Julia stood where she was, feeling dreadful. She looked at her phone again, forced herself to face the WhatsApps. Across the street the party was still in full swing, music and BBQ smells infusing the hot air. How could Julia look anyone in the road in the eye ever again? Unsurprisingly the Cedar Lane group had no new messages. Disabling in its silence. There was nothing, not even a shocked face emoji from one of the other residents.
The fat bluebottle hit the bare overhead lightbulb and stunned itself, falling to the countertop.
Julia couldn’t stay in the house, the walls closing in on her, the thump of the party music shaking the floor, Charlie outside in his man cave. Grabbing her phone, keys and bag she pulled her trainers back on and jogged outside, out the front door into the oppressive, sweltering heat.
Chapter Five
Amber Beddington had a love-hate relationship with the Cedar Lane WhatsApp group. The endless emojis grated and the ‘Thanks hun’ replies drove her barmy but it amused her to watch them all getting their knickers in a twist about the new Sainsbury’s. Amber was quite looking forward to a Sainsbury’s. She was particularly keen on their boil-in-the-bag mussels. Four minutes on the hob and you could just as well be in the South of France.
She was usually a silent observer of the thread but as she packed her suitcase in the unrelenting heat of her bedroom, her phone pinging with the screenshots charting Julia Fletcher’s fantasies about that idiot Hamish Warrington posted by his more idiotic wife, Amber experienced a desperate itch to comment. To say something, anything that might bring Lexi down in return. Because Amber had a soft spot for Julia. She was clever. Amber always admired people who were cleverer than her. Or more talented – she had a huge girl crush on her Pilates teacher, Emma. She liked people who took the time to learn, took consideration with facts and figures, but also had time for others. Julia was like Amber’s son, Billy. They had similar neat little brains that worried about interest rates, if there was milk in the fridge, if the car was taxed. Like a tidy patio garden with pots of begonias and an awning. Whereas Amber’s was more like the ones they panned back from on Homes Under the Hammer, a confusing horror of brambles and bindweed.
Amber zipped up her suitcase and giving her bedroom one last glance – the tangle of sheets, she should really make the bed – to check she hadn’t forgotten anything – ooh, underwear, she grabbed a handful from the antique dresser, and Nicorette patches, no she had them in her bag – she left the room, itching to go back for her emergency pack of fags but forcing herself to carry on out the door.
The afternoon sun was too hot. Amber squinted. The dreadful music from Lexi’s party immediately got her back up, especially after the sticker she’d left on Amber’s windscreen. She crossed the street to the VW camper van which she’d had to borrow from a friend because her van was currently having its third new clutch in Ray’s Garage up the road. A kid in one of the windows stuck his tongue out at Amber as she walked past, she stuck her tongue out back, the little kid giggled. Behind him Peppa Pig was playing on a massive wall-mounted TV. All Amber saw down this road was Peppa Pig on giant TVs, or on a Saturday, the cricket. Every house on this side of the road was the same, all the Victorian terraces done up with plantation shutters and various shades of Farrow & Ball paint. On the walls were giant canvases of their children or themselves, making Amber wonder when art had become so narcissistic. Mind you, Picasso and Rembrandt were always painting themselves. Amber had never taken a selfie in her life; the idea was abhorrent. She didn’t need a million likes to tell her she was beautiful. She caught sight of herself in the VW window and did a mock pout, grinning, she knew damn well how good-looking she was.
Throwing her bag in the back of the van she lamented the limited space. This was meant to be a buying trip and a camper van wasn’t ideal for the job. Although it did have a kettle which was always a bonus.
Locking the van, Amber walked up to the high street to get some supplies for the journey, grimacing at the ridiculous oversized olive tree in Lexi’s front garden that had been craned into position to much hoo-ha, and all the posers currently vaping around it.
What everyone in Cedar Lane referred to as a high street was actually a small strip of shops at the end of the road with a dry cleaners’, chippy, double-glazing company and a Costcutter. Round the corner was a dreadful wedding dress shop and a veterinary practice. Amber pushed the door of the Costcutter and the little bell rang. Usually her son, Billy, was with her and this was his favourite part of the trip, chucking packets of mint Clubs and Mini Cheddars into the basket. Alone, she strolled round the fluorescent-lit aisles, not quite sure what to buy, grabbing a pint of full-fat milk and some slices of cheese.
Out the window she saw Julia Fletcher hurry past. Wearing the white dress she’d had on at the party, eyes downcast to the pavement.
For a second Amber wondered if she should go out and check whether she was OK, but then realised if she were in Julia’s shoes she couldn’t imagine anything worse than a busybody neighbour offering comfort.
She went back to perusing the aisles. Subconsciously picking all of Billy’s favourites – Pickled Onion Monster Munch, full-fat Coke, Mr Kipling French Fancies. But her mind kept drifting back to Julia, wondering if she was alright.
Amber had first met Julia when they had moved in at the end of last summer. Julia’s dad had leant over the garden fence, and advised Amber, who had been reclining in her deckchair at the time, that the monkey puzzle in her garden needed chopping down because the roots would damage her foundations soon. Julia had been rolling her eyes, trying to shush him, to not get involved. Amber had got up, wandered over to the fence, bottle of beer in one hand, cigarette between her fingers. She’d turned her head so she could see what Julia’s dad saw and replied with a blasé drawl, ‘I’d rather the house fell down than the tree.’ Julia’s dad had been momentarily flummoxed, like his brain was rearranging to account for such logic. Then he’d laughed, deep and loud, and stretched his hand over the fence to introduce himself. After the initial confrontation they’d got on strangely well. He couldn’t fathom her, especially after she’d revealed good knowledge of share prices, which she suspected he quite enjoyed. Almost as an afterthought he had introduced Julia. And the moment had fast-forwarded Amber and Julia’s friendship. Julia’s clear embarrassment at her dad’s involvement regards the monkey puzzle had made Amber laugh. Every time she saw her after that she made some comment about the tree. Then Julia had joined the Monday-night Pilates class at the Scout hut behind the high street where Amber was a regular and they often walked home together. On the walks Amber told her how her son Billy wanted to be a chef but Amber was a terrible cook and no help at all. It transpired that Julia had aced her way through Le Cordon Bleu cookery school – she’d been sent immediately to Paris one summer by her parents when she’d shown aptitude and delight in baking. So every Wednesday, Julia had gone round to teach Billy how to hold a knife properly, temper chocolate, spin sugar, truss a chicken, julienne, reduce and even, to Amber’s arm-length fascination, how to kill a crab. And so, via the bonding power of their inability to do the double-leg stretch in Pilates and Amber’s wine-sipping inquisitiveness in what Billy and Julia were concocting in her kitchen, they had formed the kind of acquaintanceship that came not so much from shared interest and opinion but from being comfortable in each other’s presence.