Exactly one hour and twenty-three minutes later, the three women find themselves outside Ivy Kirk’s house and climb out of the car, this time, with much more trepidation.
Crossing the large gravel drive, Paula gapes up at the huge Edwardian property situated about a mile from Cambridge city centre. It’s not quite on the scale of the eighteen-million-pound Surrey Hills estate they’ve viewed together, but it’s still intimidating in its proportions.
‘Maybe only one of us should knock this time?’ Paula suggests anxiously, taking in the box hedges lining the borders.
Teddy nods. ‘Maybe Paula’s right. Our success ratewasbetter when it was just one-on-one.’ She waves towards Paula, who feels a foot taller, being referred to as a success.
‘No,’ Audrey says firmly, shaking her head and pulling her scarf tighter around her neck. ‘All for one and one for all.’
‘The Three Musketeers,’ Paula acknowledges with warmth, remembering her dad reading her the story. She glances either side of her at these two strong women. Is she really one of them?
‘I guess that makes Ivy our d’Artagnan,’ Teddy murmurs, reaching for the large brass door knocker.
After a minute, there is movement inside. A small face appears at a side window.
‘That was Ivy!’ Audrey says excitedly and Teddy gives her an amused sideways look.
‘How do you always know everything?’ she asks and Audrey taps her nose.
‘I have powerful connections,’ she says. ‘Think of me as your own personal Logan Roy.’ Paula has no idea who this is, but Teddy looks alarmed. Audrey shrugs, adding, ‘You can’t deny, he got things done.’
‘You are an interesting woman, Audrey Swift,’ Teddy shakes her head.
Swift? It hits Paula that she has heard the depths of these women’s darkest secrets – and yet, she’d forgotten her full name.
‘Do we think she’s going to answer the—’ Teddy’s question is cut off by a tiny young woman opening the door. She is wide-eyed and suspicious. Paula stares at her and she stares back, taking the three of them in.
‘Yes, can I help?’ she asks tremulously in a small voice. She frowns. ‘Um, look, I’m sorry, if this is a God thing, I don’t—’
‘It’s definitely not a God thing,’ Teddy replies quickly.
‘Or a Sheila from the Neighbourhood Watch thing,’ Audrey adds.
‘Sorry?’ Ivy’s delicate features screw up in confusion. Behind her, Paula can see a wide, open hallway with gleaming geometric oak flooring. A grand staircase winds its way up behind a grand reception hall.
‘Ivy?’ Audrey asks warmly and the woman’s expression gets even more wary. ‘You’re Ivy Kirk, aren’t you?’
‘Er . . .’ She glances behind her nervously, as if looking for help. ‘Who—’
‘Can we come in?’ Audrey asks and the woman blinks at her in shock.
‘Who are you?’ Her voice is barely audible.
‘I’m Audrey, that’s Teddy and there’s Paula over there, hiding at the back.’ Paula squeaks a greeting as Ivy squints over at her fearfully. There is something about her that makes Paula’s heart ache. She looks so small and vulnerable. So fragile. She’s dressed in a T-shirt and jeans, projecting a ‘bullied teenager hiding in a school library’ energy.
Audrey continues cheerfully. ‘We were wondering if you wanted to join this new club we’re putting together. We have a lot in common, I promise. We want to help you.’
Ivy shakes her head. ‘So thisisa God thing. Um, look—’
‘It’s really not,’ Teddy repeats firmly. ‘Listen, Ivy, I know this is a little strange, us turning up on your doorstep out of the blue like this. We don’t want to freak you out, babe, and of course I understand you won’t want to invite a bunch of strangers into your house.’ She shoots Audrey an irritated look. ‘But if wecould explain a bit more about who we are and why we’re here . . .’ She trails off, looking uncharacteristically unsure.
Ivy hovers at the door frame, looking puzzled and scared. She runs a nervous hand through short dark hair, wide grey eyes darting side to side. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says politely in her soft, sweet voice, hopping from foot to foot in thick bed socks, ‘I don’t think—’
Audrey moves closer and alarm crosses Ivy’s face. ‘Ivy, my darling, we’re also lottery winners, like you,’ the older woman tells her. ‘And we’ve all . . . lost our husbands.’ She pauses. ‘In strange circumstances.’
Ivy, who seems to get smaller every time Paula looks at her, takes a step back, her face painted with sudden terror. Her mouth drops open and she glances at each of them individually again. Her eyes land on Paula and this time she stops to examine her closer. Recognition lights her face.
‘I’ve seen you,’ she says slowly. ‘In the news, you’re . . . you . . . you won . . .’ Paula’s face burns red, but any embarrassment fades quickly, as Ivy looks at her. There is something in the young woman’s expression that is so familiar. As they regard one another, Paula’s overwhelmed with a feeling of affection, of something like maternal instinct. She wants to reach for Ivy – so fragile and vulnerable – and bring her close. Paula can see what she’s been through and suddenly wants nothing more than to look after her. To protect her.
