‘Fantastic.’
‘I’ve worked out some routes,’ chipped in Janie. ‘So if you’re up for it, we could start tomorrow night.’ She handed over a photocopied Ordinance Survey map of the area between the park and the school. ‘I’ve highlighted two suggested routes each. Yellow for you, Poppy and Ava, Green for Penny and her mob, and Orange for me. You’ll see mine takes in the corner shop because bribes may be required to keep the little darlings on track.’
I laughed. I’d quickly learned that despite being so disparaging about her offspring, Janie’s children were beautifully behaved and socially confident.
I left my new playground besties and the welcome news that both Poppy and Ava had got places at the Breakfast and After-school Club from the following week and headed off for my assignation, wondering exactly what Hilda was up to. I’d seen her in the park the day before and she hadn’t said anything about meeting like this.
I spotted her in the distance, loitering on the corner, swaddled in a big down coat with an enormous scarf wrapped many times around her neck – the Michelin Man meets boa constrictor – as snug as a bug except that it was high summer. In contrast, I was in a running vest and leggings, as I was due to meet Ash for our second morning run in an hour’s time. We’d both decided as he drove me home after meeting the Harriers that we needed to up our game if we were to be the official faces of the Churchstone parkrun and had agreed to meet each morning. It wouldn’t be good if neither of us could get around a 5k course without wheezing like a couple of geriatric badgers.
‘Good morning,’
‘Morning, dear.’ Hilda, hamming it up dreadfully, glanced up and down the street. ‘You weren’t followed were you?’
‘By whom? I’m pretty sure the KGB no longer operate in downtown Churchstone.’
It was a surprise when her face froze in stern rebuke. ‘Don’t be so sure of that.’ And then, like a magic trick, her face changed completely. ‘Now, I’ve got something to show you.’ She held up a set of keys and jangled them. The periwinkle blue eyes brimmed with excitement and she turned and led the way down Abernathy Road, which was home to some of the bigger Victorian villas in the town. She was moving at a brisk trot and I could feel her rising anticipation. We’d gone less than halfway up the street when she stopped abruptly and gestured to a rather grand, double-fronted, cream-painted house with glossy black railings around the large front garden.
‘What do you think?’
I frowned, not knowing what to think. ‘Is this your house?’
She clapped her hands with delight. ‘Yes.’
‘Oh my goodness.’ I stared back down the street. ‘We’re less than five hundred metres from my house.’
‘I know. Fun, isn’t it?’ Her whole face glowed with naughty amusement and she sailed past me up the path to the front door.
‘How long is it since you were here?’ I asked, admiring the original black and white tiled floor in the hallway as Hilda opened up, expecting dust motes to flood the air and the furniture to be covered in Holland cloths like some old stately home.
‘Yesterday,’ she said with a sheepish grin.
‘Yesterday?’ I echoed.
‘Yes, I told you I like to pop in. Watch the television without the old dears twittering at me. And the cleaner comes every other Thursday. So I drop in to have a coffee with her.’
I shook my head in disbelief. ‘I meant how long since you lived here. But how long have you been doing that for?’
Hilda tilted her head, for once sheepish. ‘Actually, the first time I came to visit was the day I met you. I felt a little embarrassed after you’d gone. Ranting about Drearyside was all very well but I realised that instead of moaning I ought to do something about it. So I popped in to see the place and because it was quite a nice day, the sun warmed the lounge, so it wasn’t too cold… so I stayed for an hour and watched an episode of Murder She Wrote.
‘And then I started coming in every now and then. Just checking up on things.’ With one hand she gave an airy wave down the hall before adding with a touch of defiance. ‘And I’ve stayed over a couple of times.’
‘Oh,’ I said, wondering what she expected me to say to that.
‘I said I was at yours.’
‘Ah.’ That explained her son’s suspicion of me.
‘I knew Farquhar would start fretting. I’m a grown woman, for God’s sake. He treats me like I’m in my dotage.’
‘I think he’s just worried about you.’
‘I doubt that very much. More worried I’ll do something foolish with his inheritance. He’s never forgiven me for marrying George. As if I didn’t know exactly what he was like.’ Her eyes dimmed and I could see she was lost in a memory. ‘A complete charmer and a chancer and we had such a lovely time together.’ And then she snapped back to the present. ‘Come.’
I followed her into the house and she led me into the front room on the right. A huge three-sided bay window with a deep cushion-filled window seat let in plenty of light, making the high-ceilinged room bright and welcoming.
I touched the soft velvet pile of one of two Wesley Barrell sofas in dark cranberry. They were well used and very slightly worn but still comfortable-looking, with the sort of classic appearance that never goes out of style. Floor-length curtains in a plush Arts and Crafts-patterned fabric dressed the windows, adding to the feeling of refined opulence. My eyes were drawn to the beautiful little details in the room like the Art Deco-style bronze lamps that dotted the occasional tables at either end of both sofas.
‘This is lovely, Hilda.’
‘I know,’ she said, her usual blithe self-confidence returning. ‘I’ve been spending more and more time here, heating myself up some soup at lunchtime.’
I could see why; it was a lovely home. There were lots of family photos including several black and whites of weddings in the thirties in silver frames arranged on a table near the window. On the walls there was an eclectic mix of landscapes and still lifes, and a full set of bookshelves took up an entire alcove filled with battered paperbacks interspersed with interesting ornaments – glass vases, elegant china figures and painted porcelain plates – that had clearly come from different parts of the world.
‘Daft really, but I just like being here.’ She picked up a little Japanese figure and toyed with it. ‘I miss my things. After my fall I was a little bit confused.’ She frowned and I realised that this was a big admission for Hilda. ‘And Farquhar went on and on about how I wasn’t getting any younger.’ She pursed her lips, exasperation bouncing off her. ‘He’s a good boy but gosh he winds me up. Sometimes I think he’s getting his own back. He never really forgave me for sending him off to boarding school.’ With a sigh, she placed the little figure in the palm of her hand and peered at it as she spoke. ‘And maybe I shouldn’t have done. It was just that, at the time, the business was really taking off. Truth be told, I rather liked jetting off all over the place to auctions with my third husband. Farquhar’s dad had been such a dull, old stick and I hated being incarcerated in a stately home. I’d always been used to being so active and busy. I found the whole motherhood thing rather dull. Maybe it might have been different if I’d had two, but I couldn’t. I rather put my career before him.’ Her fingers tightened on the little Japanese figure, her knuckles whitening. ‘Of course, I regret it now. But what’s done is done. It’s too late, and he’s turned into a pompous, overbearing fool. I’ve no idea where he gets it,’ she said as I bit my tongue at the irony.