After a few minutes, Mrs Dave answered the door. Was she surprised to see me standing there? I couldn’t tell from the expression on her face whether she was bewildered or dismayed.
‘Well, well, well, look who it is. Whatever brings you all the way back here then, Miss Budde?’
As if she didn’t know. Instead of welcoming me with open arms and calling excitedly to the rest of the villagers for the lamb to be killed and a fire to be lit, her fingers gripped the door as she spoke. Miss Budde. No way are you coming in here again, girlie. Her blouse was pale pink, no flowers.
‘Dave’s not here, it’s Monday, he goes to school on Mondays. Why aren’t you at school then?’
‘I thought Mondays was home studies.’
‘Not anymore now he’s in the upper sixth. Home studies day is Friday if his timetable allows. You should know that.’
‘I don’t go to school anymore, I go to college. We have a flexible timetable.’
‘Very flexible indeed, if you’re standing here.’
Which I was.
‘Do your parents know you’re here, young lady?’
Within five seconds I knew that coming back had been a big mistake. What was I doing here? These streets weren’t mine anymore. I lived in a small cold village. Towns and people and boyfriends had nothing to do with me. My bag was hanging off my shoulder. I didn’t know what to do. I really wanted to see Dave. I swallowed hard. ‘When will Dave be home?’
‘When school finishes. About half past four. If the bus stops for him, which sometimes it doesn’t. You’re going to have a long wait.’ She pursed her lips as if to say, And you’re not doing it here.
Mrs Dave folded her arms. ‘I think I should phone your parents.’
‘No thank you, it’s fine really, I’ll be back before they . . .’
‘Before they even know you’ve gone?’ She raised her eyebrows at me.
I could feel myself blushing furiously.
A voice yelled out behind her. Like him but not him. Deeper, stronger. ‘Ma, who are you talking to?’
‘No one you know,’ she shouted back.
The person who stuck his head around the door was an older, more solid version of Dave. He stood next to his mother. She took a step back and slightly relaxed her hand on the door to accommodate her eldest son. His name’s Simon, stupid. Simon looked me up and down, and down and up, as if he couldn’t quite name the species I belonged to.
‘You must be Simon, my sister’s met you.’
‘And you are?’ he said, chewing gum and smelling of aftershave. For a few seconds the smell threatened to overpower my brain. Mrs Dave knew exactly who I was.
‘This here is Rebecca Budde, she’s the vicar’s daughter; Dave was helping her with her maths but not anymore,’ said Mrs Dave, stepping forward to close the door, and kindly holding her pale pink blouse close to my face so I could examine the uniformity of colour in close detail.
‘Ask her in then, Ma,’ said the older version of Dave, chewing his gum closer to my face. He winked at me.
‘No thank you. Look, I’m really sorry to have bothered you. Could you please tell Dave I came to see him?’
‘You’re not bothering us. She’s not bothering us, is she, Ma?’
I could see I was bothering Mrs Dave a great deal. Mrs Dave stood there wishing I would get lost.
‘I’ll phone her parents. She should be at school.’
‘College.’
‘College then. You must be really bad at maths if you’re back here again.’ He winked at me once more.
Mrs Dave stared at the grey road stretching in front of the door and sniffed.
‘Maggie Budde, that’s right, I remember her now, down at the pub last time I was back. She was doing her exams. How did she do? All right. She’s a brainiac, that one. Lovely girl. So you’re Maggie’s sister?’
‘Yeah, that’s right.’
‘Well come on in. We can’t leave Maggie’s sister standing on the step.’
‘No, no, really, it’s all right. I’d better be getting back.’
‘Have a chat and a biscuit before you go. We’re busy doing nothing, aren’t we, Ma?’
Mrs Dave rolled her eyes to heaven. She didn’t want me in her house. She was getting flashbacks to her coral cardigan. And I didn’t want to go into that house if Dave wasn’t there. Simon was holding the door open and nodding at me to come on in. I thought he’d grab me and pull me in if I didn’t obey.
Mrs Dave headed into the kitchen with an air of barely suppressed resentment which I recognised from the slope of her shoulders.
‘Ma. Kettle. On. Please.’
‘All right, but you can make the tea. That girl should be in school.’ She knew I could hear every word.
Simon towered over his mother. ‘There’s no law against a drink and a biscuit, is there?’ To me he said, ‘Come in then, sit down, take your coat off.’
Six months ago the only thing I wanted was to be invited into this house. To hand over my coat and my foolish beating heart. Now I couldn’t wait for an opportunity to leave, to fling the door open and race into the street, to run away from Mrs Dave and the lack of Dave. I cursed myself for being so stupid.
‘Thanks.’
I should never have gone back.