‘Thank fuck you have decent coffee.’
Britta settled into one of the kitchen chairs, crossing her legs and sitting up straight.
Ella looked at her watch. ‘I need to take the dog out in a minute.’
‘God, what a fag. Do you have to do that every night?’
She shrugged. ‘You get used to it.’ And she rather enjoyed the solitude of that last walk of the day. Tess pattering at her feet, the stars in the huge open sky. It always grounded her. Reminded her she was part of something so much bigger.
‘Don’t you find it a bit creepy?’ asked Britta, casting a suspicious glance towards Tess watching them from her bed. She’d already collected her lead from the hall table and had it in her mouth.
‘No, to be honest. It’s quite comforting having another . . . ’ Ella laughed, ‘I was going to say person, but then it is like having someone else around. I quite like it now.’
‘How on earth do you cope? It’s worse than having a child.’ Britta shuddered.
‘Do you think you might have children one day?’ The question just popped out of Ella’s mouth before she could stop it. Trying to look guileless she traced a knot in the wood on the table.
Britta took in a sharp breath. ‘No.’
‘Really?’ Ella asked. How could Britta be so certain and decided?
‘Kids don’t do it for me. Commitment. Homes. Routine. Being tied down. Can’t think of anything worse.’
All the things that scared Patrick.
‘So were you serious in the pub about staying for the whole weekend?’
Britta gave a calculating smile. ‘Only if Devon the hottie was on the cards. I could spend a bit of time with him. But seriously babes, no!’
‘I think he might be on call this weekend,’ Ella lied, knowing full well that on Sunday he was picking her up to take the dogs to Ivinghoe Beacon for a walk. ‘You could come for a walk with me and Bets.’
‘You have to be joking. Far too bloody Pollyanna. She would drive me insane with her pinky perky ways.’
A wave of shame rolled over Ella making her snap, ‘She’s all right. She’s been very kind.’
‘Oooh! Kind, eh?’ Britta taunted.
Heat burned in Ella’s face. ‘Well, she has.’
Britta rolled her eyes. ‘Ella, babes. You need to get back to the city. Seriously, the girl has not got a sophisticated bone in her body.’
She suddenly gripped Ella’s arm, her blue eyes intent and almost frantic. ‘No disrespect but . . . you’re letting yourself go a bit. Going native. I tell you, it’s not pretty. Your hair, those jeans, and I sawtrainersin the hall. Make it up with Patrick. Come home. You could even, if you had to, kip on my sofa for a few days while you sort yourself.’
A few weeks ago, she’d have packed her bags and boarded the next train without a backward glance, but now she sat silently for a moment, rigid tension making her limbs stiff and awkward. She looked at Britta, the ice-white hair and the floaty scarves, and thought she looked just like bloody Ophelia or the Lady of Shallot. Too studied. Too false.
It was as if she were stuck between two worlds, neither of which had a place for her.
Tess yawned, stood up and shook herself, rattling the choker on the lead.
‘I think someone’s dropping a hint. I ought to take her out.’ Although it was tempting to take the cowardly way out, Ella couldn’t bring herself to do that. ‘And I think you’re being very rude about Bets – she might not be to your taste but she’s not done you any harm and she’s really helped me.’
Ella stomped along at a furious pace. Shame and anger burned together. It was as if someone had taken away blinkers. She almost winced. Had she really been that pretentious?
She screwed up her eyes, acknowledging her guilt in that department. Yes, she had. Just like that. Art for Art’s sake. The 10cc lyrics ran through her head mocking her. Oh, yes. Definitely Art for Art’s sake. A memory surfaced: she and Britta at a small niche gallery opening gushing about a white basket of nutspainted black with a red plastic fish on the top. What the hell had that been about?
She couldn’t even claim that it was a one-off. And then there was the way they treated other people. One of their friends had ditched his new girlfriend when Britta had berated him long and hard about being seen with someone without an ounce of style or originality, because the poor girl had worn a branded T-shirt. Patrick had joined in and Ella hadn’t said a word in her defence. Just like she hadn’t said a word about how much she loved her new red shoes.
Ella completed her usual nightly route but rather than turn at the edge of the green to return home as she always did, she carried on with a second circuit, reluctant to return. Her earlier furious burst of energy had left her and she dragged her feet with sluggish steps, a sense of discontent dogging her. Her centre of gravity had shifted and suddenly she wasn’t sure of her bearings any more.
