FOURTEEN

One cup of coffee a day was Jane’s rule, something Eddie had found ridiculous. Rules are to be broken, Jane, you’re such a stickler, must be the way you were brought up. As though Eddie was immune to irrational habits, although in her case she called them “sensible precautions”. Jane had looked it up online and “rules are made to be broken” was first said by Arthur C. Clarke, the science-fiction writer, although someone else had attributed it to Richard Nixon.

Most of the time, she and Eddie had got on pretty well, even though the way Eddie had insisted on cutting her food into small pieces had been a little trying. An only child and, in Jane’s experience, only children tended to fuss, Eddie had lived with her parents until she was in her thirties and when they both died, within a few months of each other, Jane had befriended her. More than thirty years of friendship, but no friendships are without their problems. The cinema was one. Jane liked foreign films, slightly gloomy ones, if she were honest, whereas Eddie loved musicals and romances. They could have gone their separate ways, in terms of visits to the cinema, but they never had. Eddie had endured dark, Italian pieces, with peasants dressed in black, and Jane had sat through Eddie’s choices, pretending to enjoy schmaltzy American stories about people who overcame insuperable odds to achieve their ambition and win, or win back, the love of their life. Not that the pretence had been very convincing. I don’t understand you, Jane. Going to the movies is a way of losing yourself in a different world.

What an irony that sentiment had turned out to be.

The noise from the loft conversion next door was deafening. Jane closed the window and fetched herself a slice of fruit cake. She only allowed herself one slice a day, but today might be an exception. In fact, the vibration from the electric drill called for a stiff gin and tonic, although, as usual, Rousseau appeared unconcerned.

He was Eddie’s cat, not hers, but familiarity had a way of making you fond of things. People talked endlessly about lost love, but more often than not it was the familiarity they missed. Shared experiences. A shared routine. Had she loved Eddie? She disliked putting the question in the past tense but one had to be realistic. They were close friends, knew almost everything there was to know about each other, but was that love?

Some people had thought they were an item. An item – what a silly expression. In any case, it was not true, although she had wondered what it would be like to lie naked next to another female. But not Eddie. The house was in both their names and, sooner or later, she would have to consult a solicitor and arrange power of attorney. Would there be a problem? They had made wills a few years back, leaving all their worldly goods to one another, but if someone was still alive, but not in their right mind, it would be more complicated.

Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she spotted someone walking past, then Noel’s face appeared at the window, pressed against the glass so he looked like a criminal with a stocking mask. Jane hurried to let him in. ‘Noel. How can I help?’

He gave a sheepish grin. ‘In need of a spot of advice.’

‘The complaints about next door’s loft conversion?’

He shook his head, ‘Barnaby. Corinne’s boy. You saw him when you were leaving our house. What did you think?’

‘ Come along in. Coffee? Tea?’

He shook his head, entering the sitting room ahead of her and choosing the sofa where she would like to have joined him. Instead she decided on the armchair Eddie had found in a sale and made an effort to push the memory of the scene in Willa’s conservatory out of her head.

‘Open house as far as I’m concerned,’ Noel said. ‘The boy could stay the night if he wanted to.’

‘But he never does. Corinne misses him, I expect.’

He nodded vaguely. ‘The thing is, Jane, he asked for a loan.’

‘I see.’

‘Corinne doesn’t know. You won’t tell her. No, of course you won’t.’ He leaned forward, hands on the knees of his designer jeans. Were they designer ones? People paid well over the odds, but they all looked the same to her.

‘Laptop playing up. That was the boy’s story but obviously I didn’t believe him. Gave him a hundred quid. Only now I’m wondering if it was drug money. Yes, I can see the same thought’s crossed your mind. At the time it never occurred to me. See what a trusting soul I am. Thing is, I’m afraid he may ask for more.’

‘You think that likely?’ Outside in the road, two men were shouting at each other. Something to do with a parked van, the usual. Jane was enjoying having Noel in her sitting room, just the two of them, having a confidential chat, and she willed him not to go and sort out the argument.

No need – he was still worrying about the “drug money”. ‘It’s not so much the cash, Jane. Making me promise not to tell Corinne. Yes, you’re right, refuse to give him any more unless I can talk to her first. He knows the Molloy lad.’

‘Arthur?’

‘Play badminton together. I think it’s badminton.’

‘If it’s any help, I know Arthur quite well.’ She would like to have told Noel about the tuition, mainly because it would demonstrate how she was still an active teacher, not simply a retired person. Still an active teacher? How superficial she was and, in any case, she was sworn to secrecy.

Noel had returned to Barnaby and the loan. ‘Corinne’s besotted with the boy but I’m afraid ...’

‘I wouldn’t worry too much. The loan may have been a one-off, to test you – or punish you, I suppose.’

‘For stealing his mother? Never thought of that, but you could be right. Although moving in with me was Corinne’s idea. She left her phone lying about and her husband found some texts and threw her out.’

‘I see.’ So, you’re feeling trapped. Your own fault, Noel. Is that why you’re here? You want my sympathy, or possibly advice on a way out? What were you doing in Willa’s conservatory? Are the two of you having an affair or, more to point, were you having one and now it’s over is she trying to resurrect it with the help of a ridiculous teacher’s outfit? All questions she could never ask.

He reached out an arm to stroke Rousseau. ‘You chose the name, I expect. I gather his namesake had high principles and several illegitimate children.’

‘Not guilty, are you, Rousseau? Been done.’

Adjusting the cushion behind his head, Noel leaned back and closed his eyes. Then, clearing his throat so loudly, he made both Rousseau and Jane jump, he clapped his hands and sat up straight. ‘Enough of all that, how are you, Jane?’

‘I’m well.’

‘I admire you. Admire your determination, your strength of character.’

‘I don’t know about that.’ His white shirt, unbuttoned almost to his waist, revealed a hairless chest. She wanted to ask if he had ever been married, but it would break the spell.

He smiled at her. ‘Tough-going on your own.’

‘It has its advantages.’

‘It does indeed.’ He sighed and she wondered what was coming next. Letting Corinne move in had been a mistake? Things had not turned out as he’d hoped and he was wondering if he ought to tell her to return to her husband and son. But her wishful thoughts – if that was what they were – were running on ahead of her.

‘She’s easily hurt.’

‘Corinne is? In my limited experience, all human beings are sensitive to criticism. It’s simply that some are better at hiding it.’

The grandmother clock struck the hour. Noel consulted his watch, and Jane was afraid he was going to leave. ‘She worries in case people don’t like her. Tries too hard, if you know what I mean.’

‘I do.’

‘It was good of you to have a coffee with her at the leisure centre. She came home full of it. She needs female friends. No, I didn’t mean ...’

‘I have a swim every week, normally on a Tuesday, but I’d never been in the café before. Nothing to write home about but run by a rather pleasant Polish woman with a young son.’

‘You see, you have this knack for drawing people out of themselves.’

‘Nosey and in need of human contact. No, don’t look like that. If you live alone you’re at risk of talking to yourself, or the cat. Swimming’s good for you, Noel. You should give it a try.’

He laughed, standing up and kissing her on the cheek. ‘Eddie all right?’

‘Coming back on Saturday, just for one night. Repairs being done to the window in her room at The Spruces.’

He gave her a sympathetic smile and she resisted an impulse to throw herself into his arms. People made light of physical attraction, insisting it was personality that mattered, but human beings had evolved to respond to what the biologists called “releasers” – she had listened to a programme on Radio Four – a gull chick to the red spot on its mother’s beak, or, in her case, it was Noel’s thick, glossy hair, or his blue eyes. Of course, it was always flattering if someone asked for advice, not that she had given him much, but sometimes the asking was sufficient since one already knew the answer.

‘You’re a good listener, Jane.’

And if I was twenty years younger. Or you were twenty years older. ‘My advice, for what it’s worth, is to assume it was a one-off loan. And I’d stay well clear of the lad unless Corinne is there too.’

‘So you think it best not to tell her about it?’

‘I do.’ He was right: the loan might be blood money, literally forcing him to pay for his parents splitting up. After all, it could well be wishful thinking on Corinne’s part when she said her son had taken her departure in his stride.

Noel was tracing a pattern on the palm of his hand. Round and round the garden, like a teddy bear. The only children’s rhyme Jane’s father had known.

‘Is there something else?’ she asked, regretting her words as soon as she had spoken them.

‘I’m outstaying my welcome.’

‘No, no, not at all. I’ll make some coffee?’

He smiled to himself. ‘You saw the portrait of my mother?’

‘I did.’

‘She used to call me her little prince. No, don’t laugh.’

‘I wasn’t going to. Everything changes when your parents die, particularly your mother. You become the older generation.’

‘My father walked out on us when I was eight years old. I can’t remember much about him, just the smell of pipe tobacco. And he had a book with facts about cricket. Funny, the things that come back to you.’

‘Yes. Eddie sometimes recalls events from the past in surprising detail. I believe it’s not uncommon with dementia.’ Should she ask if he knew what had happened to Simmy’s mother?

‘You never wanted children,’ he said. ‘No, why would you, spending all your working life with the blighters.’ Jane caught her breath, hoped it had gone unnoticed. ‘Oh, by the way, Noel, you don’t happen to know why Simmy’s mother died?’

‘Ah.’ He pressed his lips together.

‘You do but you’re not going to tell me.’

‘No, it’s just – Dave’s touchy about the subject. Something traumatic, I imagine, although any death’s traumatic, particularly if it’s someone so young.’

‘Simmy can’t remember her mother but ...’

‘Pretty little thing.’

‘Simmy? Yes.’

‘Anyway, I’d better be going. Expecting a phone call. Left my phone at home and if Corinne answers it she’s likely to muddle up the message. No, don’t look like that, she has her good points, means well.’

‘One of them being that she adores you.’

He grinned. ‘Yes, well that too. So you think it best I keep quiet about the loan and hope the lad doesn’t ask for more.’

‘I don’t think he will.’

‘No, well let’s hope you’re right. You usually are. Good to talk to you, Jane. If I have a problem, you’re my first port of call.’ He turned towards the window. ‘That’s an umbrella plant? Am I right?’

‘Needs its top lopped off. Now it’s reached the ceiling it’s growing at an angle.’

‘Our garden could do with someone with green fingers. Not as overgrown as Brian and Willa’s.’ He blinked several times, almost as though he knew she had witnessed the scene in the Molloy’s conservatory. ‘Good.’ Clapping his hands together, he crossed the room, pausing to kiss her on the cheek again. ‘Love you and leave you, Jane, and thanks again for your eminently sensible advice.’

Later, looking back, Jane could remember every detail of their conversation, as if it had taken place the previous day.

Probably because it had been their last.