The work wasn’t acting as a distraction. What did I really love about the job? I’d always wanted to study law, enjoyed representing people, trying to help them articulate what they wanted to say in court. I knew I had lost sight of my original love of the law: a new case, a grateful client, the research involved. Instead I’d become caught up in the idea that I needed to work on anything that might advance my career and to hell with the consequences. I hadn’t even thought about applying for silk and then suddenly I’d decided to be in a great rush to get there. Yet I didn’t really know why I was doing it. I had seen the way my father had given so much up in his quest to get to the top of his industry and it made him happy. But did it make me happy?
My phone remained silent. Amy, Grandad, Luke – all absent. It only highlighted how messed up things were and a terrified ache in my stomach told me I might never get these things back. The anger was fading and the doubts were creeping in: would the two people who loved me most really be lying to me?
Saturday dawned and the buzzer to the flat went, hope lighting in me at the thought that Luke might be here.
‘This is your fault,’ Howard announced down the intercom. ‘It’s us, we need to come in,’ he said.
Frowning, I pressed the button on the intercom, opening the flat door to see Howard halfway up the stairs already.
Grandad was a little slower, calling out behind him, ‘You can’t blame Lottie for this.’
I felt weary as I heard his words. What had I done now? Could I do anything right? And shouldn’t I be angry with him? He was keeping something from me: I was sure.
I stepped aside as Howard and Grandad came into the flat, Grandad unable to disguise the surprise on his face at the state of the place. The curtains were half closed but even the semi-darkness couldn’t hide the dirty plates, bowls and cups, the scattered papers, the flowers long dead in their vase and the crumpled duvet on the sofa. The air was stale and I fitted in perfectly: my hair tied back into a greasy ponytail, hands spattered with biro ink, wearing an old T-shirt of Luke’s still streaked with mud stains from Glastonbury a couple of years ago.
Howard was talking to himself. I could feel my face pulled into a frown wondering just what it was that had got him so excited. He was pacing the rug in the living room. ‘Figured you might be able to talk them down. They’ll listen to you. They certainly aren’t listening to us.’
Grandad had surreptitiously started to remove crockery to the kitchen. Unable to catch his eye, I felt my heart sink seeing the man I loved having to tend to me when after Grandma died that was what I vowed to do for him. Would he really be choosing to hurt me? Surely I needed to trust him?
‘It’s preposterous,’ Howard continued. ‘No respect for history, tradition . . . ’
‘What’s going on? How can I help?’ The focus gave me a much-needed shot of energy, something I simply hadn’t been able to muster in the last few days. I wondered why Grandad wasn’t asking where Luke was and then realised that he probably already knew.
‘As if you don’t know,’ Howard huffed, his lower lip jutting in a pout.
‘I honestly don’t.’
‘You’ll have to see for yourself,’ Howard said.
‘Come on, Lottie, let’s go,’ Grandad said. Was he avoiding looking me in the eye? I felt confused, thoughts whirring. I didn’t want to ask more in front of Howard but not knowing was torture.
Howard wouldn’t let me change. ‘No time, no time, it could all be much, much worse by now,’ he was saying as I fumbled to put on my trainers.
He escorted me out and down into the street, straight into his car. I barely fit into the bucket seat in the back. Grandad got into the front passenger seat.
I tried to make light of it. ‘Shouldn’t you cuff me?’ I said, but Howard just stared at me wordlessly in the driving mirror.
Briefly I pictured the last time I’d sat in that car, the roof rolled down: that slow magical weekend Luke had arranged.
I didn’t dare make conversation, the car journey an excruciatingly silent affair interrupted only by Howard making the odd disgruntled snort. I realised we were heading to the club and was running through various scenarios in my mind. I couldn’t remain quiet for any longer. ‘Is everything OK, Grandad. Are Geoffrey and Arjun all right?’
Howard cut off his reply. ‘They’re fine. Well, they’re probably not happy either because of this travesty, which I am sure is down to your influence.’
‘That was not what Margaret said,’ Grandad said gently.
Margaret? I frowned.
‘Pff.’ There followed a few more snorts and, as we turned into the familiar setting, I was relieved the journey was coming to an end.
There was no time to even whisper questions to Grandad, who I wasn’t sure I was ready to talk to anyway, as Howard beckoned me out of the car.
We’d parked near the entrance to the golf club and I could hear a hubbub of noise somewhere ahead of me. ‘Is there an event on?’ I asked.
Howard scoffed. ‘You could say. Come on, young lady.’
Howard turned and marched towards the clubhouse, the sound of voices louder as we approached. Confused, I could make out lots of people lying down on the ground, lots of people with grey hair. Everywhere elderly women were sitting or lying down in front of the entrance to the clubhouse. There were placards, too, with slogans I couldn’t quite make out from this distance. Every now and again the voices would converge into some kind of chant and I would miss the words because Howard would start mumbling obscenities.
‘Still bloody at it. There are more of them, Teddy. More.’
Grandad was completely quiet by my side. What was going on? How was this meeting of prostrate women my fault? And when would I get a chance to talk to Grandad?
Nearing the group I instantly recognised Paula brandishing a placard that read WE WILL NOT BE PUTT IN OUR PLACE and, more surprisingly, Margaret dressed in a hot pink long-sleeved top and sporty leggings with a fleece hairband, hands cupped around her mouth as she appeared to start up one of the chants.
‘They won’t let us in – it is a sin!’
It was catchy and I found a small smile building as I looked around the group. There must have been at least thirty women there. Some had obstructed the door by lying horizontally on the path, blocking the way in or out. A young guy in his twenties, dressed in the customary royal blue polo shirt of the club, was standing nervously in the doorway, wringing his hands and every now and again trying to clear the path of horizontal women.
‘This is ridiculous. It must be stopped. Teddy, get her to say something.’ Howard was gesturing at me.
Forgetting my own troubles for a minute, I looked at him in amazement. ‘How am I meant to stop it? And what do they want anyway?’ I asked, starting to realise I knew the answer.
Margaret spotted me, her face breaking into a wide smile, both hands waving enthusiastically.
‘Christ, it’s a coven. This is what it will be like, Teddy. There will be no escape. Women. Everywhere.’
Grandad had turned to fill me in. ‘They want to be allowed to join the golf club. They’re only allowed to play on a Wednesday morning at the moment and a lot of them are taking a taxi to a club a few miles away but they want the Men Only rule on the course broken.’