Before she knocked, the door opened a crack.
‘What are you doing here?’ Fran’s voice held none of its usual warmth.
‘I put your phone in my bag by mistake,’ said Sarah, trying to peer around the crack to where Fran stood.
Fran slipped a hand beyond the door and held it out. ‘Give it here then.’
Sarah fumbled in her bag.
‘Please hurry.’
‘Sorry,’ said Sarah. ‘I didn’t realise you were busy. I was going to put it through the letter box, but I saw you at the window and thought it would be rude not to say hello.’
‘Fine. You’ve said hello. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got things to be getting on with.’
‘OK,’ said Sarah. She hadn’t thought she could feel worse than when she left Kate, but it turned out she could. As Sarah turned to leave, the gate behind her creaked open. She turned to see a middle-aged man walking towards her. Dressed in chinos and a golfing sweater, he had a bag of clubs slung over his shoulder.
‘Didn’t you see the sign?’ he snapped, pointing to the front door. ‘No cold callers.’
‘Oh, sorry, I’m not a cold caller. My name’s Sarah, I work with Fran.’
‘I see,’ said the man, his demeanor changing. Gone was the snappy voice and squinting eyes. His face broadened in to a smile. ‘I hope my wife’s invited you in for a cup of tea?’
‘Um…’
The front door opened, and Fran filled the doorway. ‘I wasn’t sure when you’d be home,’ she said.
‘What’s that got to do with anything?’ The man laughed, walking past Sarah and kissing Fran on the cheek. ‘You put the kettle on.’ He turned to Sarah. ‘Michael,’ he said, ‘pleased to meet you, Sarah.’
‘Pleased to meet you too,’ said Sarah, shaking his outstretched hand.
‘In we go then,’ he said, leading Sarah into a narrow hallway. ‘Shoes off, please.’
Sarah bent down to untie her laces, wishing she’d put a newer pair of socks on. She scrunched the end of her sock to hide the hole and tucked the folds of fabric between her toes. Michael exchanged his golfing shoes for a pair of slippers and propped his golf clubs against the wall.
‘The sitting room is through here,’ he said. ‘Take a seat.’
Sarah followed him into the room, perching on the edge of a high-backed sofa. The room was formal, a three-piece suite more suited to an old folks’ home filling most of the space. Beside the sofa sat a mahogany coffee table, polished to within an inch of its life. A fringed lamp stood in a corner, the television hidden in an old-fashioned cabinet.
‘It’s wonderful to meet one of Francesca’s friends. I can’t remember her ever inviting someone round. You know what she’s like, a timid little mouse.’
Sarah wondered if they were talking about the same woman. Fran wasn’t one to make a fuss, but she ruled the kitchen with quiet authority and wasn’t timid about ensuring high standards.
‘This is a lucky coincidence then,’ said Sarah. ‘It was silly of me putting her phone in my bag. I guess it’s force of habit.’
Fran walked through carrying a tray. She placed it on the coffee table and began pouring tea from a teapot into bone china cups. Sarah hadn’t had Fran down as a cup and saucer type of woman. At work, she enjoyed her tea in an over-sized mug withWorld’s Best Mumpainted on the side.
‘I hope I’m not putting you to any trouble,’ said Sarah.
‘Not at all,’ said Fran. She kept her eyes on the ground, her voice monotone. Sarah knew she’d made a big mistake, but wasn’t sure what that mistake was. Don’t friends call in on each other if they’re nearby?
‘Francesca tells me you’re her dishwasher,’ said Michael, accepting the tea Fran handed to him.
Dishwasher? What happened to protégé?‘Yes, that’s about right.’
‘And this is just a summer job, is it?’
‘Yes,’ said Sarah.
