it on his own head. ‘How are you, you old reprobate? Used to sell cameras, Jane, but we’re all photographers now.’ He patted the phone in the pocket on the leg of his trousers. ‘Guess what I did in my younger days?’

‘I’ve no idea.’

‘Male model.’ Noel smoothed back his hair and walked a few paces, pretending he was on a catwalk. ‘What do you think? I was slimmer in those days, a slip of a thing.’

Gus was laughing, and Jane felt put out. The times she had listened to his complaints about Noel’s loft conversions. Now he was giving the impression the two of them were good chums.

‘Need to be fit to be a model.’ Noel returned Gus’ cap and leapt in the air, clicking his heels together before coming back to earth, or rather pavement, with a bump so that one of his legs gave way beneath him.

He rubbed his ankle. ‘With deportment like yours, Jane, you could have been a model yourself.’

‘I think there’s a bit more to it than good deportment.’ She had to raise her voice above the barking of the dog at number twenty-six. Its name was Lucky. Lucky for some perhaps. Still, the poor little chap was not taken for enough walks. Perhaps she should offer. No, perhaps not.

‘Have you always worn glasses?’ Noel peered at her face. ‘They suit you. Last time I had a check-up, it turned out I need them for reading. Anno domini and all that. Getting past it.’

‘That I would doubt.’ Jane picked up Rousseau and put him under one arm. ‘Eddie’s coming back at the weekend, while they repair the window in her room.’

‘To your house?’ Noel looked genuinely concerned. ‘If you need any help.’

‘Thank you, Noel, but it’s only for one night. And two days,’ she added, attempting a cheery smile. ‘I don’t know about you two, but after I’ve taken this creature home, I’m thinking of visiting the Portuguese café to indulge myself with coffee and one of their delicious pastries.’

Neither of them offered to accompany her.