Feeling hollow now, Vince dozes fitfully then gathers himself up and checks out and catches the first train back to Shugbury. Back in Sycamore Grove, he tells Gail that the gig was brilliant, thanks, and takes Jarvis home. At least someone seems happy to see him. And then, despite being dizzy with exhaustion, he decides to take Jarvis for a huge walk all the way into town to pick up a fresh loaf, milk and some expensive cheese in order to prove that he’s functioning properly while Kate’s away.
Can’t have her coming home to find nothing but a spongey courgette and a bit of grizzly old cheddar in the fridge!
He’ll also clean out the fridge, he decides.Andscrub the bathroom until it’s gleaming. The whole house, in fact. He’ll clean it to within an inch of its life. Is that why she’s so angry with him? Because he doesn’t clean the toilet? Feeling determined now, he buys his groceries in town then marches homewards. He has nearly reached the bungalow sprawl when he spots Colin Carse jogging towards him.Keep going,he wills his neighbour, returning the waved greeting.Don’t let me break your stride!
Colin stops, panting lightly. ‘Hey, Vince. You look a bit tired. How’s it going?’
‘Great,’ he enthuses. ‘Really great.’
Colin seems to give him a look of concern. ‘Haven’t seen Kate around for a while. Doesn’t she normally do the dog walk?’
There’s a lot that Vince enjoys about The Glade: the peace and quiet, the attractive gardens. What he’s not so keen on is the fact that people notice everything that goes on.
‘She’s, um, not been feeling too good,’ Vince blusters.
‘Oh, really?’ Colin frowns. ‘Nothing serious, I hope?’
‘Just a bit under the weather. A virus, probably.’
‘Well, I hope she’s better soon—’
‘I’m sure she will be. She was a lot perkier this morning.’
‘Ah, good. Well, give her my best,’ Colin says, resuming his jog – Vince’s cue to speed-walk home before anyone else can grill him about Kate’s whereabouts. Letting himself into the house, he sighs in relief, wondering if Jarvis was fed this morning. He didn’t think to check. That’s another thing Kate’s good at, he realises now: keeping track of the details, project managing their life. Without her, everything feels like a big, blurry mess. He’s had his neighbour eat dog food and barely managed to achieve a stroke of work. Even his meals have ceased to happen at proper mealtimes. He’s been existing on Wotsits and beer and is already developing a bit of a paunch.
Yawning now, Vince scoops the cheap food into Jarvis’s bowl, reflecting that at least his meaty farting has ceased. Kate will thank him for it when she comes home.
He’s just flumped onto a kitchen chair with a coffee when Deborah messages him again.Sorry to hassle. Could really do with that recipe. You’re both coming on Saturday, yes?
‘You’re both’. The most couply phrase from coupledom.I’m not sure if we’re both coming,he wants to reply, with a sudden urge to come clean instead of all this dodging and fibbing,because Kate doesn’t seem to want to communicate with me at all. So who knows what her Saturday night plans might be?But he can’t do that, as he needs to pretend to Deborah and, more importantly, to himself that everything is normal. And so, quickly googling recipes, and not even registering the lack of kisses on Deborah’s message, he sends her the link, with a curt message:
Here you go. Pretty simple if even I can make it.
Thanks,she replies.Hope it’s as delicious as yours!
And that, he hopes, will be that.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Kate
The former guest rooms have been emptied and thoroughly scrubbed, leaving just the bare wooden floors and pale-hued walls. Now, on the upper floor only Alice’s box room, my lemon room (already it feels like mine) and a bathroom have been left intact for the duration of our stay. We’ve had the boiler man here, and a joiner fixing several windows and a woman from the auction house, valuing the mahogany pieces in the drawing room, which have now been taken away. People come and go. There’s all this activity and then it dies down again, the house feeling emptier still. Yet the whole process is making the place seem less austere. Without the heavy sideboards and bookshelves – so much looming dark wood – it seems to be opening up, allowing the light to flood in.
‘It feels,’ Alice tells me, ‘as iflifeis being breathed into this house.’ She’s so happy, and obviously relieved, as if a weight has been lifted from her shoulders, that I don’t feel quite as guilty about the deceit. There’s been no word from the agency, or the woman who was booked to do the job. In fact, I hardly think of myself as an imposter now. I’m almost allowing myself to believe thatI’mthe real Kate.
As for the garden, Fergus called me on Saturday, saying, ‘Are you coming into town anytime soon? There’s someone I’d like you to meet.’
Rory isn’t a gardener as such. He’s a kind of everything-guy: nineteen years old, apparently hard-working and up for earning some cash, and the father of Liv’s baby. He was already at the shop, with baby Finn cocooned in a sling on his chest, when I arrived.
‘Oh, he’s a beauty,’ I exclaimed.
‘Thanks.’ Rory smiled. Tall and wiry with shaggy dark hair, he unclipped the sling and handed the baby to Fergus.
‘Best baby in the whole of Scotland,’ Fergus said, while Rory delved into his rucksack for the baby’s bottle. As Finn was passed back to him it struck me how relaxed the two men seemed together; one not much more than a boy in a striped T-shirt and paint-speckled jeans, perching on a chair to feed Finn.
‘So, Fergus said you might be looking for work?’ I ventured.
Rory nodded. ‘I don’t have a lot on just now.’
