The Impulse Purchase, page 29
‘I was an English teacher at Meadow Hall. My husband left me for one of the mothers. It kind of all fell apart.’ She made a face. ‘I couldn’t face all the gossip. So I resigned. And then I lost my driving licence as well.’
‘Ouch,’ said Amanda, wincing.
‘I know. I hate myself for it. But it’s impossible to get a decent job round here if you can’t drive. Though I love working for Dash and Tabitha.’
‘It does seem a waste, though.’
‘When I get my licence back . . .’ Nicola gave a wan smile. ‘Or I’ve thought of private tutoring. I’m going to try that for the new academic year. I do know my stuff.’
‘I can see that.’ Amanda put a hand on hers. ‘Take it from me. I’ve been around the block a few times. Things will get better.’
Nicole managed a smile. ‘Hopefully.’
Amanda picked up the wine bottle and offered it to Nicole, who shook her head.
‘No, thanks,’ she said. ‘I’m working early tomorrow.’
‘So where do you live?’
‘Um . . . Kerslake Crescent,’ said Nicole, grateful that the newcomer probably wouldn’t have any idea of its reputation.
‘You are kidding me?’ Amanda shook her head in amazement. ‘What number?’
‘Five?’ said Nicole, her heart sinking.
‘Oh my God. That’s the house I grew up in. Me and my five brothers and sisters. Can you believe it?’
‘Really?’ Nicole couldn’t. How could this glossy, successful, smart woman have begun life in Kerslake Crescent?
Amanda sighed. ‘We had a tough old time of it. My mum died when I was ten. My dad was the postman. And he did odd jobs in the village. He was the handyman up at Rushbrook House. He worked all the hours he could. I guess maybe that’s where I got my drive from.’
‘You’re a TV producer, right?’ Nicole asked. ‘That must be fascinating.’
‘Oh no. Not really.’ Amanda waved her hand dismissively. ‘It’s like running a glorified creche. As long as you keep everyone fed, you’re winning.’
She threw back her head and laughed, and Nicole joined in. She was having a great time. Good conversation, a bit of stimulation and some attention. That was all she needed. She didn’t need drink. She needed to get out more, that was all.
During the interval, after the grazing platters had been devoured, Russell went off to the bar to fetch more drinks, Tabitha and Dash were chatting with another table, and Maggie was about to go and find Cherry when the Reverend Matt took her hand in his.
‘This has been a wonderful evening. You’ve brought the village back together. I wish my Sunday services were as popular. Perhaps Clive could be prevailed upon to swell the congregation.’
Maggie laughed. ‘He’s in his element.’
‘It’s good to see people venturing out. Russell, for example.’
‘Yes.’ The very mention of his name flustered her.
The Reverend leant forward. ‘It would be all right,’ he said, ‘to dip your toe in again, you know. It’s not a betrayal.’
Maggie lowered her lashes and tried to look demure.
‘I’m not . . . I don’t . . .’ She couldn’t think of what to say. Matt nodded, understanding her discomfort.
‘Just go gently,’ he said. ‘And you know where I am. God doesn’t have to come into it. I’m a safe pair of ears.’
And he stood up, disappearing off into the crowds. Maggie watched after him in astonishment, mixed with fondness. How kind and perspicacious he was. Probably the two most important things in a vicar. She hoped that no one else was as eagle-eyed. She looked around. Never mind eagle-eyed, they were all pie-eyed. The pub quiz looked to be a roaring success. It was just gone nine and the joint was jumping. Clive was in his element, being congratulated and slapped on the back. She thought it was probably the most social interaction he’d had for months, but she felt pleased. Wasn’t that what a local was for, bringing people out of their shells?
She walked back to her table and slid into the seat next to Dash, who had come back to his seat. ‘I think we’re in with a chance of winning,’ he said. ‘The Matts are ferocious. Is there anything the Rev doesn’t know?’
‘I don’t know if I should be seen to be on the winning team,’ said Maggie, suddenly anxious.
‘Oh, I don’t think anyone would mind,’ he assured her.
‘Well, if we do win, I’ll put my prize back into the ring.’
‘That’s very honourable.’
She hesitated for a moment before lowering her voice. ‘Can I just ask – I know Chloe’s done a bit of work for you. Is everything all right at home, do you know?’
He frowned, looking uncertain.
‘Honestly, don’t answer if you don’t want to. But I’m a bit worried about her.’
He took a sip of his pint before answering. ‘I know. She’s an absolutely lovely girl. We’re very fond of her.’ His eyes flicked over to Nicole. ‘Nicole’s a complicated character. She’s super bright, you know. She shouldn’t just be cleaning for us. And when she’s on it, she’s great. But . . .’
He made a face. He was trying to be discreet. Maggie understood that you had to be careful what you said in a village like Rushbrook. Once you’d divulged a secret, you couldn’t hide it again.
‘Do you think she’s got a drink problem?’
Dash looked at his pint. ‘It’s hard to say. We all overdo it from time to time, don’t we? And she’s got a lot on her plate, bringing up three kids on her own. I get the feeling the dad isn’t much help. Just buys them Playstations or iPads every now and then. But Chloe definitely seems to have too much responsibility.’
‘That’s what I thought,’ said Maggie. ‘She seems to look after all of them.’
‘Yes. And she seems very anxious a lot of the time. They all rely on her far too much. Even the bloody hamster.’ Dash sighed. ‘But what can we do? It’s a very fine line between protecting and interfering. And Nicole is very . . .’ He searched for the right word. ‘Evasive. But also so capable. On a good day, you would have no idea there was anything wrong.’ He looked across at the table where Nicole was demurely sipping mineral water.
‘Hmm,’ said Maggie, not sure if she felt better now her suspicions had been confirmed, or worse.
Dash put down his glass. ‘I’m so pleased to see how well Chloe’s doing here. And you’re great role models for her. It’s what she needs, I think.’
‘Thank you. We’re very invested in Chloe’s future. She’s a valuable part of our team already. We’ll do everything we can to help her.’
‘Good,’ said Dash. ‘She’s got a lot of potential, that one. I’d love to see her flourish.’
Dash and Maggie exchanged looks, so much unsaid but so much understood.
The final round was tense. In the end, they had to have a tie-breaker. It was between the Reverend Matt and Nicole, both of whom had been nominated by their tables. The two of them stood up while Clive read out the final question.
‘Closest answer wins,’ he said. ‘How many minutes is the total running time of the 1972 film The Godfather?’
The Reverend Matt put his hands to his head while he thought.
‘A hundred and eighteen?’ he ventured.
Nicole tried to focus. It was definitely more than two hours. She’d seen it several times. She ran through the whole thing, trying to estimate. She reckoned just short of three hours, to get through all that betrayal and revenge.
‘A hundred and sixty-four?’
Clive held the answer in front of him, teasing the room while he waited to announce. He finally put them out of their misery.
‘A hundred and seventy-eight minutes,’ he said, and held out his arm to Nicole. ‘We have a winner.’
Nicole beamed as she sat back down, and everyone on her table congratulated her, patting her on the back.
‘How did you get so close?’ asked Amanda.
‘It’s one of my favourite films. I went through every scene in my head and made an educated guess.’
She felt a little bit shaky. She wasn’t used to so much attention, and the thrill of winning had filled her with adrenaline.
A moment later, Theo was holding out a glass of champagne for her. He was the sort of man who made champagne appear from nowhere.
‘Just one,’ said Amanda. ‘You deserve it.’
She did deserve it, thought Nicole, stretching out her hand. Just one. Just one glass. After all, she couldn’t remember the last time she had drunk champagne.
Maggie was relieved that their team didn’t win. The trophy went to the brazenly named Wisteria Winners. Amanda and Theo had bought a bottle of champagne to celebrate, and were congratulating her on a great evening.
‘Better than any London night out,’ declared Theo. ‘Moving here is the best thing we ever did. I wish we’d done it sooner.’
‘We’ve got friends for the weekend so we’re going to have dinner here tomorrow. And maybe Sunday lunch,’ Amanda told her. ‘But I’m not angling for special treatment,’ she added hastily.
Maggie made a mental note to make sure they were cossetted, because she knew they had the potential to be very valuable customers.
Across the room, Chloe’s face fell at the sight of Theo topping up Nicole’s champagne glass. Her mum looked as if she was having fun, chatting with the Bannisters, laughing, looking carefree. It was already after ten o’clock but she couldn’t face the thought of reminding her of her promise to be home on time. It wouldn’t be fair to drag her away – she’d done so brilliantly winning the quiz. Nevertheless, she felt let down. Yet again, it was going to fall to her to be the responsible one. She made her way over to Maggie.
‘I’m really sorry. I need to go home. I can’t leave Pearl alone with Otis. Not after last week. They’ll just fight. She gets upset and she’s only twelve. I’ve told Mum she can’t leave them after ten o’clock. Pearl should be in bed and she won’t go to bed if there’s no one there.’
‘It’s OK, we can manage without you. You’ve done an amazing job tonight. Honestly, don’t worry.’
Chloe’s forehead wrinkled and her cheeks flushed with worry.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course! See you tomorrow.’ Maggie reached out and gave her a reassuring hug, then watched as Chloe took off her apron and went to put it in the kitchen before hurrying off.
Maggie was concerned. It shouldn’t be on Chloe to take the responsibility for Otis and Pearl. Should it? She glanced over at Nicole, who was animated, clearly enjoying her win. She was talking to Clive now, who looked as if all his Christmasses had come at once, for Nicole was very beguiling. Chloe had made reference to how tough her mum found it, being on her own and without a proper job. ‘Dad just does exactly what he wants with Elizabeth,’ Chloe had said, ‘and Mum really struggles.’ Struggles, thought Maggie, was code for drinks. It was so easy, to take refuge in a bottle when things got tough. A six o’clock sharpener could so easily turn into a binge.
Maggie felt for Nicole. She knew better than anyone how the rug could be pulled out from under you. She had been lucky to be surrounded by people who loved and supported her when Frank died, and maybe Nicole didn’t have that luxury. And there were times, Maggie knew, when she had leaned heavily on Rose for comfort. So she wasn’t going to judge her too harshly.
And although Nicole wasn’t her responsibility, Chloe was, and they would be there for her, to support her and give her advice. That was the kind of boss she wanted to be, thought Maggie. Caring. Open. Proactive, when appropriate. She never wanted to see any of her staff struggle.
As she made her way back to the table, Russell was standing up ready to leave.
‘Are you off?’ she asked, disappointed.
‘Pigs don’t give a flying monkey’s if you’ve had a late one,’ he said ruefully, and she laughed. ‘But I’m really glad I came. I have to admit I’m out of practice on the socialising front.’
‘My job forces me to be social,’ said Maggie. ‘Or I’d be on the sofa every night in my pyjamas. Though I can’t actually remember the last time I went out just for fun.’
Even Mario had been work-related, she told herself.
‘Well, us being on the same team fuelled the village gossip, anyway.’ He rolled his eyes with a smile. ‘Three people asked me if we were an item. What are they like?’
‘Oh, I know. Doesn’t it drive you mad? Can’t they mind their own business? Don’t they understand that we’re single because we want to be? Honestly!’
He was nodding. ‘I mean, the only thing we’ve got in common is we’re both single.’
‘Well, quite.’ Maggie frowned. ‘Though we don’t know that, do we – we might have loads in common.’
Russell looked at her. ‘Are you a fan of Hawkwind, then?’ he asked, deadpan.
Maggie laughed. ‘ “Silver Machine”? It’s a classic. Though I have to admit I’m not familiar with their entire back catalogue.’
Was this flirting, wondered Maggie? It felt like it. Light-hearted teasing banter, back and forth. Both of them making eye contact. Both of them smiling. She felt a rush of impulsivity.
‘Why don’t we go on a date to find out if we have got anything in common? That would give them something to talk about.’ She panicked as he looked puzzled. ‘A pretend date, I mean.’
‘A pretend date?’
‘Just for fun. I actually really miss going out. Sometimes I want to go out for something to eat or go to the movies and I realise it’s just boring old me for company.’ Oh God. She’d put her foot in it. He was looking at her aghast.
But then he grinned.
‘Why not? We can fuel the village gossip and have a laugh into the bargain.’
‘We could keep it up for months.’
‘Yeah. What do they call that? Friends without benefits.’
Maggie shrugged. ‘Just friends will do.’
‘Yes, but they don’t have to know that. And then we won’t get endlessly asked have you found anyone yet?’
Maggie rolled her eyes. ‘Oh yes. If I had a penny for every time someone asked that . . .’
He put his hand out. ‘It’s a deal.’
She took it, laughing, remembering the first time she had met him and taken her hand away.
‘So – when?’ he said.
‘I can only really do early in the week. We don’t do food Monday and Tuesdays . . .’
‘Do you like bikes? Motorbikes?’
‘Um, I don’t know. I’ve never been on one.’ Maggie was embarrassed at how sheltered she seemed. How very uncool.
‘I was going to take mine for a run over the moors. Maybe stop for a picnic somewhere? Monday afternoon?’
Maggie’s tummy turned over at the thought of being behind him on a motorbike. Her mouth felt a little dry. That was definitely out of her comfort zone. But why not? Why shouldn’t she have an adventure? A thrill went through her and she smiled.
‘You’re on!’
‘I’ll pick you up at two.’
‘What do I wear?’
‘Jeans. Boots. Something with sleeves. I’ll bring you a jacket and helmet.’
Her stomach turned over. Was this reckless?
‘I’ll be ready.’
He gave her a wink and moments later he was out the door.
Friends without benefits, thought Maggie. The perfect arrangement. Surely the butterflies in her stomach were the thought of going on the back of motorbike for the first time at the age of forty-seven? There was a first time for everything.
47
It was Lorraine from the shop who gave them the heads-up, as always the first in Rushbrook to know when anything was afoot. She phoned the Three Swans first thing on Tuesday morning and Maggie answered.
‘You’re in one of the big papers!’ she told her gleefully. ‘A review. A good one, too. I’ve saved you three copies. I’ve cut one out and put it up in the shop.’
Maggie felt a rush of affection for the shopkeeper. Her heart was in the right place, despite her penchant for gossip and conjecture.
‘I’ll send someone down for it.’
‘There’s a parcel here for Cherry too.’
Maggie texted Chloe to see if she could pick up the papers and the parcel on her way in. As soon as she arrived, they spread the paper out on the biggest table in the dining room, all clustering round: Maggie, Rose and Cherry, Winnie and Chloe.
Maggie read the review out loud.
Somerset these days seems to be full of people with no discernible job but happy to pay more than £300 for a square metre of wallpaper. This is not my tribe. But I’ve just been to stay with very dear friends who’ve just bought a house in the tiny village of Rushbrook. My heart sank when they suggested going to dinner at their local pub. ‘It’s just been done up,’ they cried.
Britain is full of gastro pubs bought by enthusiastic wannabe landlords who splash about a bit of Hague blue, find someone to supply them artisanal sausages and watch the pounds roll in, only to go bust a few months later because actually they have no idea about hospitality, catering or profit margins.
The Three Swans in Rushbrook was bought recently by a mother, daughter and granddaughter trio. If you’re a boomer bloke like me, you probably had a poster of Cherry Nicholson stuck to your bedroom wall. She was the chick on the motorbike in silver hot-pants we all grew up fantasising about. Now, however, she is the respectably clad front of house and the driving force behind the pub. She saved it from development, much to the gratitude of the locals who are thronging there.
Cue Farrow and Ball, quirky objets d’art and interesting lighting. Though Nicholson has a surer hand and a better imagination than most; it’s like walking into the home of your schoolmate with the really cool parents. And there are dogs everywhere. I tripped over the vicar’s pug on arrival. Cherry’s daughter, the redoubtable Maggie with a background in food PR, runs the kitchen with a rod of iron, two miniature wire-haired Dachshunds in her wake. Granddaughter Rose is in charge of the gardens and the de rigueur rescue chickens.
The food is nothing special. Unless you like thick chunks of ham with a ginger marmalade glaze, perfectly fried eggs and your chips crisp on the outside and marshmallow fluffy on the inside. Or a pie with French-polished pastry, hiding chicken and leeks coated in a perfectly piquant mustardy cream. Or feather-light treacle sponge drenched in vanilla-flecked custard.
