Saving Saffron Sweeting (15 page)

‘Sorry, ladies,’ she said breathlessly. ‘Mungo
seems to have forgotten his manners.’

‘No problem,’ I shrugged and tried to appear
nonchalant. Time to escape. ‘Well, thanks Lorraine, I must
go. But we’ll plan a day for our shopping trip,
okay?’

Lorraine nodded effusively, then turned to Violet. ‘Grace
has been suggesting some changes to appeal to the
Americans.’

‘Has she, now?’ Violet’s lips made a thin
line.

I found my keys and tried to untangle myself from the doggie
force field around my legs.

‘He’s super-friendly,’ Lorraine said.

Violet narrowed her eyes to match her lips. ‘Yes,
he’s not usually like this with strangers.’

‘Okay, must be off,’ I attempted, as Mungo thrust
his nose into my groin.

‘Then again, he’s not been himself recently.’
Violet was undeterred. ‘Acting strangely, going walkabout,
that sort of thing.’

She was still looking at me. Had she rumbled that Mungo was
being unfaithful and that I was the other woman? It wasn’t a
role I ever imagined myself playing, but the trouble was, I was
really fond of him. Ugh, I bet that’s what Rebecca had said
too.

As Lorraine asked Violet if she’d like some eggs, I took
my chance to make a low-key exit. Well, as low-key as possible,
when driving a vintage Volkswagen with a clunky gearstick. At least
it didn’t backfire and give Violet a heart attack. That would
really give her reason to dislike me.

When six o’clock came and Amelia left the
office, I was still buzzing with energy. It had been a fantastic
day: Lorraine was delighted with my suggestions for her bed and
breakfast and I’d even made some pocket money.

I tidied up a bit and took a message from the scary solicitor
handling one of Amelia’s pending sales. Watering the plant on
the coffee table, I looked out of the window and saw Brian taking
in his yellow cushions and umbrella. He was late closing tonight. I
soon understood why, as a large red car jerked to a halt outside
the bakery, hazard lights flashing. Mary Lou leaped out and they
disappeared inside together. She re-emerged speedily with several
big white cake boxes and, with only minor complaints from the
car’s gears, sped off.

Absent-mindedly, I tidied the newspapers and magazines, then
emptied my inbox. Should I start browsing online for
Lorraine’s accessories? No, I decided, that kind of thing was
best viewed in person. We had the Cambridge shops, including the
blissfully comprehensive John Lewis department store, at our
disposal.

Still, I didn’t feel in the mood to go home. I checked my
personal emails and found there was another from James:
Just
wanted you to know I’m thinking about you. All is fine here.
When you are ready, I’d love to talk. I miss you.

He sent me messages like this a couple of times a week, but I
usually didn’t respond. Firstly, I didn’t know what to
say, and secondly, I didn’t want him thinking I was sitting
around with nothing to do except write to him. Better for him to
assume I was busy, happy and moving on.

Wait a minute: today I really
was
busy and happy. On
reflection, I’d been feeling more content for a couple of
weeks now. Life in this funny little village had taken on a
pleasant rhythm. I liked it here and they seemed to like me too.
Well, except Violet, that is.

I hit Reply:
I’m fine, thanks. Summer is my favourite
time in England and I’m enjoying myself.
Was that
suitably upbeat and general? I decided it was and pressed Send.

Almost instantly, a message came back:
Can I Skype
you?

Whoa. This was more than I’d bargained for. It was just
after ten in the morning in California – wasn’t he at
work?

I was still dithering over my response when my computer
announced his incoming call. I shot back a couple of feet in my
office chair. Should I answer? Could I ignore it? What would Amelia
do?

I was pretty sure she would tell me to buck up and stop being a
cowardy custard.

With amazing presence of mind, I remembered to answer without
video. After all, it was ten hours since I’d put any make-up
on.

‘Grace, how are you?’ Unmistakably his voice. So
familiar to me, but so strange at the same time.

‘I’m fine, thanks,’ I replied. Neither pithy
nor original, but a respectable start. Truthful too.

‘Are you in London, or Norfolk?’

‘Neither.’ Too blunt. ‘Somewhere in
between,’ I added. ‘With friends.’

‘Oh. Okay. As long as you’re okay, that’s
good.’

There was a pause, probably of the awkward sort, but I doubt
many broken marriages enjoy comfortable pauses.

‘Have you decided when you’re coming home?’ he
asked.

‘Um, no.’ I didn’t have a home in California
any more, did I? I spoke slowly and carefully. ‘I think, for
now … this is home.’

‘Oh. Right.’

I let the transatlantic silence stretch.

He tried again. ‘Can I come and see you?’

‘No.’ My voice was clipped, too terse for diplomatic
relations, but I couldn’t help it.

‘I just want you to know …’ He sighed.
‘I’m really, really sorry. I’ll do anything to
make it up to you.’

I could hear emotion building in the back of his throat.

‘I wish I could wind back the clock,’ he said.
‘Whenever you want to talk about it, I’m here. Or
I’ll come there. I just need to see you.’

For my computer-geek husband, this was an eloquent speech. I was
almost impressed. ‘I don’t want to talk about
it,’ I said. But what I really wanted to know was,
Are
you still with Rebecca?

‘If you change your mind, I’m ready.’ He
paused. ‘Is there anything you need? Have you got enough
money? Can I send you some?’

Considering we didn’t have kids, this was decent of him. I
was glad to be able to refuse with dignity.

‘No thanks. I have some … consulting work.’ I
was stretching the truth there, but it felt good to say it. Really
good.

‘That’s great.’ He sounded genuinely pleased.
This was typical: he always had been a loyal cheerleader for me.
Until the day he’d committed adultery, that is.

‘What about your stuff?’ he continued. ‘Is
there anything you want me to send? Eeyore, maybe?’

Oh, this wasn’t fighting fair. Tears came out of nowhere.
Out of – what? – seven billion people in the world,
James was the only one who knew I still liked to sleep with a
cuddly toy. Or had done. Eeyore hadn’t made the cut in my
frenzied packing efforts.

‘Okay.’ These two syllables were all I could manage.
Like it or not, I was talking to my closest friend.

‘And if you think of anything else, just email me. Or
call. Any time.’

We said goodbye and I shut down the computer. It was kind of him
to offer to send Eeyore. And a couple of other eccentric but
well-loved items, like my favourite bone china mug and stripy
slipper socks, wouldn’t go amiss either. In the morning, I
would send a carefully worded email to request them, and ask him to
use my parents’ address.

Standing up, I shook myself, and decided it had still been a
really positive day, despite the emotional, donkey-shaped ending. I
collected my things together and drove back to my cottage. Mungo
was waiting on the doormat, unapologetic for his earlier
exhibitionism.

‘You fool,’ I greeted him. ‘You practically
gave the game away.’

He wagged his tail heedlessly and followed me into the kitchen.
‘Anyway,’ I told him as I looked in the freezer for
something tasty and ideally high in both fat and carbs,
‘you’re going to have competition soon. Eeyore’s
on his way.’

Unimpressed, Mungo flopped down in front of the kitchen sink,
from where he kept an eye on my dinner preparations. I had just
punctured the film on some frozen macaroni cheese when a sudden
thought formed in my head. My contented bubble deflated as surely
as if someone had stuck a fork in me too. By offering to send my
stuff, James was accepting that I wasn’t coming back.

‘Mungo,’ I sighed, ‘go and fetch a corkscrew.
We’re going to need some wine.’

A couple of days later, Amelia started to pack
up earlier than usual. ‘Well, it’s a tough job, but
someone has to do it.’ She looked decidedly cheerful.

I looked at her in puzzlement. I was re-sizing photos to use on
our website and was boggle-eyed from concentrating.

‘Hargraves is sponsoring the pub quiz,’ she
explained. ‘That means I have to show up, schmooze and
present prizes. And probably buy a few rounds of drinks
too.’

‘That’s nice.’ Bother, I’d stretched
that house so much it looked like a dachshund’s kennel.

‘You should come,’ she said. ‘Do you good to
expand your social life.’

‘I have a social life,’ I replied defensively.
‘My best friend’s in London and I went for a drink with
Nancy the other evening.’ What did she want me to do, go
clubbing every night?

‘And the rest of the time you sit in that cottage and feel
sorry for yourself, darling. Reading romance novels and talking to
that dog, I expect.’

Was it that obvious? I had felt especially listless since the
call with James. ‘I like the cottage.’ My tone was
sulky now.

‘Great, so it’ll still be there when you get back
from the quiz tonight.’

‘Oh, Amelia, I dunno …’

‘Relax, will you? It’s not
Mastermind
.’

Naturally, the first five minutes were the
worst. My awkwardness on arriving at The Plough subsided when I
found myself randomly allocated to a team by Amelia. She plonked me
down on a little round stool with a glass of Chardonnay in one hand
and a pencil in the other.

‘This is Grace,’ Amelia introduced me. ‘She
lived in California so she should be a big asset.’

My teammates introduced themselves.

‘Hello, Grace. I’m Marjorie. I used to work in the
bank before it closed; now I do a spot of cleaning for Lorraine.
You know Lorraine, at the bed and breakfast? And this is my son,
Eddie. He’s home from college for the summer, aren’t
you, Eddie?’

I could see the family resemblance: both mother and son were
round of face and body, with curly blond hair and freckles. Eddie
nodded at me obligingly. As the evening progressed, I learned he
was a young man of few words, probably because Marjorie supplied
them all.

A dark-skinned man in his late fifties shook my hand.
‘I’m Kenneth; pleasure to meet you.’ With great
care, he placed not one, but two sharpened pencils and a little
notepad on the table.

‘Kenneth runs the Sweeting Library. Takes our pub quizzes
quite seriously.’ Marjorie looked nervously in
Kenneth’s direction.

Oh dear, I thought, the last thing I need is somebody getting
ants in his pants over each wrong answer.

‘And I’m Peter. Hi, Grace, glad you’re joining
us.’

‘Hi.’ I took a quick look – forties, slim,
attractive. Hair a bit too long, dark red sweater, probably
cashmere. I had a soft spot for cashmere. ‘What do you
do?’ I asked him.

‘I own the antiques store, the barn, on the main road to
Waterbeach.’

‘Oh yes, I think I know. I’ve been meaning to come
and look round.’ Clearly, I hadn’t yet fully explored
the attractions of Saffron Sweeting. I wondered if Amelia had
chosen this team for me randomly, after all.

‘You like antiques?’ he smiled.

‘Very much – but I’m not at all
knowledgeable,’ I replied truthfully.

After a pause, Kenneth said, ‘I suppose we have to see the
funny side of Amelia sponsoring a drinking event.’

Peter gave a tight smile and shrugged. ‘She’s fine
now.’

What did that mean? I waited for Kenneth to say more, but he
just sniffed and made himself busy rolling the pencils under his
fingers.

Marjorie, however, caught my eye and leaned closer.
‘Amelia was a bit too fond of the bottle at one stage,’
she whispered loudly. ‘Almost got done for drink driving
several winters back.’

Peter frowned at Marjorie. ‘It was Valentine’s Day.
Just after her divorce was final.’

I nodded. I could well imagine a bleak February evening, her
marriage cold in its coffin, and Amelia’s desperate need for
oblivion. But I wasn’t going to sit here and gossip about my
employer. By any measure, she’d been really kind to me.

Seeking a change of subject, I looked around the pub. There were
six teams assembled, with four or five people in each. Fergus, the
pub landlord, looked delighted to have so many patrons on a
Wednesday night. I saw Brian the baker in the far corner, and Nancy
appeared to be on his team too. Making up another team, I saw
Violet and her two women friends, plus a man who I think was the
village postman.

‘I know a few of the faces, but not many,’ I said.
‘I’ve only been here a couple of months.’

‘Not many newcomers are here,’ Marjorie said.
‘It’s basically word of mouth to be invited.’

‘They probably wouldn’t feel very welcome.’
Peter caught her eye. Then he said to me, ‘It takes a while
to be accepted around here.’

I couldn’t tell whether he was making a general
observation, or trying to warn me, but it didn’t matter as
I’d mostly shrugged off Violet’s iciness. I looked
again at Nancy’s group, but they showed no signs of
resentment towards her.

‘The pop culture questions and modern history are usually
British focused,’ Kenneth chimed in earnestly.
‘Although heaven knows why we have a pop section. Some
international politics wouldn’t go amiss.’ He adjusted
his wire-rimmed spectacles.

We were a strong team. Kenneth, of course, knew a lot about a
lot. Marjorie had apparently become a fan of daytime television
since the bank made her redundant. And Peter showed deep knowledge
of the arts and English history. I filled in where I could, with
the capital of Idaho and the number of Elizabeth Bennet’s
sisters, but I wasn’t needed much. That suited me: I was
happy to keep quiet unless my team was stuck. Besides, I
didn’t want to draw Kenneth’s wrath for getting Eric
Clapton’s star sign wrong.