Tamzin watched her father hesitate, pinned by blue eyes. There was something about Diane, something good and valiant. And difficult to resist. Tamzin suspected that if Diane didn’t get what she wanted now, she’d lie in wait for them at the hospital. She sighed aloud and dropped into a chair. Slowly, her father joined her, frowning like a goblin.
Diane made tea in a pot, with tea leaves and a strainer.
Then she folded her arms on the kitchen table, pushing aside a bundle of blue fabric, a tattered blue pincushion and a pot of sequins. ‘Why are you so astonished that we live in this house, Tamzin?’ She glanced around the kitchen. ‘It’s modest but it’s a perfectly respectable house, bought and paid for.’
Picking up the yellow mug, although the tea was hot, Tamzin protested, feebly. ‘I’m not astonished.’
Diane’s voice softened as she poured her own tea, brewed Guinness-dark. ‘Tamzin, I’ve had a bad day.’
‘Tamzin’s very tired,’ James cut in, in hisin chargevoice.
Diane twinkled at Tamzin. ‘Are you too tired to answer, Tamz?’
Tamzin sighed and dropped her gaze to Diane’s top. It reminded her of a clear sea on a summer day, the glitter of the sun on embroidered waves suggested by a spangling of golden beads and – now she looked more closely – fleets of tiny silver buckles. Cool.
She ventured. ‘I suppose I thought Uncle Gareth would live somewhere different.’
‘Different? Bigger, smaller, prettier, uglier, upmarket, downmarket?’
‘Upmarket,’ Tamzin selected miserably, unwillingly, aware that she was toiling deeper into hideous poo and wishing James had been content to drop Diane at her gate.
‘Upmarket.’ Diane mused. Her hair caught the light as she nodded. Tamzin fixed her gaze on it. Such a strange colour; properly pale blonde. Moonlight. Star shine. Pearl. Unexpectedly beautiful. ‘Why would you expect Gareth to own a house that was “upmarket”?’
James tried again with the authoritative voice. ‘This isn’t our business.’
‘That’s a get out.’ Diane stretched absently, putting her hands behind her head and making her shoulder bones crack, the fabric of the loose satiny top tightening against her body.
Tamzin was horrified to catch James all too obviously blinking his gaze back up to Diane’s face.
Diane dropping her arms. Suddenly.
And James blushing as hot and red as a chilli.
Oh gross! Tamzin felt the sting of mortified tears. Her father hadlookedwith that lips-parted expression men reserve for breasts – and let Diane catch him. And they were looking at each other and then not looking, glances flitting around the room like birds with no perches, before their gazes tangled once more.
‘Because of the money,’ Tamzin blurted, to deflect attention from James’s cringeworthy behaviour.
Diane’s gaze flicked back to Tamzin. ‘Money?’
‘Pops gave him money.’ Tamzin’s voice shook.
Diane’s body flexed and quivered as if silently absorbing a blow. Her eyes grew enormous. ‘Gareth would never accept charity. He wouldn’t claim low-income benefit, even, when our daughter was younger.’
Decisively, James jumped to his feet. ‘Then obviously we’re mistaken.’
Diane continued speaking to Tamzin, as if they were old friends, her eyes intent, yet vulnerable. ‘Do you know how much?’
Tamzin hesitated. ‘I don’t know a figure.’
‘Roughly? Please?’
Anxious tears were building and building. And if she cried, Diane would feel sorry for her, might slide her arms around her and stroke her hair. She might like Diane to stroke her hair. But she wouldn’t like Diane to feel sorry for her. She swallowed hard. ‘Quite a bit, I think. Plus the cottage.’
Diane flinched. Dawn was bursting through the kitchen window now, lighting up Diane’s hair pink-apricot. Her skin was soft and clear, the lines fine at the corners of her eyes. Valerie’s grooves were deeper, but then Valerie wasn’t exactly a health freak and the puckers around her lips told of all the cigarettes she’d smoked, no matter how much stuff she had injected. Diane’s face was young but her hands were old; rough and red and work-worn where Valerie’s were soft and manicured –
‘What cottage?’ Diane’s voice was a whisper.
James answered this time, his voice deep and gentle. ‘On the outskirts of Whittlesey.’ He hesitated. ‘Harold’s owned it for years. Apparently he once bought it for Gareth’s mother.’
