You’re good with people, Jules, she said to herself. You work as part of a team, deal with parents and grandparents, doctors, hospital porters, all sorts of different people, every day. This social phobia is getting out of hand. You don’t want to go back to the time after Dad died when you totally withdrew into yourself. You’ve worked hard to overcome that.
‘Then let’s just sit together,’ the woman said. ‘Talking can be very over-rated at times and not everyone wants an over-enthusiastic welcome to a new place.’
She smiled in such an understanding way that Jules felt flooded with guilt.
‘I’m Jo, by the way.’
‘Jules, and…’
Jo’s eyes flickered briefly as if she knew something that Jules didn’t, which was completely ridiculous.
‘…I’d love to have a cup of tea with you, Jo. Just normal tea. Thank you.’
Jules took a seat at one of the outside tables and listened to the happy chatter of the other people waiting to pick up their sons or daughters or grandchildren. There were little jam jars of flowers in the centre of each table and a bee landed on a pale pink dahlia. Jules sat back and watched as it gathered pollen.
‘Here we are,’ Jo said, placing a tray on the table. ‘I picked up some cake as well. It’s a sin to have tea at this time of day without a slice of something sweet. Raspberry Bakewell and a pistachio slice. Take your pick or I can cut them in half and we can both have a bit of each. If you don’t want any, I can take it back for my son, Dan. He never says no to any sort of food.’
‘They do look good,’ Jules said. ‘I’ll try a tiny piece of the Bakewell tart, please.’
Jo passed her a vintage flowered plate and cut up the cakes before pouring the tea. Jules waved away the offer of milk.
‘I really don’t know why you don’t drink it black,’ Gavin used to say as he measured a teaspoon full of milk into her drinks. Any more and she’d have to risk upsetting him and chuck the tea away.
Her worrying about upsetting him. That was rich! She nibbled at the shortcrust pastry and settled back in her chair. Through the window she could hear children’s laughter and a man’s rich voice telling them all how well they had done. She glanced at Jo, who had her head thrown back and eyes closed.
‘Are you Isle of Wight born and bred?’ Jules asked.
‘Goodness, no,’ Jo said, placing her cup back in its saucer and breaking off a small piece of pistachio cake. ‘We’ve only been here a few years.’
Suddenly Jules sensed that she was more guarded. Her body language had changed. Only slightly, but Jules was used to noticing things like that.
‘It feels like a good place to move to. My friend settled here in the spring. I’m visiting her, sort of.’
‘That’s nice. Good friends are very important.’
‘Carrie’s the best.’
Jo nodded slowly.
‘You know her? Does everyone know everyone else on this island?’
‘It feels like that sometimes,’ Jo said, half laughing, but her green eyes were wary, and she looked vaguely familiar.
‘I’m staying at Hideaway Cottage. Do we, I mean, this sounds ridiculous,’ Jules stuttered, ‘but do we know each other? You seem familiar. You didn’t have your son at the maternity unit in Manchester, did you? I remember a lot of my mums, but sometimes I bump into someone, and they tell me I looked after them when they had their baby.’
The woman hesitated. Her eyes studied Jules very carefully.
‘I’m from somewhere near London so no is the answer to your last question.’
She leaned closer and wrapped her hands completely around her teacup, holding it steady in the saucer.
‘We’ve met before though, but not for a very long time. I think you were about eight. I’m a friend of your mother’s. She still refers to me as Claudia from time to time, although I wish she wouldn’t. My name is Jo now.’
Jules gasped.
‘You are the person who sent Mum the details about Hideaway Cottage, which became a sanctuary for Carrie and caused her to meet Guy and…’
‘…and now you’re here,’ Jo whispered. ‘I thought I recognised you, but…’
