‘Oh, Mum, what have you been saying?’
‘Cross my heart I have been the soul of discretion and normality.’
‘Mum, you have never been normal.’
Beulah beamed.
‘That’s one of the nicest things you have ever said to me, darling.’ She leaned closer. ‘Lance was very agitated when he arrived. I’ve made him some of my lemon verbena tea to calm him.’
Jules glanced at her reflection in the hall mirror. The walk had given her a glow. A lot of the inner anxiety she had been feeling, and which had manifested all over her face, seemed to have vanished. In spite of everything she looked better, felt stronger. She tucked a stray wisp of hair back into her ponytail and slipped off her walking shoes.
‘Lance,’ she said, walking into the kitchen, ‘what a surprise.’
He came straight over to her and took her hands.
‘Oh!’ she said as her fingers met his and a spark of electricity ran through her.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked, bending forwards a little.
‘Yes, I’m fine, thank you.’
‘I heard what happened. Not what you need on holiday.’
‘No.’
He dropped her hands and waved his arm around.
‘I hope it hasn’t made you feel differently about the cottage. Made you want to leave. Guy wouldn’t want that.’
‘No, strangely not, although I’ll have to go back to Manchester soon. I can’t hide away here forever, and I’ve made a decision to report my… Gavin to the police. There might be other women in my situation. I don’t want anyone else to go through what I have.’
He pulled out a kitchen chair from the table and sat down suddenly.
‘That’s a relief. Not the going back. I mean the not going back, at least not just yet. And I’m glad that you’re going to report him.’ He looked at her. ‘You sound different. As if…’
‘As if I’m over him?’
‘No, no, of course not, just coming to terms with what’s happened.’
She smiled.
‘I think I am.’
He pressed his fingers to his forehead.
‘This is difficult, and the timing might be all wrong, but I didn’t want you to go until…’ He lifted his head and sniffed the air. ‘Can I smell burning? Is something on fire?’
‘That’ll be my mother,’ she said with a strained smile.
‘Your mother’s on fire? Should we rescue her?’
‘She’s smudging; burning sage to purify the atmosphere and promote healing for the cottage and us.’
‘Oh!’
‘When I was a child, I’d often come home from school to find her wafting around the house with some sage, chanting as she went. As you can imagine, I didn’t ask many friends back for tea!’
‘My mother’s a neat freak so I wasn’t allowed to ask anyone back for tea. Small boys tend to make a lot of mess.’
