Chapter Three

Sophie emerged from Andrea’s en suite in her Cheeky Monkey slippers and her ‘Do I look like a morning person?’ T-shirt, which she’d pulled on over a zebra print bra and pants set she wasn’t sure her mother would approve of. Fashioning a towel into a turban around her hair, she padded along the landing, then stopped and did a double take. ‘Gran!’

She gawked as Dee slinked from her bedroom to bop along the landing, with not bad rhythm, Sophie had to concede, for an old grinkly.

‘Gran!’ Sophie yelled again as Dee bopped on. ‘Oooh, Gran!’ Stomping after her, Sophie patted her firmly on the shoulder. And if she died of fright, serve the dotty old bat right. What was she doing, wearing her crocheted sequined top and cardigan? Unbelievable!

Dee twizzled around to beam Sophie a smile. ‘Yes, dear?’

Sophie circled a finger at Dee’s midriff. ‘What’s this?’ she enquired after the attire her gran had obviously stolen from her wardrobe to complement her own purple velour jogging bottoms.

‘Sorry?’ Dee blinked, the epitome of innocence.

Sophie rolled her eyes. ‘I said—’

‘Can’t hear you, dear,’ Dee shouted, pointing a finger of her own to indicate Sophie’s iPod earphones stuffed in her ears.

‘I don’t flipping believe this. I SAID …’ Sophie plucked up the hem of the top between thumb and forefinger ‘… what … are … you … wear-ring?’

Dee glanced down. ‘Oh, this old thing.’ She flapped a dismissive hand. ‘I’ve had it for ages.’

‘Old?’ Sophie almost had apoplexy. She’d blown all her birthday money on that top, along with her bra and pants set. It was brand new.

‘My grandmother’s,’ Dee imparted, a nostalgic glint in her eye. ‘It’s hand crocheted, you know.’

‘It’s not.’ Sophie folded her arms and agitatedly tapped a monkey-faced mule. ‘It’s New Look and it’s mine.’

‘Pardon, dear?’

‘I said … God!’ Reaching up, Sophie twanged an earphone from under her gran’s curls. ‘I said … it’s mine!’

‘Is it?’ Dee said over the Black Eyed Peas drifting from the iPod.

‘Yes! And so is the—’

‘Could have sworn it was mine.’ Dee dropped her puzzled gaze to the top.

‘Well, it’s not,’ Sophie pointed out, not very patiently, patience not being her thing. ‘Now, could you take it off, please? I have to go to school. Like, today?’ Even with a free period first lesson, she was so going to be late.

At which point Dee plucked up the hem of Sophie’s cardigan, arms splayed each side, and started swaying, startlingly. ‘They’re buzzing.’ She nodded knowledgeably, then emitted a noise like a slow-dying fly.

Sophie curled a lip. Gone, she thought. Gaga. Mind has officially left the …

Dee cut Sophie’s speculation worryingly short. ‘I’m a bee,’ she sang, turning on the spot like an inebriated ballerina. ‘I’m a bee on the next level. I’m a bee rockin’ over that bass treble,’ she sang on, accompanying the lyrics she was obviously listening to – and tottering forth.

Towards the top of the stairs.

‘Mum! Quick!!’ Sophie bawled as Andrea came through the front door. ‘Gran thinks she’s got wings.’

Andrea deposited Chloe in the hall and charged up the stairs – to find her normally obstreperous daughter arm-in-arm with her grandmother, both doing a waltz on the landing.

Morning pandemonium over and crisis averted, thanks to Sophie’s quick thinking, Dee, Chloe and Andrea were finally fully dressed and on their way, though she was running very late, unfortunately. Thank goodness Nita, on work experience in the school office and, frankly, invaluable, had managed to get someone to cover registration for her. Well, almost fully dressed. Andrea glanced sideways at her mother, and then bemusedly down at her feet. Drizzle on the air and damp underfoot it might be, but Dee was now determinedly eschewing wearing her wellies in favour of slippers. Ah, well, it was only a short walk to Chloe’s nursery, and from there a few yards up to the drop-in centre and at least the slippers were easy on her mother’s bunions.

‘Morning, Eva,’ Andrea called over to where Eva was hard at work on her prize vegetables in the front garden of her little half-bricked cottage as they passed by. Gosh, she was always at it, Hibberton’s very own eco-warrior. ‘Don’t overdo it, will you? Don’t want you straining anything.’

Eva, a robust woman with cheeks the colour of ripe tomatoes, straightened up and scraped back a wisp of steely-grey hair. ‘Oh, I’m as strong as an ox, my dear,’ she assured her. ‘Bit of hard work never hurt anyone.’

Dee, walking on Andrea’s inside, peered around her. ‘Should have been a sergeant major,’ she observed of the redoubtable ex-headmistress.

‘Mum, shush.’ Andrea glanced sideways, hoping Eva hadn’t overheard.

‘Well, she gets on my pip with her silly war effort mentality, as if growing mouldy old vegetables is going to save the planet. She’d have us all growing cabbage and swash up the trellis if she had her way. Once a schoolteacher, always a bossy boots, I say.’

‘Ye-es. Thank you, Mum.’ Andrea smiled flatly, aware of her mother’s propensity to forget her daughter was a schoolteacher, and hoisted Chloe higher in her arms. ‘And it’s squash.’

‘What’s squashed?’ Dee glanced at her, puzzled.

‘Not squashed. Squash, the vegetable growing up the … Never mind.’ Andrea stopped as Eva wiped her muddy hands on her yellow outdoor trousers and came across, her stride purposeful, bar a slight dip to her dodgy hip.

‘Andrea.’ She nodded and offered her a bright but efficient smile. ‘Any news on the SOGS campaign?’ she enquired after their Save Our Green Space efforts, vis-à-vis the open space adjoining the school. Builders had already applied for planning permission for fifty residential properties. It would be a terrible shame to lose what was basically natural woodland – ergo a rich source of education for the children – but lose it they might.

‘Oh, you know, gathering momentum,’ Andrea said, a lie she couldn’t hope to get past Miss Bunting, her very own beady-eyed headmistress as a child.

‘Momentum, my eye,’ Dee muttered to Andrea’s dismay. ‘Like a blooming bicycle without wheels, if you ask me.’

Andrea sighed and swapped Chloe to her other arm. She’d spotted Eva’s sooty black cat padding along the pavement and was in serious wriggle mode.

‘Sorry, Deirdre, I’m not quite sure I understand.’ Eva laced her fingers under her ample bosom and eyed Dee patiently over her glasses. And managed to look rather superior, Andrea noticed, which would be bound to get Dee’s goat up.

‘The townsfolk couldn’t be arsed to turn up,’ Dee clarified, the emphasis on ‘arsed’ no doubt for maximum shock effect.

‘Oh, I see.’ Eva arched an eyebrow and looked disdainfully down her nose. ‘In which case, we’ll have to see if we can offer them a little incentive, won’t we? I think perhaps trying to give them a sense of pride in their community might work, don’t you?’ she suggested, her tone now definitely patronising.

‘Yes. We could start by insisting on eyesores being removed from front gardens.’ Dee looked Eva pointedly up and down.

‘Wonderful idea,’ Andrea interjected, before there were fisticuffs on the street. ‘The community pride thing, I mean. If the planning permission goes ahead, maybe we could enlist some help turning part of the playground into a garden area?’

Eva looked delighted. ‘Marvellous idea, my dear,’ she said, reaching out to give Chloe’s baby-plump cheek an over affectionate pinch, which would probably have the child apoplectic in a flash. ‘Isn’t it, my little munchkin?’ Eva went on, producing a peapod in a mysterious manner from her pocket as Chloe looked on, obviously too surprised for spontaneous shrieking.

‘It’s magic,’ Eva said of her peapod. ‘It has jewels in it, see?’ She unzipped it, popped a pea in her mouth and ate it. ‘Ooh, yummy, scrummy in my tummy,’ she sang.

Dee looked at Eva as if something had gone wrong, like her head. ‘Would you like it?’ Eva asked, holding the pod out to Chloe. ‘It’s a very special peapod but we can grow some more with lots of love and magic, can’t we?’

Chloe, who had ‘magically’ ceased all fidgeting, glanced uncertainly at Eva, then shyly reached out, took the pod, popped a pea in her mouth and gleefully chewed on it.

‘Unbelievable.’ Andrea laughed. ‘That must be the first time she’s eaten a whole vegetable, albeit a little one. Thank you, Eva. You’re a star.’

Eva glowed. ‘It’s all in the presentation, my dear,’ she imparted, turning to cross the road back to her garden.

‘Yes.’ Dee glanced at the seat of Eva’s yellow gardening trousers as she walked away, which had obviously had a close encounter with the fruits of her labours. ‘Beautifully presented, my dear,’ Dee observed – loudly – as she eyed the splotched tomatoes thereon smugly.

‘Mum, stop it,’ Andrea hissed, then almost disappeared inside her shoes as Eva turned back. ‘Oh, Andrea …?’

Oh, Lord, she’d heard. ‘Yes, Eva?’ Andrea answered lightly.

‘Do you think you could remind Jonathan to give me a call about my investment portfolio? Or drop by sometime? I need to make a withdrawal as soon as possible in regard to the works on the shop, you see.’

‘Sorry, Eva. He was tied up in meetings I think.’ Guessing he was under pressure, Andrea covered for Jonathan. ‘I did mention it again this morning and he said he’d do it today.’ Andrea smiled and steered Dee on, before she felt obliged to comment, no doubt inappropriately.

Dee didn’t disappoint. ‘As in a withdrawal from her account and straight into his, more likely.’

‘Mum …’ Andrea despaired. ‘Her son’s not that bad. Honestly, talk about lack of community spirit. Can’t you two bury the hatchet and just get along?’

‘Me?’ Dee gasped, affronted. ‘It was Hibberton’s sad answer to Charlie Dimmock who started it, thinking she’s an authority on everything just because she was a headmistress. Never missed an opportunity to tell me how to bring up my children.’ Dee stuck out her chin indignantly. ‘And look how her perfect son turned out. Only ever bothers to turn up when he’s short of cash. Humph.’

‘Don’t Mum.’ Andrea glanced back to Eva, now hard at work in the soil, which was, Andrea knew, Eva’s way of filling the long lonely hours since her layabout son had moved out, only ever paying her a visit when he wanted something. ‘It’s not Eva’s fault her son’s like he is. We can’t blame everything on our parents, can we?’

Dee opened her mouth, and then closed it again.

Her charges finally despatched, Chloe at the nursery and Dee at the drop-in centre at the village hall –which Dee, on first attendance, had promptly re-named drop-dead-in centre – Andrea headed back to pick up Sally before heading off in the opposite direction to the school.

Sally had said she was running late as well when Andrea rang. No surprise there. True, Andrea was late herself today, but she wasn’t generally if she could avoid it. Sally, on the other hand … Well, as an example to the children regarding timekeeping, teaching assistant Sally Anderson was not a good one.

Andrea tried not to mind though. Sally and she had hit it off immediately when she and her then fiancé, Nick, had moved to the village, in search of rural tranquillity and a cleaner, safer place to bring up her children, Sally had confided. Also confiding that she’d invited practically the whole village to her wedding because she was scared of being alienated in a community where everyone knew everyone.

Andrea smiled as she remembered how Sally had set about winning the locals over, the men with fluttery eyes and the women with compliments on their dress sense, as she walked up the path to Sally’s cottage.

She knocked on Sally’s front door, mulling over an idea as she did. Inviting Eva’s participation might actually be a way to solve her playground garden problem. If the green space went, the children would definitely need some kind of alternative, and what better than a ‘magic garden’ where flowers and vegetables, rather than the current weeds, thrived? Andrea would love to see that underway before she left.

No answer from Sally. Andrea checked her watch, and then knocked again. And waited.

‘Coming,’ Sally finally called.

‘Lord! Sally?’ Andrea balked as Sally swung her door wide, her normally perfectly made-up face looking more like Eva’s tomato-blotched bottom.

‘Sally, what on earth …? Has something happened? Are you sick?’

‘Yes,’ Sally said in a little voice, her bottom lip quivering. ‘Of men!’

Oh, dear. Another couple at loggerheads, it seemed. Andrea ushered her tearful friend inside. ‘Come on, tell me all about it,’ she said, wrapping an arm around Sally’s shoulders as she guided her to the kitchen.

‘He’s left me,’ Sally blurted, once seated at her recycled and lovingly waxed farmhouse table.

‘What?’ Andrea’s mouth fell open. ‘When?’

‘Before I went to my mother’s. We had a terrible argument and …’ She stopped, and swallowed.

‘But I thought you were—’

‘Trying for another baby?’ Sally gulped back another sob. ‘I was. He wasn’t so keen on the idea. Had a narrow escape the first time, obviously.’

That was awful! Sally had lost her baby at five months. She’d been desperate to get pregnant again. ‘Oh, Sally …’ No wonder the poor woman had taken off when she should have been at work. She’d obviously needed some space to try to come to terms with the end of her marriage. Andrea reached across the table to squeeze her friend’s hand. ‘I’m so sorry, sweetie.’

Sally nodded and dragged a tissue under her nose. ‘He, um, did want one though, it turns out.’

‘What?’ Andrea stared at her friend, disbelieving. The man hadn’t got someone else pregnant, had he? That would be too cruel.

Twisting her tortured tissue into a rope, Sally enlightened her. ‘Well, a babe anyway. He’s been bedding one on a regular basis,’ she said, quite still now, apart from a slow tear sliding down her cheek. ‘It started when I was pregnant. He denied it at first, of course, but … Well, you just know, don’t you?’

‘I, um …’ Shit, Andrea reached again for Sally’s hand – and quietly cursed Nick to damnation. How could he? Why would he? Sally was beautiful, elegant, talented. Andrea glanced around at Sally’s also elegant home, individually and tastefully decorated with rescued pieces. What was the matter with the man?

Andrea tightened her grip on Sally’s hand and waited, every conceivable curse wedged in her windpipe. It would do no good to voice them. Sally had probably thought and said them all. She didn’t need anyone else reinforcing what a lowlife her husband was.

‘Fresh fruit, I suppose.’ Sally shrugged, but looked so desolate Andrea felt her own heart breaking inside her. ‘Early twenties, from what I could see when he was drooling all over her.’

Andrea frowned.

‘I followed him,’ she answered Andrea’s confused expression. ‘He’d said he was away on business. Hah! More like doing the business. They were practically shagging on the street. Not a crow’s foot or droop in sight, the little slut.’

Thus the Botox, which Andrea had suspected Sally had been having. Sally was desperately trying to iron out her creases to compete with her younger rival. Honestly, did she not know how attractive she was?

‘No brain in sight either, presumably,’ Andrea growled.

‘Actually, she has a psychology degree,’ Sally said lightly – troublingly lightly. ‘I called her a bimbo and Nick kindly put me right on the subject.’

‘She’ll need to use her blooming psychology degree if she’s going out with a deceitful, two-timing, emotion-abusing bastard!’ Andrea fumed, thoughts of not voicing her opinions flown out of the window. ‘Ooh, how I hope he does unto his new not-so-dim young thing what he’s done to you. On the other hand, poetic justice would be if she with the degree reversed the psychology and did unto him, the predictable little twerp!’ Andrea finished on a humph.

‘Well, Miss Kelly, I’m shocked.’ Sally widened her eyes and attempted a wobbly smile. ‘You’re to stay after school and write out five hundred times, “I must not use such mild language when talking about adulterous rat-bag husbands”.’

She squeezed Andrea’s hand back. ‘I’ll be fine,’ she said, not very convincingly. ‘I’d rather live without him than live a lie with him.’

‘I suppose,’ Andrea agreed.

‘Don’t be surprised if you see him with half of his flat screen TV under his arm later, though, whilst clutching his vitals with his other hand. I don’t think I’ll be able to do dignified and calm very well.’

No, nor would Andrea, but … ‘Later?’ she asked, puzzled.

‘He rang earlier to say he’s coming back tonight for his share of our belongings, which obviously wasn’t a great start to the day. So I thought I’d be absolutely fair about it and divide them up equal … Oh no, Andrea, your evening out! I forgot all about Chloe and—’

‘Sally, it’s all right. I can ask Ryan. He’s fine about watching Chloe, honestly.’

Sally nodded. ‘Don’t suppose I’d be very good company anyway, would I?’

‘You’re always good company,’ Andrea said firmly.

Sally smiled sadly. ‘Pity Nick didn’t think so.’

‘We’ll go out,’ Andrea said, wishing there was something more she could say that would take Sally’s pain away. ‘We’ll organise a girl’s night and—’

‘Pull a few men?’ Sally enquired, with a hint of a twinkle back in her eye.

‘Um, how about we pull them apart instead?’

Sally laughed. ‘Sounds like a plan. Thanks, hon, for being there. Now, come on,’ she hoisted up her shoulders and got to her feet. ‘We’ve work to go to and a certain entrepreneurial someone’s Second Chance Designer store to plan at lunchtime. Can’t conquer the world if we’re sitting here contemplating the meaning of men, can we? We have to make sure at least one of our dreams comes true. Talking of which, I have an exquisite Halston Heritage gown for your evening wear section. You can pick it up later. Just in case the adulterer decides he wants half of that, too, along with half of his flat screen.’

With which, Sally notched up her chin and headed off across her stripped and waxed floor with her head held high, leaving Andrea quite in awe of the strength of the woman.