A shape appeared in the doorway. ‘Um, excuse me, but we need to clear the hall now . . .’
It was one of the girls who’d been running the bar, holding a tray with empty glasses.
‘What time is it?’ Juliet pushed her chair back. The lights were on in the hall and people were moving around, stacking chairs and clearing tables. She knew the signs they were sending out from personal experience. If they’d flashed ‘Please go home’ in red lights, it couldn’t have been clearer.
‘Gone ten. That went quickly.’ Mark paused. ‘Do you want to grab something to eat?’
The possibility hung in the air, but Juliet couldn’t quite take it. Leave while it’s all going OK, she thought.
‘I should get back. Minton waits up for me. And I can’t let you leave Damson longer than four hours on her own.’
Mark grinned. ‘Always on duty, eh?’
They stood up and made their way back into the hall. Juliet blinked in the bright light and tried not to notice the pinch in her toes now the numbing effects of the wine had worn off.
‘Hey, where’ve you been hiding?’ It was Chris, the organiser, standing by a big landscape of the railway station from an angle Juliet hadn’t seen before. A quirky blond woman had her arm round his waist and was chatting to another man. As Chris spoke, she turned her head and took in the pair of them. Juliet’s pulse sped up with new-person overload.
‘Do I see a sticker of yours on any of the photos,’ the woman demanded of Mark, then smiled at Juliet, ‘or have you spent the whole night chatting?’
‘This is Juliet Falconer,’ said Mark quickly, introducing her to Chris, and Lisa, who was his girlfriend (‘and agent!’). Juliet tried to fix the names in her rusty social memory.
‘Can I call you in the morning?’ apologised Mark, as Chris started to ask about something. ‘I need to get back for the dog. As does Juliet.’
‘Next time, book a joint babysitter,’ suggested Lisa. ‘Double-date the dogs too!’
Mark laughed politely, as did Juliet. The word ‘date’ hung in the air, and then he was steering her out.
‘Sorry,’ he said, as they walked carefully down the steps. ‘You must get it too – the date thing all the time.’
‘Mmm,’ said Juliet. Was that a nice way of saying it wasn’t a date? The swoop in her stomach took her by surprise.
‘Although,’ he added, with a winning smile, ‘I wonder if I can persuade you to try this again – maybe not with murky photos of gas towers? Maybe dinner?’
Juliet felt pleasantly swept off her feet. No one had ever taken charge like this before. Even Ben’s first move had been the result of a lot of background work on her part.
‘Yes,’ she heard herself say. ‘I’d like that.’
It was just a date. That was what grown women did. They dated, tried out a selection of men, of venues. Of personalities.
Be careful, said a voice in her head. What happens next?
Before she had time to worry about that, fate sent Juliet a taxi with its light on. A sign, she thought, sticking out her arm to stop it. ‘I’m not really going in your direction,’ she started, but Mark didn’t let her finish.
‘You take it. I’ll walk back.’
The taxi was slowing down. What am I meant to say? Juliet thought.
‘Thanks for a lovely evening,’ she said.
‘Pleasure’s all mine. Thank you.’ He put a hand on her arm and leaned forward to kiss her cheek. Juliet felt relieved and disappointed at the same time.
‘’Night.’
Mark’s face was close to hers and she didn’t pull away. Instead, she leaned in and kissed his cheek, more as an experiment. It was soft, with a little roughness where his five o’clock shadow began. Different.
Their eyes locked together as she pulled back, and then Mark leaned forward again, a fraction of a second before she did; then somehow their noses bumped and his lips were pressed against hers. Warm and strong, but closed. Lingering, though, as if next time they might not be.
It was the most chaste kiss Juliet had had since she was fifteen. It was also the only kiss she’d had from someone who wasn’t Ben.
She braced herself for rockets and clouds of guilt and shame, but they didn’t come. She just felt a whirl of leftover nerves, and something else she couldn’t quite put her finger on.
The taxi hooted and she pulled back, her heart beating hard.
‘I’ll call you,’ he said.
Juliet gave him a crooked smile as she got into the cab and gave the driver her address.
Handsome man, kissed. Tick.
‘Look forward to it,’ she said, and waved as the taxi set off towards Rosehill.
Chapter 18
‘Louise, tell me if I’m being ridiculous, but do you think the end of August is too early to start thinking about Christmas?’ asked Diane.
Louise stopped checking her laptop for the next instalment of mystery building supplies for Juliet (this time: the downstairs loo, complete with the perfect corner basin Louise coveted herself) and looked over to where her mother was packing up Toby’s day things, ready to go home. Even if it hadn’t been one of those questions that came with a ready-supplied answer, Diane was wearing a ‘please agree with me’ expression.
Privately, Louise did think August was a little early, but that was because she could only see as far as the end of her desk diary at the moment. In the old days, she used to start making her own Christmas cards about now. Christmas cake in mid-September, wrapping July sales-bought gifts by October . . .
She made a mental note to dig her manic Christmas planner out again, just so she could feel less busy in comparison.
‘Not really,’ she said. ‘I went into M&S today for lunch and it was full of jumpers and boots. Give them another few weeks and there’ll be snowmen and tinsel.’
‘Good,’ said Diane, clearly relieved. ‘I just thought I’d ask, so we could make plans. I want this year to be really special.’
Louise made mwah, mwah, mwah kisses on Toby’s soft head. ‘Well, it could hardly be worse than last year, could it?’
They both fell silent for a second, just thinking about it.
Last Christmas had been more like an emotional assault course to be struggled through than a celebration, every tradition a challenge. Two months on, the anaesthetic shock of Ben’s death had worn off for Juliet, and she’d been deep in her angry phase, when even seeing happy couples on television could trigger a furious rant against the bloody unfairness of the universe, followed by tears.
It broke Louise’s heart to see Juliet like that, and to watch her parents suffering too. She wasn’t drinking as much as Louise would have been in her situation, but Juliet had a drunk’s unpredictability, and once or twice Louise caught her looking at her and Peter in his ‘holiday socks’ with a terrible resentment in her eyes, and she knew it was because their little family looked so golden, compared with the broken bits of Juliet’s life.
They weren’t golden, of course. She was on a rack of guilt about Michael, and Peter was stuck being the only other man in the house and so having to spend double the time listening to her dad asking for peanuts in Portuguese. Toby had diarrhoea, and none of them had had more than four hours’ sleep a night, but it seemed churlish to complain, when Juliet kept storming out during the Christmas Day Coronation Street because she couldn’t bear to see the inevitable proposal.
Louise blamed herself. If she and Juliet had been speaking, they might have got through it. As it was, she just didn’t know how to put things right without making it all worse.
Diane heaved the bag onto the table and made googly eyes at Toby, clapping his hands together. ‘I know a little man who can’t wait for Christmas! Eh? We’ll have to write a letter to Father Christmas soon, won’t we? Let him know what you’d like to find in your stocking?’
‘Mum, please don’t go mad again. He got far too much last year, it was embarrassing.’ And wildly out of proportion with everyone else’s to make up for t
he adults’ lack of gaiety. Even Juliet had turned up with an armful of Mothercare trains, which Louise later found her crying over. ‘You know he just likes the boxes,’ she said.
‘Aw. Then let’s make sure he has lots of boxes. It’s only fair to spoil him before he has a little brother or sister to share with.’ Diane cast a meaningful look up at her daughter. ‘Have you and Peter thought . . .’
‘No,’ said Louise firmly. ‘So – plans. You want to have it here?’
‘Yes, I think so. Then we can do the link-up with Ian and Vanda on the Skype.’ Skype had changed Diane’s life, especially at Christmas. The sitting room was tidier for the annual Christmas Day Australia broadcast than the Queen’s. ‘Will Peter’s parents mind you being here again this year? Isn’t it their turn?’
‘Nope, they’re going to Vienna for the whole Christmas/New Year holiday.’ Louise removed the salt cellar from Toby’s fingers and replaced it with a toy mobile phone. ‘It’s been booked for months. Una’s already got her outfits picked out.’
‘The whole holiday? Won’t they miss their grandson?’ Diane seemed horrified at the thought.
‘Not really.’ Louise had given up trying to explain Peter’s parents to her mother. ‘They’re not really baby people. They’re giving us some money towards the nursery, though, which really helps.’
‘Are you struggling? Would you tell us if you were? Because we could . . .’
‘No. We’re fine.’ She reached out and squeezed her mother’s hand. ‘Your time means much more to me, Mum. I don’t know what we’d do without you. Me and Juliet. You’ve been so amazing to us this last year. We’re lucky girls.’
Diane smiled quickly and looked away. The deep lines round her eyes were wet with tears, and suddenly she seemed more fragile than she had earlier, when Louise had found her and Toby playing in the back garden.
‘Mum? Are you all right?’ Louise put Toby down in his high chair and reached for her arm. She patted it, and it felt thin under the cotton jersey. ‘Mum?’
‘I’m fine,’ said Diane, wiping her eyes with the tissue she kept up her sleeve. ‘I just . . . It makes me sad. None of us know what’s round the corner, do we?’ She blinked and smiled a watery smile, then blew her nose. ‘We’ve really got to make the most of everything, you know.’
‘I do know. Let’s make this Christmas a really good one,’ said Louise, with the same gung-ho determination that she was applying to her own life to-do list. So far, apart from the Baby 2 issue, it seemed to be working. ‘We’ll bring the wine, now Peter’s officially in love with the sommelier bloke at the White Hart. You know we went back, for another tasting evening? I haven’t seen him so drunk since we first met.’
Not that she’d minded. With some encouragement he’d made his way through the list, snogged her in the taxi and then fallen into a deep sleep until ten the next morning, not even troubling her Spanx this time.
‘Do you think Juliet would like to cook Christmas lunch?’ asked Diane. ‘Would that give her something to occupy her, or would she think it’s a cheek of me to ask? She could make whatever she liked – I’d even get her all the organic poultry to make that chicken-in-a-duck-in-a-goose-in-a-turkey thing that was on River Cottage.’ When Louise looked dubious, Diane added,’ I thought it might be more of a challenge, get her enthusiasm back.’
Louise looked askance. ‘That’s what Kim thought about those cupcakes. And we ended up being the ones covered in self-raising flour at three in the morning.’
Diane looked constipated, as she always did when she was betraying a confidence. She was a terrible liar. ‘Between you and me, Kim did ring me, wondering when Juliet was going to be ready to come back. I said I didn’t know. But she seems to be much better about leaving the house – she’s always back and forth with people’s dogs and cats. I don’t want Kim to see her around town and think she’s taking her for a ride.’
‘It’s a different thing, though, isn’t it?’ Louise pointed out. ‘Dealing with cats and dogs, and dealing with people. You can see why she wouldn’t want to be around weddings and christenings just yet.’
She looked more closely at her mother. Diane was opening and closing her mouth, as if she couldn’t decide whether or not to say something. She’d also, Louise noticed, got new glasses. More modern ones, with thinner lenses.
Hadn’t Juliet said something about new clothes, too? Maybe it was this carpe diem thing, but there was definitely something . . . fresher . . . about her mother. It reminded Louise eerily of the sheen she’d had about her when she was seeing Michael each week, polishing herself up in readiness for his attention.
Surely not. No, surely not.
‘Mum, just spit it out,’ she said wearily. ‘I’ve had a really long day.’
Diane looked beyond the kitchen door into the sitting room, where Eric was watching the local news with Coco, his bald head nodding in disbelief. Coco’s eyes were fixed on the precariously-balanced bowl of crisps on his knee.
Diane dropped her voice. ‘Did Juliet tell you about her date?’
‘Her date?’ Louise stopped playing with Toby and gave Diane her full attention. She kicked the kitchen door closed, for good measure. ‘Juliet’s been on a date?’
‘Maybe date’s the wrong word. Maybe we shouldn’t get ahead of ourselves,’ Diane added, but her eyes were sparkling. ‘But she went to some do at the Memorial Hall last week with a chap. One of the book-club ladies saw her, Edith, you know, with the alopecia. Apparently they were talking away outside for ages. Juliet was wearing those awful boots that made her tower over Ben – do you remember them? Bound to break her ankle in them.’
‘Mum, forget the boots, who is he?’ Louise felt a strange mixture of emotions swirl in her stomach. Happiness that Juliet was finally getting some light in her gloomy existence, but tinged with a darker emotion – envy that Jools had a fresh start, a fresh romance ahead of her, with all the familiar falling-in-love euphoria she’d had to turn her back on because of her responsibilities.
She pushed the thought away, ashamed of it, and of herself.
‘Oh, she wouldn’t say. Just that he was one of her dog-walking clients who’d asked her along to make up the numbers.’ Diane made a ‘well, I don’t believe that’ face. ‘Edith didn’t know who he was either, just that he seemed very nice. Juliet went all tight-lipped, you know how she does, so I didn’t press her. But she should know by now that you can’t keep a secret in this town!’ Diane wagged her finger. ‘It all comes out eventually!’
Louise swallowed. That depended on how hard you tried.
‘Wasn’t she going to tell you?’ she asked, instead. ‘It’s a bit off that she didn’t tell us. Was it last week? I’m trying to think whether we were invited to that . . .’
Diane immediately started to backtrack, sensing tension between her daughters. ‘I can understand why she’d keep it to herself. She knows how fond your father and I were of Ben. And we were, of course, but I’d still like to see her with someone who’ll make her happy.’
‘We all would,’ said Louise, automatically. Toby was banging a spoon on the table and she took it off him, before it started to annoy her.
‘Speaking of Christmas coming,’ she said, ‘what’s Dad’s college course going to be this year? Once he’s fully fluent in Welsh?’
The September courses were the big one for Eric. He liked to get the prospectus in July and study it properly, adding to his portfolio of qualifications. He had more GCSEs than Juliet and Louise now.
‘Oh, he hasn’t decided yet.’ Diane seemed a bit shifty. ‘He might not do one this year. It’s a big time commitment.’
‘What?’ That seemed strange. ‘Does he want to spend more time in the garden or something?’
‘No, he just doesn’t want to tie himself down to a whole year. That Welsh took it out of him.’ Diane was tidying up the table as she spoke, but it was very tidy already. She heaped the junk mail into a smaller pile, then moved some apples in the fruit bowl. ‘He’s going t
o leave his options open.’
Louise regarded her mother anxiously. Forget the highlights and new glasses. Dad not doing a course was plain worrying. ‘Mum, is there something you’re not telling me?’
‘No!’ Diane looked up, her eyes bright. ‘Would I try to keep anything from Longhampton’s senior prosecutor?’
Louise said nothing. For a family that could read its members like a book on some occasions, there were a lot of secrets building up.
Chapter 19
‘Where do you want these? Sorry, am I interrupting?’
Louise hastily shut the Internet browser window as Tanya, the new office manager, bustled into the office with an armful of manila wallets and bulging case notes.
‘No,’ she said, then, seeing Tanya’s ‘yeah, right’ face, she added, ‘OK, busted. I was checking the Tesco order. I always forget something when I do it last thing. Sorry. Pop them on the end there.’
‘Secret’s safe with me.’ Tanya winked. ‘You’re talking to the woman who came in an hour early to check out the Next sale before anyone else.’
Louise laughed conspiratorially and cleared a space on her desk for the files. Her ‘easing in gently’ period was long over; Douglas had loaded her with more court work than anyone else to clear the backlog before they had their productivity assessment by the council.
At least once a day, he managed to remind everyone that they were still under threat of merger with the main county courts in the next district, which only made Louise more panicky about getting back up to speed and into full indispensability mode.
If only being frantically busy took her mind off all the other stuff going on in her head. It didn’t. One rogue raiding party of worries just galloped in to distract her from whatever she was meant to be doing at the time. In court, she worried about Peter and her marriage; at home, she worried about what would happen if she got pregnant just before the council announced the merger.
Although, that was one worry she could realistically strike off her list. She should be more worried about poor Peter filing for divorce, on grounds of terminal chilliness.