Imogen’s breath caught in her throat. There was her house. She glanced up quickly to make sure no one was on the patio; the bi-fold doors were shut. It was the same upstairs on the balcony – no one was there. She breathed out, feeling safe enough to go closer. Keeping to the edge of the lawn, she smiled in recognition at the heleniums she’d planted three years ago with Rosie on a day when she was off sick from school, an attempt to cheer her from her cold. Their deep orange blooms glowed softly in the last of the light. Arthur was pulling her onwards, recognizing his home, Imogen knew, and she shortened the lead to keep him close. It wouldn’t do for Nancy to spot the movement of a dog in her back garden. And Arthur was straining at the lead as he had smelt the chickens that Imogen could hear clucking in a pen across the other side of the garden. He’d chase them, given half the chance. Imogen went further still, emboldened by the knowledge she hadn’t been seen, until she was within spitting distance of the house itself. She stopped for a moment, looking across at the windows, whichhad their curtains drawn. Imogen could see tantalizing glimpses of lights burning in rooms she used to own. But try as she might, she couldn’t see properly into any of the rooms. The cracks in the curtains were too small. She suddenly, desperately, wanted to see something, anything and so she would go a little further, she thought, just around to the front and then she would head home again.
She walked past the four-hundred-year-old oak tree where the swing still hung from one of the low branches and around the north side of the house to the front driveway. As she turned the corner of the building, she stopped. There, on the driveway, was a large skip. And in the darkness, various jagged, haphazard shapes protruded and suddenly Imogen recognized her beautiful grey front door on the top. Ripped off its hinges and discarded.
Thrown away. Devalued. Tossed aside.
It shouldn’t affect her the way it did – it was only a door, for God’s sake – but it was like a slap in the face. A reminder that it was no longer her house, it belonged to someone else and they could do whatever they liked to it. She looked back up at it, at its new front door – a bright yellow one – and it looked good, goddammit, but she hated it. Hated the fact it no longer looked like her home. Then, it was as if once she could see one thing, she could see many. The solar panels on the roof, the start of what looked like the installation of a heat pump. And in the skip itself, some carpets.
For the first time she felt as if she was trespassing – as if she’d been called out and made a fool of. Stealing up toan ex-lover only to find someone else in his arms. She couldn’t bear to look any more – and the dark was beginning to feel menacing instead of adventurous, and suddenly Imogen just wanted to get out of there. She was about to turn and hurry away when something else caught her eye. A movement in the kitchen. The main lights were off so it was semi-dark, only the under-counter lights cast a glow in the room. At a table, she saw Nancy, a glass of wine by her side. But she wasn’t drinking it, she was sobbing, her head resting on her arms, her shoulders heaving.
Imogen stopped and watched. The crying went on for a good minute or so and then Nancy pulled her head up, wiped her eyes. She looked utterly miserable.
Imogen was intrigued. Surely this upset was not a result of their earlier meeting. No, this seemed much more serious, much more...entrenched. She wondered what it could be. She continued to wonder all the way home.
SIXTEEN
Thursday 10 September
It was better to nip this situation in the bud before it festered and got out of hand. That was the sensible thing to do, the grown-up thing, Nancy had thought when she’d sent a message to Imogen, her cover being that they meet to go over the detail for the Christmas fair.
Imogen had replied saying: Thursday. Heron Water Cafe. 2 p.m. 30 minutes. Nancy had been a little taken aback by the abruptness of the message, but that was what she was here to hopefully resolve.
She looked into her coffee cup. Near empty because Imogen was already twenty minutes late. Maybe she wouldn’t turn up, thought Nancy. Maybe she’d said she would just to make Nancy sit here like an idiot, waiting.No,she thought,you don’t even know the woman, stop assuming the worst.
She gazed around and her eye caught on the ancient yew tree down near the water. Up close, she could see how twisted its limbs were. There was something malevolent about it, something spellbinding.
She checked her phone again but there was no message. Nancy was about to give up when she heard a car pull into the car park. She looked up to see Imogen getting out and walking across to the cafe. She was wearing a pair of dark sunglasses, cropped chinos and a T-shirt. Nancy watched as she approached, then pulled out a chair opposite her and sat down. She crossed her legs and waited.
Nancy knew she was a fool if she thought she was going to get an apology for Imogen’s lateness.
‘What can I get you?’ asked the waitress who’d approached their table.
‘A flat white, please,’ said Imogen.
Nancy ordered the same. She was pretty certain Imogen was looking at her but she couldn’t see her eyes through the glasses.
Then Imogen raised them onto the top of her head. ‘Bottle stall, pound a go, tickets that end with a five or zero win prizes. What else is there to discuss?’
Nancy thought she was laughing at her, baiting her, and it rankled for a moment before she reminded herself why she’d suggested this meeting. But if Imogen wanted to play it direct, then so be it.
‘I know we haven’t got off to the best of starts,’ she said, ‘but Lara and I, we just want to fit in. It’s a small village, our girls are in the same class and...I think it might be a good idea to draw a line under what’s happened and start afresh.’
The waitress arrived with the drinks. Imogen took a long, slow sip of her drink, and said nothing.
Nancy bit her tongue.
‘Is that why you asked me for a coffee?’ asked Imogen, as she replaced her cup. ‘To brush everything that’s happened under the carpet so you can go on your merry way without feeling any guilt at all?’
Nancy was taken aback. ‘Guilt?’ she repeated. ‘For what?’
Imogen let out a little laugh. ‘Oh, come on. Your daughter appears to be on a campaign to hurt mine. Rosie has the scratches to prove it.’
‘Actually, I don’t think that’s quite right,’ said Nancy carefully. ‘Rosie was belittling Lara in the playground and Lara accidentally scraped Rosie’s hand in her hurry to get away. It wasn’t a “campaign” and what Rosie said was quite hurtful.’
Imogen was looking at her coolly and Nancy tried again. She laid her hands on the table. ‘I appreciate that we’re each getting two different sides to the story, but I think if we can sort things out now, before they escalate, it might be best for everyone involved,’ she said. She attempted a smile. ‘We’ve only just got here. I certainly don’t want to fall out with anyone.’
‘No, I’m sure you don’t,’ said Imogen.
Nancy’s smile slipped. ‘What do you mean by that?’
