‘Yeah, I might if I’m at a loose end.’ He hesitated, glancing around into the gloom of the night. ‘Although, why anyone would want to live out here in this Godforsaken wilderness I’ll never know!’
‘It’s not a wilderness.’ Cathy smiled. ‘It’s a beautiful village; there’s a duck pond and a church, and a tiny shop which sells just about everything—’
‘Yeah, well, it’s your funeral…’ Gary lifted his sloping shoulders in a shrug. ‘Me—I’d go mad. And what about Robbie?’
‘He’s going to be fine about the move,’ Cathy replied, with more conviction than she felt. ‘Once he settles in, sees how much more enjoyable life can be in the country, he’ll be fine.’
‘Yeah! So you keep saying.’ Gary turned away, clearly uninterested. ‘Anyway, I’ll see you.’
‘Yes, bye!’ Her voice, she thought, sounded forlorn in the dark night. Cathy waited until the van had pulled away, then closed the door on the dark, rainy night, conscious, as the silence engulfed her, that the moment she had been waiting for had finally arrived.
She wandered back into the front room, her gaze skimming over the faded wallpaper and dingy surfaces. Funny how much better things seemed when the sun was shining and the birds were singing, and you were caught in the grip of excitement about the new start in life you were going to make.
She stood in the middle of the room and listened. It was so quiet. Nothing. Not the distant hum of traffic or the banging of car doors, or people shouting. Silence. It was going to take a bit of getting used to after the continual noise of the estate. Cathy inhaled a deep breath. Gary was right; Robbie was going to miss his friends. He had just started school, got used to everything, and she had whisked him away from all that was familiar to try and fulfil some crazy, hare-brained dream of living in the country.
She thought about the impromptu farewell her friends and neighbours had given her just before she’d left. It had been such a nice surprise. Everyone had gone to so much trouble: baking a cake, wrapping up some simple housewarming presents, telling her how much they were going to miss her.
She turned towards the kitchen to search for a bucket and mop. There was a piece of wrapping paper still caught around the handle and she picked it off absent-mindedly.
He had been so handsome…tall and muscular in comparison to Gary’s wiry frame…dark eyes, warm smile, large, capable hands…older than herself…Cathy reached into a box and pulled out a large bottle of cleaning fluid. Thirty, maybe…She turned on the hot tap and water splashed into the bucket; it was freezing cold. Such a relief when he had helped. She had been worrying about the move ever since Gary had turned up at the flat without his so-called mate. He had been on his way somewhere. A glimpse of a jacket beneath the old coat he’d worn, smart trousers, polished shoes. To visit a girlfriend, perhaps? Or just home from work, straight to a restaurant to meet his wife for dinner?
There was a restaurant on the green. Cathy had noticed it when she had first visited this place. It was very refined and expensive-looking, way out of her league—she could barely stretch to a bag of chips. Not that any of that mattered. She had moved here fully prepared for the struggle which lay ahead. Money was important, but only to the extent that she could pay her bills on time, earn enough so that Robbie was warm and clothed and well-fed. She knew she would have been better off staying in the flat in town—financially at least—but what about the quality of their lives? That mattered too, didn’t it?
She glanced down at the picture on the bottle in her hand: a gleaming sink, sparkling taps. She gazed at the grimy work surfaces in front of her and jerked into action. She would need to boil lots of kettles for hot water, then she’d begin upstairs in Robbie’s room. If she was lucky, by morning she might have the most important rooms cleaned and ready for habitation…
It was late. Daniel negotiated the narrow lanes with care, even though he felt like driving fast. That was what an evening spent with his parents did to him—or more particularly with his mother. He released an exasperated breath. When would she learn? More to the point, when would he? How many times had he fallen into the same trap? ‘Just a few friends round for dinner, darling. Can you come? Nothing too grand. I need another man to make up numbers. And besides…’—and this was where guilt always made him fall for it—‘…it’s been so long since we last saw you…’
The rain was still heavy, lying on the road in places, splashing up against the sides of the battered Land Rover as he turned right into the village once again. It was a ghastly night—not made any better by having spent almost three hours having to endure his mother’s unsubtle attempts at matchmaking.
Poor Lucy. Nice girl, as long as you were prepared to spend half the night talking about horses and the other half discussing the merits of various kinds of retail outlets—Harrods or Harvey Nichols? He replayed her voice in his head. Goodness, it really was so difficult to choose.
Daniel yawned, dragging a hand through his dark hair. Hell, he was tired. He glanced at the clock on his dash-board—almost eleven-thirty. He thought of his own place, situated in a quiet spot at the far end of the green. Nearly there. He hoped the fire would still be on—he’d banked it up well with wood before he’d left so it ought to be. A little relaxing music and a stiff drink before he hit the sack. Alone.
There was no doubt Lucy had been attractive. His mother, for some obscure reason, felt he had a penchant for long blonde hair and blue eyes. Daniel’s mouth curved into a smile. Not a bad guess. Trouble was, long blonde hair and blue eyes alone weren’t enough.
He needed something more—much more.
His mother had looked disappointed, as well she might given the trouble she had gone to. ‘Nothing grand’, she had said, but there had been enough crystal and Wedgwood on the endlessly long dining table to stock three antiques shops, and his father had looked predictably uncomfortable in his dinner jacket.
Daniel’s thoughts meandered back to the girl in the yellow mackintosh again. For some reason she had been in the back of his mind all evening. How old? Twenty-three, he guessed, roughly the same age as her partner, or husband, or whatever he was. Not a typical beauty, not like Lucy with her wide, blue eyes and perfectly shaped nose, or any of the other girls who had crossed his path during however many years it was of bachelorhood, but there had been something about her, some indefinable quality which had arrested his attention, something strangely appealing…
Daniel yawned again, wondering vaguely about her name as he approached her cottage. No van blocking the way this time—that was something. He glanced across. The lights were still on. Was she really still working? He remembered how tired she’d looked earlier in the evening, glanced at the clock on his dashboard to confirm the time, and for some unexplainable reason brought the Land Rover to a temporary halt in the lane outside.
He thought about getting out, about walking up the garden path and knocking on the front door. But he didn’t do it. If she were alone, as would seem quite likely, given that the van wasn’t anywhere to be seen, she’d hardly be comfortable about letting him in to the cottage at this late hour—she didn’t even know his name.
His thoughts flitted about. He felt curiously unsettled. Why did it bother him so much? Why did she? He found he wanted to help. There was clearly a lot of work to do in the cottage. It would surely be days before the place was properly habitable. He pictured the boy asleep in her arms, protected and warm, oblivious of the tired strain on his mother’s face.
Her hair had been like fire, such a contrast to the pale face and large green eyes. What could he do for her? Maybe she was struggling at this very moment with a heavy piece of furniture, or dealing with a burst pipe.
A light flicked on in an upstairs window and she came into view. She was carrying a bucket. She didn’t look tired, he decided, watching her face, just determined and purposeful.
Daniel shook his head, running a hand through his thick dark hair. He