They all graduated. Beth and Joanne with a respectable 2.2 and Megan with the first she’d worked so hard for. Relieved, they celebrated for a week in London before facing up to the commitments that would take them in different directions, Beth heading home to Somerset to work for the remainder of the summer on the family farm, Megan to Cowbridge to help in the family art gallery, and Joanne to join her parents in Portugal.
It had been Joanne’s idea to go away for a night, a final flourish before they split up. ‘Somewhere away from London,’ she’d said. Beth had agreed enthusiastically and even Megan, who’d never been away with them before, decided it was a great idea. They’d all had enough of late-night party celebrations, of the noise and clamour of London. Beth and Joanne had had enough too of certain ex-boyfriends who didn’t seem to get the message that whatever they’d had was over.
‘Toby’s being an absolute pain,’ Beth complained. ‘Everywhere I go, he shows up with his puppy-dog eyes, begging me to take him back.’
‘I never knew what you saw in him anyway,’ Megan said, rolling her eyes. ‘He isn’t the brightest.’
‘I don’t think it was his brains she was after. He is pretty fit!’ Joanne said with a laugh. ‘But never mind him, or Simon,’ she added with an exaggerated grimace as she referred to the latest in a long string of short-lived relationships, ‘we’ll get away for a night, just us three. Leave it to me. I’ll organise something.’
Happy to do so, Beth and Megan were taken aback a couple of days later when Joanne told them they were going to stay in a bungalow, in a village they’d never heard of, almost two hours’ drive from London. They were sitting in Megan’s studio. Over the years, it had become a habit to meet up there and only when exams and deadlines loomed did Megan ever beg for a bit of privacy and push them out the door.
Beth, who had been on her knees on the window seat admiring the view she never tired of, turned and looked at her with a raised eyebrow. ‘A bungalow!’ she said as if she couldn’t believe her ears. ‘Seriously?’
‘Capel-le-Ferne, where’s that? It sounds French,’ Megan said, surprise making her distinctive Welsh lilt more noticeable. ‘We’re not going to France, are we?’
‘Yes, it’s a bungalow but no, we’re not going to France, it’s in Kent and you haven’t heard the best yet… it’s free! It’s on the coast, not far from Dover. And,’ she’d hurried to reassure them, ‘it’s only a ten-minute walk to an old country pub.’
‘I think I’d prefer to pay and stay in a hotel,’ Megan said unconvinced.
Beth shook her head. ‘I’ve spent a fortune recently. Free sounds good to me.’ She saw Megan’s shrug with a dart of irritation. Of course, she’d prefer to go to a hotel. It had come as something of a shock to discover, early in their friendship, that Megan could afford to do whatever she wanted because her parents gave her what she considered a suitable allowance and Beth, when she heard how much, thought was an astronomical amount of money. That she was incredibly generous with her money and frequently paid for the three of them to go to various concerts and dinners, didn’t make it any easier for her friends to accept. Sometimes, but only to Joanne, Beth would mutter about it being charity but never, in all the years, had she refused to accept it.
‘How are we getting it for nothing?’ Megan asked, ignoring Beth’s comment.
‘It belongs to friends of my parents. It was for sale but they’ve taken it off the market for the moment. As long as we promise to leave it as we got it, they say we can borrow it. We could stay longer, if you like.’ When there was no answer, she said, ‘Will I say yes then? It’ll be fun. We can go for a walk along the white cliffs and have a drink or two. Relax.’
It was impossible to resist Joanne’s enthusiasm. ‘Fine, why not, it’ll be a break from London,’ Megan said.
‘A bungalow,’ Beth said, raising her eyes to the ceiling. ‘Okay, I’m in but don’t tell anyone; we have a reputation to maintain!’
The day they were leaving was their final day in the student accommodation in Shoreditch, and both Megan and Beth had brought cars from home to transport their belongings. It didn’t take long; the size of their accommodation didn’t lend itself to hoarding. A couple of hours later, their cars packed with their clothes and clutter, they took a last look at the building that had housed them for three years.
Beth smiled as Joanne leaned on the roof of the car she had borrowed from a friend. ‘End of an era,’ she said, and then tossed her hair. ‘Thank God for that!’ She did a twirl and tapped a drumbeat on the roof of the car with the flat of her hand. ‘The world’s our oyster, ladies. But first, onward to Capel-le-Ferne.’
They started their cars and drove down in a convoy with Joanne in the lead, waiting for each other when they got separated. When they were a little more than halfway there, Beth saw Joanne indicate to leave the motorway for a service station. Beth followed, with Megan close behind. Joanne was standing beside her car when Beth pulled up beside her and lowered her window. ‘We stopping for a break?’
‘There’s no food in the bungalow,’ Joanne said. ‘And I’m not sure if the pub does food, so we’d better stock up now.’
The café was busy with the cross-section of people always found at such places: lorry drivers, tired shift-workers, busy sales-reps, and families with noisy children. Recognising that most people were in a hurry, the service was quick and efficient and, minutes after entering, the three friends were sitting with plates of surprisingly good fish and chips in front of them. Megan, as she always did, covered hers with tomato ketchup before starting.
When they finished, their clear plates testifying to how good the food was, Megan was the only one who insisted on having dessert. The one she chose, two meringues each almost as big as her fist joined together with a huge amount of cream, made her more health-conscious friends shiver. She looked at them with amusement through her overlarge and heavy glasses before jamming her fork into it, bits of chalky meringue flying every which way.
It was another hour’s drive to their destination. Joanne indicated to turn right and pulled into the driveway of a nondescript bungalow that was third in a row of identical unexciting homes. There was plenty of parking for all three cars to fit easily and, one by one, they pulled in and switched off their engines. In the following silence, they climbed out to look around.
‘What a lovely place,’ Beth said with heavy sarcasm, grabbing her overnight bag from the boot and slamming it shut. Already, she was missing her studio in Shoreditch.
Megan and Joanne headed for the front door where a large ornate flowerpot overflowing with a mix of colourful flowers sat to one side. Joanne tilted it, felt underneath and pulled out a key. ‘Ta-dah!’ she said before slipping the key into the lock and pushing open the door.
It opened immediately into a big room that stretched to the back of the house, windows on both sides letting in plenty of light even on this grey summer’s day. The owners had taken inspiration from their proximity to the sea; decorated in shades of cream and blue, there was an overabundance of sea-related ornaments, lighthouses, seagulls and sailing boats, on almost every surface. But there were also large squashy sofas. And, as they discovered when exploring the three bedrooms, big comfortable beds.
‘It’s perfect,’ Megan said, plopping down on the sofa and kicking off her shoes.
Beth took the seat beside her. ‘It’s not bad inside,’ she conceded.
‘Just a tad over the top,’ Joanne said, nodding towards the row of ceramic ducks on the windowsill. ‘Okay, I’m popping back to my car, I didn’t bring food, but I did bring wine.’
Perfect.
Beth watched her return, weighed down with a large canvas bag full of clinking bottles. Dumping it unceremoniously beside the sofa, Joanne pulled out a bottle and handed it to Beth. ‘Open it, I’ll go find some glasses.’
Beth twisted open the cap and put the bottle on the long low coffee table that sat between the two sofas.
‘Best I could find,’ Joanne said, returning with three glass tumblers. She put them on the table and sat between her friends, clapping each on the knee as she did so. ‘Wasn’t this a great idea?’
‘Yes,’ Beth said nudging Joanne’s shoulder with her own. When Joanne made no moves towards pouring the wine, Beth leaned forward, picked up the bottle and filled each glass. She picked up one, waited until the others had theirs and raised her glass in a toast. ‘Here’s to us.’
‘To us!’ Megan and Beth said together and the three glasses met in a cheerful clink.
‘It’s nice to spend a last night together before we all head off,’ Beth said, beginning to relax. Her voice had lost its Somerset accent. She had taken Joanne’s comment to heart and when a heavy cold had left her with a husky voice that seemed to disguise her brogue, by dint of practising every day in the quiet of her tiny studio, she managed to keep it. Apart from a knowing glance from Joanne, no comment had ever been made. At first, she’d reverted back to her own accent when she went home for a visit but as time went by, as she’d grown more comfortable with the new version of herself, she’d stopped.
‘One last night of freedom,’ Megan said, gulping another mouthful of wine.
‘When do you start your Legal Practice course?’ Joanne asked her.
‘September, I’m going to help out in the gallery for a while but I’ve a few other things planned before I start.’
‘I’ve always admired your focus,’ Joanne raised her glass to her, ‘and think it’s rubbed off on me. I’ve applied for a public relations position with Milcross and Batten. They’re one of the biggest London companies. If I get it, I’ll be so pleased.’
Beth propped her feet up on the coffee table. ‘You’ll have to find somewhere to rent; that’s going to cost.’
‘I’m heading to Portugal to spend a couple of weeks with my lovely parents,’ Joanne said. ‘I’m hoping they might help me out. They’ve plenty of money, but they like to spend it on themselves so I’m not holding out much hope.’ Reaching for the bottle, she topped up all their glasses and when she’d drained the last drop, she took another from the bag. ‘Luckily, I came well supplied.’ Opening it, she left it on the table and sat back, her eyes on Beth. ‘Have you made a decision?’
‘Not a final one. I’m going to take a couple of months off and make a decision then.’
‘But you are still thinking of the police, yes?’
‘Yes, but I’m not completely sure yet,’ Beth said. ‘Right now, I’m just thinking we should go and investigate the pub.’
By consensus, they didn’t bother to change clothes. Beth had long since adopted whatever fashion trend Joanne followed by finding charity shop alternatives, and both were wearing wide-legged trousers and tightly fitting low-cut T-shirts. But Megan, who found it difficult getting clothes to fit, stubbornly continued to wear the same type she’d worn since the first day.
Beth looked at Megan’s billowing dark-orange cotton dress. Beth knew Megan thought it disguised her size but, instead, as she had slim shapely legs, it made her look remarkably like a toffee apple. Beth made no comment, neither did Joanne. They’d learned over the years; Megan didn’t want to listen.
‘We look fine as we are,’ Joanne said. ‘It’ll probably be full of old people anyway, but it did look nice on their website.’
They headed off along the road, moving onto the grassy verge when the occasional car passed by. It was a warm balmy evening and the scenery on the ten-minute walk was pretty, with wildflowers in the hedgerows on both sides and a hazy view of the sea in the distance. Joanne pointed to a sign marking the coastal path. ‘Perhaps we can walk along it for a bit in the morning?’
There were murmurs of agreement, Megan making both promise they’d walk slowly prompting the others to laugh and joke about her short legs.
Slightly inebriated after the two bottles of wine, they arrived at the old pub. Not only did it look nice but it was clearly popular as evidenced by the almost-full car park to one side and the sound of raucous laughter coming from the open windows.
‘A quiet sleepy pub?’ Beth grinned, thumping Joanne on the arm. ‘Looks like the place is heaving.’
As they crossed to the front door, a large group of young men hanging around outside, cigarettes dangling from their fingers or lips, looked their way. Beth sent Joanne a satisfied glance.
‘I don’t want to be too late leaving,’ Megan said, eyeing the group with a sense of foreboding. ‘There are no lights on that road. It’ll be a dark walk home.’
‘We’ll leave when they shout last orders, okay?’ Joanne said to her and then glanced over to Beth. ‘That okay with you?’
Beth, exchanging flirtatious smiles with one of the men, nodded. ‘Yes, that’s fine.’ She knew by not too late, that Megan had meant ten at the latest. Staying till last orders meant eleven. She was right, of course, it would be dark but it was a straight road and they’d be together. Megan worried too much; they were supposed to be having fun.
They pushed the door open and walked in, Joanne and Beth leading the way. Megan trailed behind.
Inside, the pub was noisy and crowded. And mostly with young men. Joanne, who’d ordered drinks at the bar, came back with the explanation. ‘They’re students from a nearby boarding school celebrating the end of their own final exams.’ She was holding pints of bitter for herself and Beth and a small white wine for Megan.
Beth took a gulp of beer and watched the students over the rim of her glass. They were far too young for them, many not looking old enough to buy alcohol, but their obvious admiration made age irrelevant.
Within minutes of their arrival, Beth had fallen into conversation with a small group, while Joanne was chatting to others. In the crush of the busy pub, as people moved aside to let others through to the bar, the women drifted apart.
Lost in the admiration of a couple of extremely handsome students, and pleasantly relaxed from all the alcohol she’d consumed, Beth assumed her friends were having as good a time as she was.
For the next couple of hours, she didn’t give Megan or Joanne another thought.