Three
As the door shut firmly behind them, Jenny forced her stiff limbs to move, feeling like a robot as she followed Derrick to a dark sedan in her driveway. The car looked exactly like something an accountant would drive: sensible, well kept and also a lot more expensive than her dependable old hatchback in the shed.
‘So, where are we going?’ she asked, forcing cheeriness into her tone.
Derrick looked up from clipping in his seatbelt, his expression a little odd. ‘I booked at the pub in town that you suggested when we spoke—well,chatted,’ he amended, ‘online.’
‘Oh. Right. Sounds great,’ she said with forced enthusiasm. Her head was spinning as she tried to piece together everything that had happened in the last half an hour or so.
Derrick, on the other hand, seemed completely at ease with the situation. And why wouldn’t he be? No one had surprisedhimwith any of this.
Barkley was on the outskirts of the bigger regional town of Hamwell, around a forty-five-minute drive away. It had been Jenny’s idea to move to Barkley from Hamwell when the town grew from a charming large country town into a less charming mini city in the space of a few years. Jenny had grown up in a small town similar to Barkley, with its wide streets and rolling farmland, and she had wanted that same close-knit community upbringing for her children.
‘Do you come from here?’ Jenny asked. She didn’t think she’d ever seen Derrick around. He could easily have been one of the new blow-ins from the city. It felt like Covid had convinced everyone to move to the country, and what started as a trickle of newcomers had turned into a deluge. Now Barkley suddenly had something it had never had before—a growing population
‘Ah, no. Hamwell,’ he said, a slight frown on his face. ‘I’m pretty sure I mentioned it when we first started chatting.’
‘Oh, right. Sorry,’ she said, tapping her forehead. ‘It’s been a busy week.’
‘Tell me about it. We’re in the lead-up to tax time and things are only going to get busier,’ Derrick said, before explaining at length what his next few months were going to entail.
They drove through the wide, quiet streets, passing the federation-style brick houses and brick-fenced yards. It was getting cooler as autumn crept in, and the grass in front yards and along the footpaths was starting to fade from green to varying shades of browns and yellows. The beautiful Japanese maple, Chinese pistachio and liquidambar trees planted alongthe median strips and in front yards were on beautiful display, with their bright yellow, red and orange leaves creating a tapestry of colour to replace the fading hues of the landscape. Derrick pulled up outside their destination, the two-storey heritage-listed pub. The Coach House had undergone renovations over the last few months and the disruption to the main street during its facelift had been a constant source of complaint from some of Jenny’s older patients. She hadn’t been here since they’d reopened but had been hearing good things about the food.
Jenny looked around as she walked inside and found herself pleasantly surprised. The new management had completely rebranded the old pub into something almost yuppified. The architecture of the original hundred-and-twenty-year-old hotel was still intact but there was a vibrant, modern look to the furnishings, with beautiful teal lounge chairs scattered in front of an open fireplace and tall floor lamps strategically placed around the room adding a sophisticated touch that probably wouldn’t be expected in Barkley. Rustic timber frames hung on one side displaying Barkley in its early years, and a large mural, of the pub in its heyday, dominated the far wall.
‘It isn’t as bad as I was expecting,’ Derrick murmured beside her, and even though she wasn’t exactly a regular in here, something about his pompous tone made her a little defensive. ‘Would you like a drink?’ he asked.
Jenny opened her mouth to answer, but he’d already turned away. ‘Allow me to choose a wine. You pick a table and I’ll be right back,’ he told her, walking towards the bar.
Jenny bit back a flicker of irritation at the assumption that he knew what she’d like to drink, and looked around for a table, spotting one on the far side of the room. It would do fine—was hopefully inconspicuous enough so she wouldn’t be recognised by anyone who may come in and spot her.
Derrick returned, carrying two glasses of pale-looking wine.
‘Try this and tell me what you think?’ he instructed as he placed the glasses on the table and peered at her.
‘Oh,’ she said, realising he wanted her to try it rightnow. She gave him a weak smile before bracing herself. She knew she was going to hate it; she only drank moscato—lolly water, as Beth often referred to it. The moment the dry, crisp wine hit her taste buds, Jenny felt her body preparing to launch into a compulsive shudder but reined it in with remarkable effort.
‘It’s a sauvignon blanc,’ he informed her. ‘They don’t have the range here that my usual restaurant has, of course,’ he said, his chin tilting a little arrogantly. ‘But this is passable, I suppose.’
Jenny fought back a grimace as she forced herself to swallow the sip. She gave a noncommittal, ‘Hmm.’
‘All your children still live at home with you?’
Jenny nodded. ‘Yes. It gets pretty rowdy sometimes,’ she said smiling faintly as she recalled the usual chaos at breakfast and dinner. Before Brittany and Sophie had moved back in, she’d almost forgotten how full-on those times were with a toddler. ‘Do you have children?’ she asked. Maybe this was where they’d find something in common.
‘I have a son.’
‘Oh, lovely. Does he live at home with you?’
‘God, no,’ Derrick said, looking horrified by the thought. ‘He’s twenty-seven. Thankfully he’s out of my hair and doing his own thing now.’
Out of his hair? Jenny raised an eyebrow slightly.
‘I see … you’re one of those types,’ he said bluntly, catching her expression.
‘What type would that be?’ She was trying to be pleasant, she really was.
‘The ones who wrap their kids in cotton wool. Too many people aren’t being firm enough with their kids today. They need to fly the nest and learn how to take care of themselves the way we did. How are they supposed to appreciate the value of a dollar when they don’t have to live in the real world?’
