I focused on them, the colours and shapes blurring as my eyes filled with tears. Poppy was going to be the hardest hit. She was so bright and intelligent. Ava would be loud and angry and easily distracted. It was Poppy I worried about. What on earth was Alice thinking? If she was even thinking.
‘Coffee’s on its way.’ Hilda announced, putting down two plates each filled with an enormous slice of coffee and walnut cake. I wasn’t sure I could eat a single mouthful. ‘Well, this is a proper pickle.’
‘That’s one way of putting it.’ I picked up a fork and poked at the cake, taking a tiny bit of buttercream and nibbling at it. Mmm, the comforting taste of sugar settled on my tongue. Sometimes only cake will do. I scooped up a forkful of dark sponge. Sascha’s sister had a very light hand with sponge; it was moist with just the right amount of coffee flavour. For a moment, I closed my eyes and focused on the taste and fine texture. Before I knew it, I was slicing off another piece as Hilda watched approvingly. She sat and watched as I chomped my way through the cake almost meditatively, my mind on each mouthful and the bitter, sweet flavours that eased their way across my tongue.
‘Better? I always think good cake helps us reset things for a minute.’
With a half laugh I nodded. ‘Funnily enough, I do feel a bit better.’
‘Good. Now, what do you think we should tell the girls?’ She looked at me steadily over the fork and inside I melted just a little.
‘You don’t need to do that, Hilda.’
‘No, I don’t, but I think it might help. A united front and all that.’
‘It’s Poppy I worry about the most. She’s not stupid. Anything I say, she’ll question.’
‘Perhaps the truth? Mum’s had a bit of a breakdown and needs to stay away longer to get better.’
‘But then she’ll worry about her Mum… and quite frankly, bloody Alice does not deserve to have Poppy worry about her. God, I could kill her!’ I stabbed at a few loose crumbs on the plate and almost shattered it.
‘Probably why she’s staying put…’ Hilda gave me an irrepressible grin, leaning forward and taking the fork out of my hand with exaggerated care.
‘Armed and dangerous with a pastry fork.’ I shook my head ruefully. ‘I can’t think of anything that isn’t going to upset Poppy and Ava.’
‘She’s got chicken pox and has to be quarantined.’
‘They both had it and I remember Poppy asking why Alice and I didn’t get it. We both had it when we were children.’
‘What if she’s trapped by a landslide up a remote mountain, there’s only bridge over a ravine, and it’s been destroyed.’
‘It sounds very Indiana Jones but… reasonably plausible.’
‘And she’s staying to help rebuild the local school which was destroyed in the landslide.’
‘Steady on, she’s not Mother Teresa. I think that’s pushing it a little. But you’re probably right; if it sounds as if she’s doing something noble to help other people, it will come across a lot better.’
‘I was always good at coming up with cover stories.’ She rested her hands on the table with a complacent air and gazed off into the distance as if remembering past glories.
‘Bill, Bill.’ Poppy knelt down and threw her arms around him as he bounded into the kitchen with a perky trot, sure as always of his welcome, followed by Ash, who had an equally perky trot. I stared at him for a minute, trying to work out what was different, but then turned back to the more pressing worry about Poppy. Bill tilted his tufty head, one ear cocked, and nuzzled into her neck rather than his usual playful greeting of nudging at her knees and sitting quietly, as if he knew exactly how she was feeling. I swallowed back a tear feeling terribly, terribly guilty. Ava’s disappointment in her mother’s delayed return had been simple and quick, easy tears and breathy sobs before she was distracted with cuddles and false positivity.
Unfortunately, Poppy was a much deeper well and harder to read. Her simple stoicism, the quick indifferent shrug as if that was that, worried me and I ached to comfort her but I didn’t know what to say; the truth had stalled my tongue and I hated lying to her.
Hilda gave me an encouraging smile that wasn’t reflected in her eyes and she came over and squeezed my hand. I’d been a terrible coward, accepting her offer when she’d suggested she come with me to pick the girls up from school.
I’d told them as soon as we came in and since then, with false jollity, Hilda had been teaching us all how to make French toast which was a welcome diversion. There was now a mound of golden, eggy toast, a plate of crispy bacon and a bottle of maple syrup ready and waiting on the table. My mouth watered and I gave the plates a look of longing while at the same time checking the time on the kitchen clock. I’d have to eat later.
‘Ready?’ asked Ash, jangling his car keys.
Not really. I wanted to stay and hold the girls. Make sure they were okay. It wouldn’t have occurred to me a few weeks ago.
Hilda gave me a quick nod. I smiled my thanks to her.
‘Let me grab my folder.’ I ducked into my little study and snatched up the A4 wallet, which held all my notes and several copies of statistics I’d downloaded about the parkrun organisation, the numbers of people taking part, the numbers of events around the country, the number of countries now involved and some of the case studies I’d pinched from their blog about mental health and community involvement. I felt like a lawyer about to present my case.
‘Good luck,’ said Hilda. ‘Hope it goes well and I hope you get some support turning up.’
‘Thanks, and if you need anything, call.’
‘We’re all going to be fine. We’re going to watch Netflix.’
Ash and I headed out to the car.
‘So how was your mysterious assignation?’ I asked, as soon as I’d buckled myself in.
Ash gave a low laugh. ‘Good.’ And he left it at that.
I wasn’t going to dignify his secrecy with any further questions; I wasn’t that interested in him.
The Town Hall was quiet, not a person in sight in the lobby. My heart sank a little. It would have been nice to have some support, although we were ten minutes early. We followed the signs to the chamber and entered a near-empty room. There was a long table at the front with all its seats occupied – I suspected they were the town councillors. Seated on the wooden chairs in front of them were a few desultory people sprinkled like stray seeds in the rows. Ash and I slipped into two seats near the front, a respectable few rows back. There was a hushed atmosphere and the bunch of middle-aged, stern councillors didn’t suggest that there was going to be much light entertainment tonight. They were all studying papers in front of them as if cramming at the last minute for an exam.
A couple of people sidled into the row behind us but it was hardly a crowd. One of the councillors shuffled his papers ostentatiously and squinted up at the clock on the wall. Still another five minutes until kick-off. A group of five sauntered in and snagged places on the front row – two women and three men. I studied them. Runners? But after seeing the Liquorice Allsort sizes of the Tring Park runners, I no longer assumed they might all be string beans.