In her desperation on 17 June, all Mum thought or remembered about Avril was that she had been the only person to see through the distortions surrounding the big book-club row. (Yep—another example of sides being taken in Swaffham Tilney.)
Except Avril hadn’t seen through anything. Mum just heard her say some words and decided, in order to feel less isolated in her own unusual perspective, to make them mean what she wanted them to mean, which, basically, was “I agree unreservedly with Sally Lambert.”
No, Avril Mattingley was far from being her dream collaborator, as Mum was about to discover.
11
Monday 17 June 2024
Sally
Before either woman says anything, Sally starts to worry that Avril is not the right person after all. As a general rule, one’s perfect helper is not already crying about something else—something you don’t have time to wonder about, relating to their own life—when you most need them to focus on you and your problem.
Avril is in her late thirties with light-brown, center-parted hair that lies flat against her head as if pasted to it. The tops of her ears sometimes poke through. Sally has gotten into the habit of looking out for this and feeling ever so slightly disappointed when no pink ear-tip is visible, as is the case today. For the first time, Sally is getting to see the inside of Avril’s house, which has dark stripy wallpaper on both sides of its tunnel-like hall—white and either navy or black, Sally can’t tell. Bad choice for such a narrow space, she thinks, and way too many framed photographs on both sides.
Beyond the hall, in whatever room is at the far end of it, a child starts to wail. Sally can’t remember how old Avril’s youngest is.
“This isn’t a great time, as you can probably tell,” Avril says. “Can it wait?”
“Not really,” says Sally. “I need help and I don’t have time to… I need helpfast.” As she says it, she knows that not a single person would agree that this is an every-second-counts crisis. They’re all wrong. Given what the Gaveys have already done, there’s no telling what they might do next. Sally has to get herself and Champ out of the Hayloft and far away from Swaffham Tilney, and it can’t wait.
“Youneed help?” Avril looks and sounds affronted. “I mean…no offense, but have you seen the state of me? I swear to God…” She looks over her shoulder as the wailing turns into a gargling scream.
Sally hears a man’s voice repeating a mantra: “Nothing happened. Nothing happened.” She guesses that the shrieking child is correct in thinking that something did, in fact, happen. “Avril, can you come and give me a hand,” her husband shouts. Nick: That’s his name.
“Do you sometimes wish you’d never had kids?” Avril says. “And by ‘sometimes,’ I mean all the time?”
Sally doesn’t, ever. Her children, furry and non-furry, are the best part of her life. She often used to wish Mary Poppins were real and would drift down from the sky to help with childcare, but only because she knew that would have been as much fun for Ree and Tobes as it would have been a relief for her.
“Avril, please… I know it’s a lot to ask, but can you let Nick deal with whatever it is and help me?” she says. “It’ll cost you nothing: just a few minutes of your time. I wouldn’t ask if I were any less desperate, but it’s a life-or-death emergency.”
This has a visible perking-up effect. Now Avril’s interested.
“The Gaveys are trying to kill Champ,” Sally tells her.
“Champ? Oh, right. Your dog.” There’s no mistaking the downgrading that just took place in Avril’s mind. The change in her expression said it all: instant de-prioritization.
Then it gets worse.
“I’m sure that’s not true,” Avril says. Does it make sense to say that a voice sounds as if it’s rolling its eyes in frustrated impatience? If so, that’s how her voice sounds.
“Look, Sally, hard as this might be to hear, not everyone’s like you.”
“Meaning?”
“You’re really going to make me say it?” Avril sighs.
“What choice do I have, when I’ve no clue what you’re on about? Conversations don’t work unless the people having them understand each other.”
Way too harsh. Shit.That was snapping, not chatting. It wasn’t neighborly, let alone friendly.
Strangely, it seems to have a softening effect on Avril. “Look,” she says in a kinder tone. “Not everyone loves dogs. Not everyone wants a smelly, slightly muddy animal with bad breath slobbering all over them—”
“But that doesn’t mean they want them dead?” Sally interrupts her. “Is that what you’re about to tell me? Great, I agree. The problem is, the Gaveysdowant Champ to be killed. Or… or did you mean it’s okay if the Gaveys think Champ’s a smelly, muddy dog and are trying to kill him for that reason?”
Now Avril’s face rolls its eyes, as well as her voice. “You’re being ridiculous,” she says.
“I really hope so,” says Sally. “I’d be so thrilled to be wrong and have nothing to fear. Anyway, look, I’m sorry to bother you. This was a mistake.”
