By the time Astarte arrives home, the euphoria that temporarily eclipsed her worries about Ryan has dissipated. She feels flat and listless. ‘I am a dishcloth in the wringer of the universe,’ she tells her reflection in the rear-view mirror, and sighs. In retrospect it was unwise to kiss Flynn, but then, Astarte is aware that wisdom tends to be born through experience. She rubs her lips together experimentally, as though lipstick has been applied. They feel soft and swollen. ‘You really are a bloody idiot,’ she mutters, trying to forget the feeling of Flynn’s lips on hers as she opens the door to a riotous welcome from Sirius. Resolving to behave herself in future, she hooks a bottle of wine out and downs half a glass in one swallow.
The fire lit, and a casserole bubbling in the range oven, for Astarte’s soup and stew recipe has proved quite versatile, she glances around to make sure the place is tidy, removes a chewed slipper from a chair, and pushes dog toys into the corner with her foot before opening the door to let Sirius back inside. Daisy trots after him with a grunted greeting, and flops in her usual spot.
Astarte sits back on the sofa, takes another sip of wine, and rests her feet on Daisy’s back. ‘You really are a bloody idiot,’ she says again, but she can’t help the small smile that plays treacherously around the corner of her mouth. Daisy snorts, and stretches out her back legs. ‘Not you. I’m talking to myself. It’s the first sign of madness, and my sanity is surely to be questioned today,’ Astarte informs the pig. She ticks off her fingers as though memorising a shopping list.
‘One. Do not get involved with men. They spell trouble. Two. Never, ever kiss a friend in any manner other than platonic. Three. Giving friends the wrong impression is the best way to lose them forever. Four. Oh, sod it, it’s done now.’
Her excuses made, she forcefully steers herself away from thoughts of Flynn, wondering what can be done to help Ryan. His revelation has shocked her deeply. Poor man, she muses, no wonder he drinks. His grim determination to deliberately shorten his days in so ghastly a manner both horrifies and upsets her.
Sirius leaps up, barking, and Astarte answers the door just as Eden’s hand is raised to knock on it. She stands back to allow them entry. Without her high heels and sharp suit, Linda looks wholesome and girlish. She wears jeans and a loose sweater, and her hair is drawn back in a neat French plait. To Astarte’s pleased surprise she steps forward and kisses her on both cheeks.
‘I’ve been looking forward to getting to know you, Astarte.’ Her cut-glass voice is the same as before, but she seems more approachable than Astarte expected. ‘Even more so, now we’re going to be neighbours,’ she adds with a wide smile.
Astarte takes their coats. ‘So you’ve agreed to be involved in the studio, then? I’m so pleased!’
Linda and Eden look flushed and happy. They chatter excitedly while Astarte pours wine. Eden refuses a drink, saying that he has to go back for a meeting with some musicians. He lingers for a few minutes before breezing out of the door, reminding Linda to call him when she’s ready to leave.
‘Well,’ Astarte says, handing a glass to Linda, ‘Here’s to the great success of your new venture, and to future happiness.’
Echoing her toast, Linda follows Astarte to the sofa and makes herself comfortable. ‘I have to ask you something,’ she says, curling her legs beneath her. ‘I noticed a wooden sign on your gate, and wondered what it meant.’
Astarte grins. ‘Trespassers will have bad karma.’ It’s to keep my parents out. They’re a total nightmare, and now they’ve decided that it’s their karma to come and live here. She bends over to pick up the wine bottle, and tops up their glasses. Linda is chortling quietly. ‘They can take their karma as far from me as possible and share it with some other mug,’ Astarte adds dolefully.
‘My, you are annoyed with them. Mind you, I don’t blame you. I thought it was supposed to be children who refused to leave their parents, not the other way round.’
‘You haven’t met them yet,’ Astarte says drily.
The evening slips by. The women, nourished by the casserole and tipsy on wine, slouch and relax, chattering animatedly and exchanging life stories. The animals curl close, hardly moving when Astarte occasionally adds fuel to the fire and the range. Linda finds it amusing that she has a pig for a pet, but is unconcerned that Daisy is lying with her head resting on Linda’s foot, snoring softly.
‘You have a good life here, Astarte,’ she says, adjusting the cushions behind her back.
Astarte agrees. ‘It’s funny, though – I never imagined living this kind of life. Quite the reverse, in fact. I’m actually glad that my relationship ended the way it did, even though it was awful at the time. It forced me to think about what I really wanted, and to do something about it.’
Linda agrees that life is strange, reflecting on how Eden’s experience has changed all of their lives. Her next step is to find somewhere to live while the studio is set up. She has no wish to infringe on the hospitality of the McDonagh family for too long.
Another bottle of wine is opened. ‘You could stay here tonight, if you don’t mind the sofa. That would save Eden from having to carry you home. You’re in no fit state to walk,’ Astarte grins.
‘Carry me home? In my dreams! Oh God, forget I said that. It’s the alcohol talking.’ A blush spreads to the roots of Linda’s blonde hair. Astarte eyes her curiously, and struggles to sit up straighter.
‘You’re in love with him!’ she exclaims. ‘Does he know?’
Flapping her hand and shaking her head, Linda throws back the last drops of wine in her glass, and refreshes both of their drinks. She has kept her feelings to herself for so long that it’s a relief to be able to speak of them. In the space of just a few hours, Astarte seems like the sister she never had. Linda has spent so many years in the corporate world, surrounded by men who try to make her look small and inefficient, fighting to be recognised as an equal. It feels liberating to be able to relax, to be herself, to share her feelings. She knows how much Astarte has helped Eden, and warms to her because of this. And suddenly she has a need to unburden herself. She knows instinctively that it will go no further, that her new friend can be trusted.
Linda talks for nearly an hour, hardly pausing to draw breath. She describes her carefully fostered reputation as a hard driver, a ball-breaker. She has heard the gossip that spreads like wildfire through the industry she works in, and has deliberately fuelled it. Now she is sickened by the competitiveness and back-stabbing. She longs for a more peaceful way of life, is keen to nurture talent while making her protégés aware of the risks inherent in the music business. And, most of all, she yearns to show her true feelings for Eden, but is afraid of losing him altogether.
‘I can take the crumbs,’ she tells Astarte. ‘It’s better than nothing.’
Astarte stares at her. ‘But who wants crumbs when they could feast at the table?’ she asks, realising with surprise that both of their voices are becoming slurred. What the heck, she thinks. It’s been quite a day. Tottering slightly, she fetches another bottle of wine, and squints as she opens it. ‘You must tell him,’ she announces firmly.
‘Absolutely not!’ Linda waves her arms about, almost dropping her wine glass.
‘How will he know otherwise? He’s not psychic, and he obviously cares about you.’ Astarte says reasonably. Linda shrugs.
‘Just forget it, OK?’
Astarte stares down into her glass, swilling the dark red liquid gently around inside it. ‘I am a resp … rep … repository for secrets. A vessel for the never-spoken,’ she intones solemnly.
‘What?’ Linda looks at her, amazed. Astarte merely laughs and pats her arm.
‘If you go home with Eden in that drunken state, you’ll end up draping yourself all over him and telling him all. Stay here. The couch is comfortable, and I have a spare duvet. I’ll ring Eden and tell him to collect you and your hangover tomorrow. The only thing is, do you mind sleeping in the same room as Daisy?’
Linda’s laugh peals out merrily. ‘Oh, don’t worry about that. I’ve slept with a few pigs in my time, and no doubt Daisy will respect me more in the morning than the others did.’
They sleep late, oblivious to the weak sunrise and the chirruping of birds outside the windows. Astarte, her head pounding, creeps past a slumbering Linda to let the animals out and feed the chickens. When she comes inside, Linda, bleary-eyed and messy-haired, is hauling herself upright on the sofa, swearing never to drink again. Astarte cooks a fried breakfast, trying not to think that one of Daisy’s relatives may be gently sizzling in the frying pan. They huddle on the sofa with their food and copious quantities of tea. Somehow the table seems too formal and far away.
‘I feel guilty about eating pig when I’ve spent the night in the same room as Daisy,’ Linda says, pushing the bacon around on her plate.
‘I know what you mean. I rarely eat meat now.’ Astarte feeds her bacon to Sirius, who stands guard beside her, drooling on her knee. The dog, delighted at his good fortune, swallows it without chewing.
Eden phones to say that he is on his way. His meeting has gone well, and he has a brace of musicians keen to work with him, so he’s in high spirits. Astarte has just replaced the receiver when it rings again. Astarte groans. ‘Oh my head! It hurts to talk,’ as she answers. It is Flynn. She takes in a sharp breath at the sound of his voice.
‘I just wanted you to know that Ryan has enough fuel to keep him warm for a month or so. And, Astarte, I called in at the supermarket and put together a box of basic foodstuffs, so he has all he needs for the time being. I thought you might like to come out this afternoon, to see the house I’m working on. We could call in and check on Ryan, and maybe have a pub meal afterwards.’
Astarte hesitates before speaking carefully. ‘Flynn, that’s lovely of you. Come over whenever you’re ready. But I should tell you that in no way is this a date, OK? I just got carried away by emotion yesterday. It won’t happen again.’
A sigh travels down the telephone line, followed by an awkward silence. When Flynn speaks, the vibrancy has gone from his voice. ‘Have it your way, Astarte. I’ll pick you up at three o’clock.’ The line goes dead.
Swearing softly, Astarte replaces the receiver. She turns to catch Linda observing her, wide-eyed, her eyebrows almost up to her hairline.
‘Well, well, you’re a dark horse! You didn’t mention any shenanigans with men when we were exchanging confidences last night.’
Astarte stalks across to make coffee. ‘That’s because there aren’t any. I had a small lapse of judgement yesterday, and now I have to put things straight again. Dammit, Linda, do you ever wish you could turn the clock back?’
‘I’m more interested in winding it forward,’ Linda says with a grin.