Hens Reunited Page 9

  She couldn’t let that happen. She could not become a victim again. Would not, rather. It had been what she’d vowed all those years ago, when she’d run from Stockport at the first chance she’d got.

  ‘Yes,’ she said to the man now. ‘Would you mind?’

  ‘Not at all,’ he said, helping her to her feet. ‘Not at all. I’m Owen McIntosh, by the way. I’m part of the team looking after Mrs Hatherley.’

  ‘Georgia,’ she said. ‘Nice to meet you.’ She was surprised to realize that she actually meant it.

  Chapter Six

  Another Crack In My Heart

  Monday, 16 June 2008

  ‘So I thought we could make some house pictures, all right?’ said the earnest-looking mum, coming over to the sticking table with a sheaf of papers and spreading them out. ‘I’ve cut out shapes for windows here, and these rectangles could be doors … There are some flower pictures I’ve snipped out of magazines, and we can use these green paper shreddy bits for bushes and shrubs …’

  It was Monday morning, and Alice was at the local Mothers and Toddlers group in the parish hall, with Iris. She’d seen the sign pinned up in the village shop the day after she’d moved in, and had been the first one there when the doors had opened at eleven o’clock. She’d been desperate for conversation and contact with other human beings whose vocabulary wasn’t limited to ‘gah!’ and screaming.

  Already she was finding it strange, not being with her parents after living with them again for so long. The first night, Saturday, she’d hated having to lock the cottage up all alone, and had then lain in bed, unable to sleep, wondering who else in the village might have keys to her front door. She didn’t even dare leave a window open, despite it being a sultry night. It would have been easy for anyone to scramble up the honeysuckle trellis on the back wall and slither through the window. No thanks, thought Alice with a shudder.

  It was just so quiet living in the village! She was used to the late-night noises of her parents’ house – the neighbours’ dog, the burble of the TV as her dad stayed up to watch Newsnight, the occasional car zooming by. Here, Alice felt smothered by the deep silence that swallowed up the cottage, punctuated only by the occasional symphony of peculiar creaks and squeaks from the floorboards. It made her feel alone, so alone, to be lying there in the gloomy bedroom, with acres of farmland and woods behind her. No lights were visible from other houses, no cars passing, no signs of life whatsoever. It gave her the creeps. If someone broke in and murdered her and Iris in their beds, how long would it be before anyone found them?

  After a sleepless night, she’d caved in pathetically the very next day and gone back to her mum’s for Sunday dinner. She couldn’t bear the silence of the cottage for a moment longer, felt as if the walls were closing in on her.

  Still, she wasn’t on her own now, was she? She was out and about, surrounded by other people and their conversations. Babies grizzled, toddlers rampaged around on bright plastic cars, or rammed miniature buggies with balding dolly passengers at each other, mums sipped coffees and swapped stories. She had all the life and chat a single person could ever wish for. So why did she still feel so alone?

  From her position on an uncomfortably dinky little chair at the sticking table, Alice listened obediently to the earnest woman who was now showing them all how to assemble a house picture, even though Iris was fast asleep and not actually au fait with glue pots and collages yet. Come to think of it, she wasn’t strictly a toddler, as she showed absolutely no signs of walking yet, just crawling. Was that allowed? Alice wondered with a sudden lurch of nerves. Would they be asked to leave?

  Alice hadn’t really done much on the mum scene yet. She didn’t know what to expect. Previously, she and Iris had done little other than accompany Alice’s parents as they tramped around endless National Trust properties (Iris had witnessed more examples of Palladian stonework in her eight months than most of the population ever did, Alice reckoned) and potter about the house and garden, not really engaging with the real world.

  Alice looked around, worried now that it had crossed her mind she might have broken a rule, coming to a Mother and Toddler group without an actual toddler. Would she be turfed out and told to come back in a year’s time?

  Nobody was coming to tap her on the shoulder, though. Anyway, the mum running the show at the door, who’d taken her pound coin and told her to help herself to a coffee, hadn’t asked to see Iris’s birth certificate or made any comments about her being small for a toddler, had she?

  For crying out loud, relax! she told herself. Crazy, wasn’t she, to feel nervous about walking into the Mothers and Toddlers group. Laughable! She could imagine her old friends teasing her about it – Ooh, into the lions’ den, eh? They’re a terrifying lot, those Mothers and Toddlers! Georgia would have scoffed.

  But Alice wasn’t like Georgia. She couldn’t just waltz into a room, brimming with confidence, and introduce herself to whoever she liked the look of. No. Alice stayed at the edges, casting nervous glances, hoping someone would come over to her.

  So far, nobody had.

  They all seemed to know each other, these mums, that was the problem. They were engrossed in huddles of chat, private islands that Alice didn’t seem permitted to access. They were discussing each other’s love lives, each other’s children, and local gossip about their fellow villagers – none of which Alice felt qualified to comment on.

  ‘So he says to me, I thought you knew I had sensitive nipples!’ one woman was relating to a group of friends around her on a carpet area scattered with soft toys. Her audience screeched with laughter. ‘And I said …’

  No, Alice couldn’t really join in there. What could she say? ‘Mind if I listen? I love a good nipple anecdote.’

  Definitely not. She’d be chased out of the village with pitchforks and flaming torches.

  Next to an overflowing dressing-up box, a buxom woman was fitting a glittery tiara to a small girl’s head whilst narrating a different kind of story. ‘And I could smell this horrible smell, right, so I looked round and there was this great big turd on the carpet, with Alfie just about to step in it with his bare feet. And I went mental, I did, I just …’

  Oh, please.

  Alice didn’t want to join that conversation either. She tuned out rapidly and stroked Iris’s back, wondering if she should leave, give it up as a bad job. She couldn’t bear the thought of sitting there in her plastic chair for another hour with nobody speaking to her. She’d come here for adult company, but she just felt invisible. Today was supposed to be the first day of the rest of her life, wasn’t it? Today she’d emerged from her post-Jake limbo, like a shy butterfly from a cocoon, wings weak and crumpled. She felt as if she were still blinking in the light, not yet able to fly.

  No one would notice if she just went home, by the looks of it. No one would care, would they?

  But then she might get a name for herself in the village. Oh, there’s that weird mum who never talks to anyone.

  Yeah, she was at Mothers and Toddlers the other week, never said a word to anyone else, then just buggered off home!

  Probably thinks she’s too good for the likes of us! Snobby cow.

  She didn’t want that. She didn’t want people getting the wrong idea about her. If no one was going to speak to her, she’d have to make the first move. She was just going to have to catch someone’s eye, strike up a conversation. Oh God! But who with? This was really difficult!

  Come on, Alice, she told herself. Be brave. Just do it!

  Across the table, two mums were sipping coffee and half-heartedly supervising their children’s glue-stick manoeuvres. ‘So she thinks she’s got a chance with Dom again, apparently,’ one said, twisting a long strand of honey-coloured hair between her fingers.

  Alice’s ears pricked up. Dom? Was that her Dom they were talking about? She blushed at her own phrase. ‘Her Dom’ indeed. The over-friendly guy who’d barged into her cottage was what she meant.

  ‘What, Dom Fletcher?�
� the other woman asked the first, with a scornful pursing of her lips. She tossed her red hair. ‘She must be barmy, then. A glutton for punishment.’

  The words sank into Alice’s mind. A glutton for punishment? What was so awful about Dom, then? Was he a cheater, a heartbreaker?

  She felt her mouth tightening. Weren’t they all? She should have known!

  ‘Mummy, Mummy!’ The little girl sitting next to the blonde woman grabbed a handful of the green shredded paper. ‘I want to make a tree with this. And a bush! I want a bush!’

  The blonde mum winked at her friend. ‘You’ll get one when you’re older,’ she said, deadpan.

  The redhead convulsed into giggles. ‘She won’t be so keen on the idea then,’ she said meaningfully, helping her little boy splodge some glue onto his sugar paper.

  ‘No,’ the blonde agreed, and turned to her baffled-looking daughter. ‘And whatever you do, love, if a bloke asks you to wax it off, tell him where to go!’

  They were both rocking with giggles now, and Alice couldn’t help laughing too. Then the blonde woman gave her a friendly smile. ‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘we’re not always like this.’

  The red-haired woman gave a snort. ‘What are you on about? Yes, we are,’ she laughed.

  The blonde woman shrugged. ‘Shush, she doesn’t know that yet,’ she replied in a mock-whisper, indicating Alice with a tip of her head. ‘Try and give a good impression, Mags, all right?’

  Alice smiled back. And took a deep breath. ‘I thought it was funny,’ she said. ‘I’m Alice, by the way. New to the village.’

  The women exchanged a look. ‘We know,’ the red-haired woman – Mags – admitted. ‘You can’t fart round here without someone getting to hear about it. I’m Mags and this is Jen. And who’s Sleeping Beauty, then?’

  They all considered Iris, who was still dozing with her head resting on one of Alice’s shoulders. ‘Iris,’ Alice said. ‘I know she’s a bit young to come here, but …’

  Jen waved a hand dismissively. ‘Never too young,’ she assured Alice. ‘I came here when Poppy was – what? Five weeks old, I think. I was just so bored of being in the house, I was desperate to get out and have a chat.’

  Mags nodded. ‘This is the right place to come, Alice,’ she said. ‘This is where you get to hear what’s going on.’ She rose to her feet. ‘I’ll just grab you a drink, then you can tell us all about yourself. Tea or coffee?’

  ‘Tea, please,’ Alice said gratefully. ‘Thank you.’ She felt faint with relief that these women were talking to her. Thank goodness!

  ‘So,’ said Jen conversationally, after breaking up some of the green shredded-paper clumps for her daughter’s foliage, ‘I hope you realize all the men in the village are talking about you already?’

  Alice coloured, feeling horribly embarrassed. ‘They what? Who?’ she asked.

  Jen grinned. ‘My dad for starters,’ she replied. ‘Stanley. White hair, nosy old bugger, door-opener adviser …’

  Alice blushed an even deeper red. ‘Oh yes,’ she said, realizing who Jen was referring to. ‘So that’s your dad? He … um … helped me get in the cottage. I couldn’t …’ She faltered, feeling an idiot in describing her incapability. ‘Small world,’ she said with a faint smile.

  Jen rolled her eyes. ‘Very small,’ she agreed. ‘Too small. It’s like living in a goldfish bowl, isn’t that right, Mags?’

  Mags was back with a chipped mug of tea and a chocolate digestive for Alice. ‘Oh yeah,’ she said breezily. ‘And everyone’s very excited about the new fish in the bowl – you, I mean,’ she said, raising her eyebrows at Alice.

  Alice dunked her biscuit, glad of the opportunity to turn her gaze away. She wasn’t enjoying this conversation so much now. ‘Yeah?’ she asked, trying to sound casual about it.

  ‘Too right,’ Jen said. ‘They were discussing you in the pub last night. Dom Fletcher was telling them all about you.’

  ‘He was?’ Alice asked, startled. A hot flush stung her cheeks. ‘What … what did he say?’

  Mags grinned. ‘Ooh, now that would be telling,’ she replied, her eyes glittering.

  ‘Something about the two of you being up in your bedroom was what I heard,’ Jen put in suggestively, raising her severely plucked eyebrows. ‘You’re a fast mover, Alice!’

  Alice forced a laugh but inside she felt queasy. ‘It wasn’t like that!’ she protested.

  Mags leaned forward. ‘What was it like, then?’

  ‘Mum,’ her son said, putting a gluey hand on her arm. ‘Can you help me?’

  Mags seemed irritated by the interruption. ‘Oh, Ollie!’ she cried, shaking him off her. ‘You’ve made me all sticky!’

  Jen was leaning forward too, considering Alice with narrowed eyes. ‘You know … there’s something dead familiar about your face, Alice. I can’t think where I’ve seen you before.’

  In the tabloids, Alice thought, feeling a lurch inside. She certainly wasn’t going to fess up as much, though. No way! Her hair was much longer now than when she’d been papped and that image of her standing in her old doorway, hand on her rounded belly, blinking in the camera flashes, had been plastered all over the press. She’d been hoping to go incognito here, hoped nobody would remember the headlines.

  She forced a laugh now, wanting to change the subject and distract Jen. ‘Oh, lots of people say that,’ she said lightly, her stomach churning. ‘I’ve just got one of those faces. Common as anything, me!’

  Jen wasn’t put off the scent so easily, though. ‘Hmmm,’ she said, cocking her head on one side. ‘No, it’s not that. I’ve seen you somewhere, I’m sure of it.’ She shrugged. ‘It’ll come to me.’

  I bloody hope not, Alice thought, feeling her smile slip. The last thing she needed was the village to know the truth, to dredge up all the stuff with Jake. She’d been hoping this place would be a bolt-hole, somewhere she could get over her broken marriage in private. But if the truth came out, there’d be no chance of that. If everyone knew that Iris was actually Jake Archer’s daughter … Christ, she’d never hear the end of it.

  Iris stirred in Alice’s arms just then, stretched up her chubby little arms and opened her round blue eyes. She was silent for a moment, staring at the bustle and chaos of the room, then looked questioningly at Alice.

  ‘Hello sweetie,’ Alice said, stroking her cheek.

  ‘Awww, what a poppet,’ Jen said. ‘So, what were you saying, Alice? You were about to tell us about your little … how should I put it? … encounter with Dom.’

  ‘Brief, was it?’ Mags giggled.

  ‘Who said anything about briefs?’ Jen tittered. ‘I heard he wears Y-fronts.’

  Mags burst into a laugh. ‘Where did you hear that? Did Natasha say that? Or Cathy?’

  Alice listened with a growing sense of horror. She’d only talked to Dom for about two minutes, yet news of their meeting seemed to have rushed around the village like wildfire. And who were all these girls Mags and Jen were referring to, who knew Dom’s underwear situation so well? He was sounding more like the village Lothario by the second. ‘Blimey,’ she said, rather shakily. ‘Seems like he gets around a bit.’

  Mags and Jen exchanged a look. ‘You could say that,’ Jen said after a moment. ‘Anyway, we’re only teasing you, Alice. Don’t mind us.’

  ‘Mummy, help!’ Mags’s son cried, tugging at her again, and she rolled her eyes and dabbed some glue on his picture.

  Iris had reached across the table and snatched up some of the shredded paper, which she was now posting into her open mouth. ‘Oh, Iris!’ Alice said, taking it gently out again. ‘Are you trying to tell me something? Are you hungry?’

  She was glad of an excuse to get to her feet and go, even though she knew Iris wasn’t really that hungry yet. The conversation with Mags and Jen had cheered her initially – hooray, friendly mums talking to her! – but her feelings had quickly turned to dismay. She didn’t like everyone knowing her business. And what did Dom think he was playing at anyway, telling everyone
in the pub that he’d been in her bedroom?

  ‘Cheers for that, mate,’ she muttered crossly, wheeling Iris down the lane in her buggy. ‘Now I’m the village slapper, and I’ve only been here two days. Thanks a bunch!’

  The cottage seemed particularly joyless when she returned to it, with its small, mean windows and dusty front path. She had to unclip Iris from her buggy outside because it was too big to wheel into the cottage. Or rather, you could wedge it in, just about, but it took up most of the living room like some kind of looming Mothercare-esque art installation. Not terribly practical.

  She carried Iris inside, her spirits sinking. Now what? What else should she do for the rest of the day? There was lunch to make, sure, and Iris would need a nap, but she had nothing else planned. And tomorrow was similarly empty, too, and the day after that …

  Iris was mouthing wetly on her shoulder. Hungry now. Alice put her in the high chair and tried to think where she’d unpacked the bibs. Oh God. It all felt too much, suddenly. What had she done, coming here in the first place? Getting back on her feet after the double whammy of Jake’s betrayal and Iris being born had felt such a monumental effort, she’d barely thought beyond actually moving in. For so long, she’d concentrated on coping from day to day, one step at a time, not daring to look any further ahead. She’d been so intent on trying not to dwell on the past and what might have been, that she’d forgotten to make plans for the future.

  And now here she was, in this hotbed of gossip where everyone knew everyone else, and they were all talking about her. You’re a fast mover, Alice, she heard Jen tease in her head, and felt like crying. They were so wrong about her! Fast mover? Hardly. She was at a complete standstill, not moving anywhere.

  What, exactly, had Dom said about her, anyway? She’d thought he was nice when he’d come round on Saturday. Should have known there was an agenda. He sounded as if he was the kind of bloke who liked to make conquests, and boasted to the lads about them afterwards. Ugh. It sent her cold, that sort of thing. So ungentlemanly. So unchivalrous! He certainly wouldn’t be getting a welcome if he showed up round here again.