‘You do get a widow’s pension,’ the solicitor continues. ‘But I’m afraid it’s not going to be enough to bring up two children on.’
He pushes a piece of paper across the desk at me and I pick it up and study the figures. ‘No,’ I say. ‘You’re right. It’s not nearly enough.’
The only silver lining I can see in this is that it doesn’t actually matter that Tom and Jessica can’t get back into the Weston Academy, because I could never have afforded it anyway.
What am I to do? The amount of money we’re going to get every month isn’t even going to cover Hamish’s escalating vet bills at this rate. I feel like crying, but I won’t do so in front of my solicitor. I won’t make my husband the bad guy in this. William would be mortified to think that he’d left us in this situation. Besides, whoever really thinks that today might be their last? He’d probably never given a thought to how we’d manage at Helmshill Grange without him. As far as Will was concerned, we were going to have a long and happy life there together. Hell’s bells, I am going to cry now.
Pulling a tissue out of my handbag, I sniff into it.
My solicitor looks distraught. ‘I dearly wish that I had some good news for you, Amy.’
My only hope is that I sell Helmshill Grange quickly.
‘If there’s anything I can do to help,’ Robert says, checking his watch.
My time is up and, no doubt, I can’t afford Robert’s bills any more. Something he’ll be well aware of.
I stand and have a last sniff. ‘We’ll manage,’ I say. I don’t know how, but that’s my promise to my children. Somehow, I’ll find a way and we’ll manage.
Chapter Forty-One
‘I feel terrible,’ Guy said for the umpteenth time. ‘It’s entirely my fault.’ And Hamish’s, of course. ‘Do whatever you need to fix it by next week and send me the bill.’ He didn’t know much about gardening, but he assumed that it would require a serious amount of new turf to cover up Hamish’s mole-hunting excesses.
‘Nonsense, nonsense, dear boy,’ Marty said magnanimously. Guy wasn’t sure he’d be quite so gracious if the boot was on the other foot.
‘Please,’ Guy implored. ‘Whatever the cost. I’ll pay the damage.’
The fact that Marty was taking the destruction of his pride and joy in his stride only served to make Guy feel worse. He didn’t want this incident to put a dent in a friendship that meant so much to him and was more than happy to throw some cash at it to put it right if that’s what it took.
‘Accidents happen,’ Marty assured him. He even tried a laugh.
‘They do when Hamish is around,’ Tom said solemnly.
‘We can always put back the photo-shoot.’ Marty’s voice gave a tell-tale waver on that sentence.
Guy wanted to die. Why hadn’t he realised that Hamish was more than capable of chewing through a lead? He should have put the dog on a chain – a heavy one.
‘More shepherd’s pie?’ Gillian, however, was quite pale. The rampant remodelling of her garden had clearly hit her harder.
Both children nodded eagerly at the offer – unaware of quite the amount of havoc their dog had created this time – and were duly given extra portions of the delicious meal. Hamish had been banned to the Range Rover in disgrace. During lulls in the conversation you could hear him howling in protest.
The excellent shepherd’s pie was followed by a good old English bread-and-butter pudding. But Guy had no appetite. Would it be best, he wondered, if they didn’t wait around to meet the Bainbridge children and simply made their excuses and left after lunch?
The children poured thick double cream over their pudding and tucked in. Guy smiled and ploughed in valiantly. He wished that Hamish would shut up as his constant barking only served as a reminder that he was still around and being troublesome.
What could he do to help Amy to tame this beast? He’d been a vet for years now, yet he’d never come across any animal quite so capable of creating havoc as Hamish was. Guy trawled his memory, wondering if there was some kind of doggy equivalent to Ritalin – the stuff they gave to hyperactive kids to calm them down.
Then Hamish stopped barking and Guy instinctively knew that should worry him more. And it did. There was a moment of perfect silence and then the noise of car tyres on gravel crunched through the air.
‘Oh no,’ he cried and, abandoning his bread-and-butter pudding, he dived out of his seat and flew to the window. He was just in time to see the Range Rover picking up speed down the slight incline of the Bainbridges’ drive. ‘Oh no!’
Goodness only knows how he managed it, but Hamish’s bumping around in the car must have somehow disengaged the handbrake. Or maybe Guy hadn’t put it on as securely as he should have. Whatever had happened, it was too late now. Out on the drive, the Range Rover was gathering pace, very quickly covering the short distance to the Bainbridges’ new Mercedes. ‘Stop!’ Guy shouted. But it was fruitless.
Now, sitting upright in the driver’s seat, paws on the steering wheel, Hamish wore a startled expression and was backing away from the windscreen. But once again, Guy was too late. Way, way too late.
The Range Rover, in slow motion, smacked straight into the back of the Mercedes causing a loud bang, followed rapidly by a delicate tinkling of glass. The Mercedes then, with equally sedate progress, shunted straight into the front wall of the Bainbridges’ elegant home.
By this time, Marty, Gill and the children had joined Guy at the window to witness the destruction of the front and rear end of the Bainbridges very new and very treasured car.
‘I’m sorry,’ Guy said, not daring to look at his friend. ‘You won’t believe how truly very sorry I am.’
He heard Marty gulp next to him. Then in a voice filled with emotion, he said, ‘I will be sending you the bill for that one, dear boy.’
Chapter Forty-Two
It takes me five hours to reach the station at Scarsby, giving me plenty of time to think about our predicament on the train. I’m tired, weary and, again, close to tears by the time I disembark. I wish Will was here. I wish I could talk this through with him. But then if he was here we wouldn’t be in this mess.
Standing there are Tom, Jessica and Guy even though it’s ten o’clock at night and they’ve got school tomorrow. But I’m deliriously happy that they’ve all come to meet me, which makes me feel even more weepy. I’d expected to get a taxi back to the house and this is an unexpected and welcome treat. The children run to me and I fling my arms round them and promptly burst into tears. How on earth am I going to look after my babies properly if I can’t get a grip on myself?
Guy stands by, waiting, looking sheepish.
‘Thank you,’ I say to him. ‘It was lovely of you to come and collect me. Very kind.’
‘Thought you might struggle to get a taxi at this time of night,’ he says. ‘Did you have a good day?’
I shake my head. ‘No,’ I say quietly so that the kids don’t hear. ‘I’ll tell you about it later.’
We head towards Guy’s car as I ask, ‘What about you? Have you all had a good day?’
‘Wonderful,’ Guy says brightly. ‘We’ve had a great day, haven’t we, kids?’
‘Yes,’ they chorus dutifully.
‘Have you both been good?’
My children nod earnestly.
‘I made a new friend,’ Jessica tells me excitedly. ‘She’s called Ellie and she’s seven. She’s got a pony called Snowflake and she let me have a ride.’
‘Really?’ I raise a questioning eyebrow at Guy and he nods.
‘I’d like a pony,’ Jessica announces. ‘They’re cool.’
Well, I think, you’ve got a mad dog and a serial-killer cat instead. ‘No trouble with Hamish?’
‘No,’ Guy says, but he doesn’t meet my eye. ‘Not a bit.’
‘He ripped up Mr and Mrs Bainbridge’s best lawn,’ Jessica tells me joyfully. I could have told Guy that he couldn’t rely on that one to keep a secret. Her brother doesn’t nickname her Blabbermouth
for nothing.
‘Did he now?’ My eyebrow raises at Guy again.
‘He just did a little mole hunting,’ Guy says tightly. ‘Just following his natural instincts.’
‘This wasn’t by any chance Marty Bainbridge, the television gardener’s lawn, was it?’
‘He was very understanding,’ Guy says. ‘No harm done.’
‘I don’t owe them money?’
‘No, no. Not at all.’
We get to the Range Rover and, even in my tired and emotional state, I notice that the front is more crumpled than it was this morning. I stand and study it. Both headlights are smashed and there’s a sizeable dent in the bumper. ‘Have you had a bump?’
‘Just a little one,’ Guy replies. ‘Nothing to worry about. We weren’t in the car at the time.’
‘Hamish did that too,’ Jessica says with a theatrical sigh. ‘He knocked the handbrake off in Guy’s car and it crashed into Mr and Mrs Bainbridge’s car.’
This time my eyes meet Guy’s and I’m sure he can see the twinkle in mine. I can certainly see the caginess in his. ‘Sounds like you made quite an impression on your play date.’
‘Women,’ Tom tuts. ‘You weren’t supposed to tell, Jessie Blabbermouth.’
‘Oh.’ Jessica’s hand flies to her mouth as her brain kicks into gear. She stares apologetically at Guy. ‘Sorry.’
He has the grace to laugh.
‘I’m glad that it’s not just me who can’t control Hamish.’
‘It is going to be my mission in life to train that dog.’
‘Were the Bainbridges very cross?’
‘Not about the garden, surprisingly,’ Guy tells me. ‘But the Mercedes crashing into the house tested their patience a little.’
‘I’ll bet.’
‘They’ve invited us back to play again,’ Jessica pipes up.
‘As long as we don’t take Hamish,’ Tom adds.
Poor Hamish, I think. He only has to go and visit someone once and no one wants him back again. What am I going to do with him?
‘Your day sounds as if it went as smoothly as mine,’ I say to Guy with a smile. ‘I hope it hasn’t been too much of a pain. Don’t worry, I won’t ask you to babysit again. We’ll be out of your hair before you know it.’
We slip into the car. Hamish is sitting in the back seat, tied firmly to the seat-belt fitting. He’s drooling and the car stinks of dog. He woofs happily when he sees me. What a bloody nuisance he is.
‘Amy,’ Guy says softly as we sit next to each other, ‘despite everything, I’ve really enjoyed myself today. The children are fantastic. We’ve all had a great time together. I’d love to do it again. And soon. Before you leave.’
With that he slides the car into gear and pulls out of the car park. Quite honestly, I’m glad that he doesn’t wait for an answer as I really wouldn’t know what to say.
Chapter Forty-Three
I tuck Jessica up in her bed after checking it for mouse remains and hand her the headless Bratz doll that Hamish customised. ‘Sleep tight.’
‘Mummy,’ she says thoughtfully, as she strokes the decapitated torso. ‘Guy makes a very nice daddy.’
‘Does he?’ Another statement I don’t know how to answer. Which is just as well as my throat has closed up.
‘I know that he’s not a daddy, but he could be. He taught us how to skim stones and ride a pony and everything.’
‘He’s a very nice uncle,’ I tell her, struggling to hold back the tears. ‘That’s what Guy is. A lovely uncle.’
‘When he’s here, I don’t miss Daddy so much,’ she says. My daughter slips her thumb into her mouth and, for once, I don’t tell her not to. She snuggles down in her bed, contented and tired from her exciting day. I’ll have a devil of a job getting her up for school in the morning, but for now I’m just glad that she’s had some temporary respite from her pain.
I look in on Tom again, but he’s already fast asleep, duvet thrown off, sprawled on his back, exactly like Will preferred to sleep.
Downstairs, Guy is waiting for me. ‘I took the liberty of opening this,’ he says, holding up a bottle of red. It’s one of William’s favourites and that makes me feel incredibly sad, but I say nothing.
‘It’s fine. Good idea.’
‘Gill Bainbridge sent a portion of her wonderful shepherd’s pie for you in case you hadn’t eaten.’
‘She can’t have been too cross with you then,’ I say with a wry smile.
‘I think she was trying very hard not to be,’ he admits. ‘They’re very nice people. You’ll have to come and meet them. I put the shepherd’s pie in the Aga earlier, so it should be ready now.’
‘You’ll make someone a lovely wife,’ I quip and we both flush. Guy busies himself with my oven gloves. ‘Where’s Hamish?’ I ask, to change the subject.
‘Locked in the scullery.’
Then I tune into the scrabbling at the door. The handle has one of William’s ties wound round it for extra security. I wonder how long it will be before Hamish can open that door by himself and then I’ll have no peace at all.
I take the glass of wine that Guy has poured me and sip it. This feels very strange as this is what Will and I used to do late at night when the kids were asleep. We’d pick at a supper at the kitchen table with a good glass of red to help ease the troubles of the day and talk about nothing in particular. I can’t believe that I’ll never do that with him again and that so soon I’m doing it with a man I hardly know. Tears fill my eyes.
‘Okay?’
Puffing out a sigh, I say, ‘Not really. I’ve had a shitty day.’
Guy puts the steaming shepherd’s pie down in front of me, along with a fork and I start to tackle it. It’s hot and the potato burns the roof of my mouth, but I continue eating anyway for something to do.
‘I can’t get a job back at my old company when I naively thought they’d hurl themselves to the floor with relief to find that I was on the market again.’ I stab with the fork. ‘Who was I kidding? My old boss – a guy who I really respected – treated me like a bad smell. He couldn’t wait to waft me away from under his nose.’
‘That’s very cruel of them in the circumstances.’
I try to shrug it off. ‘That’s business these days. I should have known. It was stupid of me to think otherwise.’ The shepherd’s pie is as good as its reputation. The creamy mashed potato and rich lamb is offering up a shred of comfort, and Gillian Bainbridge is clearly a much better cook than me. Washed down with a good glass of red, it very nearly makes me feel human again – so long as I don’t think too deeply about our predicament. Sniffing back a tear, I continue to tell Guy my tale of woe. ‘The kids’ old school won’t take them back either. Which is just as well because, as it turns out, I have no money to pay for their fees.’ I give up with the shepherd’s pie and put my head in my hands. ‘Because William had left the BTC just before he died, there’s no life cover in place. Nada. Not a sausage. I’ve nothing but a small pension coming in.’
‘Oh, Amy,’ Guy says. ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
I force a smile. ‘I shouldn’t be telling you all this. I’ve offloaded more than enough on you today.’
Guy’s hand covers mine. The heat of it shocks me. It burns me more fiercely than the shepherd’s pie burned the roof of my mouth. ‘I want to be a friend to you, Amy. A good friend.’
Pulling my hand away, I say crisply, ‘You are. You know you are.’ This doesn’t feel right. It’s as if I’m betraying William. ‘But I hope you know that a friend is all you’ll ever be.’
‘Amy . . .’
‘I’m still in love with my husband, Guy. I might be on my own now,’ my voice trembles, ‘but I’m not looking for anything else. I hope you don’t think . . .’
‘I don’t think anything,’ he insists. ‘I just enjoy being with you and with the children. I know what it’s like to be alone. If I can help . . .’ Then, abruptly, Guy stands up. ‘I’m sorry. All of this came out wrong. I think I’d better go.
’
I take a swig of my wine and my hand’s shaking. ‘I think you better had.’
He goes to the door. ‘Call me,’ he says. ‘I won’t bother you any more unless you do.’
‘Thank you for today,’ I say. ‘I really do appreciate it. And thank you from the children.’
But I think the damage has been done. Guy slams the door behind him.
I hear his car pull away and then I can’t stop the tears. Does he think that I’m looking for someone else already? Is that what he wants? To get his feet under my table? Well, he might be a charmer and Jessica might think that he makes a wonderful daddy, but it’s way, way too soon for me to be getting so cosy with anyone. I might have problems, lots of them, but I can cope. I can cope alone. And I will.
Chapter Forty-Four
It was a very bad idea to get drunk and phone your ex. He knew that. He knew it with every fibre of his being. Guy picked up the phone. It was an even worse idea if you were still compos mentis enough to realise that was what you were doing.
Despite his own misgivings, he dialled Laura’s number. It was late and she’d probably be in bed. For a fleeting moment, he wondered whether she would be alone.
When he’d come back from Helmshill Grange, having made a complete fist of telling Amy that he would be there for her whatever happened in her life, he’d decided to get very, very pissed. It wasn’t something that he did these days. When Laura had first left him, he’d briefly turned to drink as a way of getting a decent night’s sleep, but it hadn’t worked. Now he was invariably on call and, with a bottle of red wine inside you, doing a caesarean on a calving cow or delivering a lamb with a reluctance to enter the world simply wasn’t an option. So the late-night drinking had long since been curtailed.
Tonight, he didn’t care. The strong drink route to oblivion was a viable option. It was his assistant, Stephen, who was on call. Stephen who would deal with the varied crises of the livestock of their little part of the Yorkshire moors. Stephen who would crawl back into bed with cold hands and feet to snuggle up to his lovely young wife. That was the worst thing about being single and on call in the middle of the night. When you eventually made it home blurry eyed and freezing, there was no one there waiting for you.