‘Could we possibly have a piece each to save for later?’ she asked. ‘I can’t resist your lovely cake, but I’m full now. We had a big lunch. Maybe it’ll give us both an energy boost when we’re flagging later? There’s still a lot more to do before we go back to Rick’s.’
Beryl considered this suggestion, and then agreed, cutting them each a slice and wrapping it in the greaseproof paper that had been underneath her cake. ‘There you go,’ she said. ‘Now I must get back and do a few more jobs before I get ready for tonight. It’s going to be a good one, I’m on a roll. Colonel Mustard with the dagger.’ Beryl mimed stabbing someone, rather too realistically for Vee’s liking.
‘Tonight?’ Was she missing something, Vee wondered? She felt as if she’d dropped into a parallel universe. One that was strangely familiar but also very unpredictable.
‘It’s games night at the pub,’ Rick said. ‘We go every Thursday, don’t we, Beryl? I play solo whist with three friends and the Saga Louts usually have a go at Cluedo, or Monopoly if they’re feeling like being property magnates. You should come along.’
That wasn’t how Vee had imagined her evening progressing. She’d had hopes of a hot, bubbly bath, some warm pyjamas and her fluffy dressing gown, and an early night with a sandwich to eat in bed while she read a thriller. She tried to find the right words to refuse gratefully, not wanting to offend the man who’d rescued her from sleeping on an ancient camp bed in a house that still smelt faintly of weed and other people’s sweat. Luckily, Rick seemed to sense her discomfort before she had chance to reply.
‘I can see you’d rather have some chill-out time later,’ he said. ‘There’ll be plenty of opportunities for you to soak up local life at the pub in the future. You’re here for good now, aren’t you?’
Two words echoed around Vee’s mind.For good.Was she? To make this new life work and to really love it, she was going to have to make a massive effort to face up to her past, and that was something that Vee had absolutely no idea how to do. Not a clue.
10
Beryl said her goodbyes, picked up her tin and returned home by the safer route. She would have rather scaled the fence again just to show those youngsters that she wasn’t past it, but using the front door would avoid the danger of another tumble like the one that had landed her in hospital earlier in the year. She felt fully fit again now but it had to be admitted that she wasn’t a spring chicken any more and old bones took longer to mend. Today’s climb had definitely been a bit of bravado. She knew she’d been shamelessly showing off to Venetia, but the music had got into her soul as she stood in her garden taking the air and Beryl had decided to throw caution to the winds.
Caution. That had never been one of Beryl’s favourite words. It belonged withcarefulandsensibleandprudent. Her mother had been fond of words like these, but Beryl had never tried to conform to anyone else’s rules unless it was the only option. It was a minor miracle that she’d managed to wangle an interview for the post of doctor’s receptionist. She remembered giggling with Tallulah as she had tried on the borrowed skirt and jacket in serviceable gunmetal grey. It had been a perfect fit. Both women had been petite and slim, with small waists and dainty feet.
‘I can’t believe you own an outfit like this,’ Beryl had said. ‘It makes me look like a funeral director. When did you ever wear it?’
‘Funnily enough, I bought it to go to Ivan’s godfather’s funeral,’ Tallulah said. ‘It was a really boring affair. Only one hymn, a very long eulogy and no booze afterwards. I haven’t worn it since, needless to say. Mind you, with your pink shirt underneath, it does jazz the whole thing up a bit. And those are killer heels.’
Beryl did a twirl in front of the mirror. ‘Do you think they’ll employ me?’ she said. ‘I think I’ve got what it takes. I could scare away any troublesome patients, no problem. And not only that, I peeped through the hatch into the office last time I was in the surgery and if you ask me, they’re in dire need of a good sort out.’
‘That’s your joker, so don’t forget to play it at the interview,’ said Tallulah. ‘Your house is always tidy and neat. Not like mine. It looks like a tornado’s hit it. I’ve only two kids, but Venetia and Cassie make enough mess for six. Now off you go and impress those doctors. You’re going to be a brilliant receptionist.’
Tallulah had been right. Berylwasvery good at her job, and she’d gradually adapted her work clothes so that she reminded everyone less of a funeral director and more of a very smart hotel manager. It had been a good time, and it only ended when Patrick fell ill. After his death, there hadn’t seemed any point in going to work, even if she’d been able to. Crippling sadness had taken every bit of her energy. Eddie had been bringing enough money in for both of their basic needs and neither had the heart for frivolities. They’d clung together, seeing nobody else unless they had to. Gradually they had emerged from the worst of their grief, but then Eddie had succumbed to a rare form of cancer, eerily similar to the illness that had done for their poor Patrick.
It was odd, but instead of plunging Beryl back into her pit of melancholy, Eddie’s death had the opposite effect. It was like an awakening. She missed him terribly, but nothing could have been worse than what happened to Patrick, so there was no choice but to pick herself up and carry on. And that was where the Saga Louts came in.
Thinking of her two best friends, Beryl realised she was going to have to hurry if she wanted to have time for a shower and a spruce up before games night at the pub. She rushed through her household tasks like a whirlwind, ending by mopping the kitchen floor and singing along to her favourite Michael Bublé CD. Beryl’s energy levels were flagging now but she’d had the forethought to prepare a snack tray so that she didn’t have to paddle across the wet floor. She took it upstairs to eat while she relaxed, propped up with a heap of pillows on her bed. Stilton cheese, crackers and a couple of tomatoes. Lovely.
Fortified, she swallowed the last mouthful, reached for her phone and called Winnie. ‘Are you all ready for tonight?’ she said, when her friend answered, sounding out of breath. ‘I’m wondering whether to wear the peach dress with the peacock-feather pattern or my mauve with spots. What do you think?’
‘Peach. The mauve one drains your colour, honey. Makes you look like you’ve been dug up. Excuse me panting, I was just bleaching the loo. Bending doesn’t suit me these days. Too much padding in the way.’
Beryl couldn’t decide whether to be offended or not. The mauve dress was her secret favourite. Still, shehadasked. Best not to respond. ‘Are you getting a lift with Anthea?’ she said.
‘Nah. She’s still saying she doesn’t want to be the only one on soft drinks. We’re taking a taxi again tonight. See you there at 7p.m.?’
‘Okay. Frank’s calling for me and we’re walking across.’
Beryl ended the call and frowned. It wasn’t like Anthea to avoid driving twice running. Was there some other reason? Their friend had had a health blip of her own fairly recently. Beryl had a sudden panicky feeling when she imagined what her life might be like without her two sidekicks. It didn’t bear thinking about. Her relationship with Frank, who had moved to Willowbrook from Sheffield with his son and daughter-in-law, was still in its fledgling stages. He was a kind man, but their friendship didn’t compare with the bond between the Saga Louts.
Stop being so depressing, she told herself sternly.You’re a lucky woman. You still have a fair bit of life left to live, with luck, and so have they. Go and have a shower and put your glad rags on. Tonight’s going to be fun.
Without further ado, Beryl hastened to get ready, and by the time Frank rang the doorbell, she was primped and prettified, dressed in the rather startling peach frock with matching lipstick and nail varnish. She opened the door with a flourish and Frank took a step back, pretending to swoon.
‘Who areyou, you dazzling creature, and what have you done with my friend Beryl?’ he said.
Beryl rolled her eyes at him and led the way to the living room. ‘Come in and wait for a minute, you sweet-talking devil. I just need to give my hair a quick spray,’ she said.
This didn’t take long, although there was a short delay to fetch Frank a glass of water when he had a coughing fit as a cloud of heavily scented hairspray hit the back of his throat. Soon, however, they were making their way down the path to the pub arm in arm, with Frank extolling the virtues of the willow trees flowing gracefully down into the brook that wound its way across the village green.
‘Oh, Beryl, those trees are stunning,’ he said. ‘I didn’t think I was going to like it here, but I can’t imagine living in a city now.’
‘You say that every time we walk over the green,’ said Beryl. ‘I hope you’re not going to get boring on me.’ But she couldn’t help taking furtive sidelong glances at Frank as he strode along. When he’d arrived in Willowbrook not so long ago, he’d been something of a shambles, in Beryl’s opinion. Recently widowed after a very difficult time when his beloved wife Lottie had suffered from gradually worsening dementia, Frank had looked dishevelled and mournful.
