Hannah had come to the conclusion that all the weird people who lived in Moongate Lane and possibly the whole of Crowbridge were at Sadie’s mum’s party. It certainly looked like it. The place was packed with people with dreads and tattoos and piercings. She squeezed her way between the party-goers in the little yard outside the door and in through the tiny crowded kitchen, all the while staying as close as she could to Sadie and Tucker, trying hard not to catch anyone’s eye.
The party had obviously been going on for some time. There were empty glasses, bottles and cans all over the work-tops, in the sink and on the windowsills. The detritus of drinking was mixed with takeaway cartons, empty crisp packets, odd bowls of nibbles, and a pudding basin half full of dried-up pasta salad standing alongside an open pizza box. Someone had ground a dog end into one of the remaining slices. Sadie tore off a piece furthest away from the cigarette butt and, stuffing it into her mouth, waved them through.
‘Come on,’ she called over the thumping beat of the music. ‘We’ll go upstairs to my room, out of the way of this lot.’
Hannah took a last look back at the open door, regretting having come back to the cottage, and wishing that there was some way she could just slip away and go home. She hesitated just long enough for Sadie to notice.
‘Are you coming upstairs or not?’ Sadie shouted, taking a swig out of the bottle she was carrying.
Hannah nodded.
Sadie grinned. ‘Come on then. Move yourself. Tucker, grab that bowl of peanuts, will you?’ Both of them did as they were told.
Framed in the doorway behind Sadie was a large man leaning over a much younger, smaller woman. He had a mass of grey curly hair and a scrubby beard. His arm was resting against the wall above the young woman so that she was pinned there like one of the butterflies Hannah had once seen in a museum. The girl was small and blonde, with short spiky hair, and was wearing a minidress, cut thigh-high to reveal slender, suntanned legs. The man’s tee-shirt barely covered his hairy milk-white belly and there was a damp circle of sweat under his armpit. The girl looked drunk, pale and uncomfortable, the man proprietorial and predatory.
As Hannah followed Sadie towards the stairs, the man looked up and grinned at her. ‘Well, hello there, sweet thing, and where did you spring from?’ he said, all eyes. He licked his lips. ‘Do I know you? Haven’t we met somewhere before?’
The miniskirted girl seized the chance to slip away.
The man stepped closer. Hannah felt like a rabbit trapped in the headlights. His smile widened wolfishly. ‘No need to be shy there, honey. I don’t bite. So what’s your name then?’
Hannah stared at him, dry-mouthed, pulse thumping in her ears. She didn’t want to tell him her name.
‘Fuck off, Dexter,’ snapped Sadie, grabbing her arm before Hannah could speak. ‘She’s with me. I’ve warned you before, you creep, don’t letch my friends. All right?’ There was a real threat in her voice.
The spell broken, the man turned towards Sadie and laughed. ‘One of yours, is she? I might have bloody guessed. You still hanging around with boys, are you?’ he said, eyeing up Tucker, all his remarks now squarely aimed at Sadie, who regarded the man with barely concealed contempt. ‘What you need, Sadie, is a real man.’
Sadie snorted. ‘Well, if you ever meet one, Dex, be sure to let me know, won’t you? Come on, Hannah, let’s get upstairs away from the pensioners.’
As Hannah tried to get past him the man made a point of brushing himself against her. The smell of him made her skin crawl.
‘If you ever get bored of playing around with Little Miss Psycho up there, you come and find me,’ the man said, with a big fat grin. ‘My name’s Dexter – everyone knows me. Would you like my card?’ He made as if to reach into his pocket.
Sadie glared at him from half way up the stairs. ‘I thought I told you to fuck off, Dexter.’
Hannah quickly slid past him and hurried to catch her up. ‘Who the hell is he?’ she hissed, as Sadie opened her bedroom door.
‘Dex? He’s one of mum’s exes – and a total creep. I mean, really creepy. Used to try and watch me in the bathroom, you know, like burst in when I was having a bath and stuff.’ She shuddered. ‘Sicko bastard.’
For a moment Hannah wondered what it must be like to grow up like Sadie, where strange men burst into the bathroom and you could never be sure where your mum was or who she was with, and for a second or two the glamour around Sadie’s life didn’t seem quite so compelling. Who did Sadie have to depend on? The answer came back loud and clear – just Sadie, because there was no one else she could trust. For an instant Hannah caught a glimpse of how lonely and how vulnerable Sadie’s upbringing made her.
‘If he ever lays a finger on you I’ll punch his lights out,’ Tucker was saying, squaring his shoulders, all bravado and macho posturing now that the moment had passed.
Sadie looked at him and laughed. ‘It’s not his finger I was worried about,’ she said, and then she began to giggle. Hannah laughed too, although she wasn’t altogether sure why.
*
Back at Jack and Rose’s anniversary party, Suzie had scoured the tent and then the garden searching for Sam and couldn’t find him anywhere. He wasn’t back at their house; she’d rung. He wasn’t out in the lane. He wasn’t answering his mobile. His car was still in the road. She was starting to panic – this was so out of character for Sam. No one had seen him since the fireworks had finished, and it was hard to keep up the pretence that everything was all right. People wanted to talk to her, to tell her what a lovely party it was, to talk about the walled garden, and the radio show and her parents and her oh-so-famous sister and it all seemed like distraction, pulling her away from what was really important, which was finding Sam. The other problem was that she couldn’t find the girls either. It felt as if her entire family had vanished, and the sensation of loss and anxiety were growing and growing. Where the hell were they all?
She was about to head back out into the garden for another look around when a young woman touched her arm.
‘Excuse me,’ she said. ‘Are you Suzie? You are, aren’t you?’ Suzie nodded but before she could say anything the woman continued, ‘I’m Nina, Janet’s daughter – Janet Fielding? Your mum’s bridesmaid. I’ve been hoping to speak to you. I was wondering if I could have a word with you—’
‘I’m really sorry,’ said Suzie, trying very hard to be polite. ‘But actually I’m looking for my husband at the moment. Maybe later.’ Something about the woman’s expression made Suzie stop in her tracks. ‘Is everything all right? Are you okay? Did you say you’re my mum’s bridesmaid’s daughter?’
The woman smiled. ‘Yes, that’s right, Dad couldn’t come – and I’m absolutely fine, you go. I’ll catch you later when you’re not so busy.’
She sounded as if she had had to pluck up courage to talk to Suzie, which seemed odd, although Suzie kicked herself for noticing. ‘If you’re sure?’ she said.
The woman nodded. ‘Really. You go . . .’
Guilt had such a loud voice, and told Suzie that maybe if she had spent more time noticing how Sam felt and less time on strangers then she wouldn’t be where she was now. Which was where exactly?
As the woman melted back into the crowd, Suzie headed out into the garden. Where the hell could Sam have got to?
*
‘We used to come here when we were kids,’ said Sam miserably as he sloped off across the recreation ground towards the swings and slides. ‘Before everyone went off to college, before all that. When we were at school we used to be down here all the time.’
‘I know,’ sighed Liz, picking her way across the damp uneven surface in her high heels, struggling to keep up with him. She hadn’t factored bark chippings into her wardrobe choice, and the grass was playing hell with her Louboutins; she was having to prise herself out of the subsoil every two or three steps and there was just bound to be a pile of dog poo lurking somewhere out there in the darkness.
‘I was there, remember?’ she said. ‘I used to tag along too. Suzie’s cute little sister?’
Head down, hands in his pockets, Sam said nothing.
Liz sighed; she might as well have been talking to herself. ‘You know, Sam, I always thought you were pretty cute too . . .’
Was cute the right word to use on a straight brother-in-law from the sticks? She wasn’t sure – he didn’t exactly fit the metro sexual profile. Either way, Sam didn’t appear to have registered her comment.
It was dark now, and she was finding it hard to see. The village hall was closed up and quiet. The football pitch and the cricket pavilion were silent, while a single lamp, a cyclops eye, kept watch in the darkness and threw a pall of light over the grassed area outside the public toilets. It was hardly Hollywood. Liz shivered, wishing they were back at the party.
The recreation ground and village playing field were bordered on two sides by the village graveyard, with the road on the third and a row of bungalows, tucked away behind the pavilion and the village hall, and a high hedge on the fourth. In the graveyard a huge Cedar of Lebanon stood sentinel against a moonlit sky. Wind played in and out of the chains on the swings. The ice-cream cone shape of the children’s roundabout groaned grimly.
Liz was getting cold. Now she remembered why it was she always came up here with the others. It was way too spooky to be up there on your own, particularly at night. While going for a walk with Sam had seemed like a good idea back at the house, a way of getting him on his own, it had completely backfired. Walking down to the Rec was like a trip down memory lane . . . literally.
Sam pointed out the shelter down by the bowling green where he had kissed Suzie for the first time. ‘You see this path,’ he said, showing Liz a little break in the bushes, as if she was a total stranger who hadn’t grown up alongside him and Suzie and had never been that way before. ‘We used to go through there, between the bungalows and take the footpath down to the river. We got drunk there together, there – I think we’d just finished our A-levels or something, and I remember I’d biked all the way over to Crowbridge to see her. I asked my dad if I could have a bottle of wine and Suzie packed up this picnic – really nice food, you know how she likes to cook. It seemed so grown-up then . . . Anyway, next morning my old man was furious because I’d taken something that he had been saving for him and Mum. It was fizzy – not champagne or anything.’ He laughed to himself, completely unaware of Liz, his gaze turned firmly inward.
Liz sighed. Riveting, she thought grimly. The man was totally and utterly obsessed with her sister.
‘How about we go back?’ Liz said brightly. ‘Or we could go down the pub if you like?’ Anywhere where there was a bit of life. However, Sam had slumped down onto one of the swings, grabbing hold of the chains to steady himself. He had the look of a gorilla that had been too long in captivity.
‘You know, you’re so much better than this,’ Liz said, sitting down alongside him. God alone knew what was on the seats, probably chewing gum knowing her luck, but back to the matter in hand. ‘I’m really worried about you, Sam.’
Even the sound of his name didn’t rouse him. She fished around for platitudes to make him focus on her and realise just how kind and lovely she was, all the while wondering if it was worth the effort. Did she really want a man who had a mortgage, two kids, and was her sister’s husband?
The reality was no, of course she didn’t, but there was a part of Liz that wanted to know that if she did ever want Sam she could have him. Snap him up, just like that. That would be a big, big win in the sister rivalry stakes. And of course, if it worked, Sam would always know it, know that she had won. It would be their guilty little secret. Liz smiled; actually it would be his guilty little secret – so well worth the effort then.
She pushed her swing a little closer to his so that their knuckles just touched. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she murmured, stroking the back of his hand. ‘You’re such a good man.’
Sam stared at her and then, as if seeing her for the first time, he grinned in a leery, boozy, lopsided way. ‘You’re a very attractive woman, Lizzie,’ he said thickly. ‘I’ve always thought that. Always thought you were very lovely . . . beautiful . . .’ He hadn’t sobered up any, and the words weren’t crystal clear, but even so, this was more like it.
She smiled and turned her head to give him the full benefit of her best side. ‘That’s so sweet of you, Sam. But at the moment it’s you I’m really concerned about.’
‘Really?’ He hiccupped. ‘You see that’s the thing, Lizzie, you’ve got such a kind heart really.’
Really?
‘Underneath all that head-girl, bossy, goodie-two-shoes thing you do, that whole Lizzie-knows-best-act, there’s a heart of gold, isn’t there? And you know that I’ve always thought that you were lovely.’ He hiccupped again, and then continued. ‘Really lovely.’ He beckoned her closer.
This was getting better and better. Liz moved in, trying to ignore the sweet sickly smell of booze on his breath and the little smidgen of coleslaw on his lapel.
‘Oh Sam,’ she said in a slightly breathy voice. ‘I had no idea. All these years . . .’
They were so close now that their noses were almost touching. God, he was just bound to kiss her now surely?
‘So, the thing I can’t work out is why can’t you get yourself a decent bloke – and then hang onto him,’ said Sam. ‘I mean, I’m just wondering if you’re trying too hard.’
Liz pulled away as if he had slapped her.
‘What? ’ she growled. ‘Trying too hard? What the hell is that supposed to mean?’
‘Well, you have to admit, Lizzie, you’re high maintenance. You’re lovely but you’re hard work. Trust me, no bloke wants to wait around for three or four hours for any woman to get ready, however great you think she looks. That’s one of the reasons I love Suzie so much – ten minutes,’ he said, hands raised to make his point. ‘She pulls on a clean pair of jeans, brushes her hair, bit of lipstick and she looks like a million dollars.’
Liz stared at him. ‘A million dollars,’ she repeated. ‘A million dollars? You’re telling me that my sister looks like a million dollars after ten minutes ?’
At which point Sam practically leapt off the swings and hurried across the grass back the way they’d just come. ‘Yes, yes you’re right, God, you know, you’re so absolutely right,’ he called over his shoulder. He was fleet of foot for a drunk. ‘Which is exactly why I need to go back and find her and tell her. Thank you, Liz – you’ve been absolutely brilliant, and I’ve been such a bloody fool. Talking to you has really helped. Now I need to go and find Suzie.’
Liz watched him vanish into the gloom and sighed. Well, that didn’t go quite the way she had planned. She slid off the swing and was about to follow him back to the party when she realised just how dark it had become and how very quiet it was out there on the Rec. Sam was nowhere in sight and she was all alone in the darkness.
Liz shivered as the wind made the chains on the swings rattle and creak ominously. Right on cue from close by an owl hooted in the graveyard. She felt the hair on the back of her neck prickle and rise.
Liz considered her options for a second or two and came to the conclusion that there was no way she was going to go through the back lanes on her own. So, with a sense of resignation, she headed down towards the road and the long way home.
Why was it she couldn’t find herself a man like Sam? A man who would love her just the way she was. She sniffed back a tear. Maybe Sam was right, maybe she was bossy and high maintenance, but that was only the outside. Surely the right man would understand she had had to work hard to get where she was and it didn’t do to be vulnerable.
Her shoes weren’t ideal for a forced march, and by the time she got to the edge of the Rec Liz’s feet were killing her and she was hot and flustered, but at least she was heading in the direction of streetlights and a proper path.
Just as Liz reached the pavement, a black cab drove past very slowly, a sight as rare as a mermaid in the backwaters of rural Norfolk. Hands on hips, she watched its tail lights as it turned left into High Lane, cursing under her breath. If she had been there a second or two earlier she would have flagged the bloody thing down, whether it had had a fare or not.
Another hundred yards up the road, not caring who saw her, Liz sat down under a streetlight, eased off her shoes and rubbed her feet. The new shoes had raised blisters on her heels and rubbed the skin off the top of her toes. Even in this light and without her glasses, she could see that her spray tan had gone streaky round her ankles. She was hot and hurt and annoyed. She would never get home at this rate.
Just as Liz set about trying to put her high heels back on, the cab passed her again and this time she leapt up and stuck out her hand. She would happily pay double or treble to get a lift home. Sod’s law being what it was, however, as she leant forward to wave it down, she missed her footing and lurched forward into the road, not so much flagging down the cab as throwing herself under its wheels.
The driver slowed and opened his window. There was a passenger in the back seat who had leant forward to see what was going on.
‘You all right, sweetheart?’ said the driver, getting out to help her to her feet.
Liz was about to nod and then decided to admit defeat. She shook her head. ‘No, not really. Is there any chance you could take me home, please?’
The heel had broken on one of her new shoes, her dress was covered in grime, she was hot and sweaty, she had grazed her knee, got gravel rash on her hands where she had tried to stop herself from falling and God alone knew what her hair looked like.
The driver looked at her long and hard. ‘Don’t I know you?’ he said, his expression suggesting he was struggling to remember where exactly he’d seen her before. Then he grinned. ‘The name’s on the tip of my tongue. Don’t tell me, don’t tell me . . .’
Liz would normally have smiled but she was in no mood to be recognised so she settled for a grimace instead. ‘Look, I know you’ve got a fare onboard but I’ll give you fifty pounds if you’ll just take me home. I live just round the corner. It won’t take you five minutes.’
He looked at the shoes she had in her hand. ‘Not exactly dressed for a hike, are you?’ He turned to look at his fare with a boy’s own grin. ‘We can hardly leave her here, a damsel in distress, can we? Be all right, won’t it?’ he said. Turning back to Liz. ‘Let’s get you in here; those look more like instruments of torture to me than shoes. You know you women make me laugh. You look frozen – do you want to borrow my jacket?’
Liz shook her head. ‘No, I’m fine.’
Meanwhile the back door of the cab had swung open. Liz peered inside. There was a tall elderly man sitting in the back seat cradling a huge bouquet of flowers. Smartly dressed and good-looking in a rangy way, he looked harmless enough.
‘Hello,’ he said. ‘Are you okay?’
Liz nodded. ‘More or less,’ she said, sliding into the seat alongside him. ‘Nice flowers.’
He smiled. ‘They’re for my girlfriend. You took a bit of tumble back there, are you sure you’re all right?’
‘I’m fine, just pleased I haven’t got to walk home.’
‘So you’re a local then?’ he said.
‘Yes, I live just up the road.’
‘Great, in that case maybe you can help me.’ He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and tipped it towards the streetlight in order to read what was scribbled on it. ‘I’m looking for somewhere called Isaac’s Cottage, Mill Lane?’
Liz stared at him. ‘You are joking, aren’t you?’
The man shook his head. ‘No, why?’
‘That’s where I’m going.’
‘Oh right,’ said the man cheerfully. ‘Well, that’s great, you going to the party too then?’
‘Actually I organised it,’ said Liz.
The man’s smile broadened. ‘Well, that’s fantastic. So you’ll know Fleur?’
‘She’s my aunt.’
He stuck out his hand. ‘Well how about that for a stroke of luck. I’m Frank Callaby – Frank to my friends.’
‘Do I know you?’ asked Liz, trying to pick out his features in the gloom.
‘No, but I thought there was a fair chance Fleur might have mentioned me . . .’ He waited, and when Liz said nothing continued, ‘Apparently not. Fleur and me, we’re a bit of an item back home – well, at least we were.’
Liz raised an eyebrow. ‘Were? So what, you’re stalking her?’
He laughed. ‘Not exactly. Place is not the same without her around.’
‘So you’ve come God knows how many thousands of miles on the off-chance?’
‘More or less.’ Frank grinned. ‘You know what Fleur’s like, all prickle and spit – she’ll probably have me slung out when we get there. Or arrested; she did that when we went to Brisbane for the weekend.’ He paused. ‘I really missed the old girl, so I thought I’d just nip over and surprise her—’
‘Nip?’ Liz said pointedly.
His good humour held. ‘Figure of speech, darlin’ – Fleur and me live in the same street. I’ve been keeping an eye on her place while she’s been away. Stroke of luck finding you though. We’ve been circling round for the last twenty minutes; you know, I wouldn’t have thought you could get lost in a little place like this. I couldn’t really ring and ask Fleur for directions without giving the game away now, could I?’
The taxi was moving off.
‘It’s just up here,’ said Liz. ‘First on the right, then just go straight up to the end of the road and turn left.’
The driver laughed. ‘I don’t think it is. We’ve already been up there a couple of times. It’s a dead end.’
‘Mill Lane’s not signposted.’
The driver snorted. ‘Well, that’s handy, how’s a person supposed to find anywhere round here?’
‘It’s a country thing,’ said Liz.
‘It’s a crazy thing,’ Frank said. ‘How do you find your way around?’
The cabbie laughed. ‘Ask a good-looking local?’
Frank nodded. ‘I suppose you’ve got a point. Is that how you trap all your men?’ And before Liz could say anything he winked at her and said, ‘Works like a charm, I reckon you’re in there, darling.’
Liz, glowing white-hot with indignation, pretended that she hadn’t heard him and kept her eyes firmly on the road. ‘So,’ she said, attempting to deflect attention away from herself. ‘What happened with you and Fleur?’
‘She walked out on me,’ Frank said. ‘Middle of dinner.’
Liz glanced across at him. ‘Maybe you should take the hint.’
‘Maybe, but I never was that kind of guy. And your aunt, she’s a fine woman. I thought she was worth another go . . .’ He paused. ‘Maybe you’re right, but you know, I had to give it one more chance, I’ll know by the look on her face when she sees me if I’ve made a mistake.’
Liz stared at him, contemplating coming all that way, with the risk that he might simply be rejected. He grinned as if he could read her mind. ‘Love’s a funny thing.’
‘You love Fleur?’
Frank nodded. ‘Oh yes,’ he said.
The cab crept slowly back up the road and into Mill Lane. They could hear the music as they drew up in front of Isaac’s Cottage, even with the car windows closed.
‘Looks like this is it,’ said the cabbie cheerfully. ‘At long last.’
Good old Frank was fleet of foot: he was out and had the cab door open before Liz had the chance to pick up her shoes. ‘You get your dancing pumps on, sweetheart, and I’ll sort out the fare,’ Frank said, pulling his wallet out of his jacket pocket. ‘And not a word to Fleur, y’hear? I don’t want to spoil the surprise. Okay?’
‘Okay,’ said Liz. ‘And good luck.’
‘Thanks, sweetheart – and you too.’
Liz glanced up at the driver who had got out to assist Frank. He was nice looking in a well-worn sort of way.
‘Do you need a hand to get out?’ the driver asked, eyes bright with amusement. ‘You’re not going to try and walk in those, are you? That heel’s broken.’
Liz looked down at her new shoes. ‘I’ll be fine,’ she said, forcing her toes into them and stepping out of the car. It took her a split second to realise putting them back on had been a big mistake. It felt like she had stepped into boiling treacle, every step agony, not to mention the fact that her broken heel made her roll like a drunk.
‘How much would you charge to run me to the front door?’ she asked, looking up at him.
‘That bad, huh?’ he said, struggling to suppress a grin.
She nodded. ‘Worse. I don’t think I can get the damned things off.’
He laughed. ‘Here, let me help you. You can have that one on the house. Have you got any more here?’
‘Shoes? Yes, I’ve got some upstairs.’
‘Okay, jump up,’ he said, turning and patting his thigh.
She stared at him. ‘What did you just say?’
‘Jump up. I’ll give you a piggyback over the front door if you want.’
Liz stared at him in amazement. ‘You can’t be serious?’
‘Why not? I mean, you’re not that heavy, are you? It’s either that or a fireman’s carry. You know, over one shoulder. Take your pick.’
Frank laughed and looked from one to the other. ‘I’ll leave you two to it, shall I?’
Liz ignored him. ‘Couldn’t you just carry me to the kerb?’
‘What and then you’ll hobble over all that gravel? Looks pretty sharp to me. Come on, hop up.’
Liz looked down at her shoes one more time. ‘Hang on,’ she said, and prised them off. Then she sighed and, perching on the sill of the car, she looped her arms around his neck and clambered up onto his back. He was strong, with a broad muscular back. He smelt warm and of something soft and sandlewoody. It was oddly comforting to be lifted up as if she weighed next to nothing at all.
‘Here,’ he said, holding up an electronic key fob. ‘Can you just lock the car for me?’
Liz did as she was asked. As soon as she was settled, the cabbie carried her across the road and up the gravel driveway. It wasn’t the most elegant mode of transport but it seemed like a very sweet thing for him to do. She found herself tempted to rest her cheek against his shoulder.
‘Are you okay?’ she said.
‘I’m fine, you hardly weigh a thing. Would you like me to take you over to the house?’
Liz didn’t really have chance to answer as he was already striding out cross the front lawn, before turning around so she could step down onto the front doorstep.
‘There you go,’ he said with a smile, offering her his hand. ‘All safe and sound.’
‘Thank you. Have you driven all the way up from London?’ she asked.
‘Uh-huh, certainly did. I’d forgotten how much I love this drive. I used to come up here a lot when I was a kid with my dad – and then later I’d bring him.’
Under the porch light she noticed just what gorgeous eyes he had.
There was a funny little electric pause, and Liz heard herself saying, ‘Why don’t you come in and have a drink, grab something to eat? I’m sure we can find you something before you head home. A cup of tea maybe?’ She took a long look at his hands as he shook hers in a firm presidential style handshake. No rings, nice long fingers, strong and masculine.
‘That would be great,’ the driver was saying. ‘My name’s Max. And you are?’
‘Liz,’ said Liz.
‘It’s nice to meet you,’ he said. ‘Whoever you are.’
She laughed. ‘Come on in,’ she said, stepping aside to wave him by. She had felt tiny when he had been carrying her, tiny and safe, and she couldn’t help wondering if there was a Mrs Max waiting patiently at home.