Me and Mr Jones (31 page)

Once the girls were loaded up with every precious felt-tip and bangle that was required, and Charlie had carried down the small TV, everyone’s pillows and a collection of pot plants that appeared to be in their death-throes, they set off once again to the house in Loveday. The whole day was starting to feel like a strange dream.

Mulberry House had a number of cars parked outside it when they arrived, and Charlie’s brother David came out to help carry their belongings through to their temporary new residence. The chalet was down at the bottom of the garden, almost hidden from view behind a large spreading beech tree. ‘Ta-da!’ cried Charlie as he unlocked the door and showed them in. ‘So what do you think?’

Hazel entered first, followed by Izzy, awkwardly on her crutches, with Willow hanging back. What did she think? Her first impressions were ones of pleasant surprise. She’d felt so flat recently that she had pessimistically envisaged their new home to be a shed in Charlie’s parents’ back garden, the way he’d described it.

Instead, what had once been some kind of outbuilding was now a sweet little two-bedroom chalet, complete with dinky loo and shower, with a small kitchen and living space at the front. It was all on one level (a godsend to a person getting used to crutches) and had been freshly decorated, plastered and tiled – you could still smell the paint.

The kitchen was small and plain, with four sets of white crockery and some cutlery on the spotless work surface. The living area was more homely, with a comfortable-looking red sofa (Hazel immediately threw herself onto it), a rug, a vase of flowers and a couple of well-thumbed novels on a window-ledge.

She realized she’d been holding her breath and let it all out in a rush. ‘It’s great,’ she said, sagging on her crutches with relief. ‘Oh, Charlie, it’s perfect.’

‘Brilliant,’ Charlie said, sounding equally relieved. ‘Budge over then and let me in with this telly. I’ll set it up for you, shall I? Make myself useful.’

David followed with the box of essentials that Alicia had packed – tea, coffee, bread, butter, ham, cheese and a homemade fruit cake – and set it on the side in the kitchen. ‘Thank you,’ Izzy said faintly.

Once everything had been carried through, Charlie said he’d leave them in peace. ‘I’ll only be in the main house,’ he said. ‘Just find me if you want anything. I’ll get us some fish and chips or a takeaway tonight so you don’t need to cook, but if you write me a proper shopping list of what you need, I’ll do you a supermarket trip tomorrow, okay?’

‘Thank you,’ she said again. ‘Charlie – thank you. I can’t believe you’re doing all of this for us.’

He grinned, flushing with pleasure. ‘I’m your friend, aren’t I?’ he said, shrugging off her thanks. ‘Anyone would have done the same.’ He stuck up a hand in goodbye to the girls and sauntered off up the garden, whistling.

Izzy sank carefully into the sofa, watching as he vanished behind the beech tree, which was covered in new leaves. She could hear birds singing, there were irises and anemones in the flowerbeds closer to the house, and the air felt clean and good. A rope swing dangled from a branch of the beech tree, and there was glorious countryside all around. They would be safe here. They could start again.

Hazel snuggled up to her on the sofa, her thumb in her mouth. ‘I like it here, Mummy,’ she said, and those five small words were enough to dissolve some of the tension still in Izzy’s battered body.

‘I like it too, chick,’ she said. ‘But not as much as I like being with you two again. Me and my girls back together – it’s the best feeling in the world.’

Willow came and cuddled into her other side, and Izzy sat with her arms around them both, counting her blessings. She was alive, her daughters were safe and they were reunited, thanks to the help of some kind new friends. It was a start. A really good start.

Not two minutes later, though, she heard a rustling sound and saw a figure approaching, at which point the tentative shoots of hope she’d felt promptly retracted and disappeared. Her heart sank as she recognized Charlie’s mum marching towards them, pinny flapping and a determined look in her eye. Oh God. She should have known the brief moment of peace was too good to last.

Let me guess, she thought nervously. Charlie’s only just remembered to tell his parents that we’re staying here. Now Mummy Dear’s on the warpath, come to chuck us straight out again, while Charlie’s been grounded for a week and has been sent to his bedroom with a smacked bottom. Great. Here comes the thunderstorm.

The door was still open, but Lilian paused on the threshold. ‘Knock-knock,’ she said.

‘Come in,’ Izzy said, struggling to heave herself up from the sofa with her crutches.

‘No need to get up on my account,’ Lilian said. She was holding a bottle of milk. ‘Just thought you might need this.’ She went into the kitchen, and Izzy heard her open the fridge door. Then she reappeared and hesitated for a moment before saying, ‘Charlie told me what had happened, and you’re very welcome here.’

Whoa. What the . . . ? Was there something wrong with her hearing? ‘Th-thank you,’ Izzy stuttered in surprise. ‘Thanks so much, that’s very kind.’

‘No problem,’ said Lilian briskly, and marched away again.

Izzy watched her go. ‘Well, I never,’ she murmured. So the old bag was human after all. Who knew?

The next few days were spent trying to finalize the funeral arrangements. It was an odd situation, sorting out a funeral for a man she’d been scared of, a man she’d stopped loving, but there was nobody else to do it. She couldn’t just let the council dispose of him.

So she booked a service at the crematorium, broke the news to Lou and Ricky and asked them to pass on the date to their other friends, and phoned Gary’s boss to let him know too. Gary had always hated his job and bitched about his colleagues, so Izzy was surprised when Gary’s boss, Diane, broke into shocked sobs down the line. ‘That’s just tragic,’ she said. ‘He was so young. And he was on track for his sales targets for the quarter, too. I’m so sorry for your loss, love.’

Sorry. Everyone kept saying how sorry they were, as if they felt they had to apologize personally. Don’t be sorry, she wanted to reply. Because I’m not. Not really anyway. It sounded awful, but in some ways Gary being dead was a relief. Did that make her a terrible person?

In the meantime, at least, the chalet at Mulberry House was proving to be something of a sanctuary, a place where Izzy could lie low and recharge her energy. Willow was still subdued, and Hazel kept drawing endless pictures of Gary with angel wings and a halo (hmmm), but despite the recent traumatic events, they were coping remarkably well on the whole. It was the Easter holidays, the sun was shining and they enjoyed having a big garden to play in, whether it was hide-and-seek, doing their best to scramble up the trees or spending hours one afternoon making a ‘fairy house’ in an unused corner – with fallen petals for rugs, a long white feather as a bed, moss for cushions, twigs shoved into the ground to make hat-stands, and a large round stone as a table.

Charlie was working most of the time, but his dad Eddie brought out a comfortable sun lounger for Izzy to relax on while the girls played, and David, who was helping him finish off one of the bedrooms in the main house, appeared at intervals with cups of tea, glasses of squash and plates of chocolate brownies or shiny red apples for them. Even Lilian put her head in the chalet door again and said in that same brisk tone that when Izzy wanted any washing doing, she just had to add it to the basket in the laundry room.

It was as if she’d walked into this ready-made family – the three-generational family she’d never had – and they’d folded her into their mix, accepting her without question. This was what a proper family felt like, she kept thinking dazedly. People helping each other, looking out for one another. Caring. She still half-expected to get her marching orders at any moment, to find that the doors had been closed to her and she was dumped back in the wilderness, but so far it hadn’t happened.

On the Tuesday Lilian put her head round the chalet door again. ‘Knock-knock,’ she said.

Izzy was washing up in the tiny kitchen while the girls played tag outside. ‘Come in,’ she said, hoping that Lilian wasn’t about to complain that they were too noisy and disturbing the guests. ‘Um . . . can I make you a tea or coffee?’ It felt rather as if the Queen herself had deigned to visit.

‘No, thanks,’ Lilian said. ‘I was just wondering: would you and the girls like to join us for dinner this evening? Save you having to cook every night.’

Izzy stared in surprise before remembering her manners. ‘Um . . . yes. Thank you, that would be lovely,’ she said. ‘Are you sure? I don’t want to put you out.’

‘Not at all,’ Lilian replied. ‘Is six-thirty all right?’

‘Yes, that’s fine. That’s brilliant. Thank you.’

And then Lilian was gone, just as quickly as she’d arrived. Well, well, well. Invited in this time, then. That was a first.

By six-twenty-eight she and the girls were walking up towards the house. Willow and Hazel had never looked cleaner or smarter. Their hair shone dark and glossy, they were wearing their nicest dresses with clean white socks and school shoes, and all the mud and grass had been scrubbed from their fingernails and limbs in the titchy shower.

As they approached the house, Izzy could see through the window that the dining-room table had been set with gleaming wine glasses, and that Eddie was bringing in a stack of warm plates, smiling at some quip or other David had just made. Then her heart gave an unexpected thump as the younger man turned and she realized that it wasn’t David after all. It was Charlie.

He spotted them approaching and his face broke into a smile. She’d hardly seen him over the last few days; he’d given them space just to unwind. She’d missed him, she realized, smiling back fondly. Life had felt duller, less interesting without his presence.

‘Hello, Charlie!’ Hazel shouted through the window, noticing him too and bouncing about Tiggerishly.

Willow held up her hand in a shy little wave. ‘Oh, good,’ she said. ‘I like Charlie.’

Izzy squeezed her shoulder. ‘Me too,’ she said.

The house was beautiful from the front, but more haphazard from the back, with new bits built on here and there, the roof a patchwork of mismatched slates and some of the paint peeling around the higher windows. It had been well loved, though, she thought, as they went in through the back door and into a porch. You could tell this had been a happy family home for many years, before becoming a B&B, just from the fact that there were still some small wellies lined up under the shelf, and a row of pegs that once must have been the dumping ground for little coats and woolly hats. There was even an ancient cricket bat and ball. She must ask if the girls could have a go with it – well away from any windows, of course . . .

Charlie came into the hall to find them. ‘Hello,’ he said. ‘Goodness, look at you two. What smart young ladies you are today!’ His eyes crinkled as they met Izzy’s. ‘Your mum doesn’t scrub up too badly, either,’ he teased.

‘Hi,’ Izzy said, suddenly feeling as shy as Willow. Her mind flashed back to the awful scene that had ensued last time they’d been in this house, how she’d fled a mere ten minutes after arriving, vowing never to have anything to do with the rotten Jones family again.

‘Come on through,’ he said, holding out an arm and ushering them into the dining room. She could smell herbs and garlicky chicken, and felt weak with hunger. Proper food, cooked by somebody else. What a treat. ‘Sit down,’ he added. ‘I’ll just go and see if Mum wants a hand.’

The room was empty, apart from Izzy and the girls, and she hesitated for a moment, wondering if the family had particular places at the table and whether sitting in any old seat was going to be a terrible faux pas. Hazel was shifting from foot to foot. ‘I need a wee,’ she whispered urgently.

‘Okay, let’s find a loo,’ she replied. ‘Willow, do you want to stay here, or . . . ?’

‘Come with you,’ Willow said immediately.

‘Okay,’ Izzy said, hoping the nearest loo wasn’t upstairs. She was still pretty slow on her crutches and hadn’t dared tackle proper stairs yet. ‘Come on, let’s investigate.’

Back out they went and into the long hallway, moving forward towards the front door now, past a reception desk with an old-fashioned brass hand-bell on its top. There was a large staircase on their right, and to her relief Izzy spotted a door built into the side of it. Cupboard or loo? She opened the door hesitantly . . . to see a small, spotless bathroom. ‘There you are, Haze,’ she said. ‘We’ll wait out here for you, okay?’

The front door was slightly ajar and the last rays of golden evening sun were shining through the gap, sending long, bright fingers of light onto the tiled floor. She arranged her crutches carefully so that she could lean against the wall, and dimly became aware of voices from outside. Male voices.

‘So how was it on Saturday anyway? I didn’t want to ring in case . . . well, you know. Anyone overheard.’

‘It was . . . God, it was pretty amazing actually. We really clicked. I feel so much better for seeing her.’

It sounded like David and Hugh talking, but she didn’t know their voices well enough to be certain. Then Hazel flushed the loo, so Izzy missed the next bit of conversation. Once the water finished rushing in the cistern, the second speaker said, ‘I just don’t know how I’m going to break it to Alicia, though. I mean – how can I tell her?’

Izzy’s ears pricked up and she felt cold. Break what to Alicia? she wondered uneasily. What had happened?

There was a pause and then the first man said, ‘I think you’re going to have to, mate. Emma saw you with her on Saturday, you know – at the petrol station, she said. I fobbed her off, don’t worry, but chances are someone else will see you two together and . . .’

‘Finished!’ sang Hazel, unlocking the door and emerging. The voices fell silent immediately.

‘Did you wash your hands?’ Izzy asked distractedly, still tuned into the conversation she’d overheard. What was it that Hugh couldn’t tell Alicia? Something about him being with another woman, by the sound of it. She grimaced. Please, no, she thought. Not Hugh. Husbands and other women never made for a good starting point.