After Joanne had settled the boys in bed the night after Cynthia’s party, she sat for a long time puzzling over who had used her car, and why. Could it have been John? The cheque pushed through the door must mean he had been around, but if so, why hadn’t he come in? No, she was being ridiculous. It couldn’t have been John. He would hardly push an envelope through the door of his own home, he would have brought it in, had a meal, stayed the night. What was she thinking of? Of course it wasn’t John. He had obviously sent someone to deliver it but, if that was so, she was back to the question of who had used her car, and why?
Although it was very late, she went to look at the mileage then realized she had nothing with which to compare it. From now on, she would check very thoroughly. She looked thoughtfully at the garage. If only John would take out some of the rubbish he insisted on storing there, she could put the car away and that would stop whoever it was from using it, surely?
It was past midnight but she knew sleep wouldn’t come. She wandered aimlessly around the house, picking up magazines, searching for a place to put them where they would be least obtrusive, and ending up putting them back in the same place. From time to time she looked out into the blackness of the night as though expecting the faintly seen silhouette of the car to vanish once more. To catch the person who was using her car seemed an impossible task and she could hardly go to the police and tell them the car was being stolen and then returned.
Oh, why wasn’t John here? She envied her friends with husbands who worked for someone else, and did a reliable nine till five every day.
Taking out her purse and cheque—book she sat for a while working out how much she had to last until the next pay-day. Not much. A pity the opportunity to pick up someone else’s purse didn’t come along very often. The thought, darting so easily into her mind, frightened her. What was she becoming? John was changing her from a decent, honest person to someone who thought of stealing as a way to augment the housekeeping.
It was a long time since she had handled John’s business accounts and, on a whim, she went to his desk. The top was neat and orderly, with a few of the incoming sales dockets in one pile, the outgoings for the houses during the past month in another. The desk and all the drawers were locked. From what little she could see it seemed satisfactory, with more coming in than going out, but she knew that any profit went into the fund for acquiring new premises. Four houses let room by room and five small but busy cafes. There must be enough for him to increase her housekeeping. Jeremy and Justin were growing and their appetites, and clothing needs, were growing with them. Perhaps if she told him she had resorted to stealing from a friend it would frighten him into reassessing her pitifully small allowance?
She shuddered at the thought. Confessing would make it all more real and add to her guilt. In her opinion, whoever said ‘confession is good for the soul’, didn’t know what he was talking about.
Early the following morning, Meriel was walking past with the dogs and saw that a light was on in Joanne’s house. Surprised that her friend was up at seven a.m, during the school holidays, she knocked softly and waited.
A bleary-eyed Joanne opened the door and stared in surprise. ‘Meriel? Is something wrong?’
‘I’m fine, I just wondered if you were. It’s early to see a light as the schools are on holiday, and I thought perhaps someone was unwell?’
‘I haven’t slept to tell the truth, in fact I was just dozing on the couch when you knocked.’
‘I’m sorry I disturbed you.’ She turned to go.
‘Don’t worry, I have to start getting breakfast for the boys soon, although they might be late after Cynthia’s party. Come in and have a coffee.’
‘If you’re sure.’ Meriel looked at her two dogs, at present playing around outside the door with Joanne’s Fifi.
‘Bring the dogs, I’m past caring about the kitchen floor. The boys in and out and bringing half the cliff path in — I won’t attempt to revive the colour of the carpet until school starts again.’
Meriel sat at the kitchen table and watched as Joanne filled the cafetiere, guessing something was wrong, and wondering how to ask.
‘Did the party go well?’ she asked eventually.
‘The boys enjoyed it. But, Meriel, someone used my car last evening. I went to collect them and it wasn’t there. I flapped a bit, tried to ring John, who, as usual, wasn’t reachable — and when we got back from Cynthia’s it was back. And before you say it: no, I didn’t imagine it.’
‘Of course you didn’t imagine it. You park it close to the window, don’t you? You could hardly have been mistaken. It wasn’t John? He didn’t call and, as you were out, borrow it?’
‘I wasn’t out. It was there when I came back after walking the boys to Cynthia’s and when I went to collect them at ten thirty it was gone. A few minutes later it was back.’
Meriel was alarmed to see that Joanne was tearful. ‘Did you have any other visitors?’
‘No. That is, yes, sort of. An envelope with the cheque for the skiing holiday was slipped through the door and I can’t understand who left it. John would hardly do that and I can’t think why it was delivered by hand in such a casual way.’
‘Where is John? Perhaps he was unable to get home and wanted you to have it so you wouldn’t worry?’
‘Why should I worry? I have enough money to send my son on a school trip for heaven’s sake!’
‘I think the coffee’s ready,’ Meriel said quietly.
Coffee was being prepared in the Sewell household and, as with Joanne, their sons were still fast asleep. Cynthia had appeared from the bathroom with her make—up fully applied and her dress immaculate. Her hair was attractively styled and although short and rather mannish, looked less harsh by the addition of the earrings she habitually wore. She had been thinking about what Vivienne’s friend Sidney had said about subsidence and this was the first opportunity she’d had to mention it.
‘Rubbish!’ Christian laughed. ‘D’you think I’d be living here myself if there was danger of the house falling down? Come on, Cyn, you know me better than that. The foundations on this estate are the best. Much stronger than the depth and strength demanded by the building regulations. Believe me.’
‘I do, darling. Of course I do. But I was worried, hearing a rumour like that. I thought you should know, that’s all.‘
‘Did he give a reason for saying what he did?’
‘No, but…’ she hesitated before going on, ‘The boys said they were covered in soil one day back in the summer, when they were swimming near the place where the rocks are low down, closer to the sea and the soil is thicker. They said earth was sliding down and making the sea like mud.’
‘Reddish soil was it?’ When Cynthia nodded he said, ‘I knew it. They were making excuses. They’ve been in that cave. I told them never to go near it.’
‘No, they wouldn’t. I rarely insist on anything and I know they wouldn’t disobey me on that. The cave is out of bounds.’
The cave they referred to was not a cave at all, just a deep cavern where, years before, an attempt had been made to build a sewage system and had long been abandoned. Cynthia knew her boys wouldn’t go near it. ‘The mud was definitely from the sea,’ she insisted.
‘I’ll go and look if you like, but there’s no need, darling. These houses are set well back and most of the footings are on solid rock. Don’t worry.’
‘I’m not worried. I know you build houses to last. And perhaps it’s best if you don’t look. If people see you it will only add to the rumours.’ She smiled and tried to put the subject out of her mind.
‘You’re right love,’ Christian said. ‘Best we both forget it.’
As soon as Cynthia went out, Christian rang Ken Morris.
‘That’s funny,‘ Ken said. ‘I’ve heard that rumour too.’
‘Where can it be coming from? There’s been no trouble with any of the houses.’
They discussed it for a while and decided to ignore the story in the hope that it would die out from lack of fuel.
‘D’you think the boys will want to come to the pantomime after Christmas with me this year? Or are they too old?’ Ken asked.
‘I don’t think you’re ever too old for panto. Yes. I’m sure they’ll come but I’ll ask and let you know.’
‘I’ve already booked.’
Christian could imagine Ken’s grin. ‘You’re a big kid, Ken Morris.’
‘I only wish it was my girls I was booking for,’ Ken said. ‘I had a letter from them both yesterday and I always feel lonely for a while after hearing their news.’
‘When are you going to make the effort and go to America and see them?’
‘I don’t know. I suppose I keep hoping for a miracle, and that Mam will get better and be able to go with me,’ Ken sighed.
Mrs Morris was putting the finishing touches to a casserole ready for Ken’s tea. She had been watching a programme about America and wondering whether Ken would take her as he promised. His excuse was that he needed a lot of money and once his house was built… One day. It was always one day, she thought with a sigh. One day she would go to America to see her granddaughters. One day, Cynthia and Christian would visit her.
Ken had explained about their new life and their invented past, but she would hardly shame them. She knew better than talk about the hovel in which Cynthia lived and the drunkard Christian had for a father. Perhaps next year. She sighed again. At her age, hope was a frail ol’ thing.
In Churchill’s Garden that week, everyone was loaded with last minute Christmas shopping. Vivienne was there with an excited Toby, who had been to visit Santa and had been given a small clown puppet.
‘What was your Christian doing on the beach at crack of dawn this morning?’ Vivienne asked as she settled Toby in a chair. ‘Toby and I went to look for driftwood and pretty pebbles to make some decorations.’
‘On the beach?’ Cynthia frowned. ‘Are you sure it was Christian?’
Vivienne nodded. ‘Him and that partner of his, Ken isn’t it? They were crawling about on the rocks and on the beach and a right mess they were in too. Covered in red mud.’
‘Oh, that. It’s just some initial survey to see if they can build further out towards the cliffs.’ Cynthia smiled as she lied but her heart was racing. Was there a problem with the houses? And if so, would Christian be held responsible?
‘Here comes Meriel,’ she said. ‘Let’s have a piece of gateau shall we, as it’s Christmas? My treat.’ She left the table and waved to Meriel, and Helen, who was close behind her, telling them she would bring coffee for them all.
She hoped the chatter would be of Christmas and the family arrangements they had each made and not the subject of subsidence. That was a rumour Christian could well do without, even if it were unfounded. It could affect the outcome of his bid for a large contract he felt certain he would win. The timing of such a story couldn’t have been worse.
‘What are you doing for Christmas?’ she asked Joanne when she returned to the table. ‘How many days will John be free?’
‘Not many,’ Joanne sighed. ‘The cafes are open practically every day and when he can’t get the staff to work he has to go in himself.’
‘I thought Reggie and I would be on our own,’ Helen said excitedly, ‘But Henrietta wants to come and stay, at least for part of the holiday, isn’t that great?’
‘I don’t know how you fit three extra into that small flat of yours Helen.’
‘It is difficult and I know the boys don’t stay as long as I want them to because of the crush, but this time it’s Henrietta on her own.’ She turned her small bright eyes on Cynthia. ‘I suspect that your Rupert might have had something to do with her decision, mind.’
‘A crush of a different sort, eh?’ Cynthia laughed. ‘Tell her to come any time she likes. The boys will be pleased to see her I’m sure.‘
‘Thanks, I’ll tell her that.’
‘Meriel and I will be on our own so we’re sharing Christmas Day,’ Vivienne told them. ‘And, if Meriel can persuade her, we thought we’d invite Cath as well.’
They looked towards the table where Cath still sat when she came for coffee and to read her paper, but an elderly man sat there, blocking the aisle with some untidily strewn packages.
‘No sign of Cath today. Do you think she’ll come, Meriel?’ Helen asked. ‘Better to spend the day with you and Vivienne than to be on her own, eh?’
Meriel thought it unlikely Cath would come for Christmas Day with Toby there. She had a serious hang-up where children were involved and Meriel had never found the right opening to coax the reason from her quiet friend. ‘Maybe,’ she replied.
‘Christian is going away tomorrow and he won’t be back until Christmas Eve,’ Cynthia said, repairing her lipstick after the gateau had left its evidence. ‘He and Ken had finished till the New Year but Ken wants him to look at a place ripe for conversion. They’ll be taking their old camper van. They both hate hotels and prefer the van when they have to stay away.’
‘Don’t you mind him being away so much?’
‘Of course I do, he’s my best friend as well as my loving husband. But I understand that it’s a part of what he does. We phone each other regularly on our mobiles, and I always know where he is so I can get in touch if I have a problem, although I rarely do.’
‘I refuse to have a mobile,’ Joanne lied. ‘Even though John has begged me to. They’re such a nuisance sometimes, aren’t they?’
Right on cue, Cynthia’s phone began to bleep and she glared at Joanne before answering it. ‘Darling? … All right, I’ll be there… Yes, I’ll take the boys, they love to visit the farm, don’t they? … Bye, darling.’ She replaced the phone in her bag. ‘He forgot he was going to collect the turkey and I have to pick it up on Christmas Eve,’ she told them glaring at Joanne. ‘It’s so handy sometimes.’
Cynthia was the first to leave that morning and when she was out of the shop, Helen whispered, ‘I wonder if there’s any truth in the rumour I’ve just heard about those houses being unsafe?’
‘It’s a worry for Cynthia and Christian of course, but as my ex, Evan, lives in one with that Sophie Hopkins woman, I wouldn’t be desperately upset if they all fell into the sea,’ Meriel confessed with a chuckle.
Christmas was an unhappy time for Joanne. John was home but extremely irritable. He went out in the car, stating that he needed to go for a walk, and refused to invite her or the boys to go with him. Everything she suggested he vetoed. He criticized the excellent meals Joanne served and told her not to be boring when she asked what he would like to eat. He bought her a dress which she thought too matronly, and in navy, a colour she never wore. She had dealt with the boys’ presents from the money he had provided and had given him a watch, for which she was paying weekly from a catalogue. Before the evening of Boxing Day she was seriously considering sending it back!
The boys went to see the Sewells after Joanne had telephoned to make sure they wouldn’t be intruding on the family occasion and Joanne was left, sitting on her own, flicking through the channels of the television searching for something she could enjoy.
For Meriel, Christmas was a time she had dreaded, knowing that Evan would be sharing it with his new love. But with Vivienne and Toby promising to share Christmas Day and Cath joining her for Boxing Day, she was content. On Christmas Eve she opened the door to see Evan standing there with a bunch of flowers and an extravagantly wrapped parcel.
‘Evan?’ she tilted her head questioningly but didn’t move to allow him to enter.
‘I’ve brought this for you and I’d like you to open it now, so I know whether or not you like it.’
‘If it’s a Christmas present I don’t want it. We’re divorced, remember?’ She tried to close the door but he stepped inside and stood in the hall, offering both the flowers and the gift.
‘Please, Meriel. I never want us to be less than friends. Please open it. I want you to have it.’
He put the flowers on the hall table and handed her the gift. With a show of reluctance she began to take off the carefully designed ribbons and stars, curious but trying not to show it. It was only a bar of soap, she decided, examining its shape. Just an excuse to call, nothing more. ‘I haven’t bought anything for you,’ she said.
To her surprise the torn wrapping-paper revealed a jewellery box and, inside, a watch that was not new but probably, she thought, from the fifties; a tiny but exquisite cocktail watch decorated with marcasites. It was something she had often mentioned in the past and she was impressed at his remembering.
Joy at the sight of the beautiful object swiftly changed to anger and she thrust it back at him. ‘I don’t want it. Give it to that woman of yours!’ She pushed him so fast, so unexpectedly she caught him off balance and he almost fell as she pushed him across the hall and out of the door. She slammed it shut then seconds later, before he’d had time to recover, she reopened it and threw the flowers after him. ‘Flowers for that Hopkins woman, not me!’
Evan called twice more and she ignored his impatient ring, standing behind the corner in the hall, giggling as she imagined herself to be a bad payer, avoiding the rent man. The second time, he went around to the back and stood for a while, then picked up a garden chair that had been blown over by the wind, and replaced it in its usual corner, before finally leaving.
When the doorbell announced another visit, she opened the door fast, prepared to tell him to go away, but saw, not Evan, but Tom Harris. She laughed in relief, apologizing as he stepped back in alarm. ‘Sorry. I thought it was someone else. Come in.’ He carried flowers and explained, ‘I found them outside, perhaps they were meant for you?’
Taking them from him, she put them, upside down, in the kitchen refuse bin.
Tom stood there obviously embarrassed and, for a fleeting moment, Meriel remembered that it was she who expected to be embarrassed when they next met. Anxious now to put him at his ease, she explained. ‘My ex-husband just called and brought me flowers. I didn’t want them. I’m not usually so indifferent to flowers, I assure you.’
‘You thought he was back when I knocked?’
‘Sorry,’ she said again, with an embarrassed grin. ‘Will you have some coffee?’
‘I won’t stay, I’ve just brought you this. My brother and I are so grateful for the work you did last week. He’s delighted to have the pond unearthed.’ He handed her an envelope, which she guessed contained money.
‘There’s no need,’ she said hesitating to take it.
‘We wondered what you think of the chances of restoring it, perhaps making it into a wildlife pond?’
‘That would be wonderful. In fact,’ she said, ‘I’ve already looked up a few ideas.’
Tom placed the envelope on the hall table and followed her into the kitchen where she set about making coffee. She invited him to sit, then handed him a gardening book in which she had placed several markers. ‘Frog-spawn will be unlikely to appear spontaneously, but we can apply to get some from one of the wildlife rescue organizations, I think. The rest will probably come naturally once the pond is established.’
They discussed the necessary requirements and Tom made notes. An hour passed in easy conversation which ranged from the garden, to birds and other inhabitants, to families.
‘You don’t have children?’ Tom asked.
‘No, we didn’t manage that. Perhaps if we had…’
‘You would be less able to make a new life for yourself,’ he finished for her. ‘I have a son,’ he told her and she stared in surprise. ‘He doesn’t live with me. I thought it better he stayed with his mother.’
Meriel was unable to ask further questions with the bigger question buzzing in her head. She must have been wrong about that solitary bed. How embarrassing if she had mentioned it to anyone. Thank goodness she wasn’t like Helen who would have blurted it out the moment the idea had taken root!
Evan phoned an hour after Tom had left, demanding to know who her visitor had been. Meriel replaced the receiver without saying a word. She was pleased with her self-control.
Evan was not in a good mood when he finally went home to Sophie. His irritation was increased when she appeared ready to go out.
‘I don’t want to go out this evening, can’t we have something at home for once?’
‘Pizza and salad?’
‘I hate pizza. Haven’t you learned that much?‘
Sophie knew perfectly well that pizza was his least favourite meal, which was why she offered it as an alternative to going out.
‘Eggs then?’
‘Oh all right, we’ll go out but only for a meal. I don’t feel like dancing tonight.’
He picked up his coat and didn’t hear the jeweller’s box fall from his pocket.
As they went out, Sophie picked it up and opened it. She frowned. An old secondhand watch? What was he thinking of? He didn’t think she’d want that for a Christmas present, surely? Evan stood at the open door, the cold night air blowing through the house, the hall light touching the top of his head and silvering his fair hair.
‘Thank you, Evan, but I think you should wrap this,’ she said as suspicion began to grow.
‘Where did you get that? Been going through my pockets?’ he said, snatching it from her.
‘If it’s for me, you don’t know me very well, either!’
‘I bought it and changed my mind. Realized I’d made a mistake. It’s going back to the shop after Christmas, I bought you something else.’
Her suspicions were confirmed when she saw the tip of some wrapping-paper sticking out of his pocket. She pulled it free and said slowly, ‘It was for her, wasn’t it? Threw it back in your face did she? Or are you planning to take it down tomorrow morning for a sentimental reunion to talk over old Christmases?’
On the quiet air, the silence was broken by someone knocking at the door of the adjoining semi. Then the thin voices of a couple of young carol singers reached them and touched Evan with their magic. He felt himself relax, aware of the anger draining away, and it was a shock when he was pushed aside by Sophie as she ran down the short path to the road, her tap-tapping heels giving a harsh discordancy to the gentle words of the carols.
For Helen and Reggie, having Henri to stay during the last part of the Christmas holiday was wonderful. Helen told her she had booked to take her to the pantomime, which Henri thought terribly embarrassing. ‘Mam, I’m fifteen! I don’t go to pantomine any more!’
‘Well I want to go and I can’t go on my own. You’ll love it, no one outgrows panto.’
‘I have and so have all my fiiends!’
‘All right, a shopping trip as well. Both or neither,’ she coaxed.
Henri was not convinced but she couldn’t turn down the prospect of a shopping trip.
During the interval, Henri was persuaded to buy an icecream and, still hoping not to bump into anyone she knew, she walked with head down, trying to avoid faces.
‘Henri? Fancy you enjoying panto. Or were you forced into it by a daft adult, like us?’
‘Rupert! I was trying to hide. They don’t know how they shame us, do they?’ Henri sighed.
‘Oliver and Marcus are here. Uncle Ken took a box for us and we’re missing everything that happens on the right of the stage,’ Rupert added. They both laughed at the stupidity of adults.
‘Soon be over,’ she said with yet another sigh.
‘There’s a disco next Friday, d’you think you’ll be able to come?’
‘Love to. I’m sure I can persuade Mum to let me go.’ They discussed this for a while and Henri returned to her seat with two rather soft ices and a wide smile.
Helen was pleased that, after the interval, Henri seemed more cheerful. But she made the mistake of saying so and Henri resorted once more to deep sighs and a refusal to smile.
Two men he immediately recognized were waiting for Ken when he reached home on Boxing Day. They were sitting in a car parked on the other side of the street and when he stepped out of his car they came to stand one each side of him, smiling but clearly threatening.
‘We have a proposition,’ one of them said. ‘A way of helping you to clear your debts.’
Hope and fear showed in Ken’s eyes as he waited for them to explain. Then as he listened, disappointment and then panic set in. He couldn’t do as they asked. Taking the consequences seemed the easiest way out, until his mother came and stood at the door, smiling, innocent, trusting. He could take a beating and would suffer it knowing he deserved it, but how could he put his mother at risk? The spokesman whispered softly, ‘I’ll be generous as it’s the season of goodwill and all that. I’ll give you until the New Year to decide. In the meantime, take care of your mother, won’t you?‘
Ken was trembling when he went inside and his mother was curious to know why he hugged her that bit longer than usual.
Tom was there when Meriel went to Holly Oak Lane to do a morning’s work during the holiday period between Christmas and New Year. Ray was there too and she tried not to look at them, still unsure about their relationship and afraid that her doubts would show.
The pond was completely cleared and waiting for a liner and some broken slabs, which they had decided would form the surround.
‘You can leave that to Ray and me,’ Tom said when he found her studying the layout of the area. ‘While it’s dry we thought we’d go and get the liner and perhaps put it in place this afternoon.’
‘It will want some sand below the plastic to protect it, and please make sure it’s level,’ she warned. ‘Use a spirit-level. You might not notice when it’s empty but when the water goes in it will look really silly if the level isn’t perfect.’
Laughing and promising to do precisely what she had told them, Tom and Ray left for the garden centre. The ground was too wet for digging and she looked around to decide on the best way to spend her morning. She had intended to deal with the pond but, as that had been taken from her, she went behind the shed and continued to clear the abandoned rubbish of years.
The wood she unearthed was rotten and crawling with beetles and she found a small toad, asleep and looking dead which she carefully re-covered. Amid a pile of pots and broken pottery, she found an old sink, which she dragged and pushed and finally placed on the path near the back door. A small herb garden? Or alpines? Or some wallflowers for their scent? She left a note with suggestions for Tom and Ray to consider.
Looking down at her clothes she was horrified at how muddy she had become. Unfortunately as she had been expecting to visit the garden centre and deal with a clean plastic pond-liner, she had dressed more tidily than usual and the clothes she was wearing were ruined.
To add to her annoyance, directed solely at herself, she took off her filthy coat only to find that the car wouldn’t start. The motor whined and did nothing more. She waited and tried again but eventually she put on her muddy coat and set off to walk, after adding to the note she had left for Tom and Ray.
She went home via the lanes wherever possible, dreading meeting someone and convinced that if she did, it would be the immaculate Cynthia in her spotlessly clean car. It wasn’t Cynthia whom she bumped into at the end of the road when she was almost home and safe from embarrassment, it was Sophie Hopkins.
Sophie too was far from immaculate. Her dress was creased and stained, her hair was in desperate need of attention and her make-up was ill—applied. She looked unwashed, as though she had just got out of bed and Meriel thought it likely that she had. Boasting that ‘easy-going’ was an accurate description of herself, Sophie had never been one to care too much what others thought, and it was quite likely she had just popped out without preparing herself for the day, to collect some milk — a bottle of which she held in her hand. All of which made it more irritating that the woman could see her like this and criticize her.
‘Been on another mudlark have we? If you’re trying to get Evan’s sympathy you’re wasting your time. He won’t fall for that old trick!’
‘Trick? What a devious mind you have,’ Meriel smiled. ‘A sign you’re lacking in confidence would you say?’
‘Hardly! I’m the one he chose to live with, after years of putting up with you.’
Meriel walked past her and, when she got to the gate, realized that Sophie had followed her. ‘Did you want something? Is there something else of mine you want to take?’
‘Didn’t you like the watch he bought for you? He offered it to me first,’ she lied. ‘But I don’t like old-fashioned, second- hand rubbish. So he offered it to you.’
Meriel said sweetly, ‘Watch? What watch? He didn’t give me a watch, perhaps it was for someone else entirely?’ Satisfied she had returned as good as she had received she went in. Placing the post unexamined on to the hall table, she stripped off and soaked in a deep bath scented with a generous helping of one of her more luxurious Christmas gifts.
When she looked at the post there were several for Evan. Why hadn’t he arranged for the post to be redirected like everyone else? she muttered. She picked up a pen and started to readdress them but stopped. The dogs needed a walk and she had no reason not to drop them through Evan and Sophie’s letter box. She was surely past the stage of trying to avoid them?
It was not yet three but darkness was hovering on the horizon, obliterating the distant coastline. Soon it would be spreading its cloak across the sea, and the blinking of two or three lights from small boats would be visible like fallen stars. A few of the houses she passed were lit but all still had their curtains open, unwilling to see the short day ended.
The curtains in Sophie and Evan’s lounge were closed. She wondered unkindly whether they had been closed all day. Opening the curtains was always the first thing she did, a matter of pride, if she were honest. Specially if she was a bit late rising, she hastily opened them as if afraid people would think she was lazy. What a stupid way to behave, as though anyone else cared! But she still felt a little smug to think Sophie had still not opened hers. More evidence that she had got out of bed very late and gone straight out for milk.
The dogs were soon sniffing around in the back garden as she approached from the cliff path. As she approached the door with the pile of letters ready to push through the letter- box, she heard the sound of quarrelling.
‘If you won’t take me out I’ll go on my own,’ she heard Sophie shout. This was followed by low and indecipherable words, obviously Evan. She pushed the letters through and was about to walk away when she heard Sophie scream her name.
‘Meriel, Meriel, Meriel! That’s all I hear, Meriel wouldn’t do this, Meriel didn’t need to enjoy herself. If Meriel was so perfect what are you doing here, with me? And what about that watch? Who did you really buy it for? Planning another change of residence, are you? Someone younger than me?’
Meriel ran down the path, deeply ashamed of both her eavesdropping and of the doubt she had placed in Sophie’s mind.
Churchill’s Garden was quiet when Meriel walked in the following morning. Assistants were busy rearranging the various shops. They were dismantling the seasonal displays that had become drab and shabby once the celebrations were over. The muddle of the Christmas aftermath, followed by the usual sales, had left the place looking far from its usual orderliness. There was a low murmur of conversation from behind the net curtains of the hairdressing salon, and the few customers in the cafe were whispering, as though subdued by the sober activities. Of the usual group of friends, only Cath was there, sitting in her usual table.
‘Are you ready for another coffee, Cath?’ Meriel asked after depositing her shopping to claim the table.
Cath stood up and moved to the larger table and handed Meriel a piece of paper. ‘These are the dates and venues of all the sales for January,’ she said. ‘Not many, and some of these are miles away. It’s always quiet after Christmas.’ When their coffee was in front of them they studied the list and decided which of the events they would attend.
Vivienne was the next to arrive. ‘My Toby is with Helen and Reggie,’ she said, glaring at Cath as though expecting her to ask.
Cath smiled and said, ‘I’m sure Helen enjoys that. She misses her children, no matter how bravely she copes without them.’
Mollified, Vivienne turned to Meriel. ‘Your Evan’s new woman is a lively one! You should have seen her the night before last. Star of the dance floor she was. Drunk enough to abandon all her inhibitions and just sober enough to stay upright. I went to a new club in town and she was there with another woman and they picked up a couple of lads. Having fun they were, was it a celebration? A birthday?’
‘How on earth would I know? And he isn’t my Evan!’ Meriel said firmly. ‘He lives with Sophie and I don’t care what she gets up to.’
‘Got up to plenty she did, mind.’ Vivienne said, taking a bite of a cream doughnut. ‘I don’t think she went home at all.’
Remembering the untidy appearance of Sophie when she saw her the previous morning, walking up the road carrying a bottle of milk, Meriel was confused. Her emotions twisting and weaving so it was impossible to analyze her feelings. She felt slight sympathy for Evan, then spiteful satisfaction that burned inside her. There was also bitterness and, although she tried to ignore it, a tiny tinge of hope.
‘Would you go back to him if he and Sophie separated?’ Vivienne asked watching Meriel’s face and the cavalcade of thoughts flitting across it.
There was a lack of certainty in Meriel’s, ‘No.’
On the beach with the dogs later that day Meriel was surprised to see Christian, Ken and Evan. She walked on, having decided to ignore him.
‘Don’t tell me you’ve got time to stroll along the beach in the afternoon,’ she teased Christian.
‘He’s looking for that cave I and my friends used to dare each other to go into as kids,’ Evan told her.
‘Rupert and Oliver came home covered in mud one day and I suspect they’re doing the same as Evan did,’ Christian explained with a grin. ‘Even though they promised not to.’
‘I don’t think it’s as deep as it used to be,’ Meriel said. ‘The dogs sometimes go in there but the opening seems to stop a few yards in. The stream that ran through the middle became a torrent for a while but it’s nothing more than a trickle now.’
‘Perhaps I was wrong then. They must have been somewhere else.’
‘The dogs get muddy here sometimes.’ Meriel explained. ‘I think the bank above is sodden after the wet autumn we’ve had and the soil is being washed into the sea.’
‘The boys did say they were muddy once after a swim.’
‘And you didn’t believe them,’ Ken teased. ‘Sign of a misspent youth when you suspect your kids of doing forbidden things!’
Christian looked up at the bank of earth above the rocks. ‘I think you’re right, Meriel, the soil is slipping after the rain.’
Joanne had a visitor that afternoon. She hadn’t appeared at the cafe that morning and no one had seen her for a few days, so Cynthia, on the way back from one of her charity lunches, parked in her drive and walked to the front door. The door was open and to her surprise she saw Joanne on her knees, polishing the stripped oak floor in the hall.
‘Oh dear, don’t tell me your cleaning lady’s let you down again?’
‘Why are they so unreliable?’ a flustered Joanne said, as she got up and disposed of dusters and polish. ‘It’s Fifi, she loves to play in the garden and the ground is so wet. So as I had to wipe it up, I decided to polish it as well, just to remind myself I still can,’ she tilted her head towards the kitchen, her face flushed from her exertions. ‘Coffee? Decaffeinated of course.’
‘Of course.’ Cynthia guessed from this occasion and several others that Joanne did her cleaning herself. What she couldn’t understand was why she lied about it. Meriel did her own, and so did a number of her friends. She had done so herself for years and had never found it in any way shaming. So why the secrecy? And more seriously, what else was she finding it necessary to lie about?
She drank the coffee and complimented Joanne on her delicious cake.
‘I’ll give you the recipe if you like?’ Joanne offered. While she was finding it, and copying it out, Cynthia went to the bathroom to replenish her make-up, leaving her bag lying on the couch.
Seeing the bag was open, with her wallet so temptingly on show, it was seconds only for Joanne to open it and remove two ten pound notes and replace the wallet exactly as she had found it.