Moving On (2011) Read online

  She chuckled. ‘I’d love to see him try to scrub it off.’

  ‘Them. I hit two of them. I wonder how they’ll explain that to people.’

  ‘With difficulty. Is what you’ve done legal?’

  ‘Who knows? I’m sorry, Your Worship. I don’t think I hurt them in any way. I certainly didn’t intend to. I only wanted to frighten them away. You see, they’d driven away the owner with similar tricks and my wife was getting nervous.’

  She punched him in the upper arm. ‘You’d say that with a straight face, too.’

  ‘I would indeed. I don’t believe in giving crims, even the minor sort, a fair chance.’

  ‘What other tricks have you installed?’

  ‘Wait and see. I’m hoping they won’t be necessary.’ He settled down in bed with a happy sigh. ‘And there are more gadgets to come. I had to order some from overseas.’

  That evening Molly settled down in her new home, feeling lazy but satisfied with her day’s shopping. The caravan was now well stocked for her current needs and the only thing missing was a television set. She’d decided not to buy one, and had bought a book and one of her favourite magazines instead, but now, sitting surrounded by silence, she wished she had a television.

  If she’d had one of those fancy mobile phones, she could have got hold of some music, but Craig had taken her fancy mobile with him when he left, saying it was a business expense, his backup phone. She hadn’t known whether he was telling the truth or not, hadn’t protested or found out.

  What a fool she’d been! She cringed to remember how she’d given in to him over all sorts of mutual possessions. She’d bought a cheap mobile but she missed the other one. It occurred to her, not for the first time, that she hadn’t had time to wipe the personal information off it.

  She fidgeted around, unable to settle. After all the evenings she’d spent alone in the past year or two, you’d think she’d be used to silence by now, but she wasn’t, not complete silence like this anyway. She’d had such a busy social life until Craig left her that being on her own for much of the time was still difficult. When the children were younger, there’d been all the school functions to attend, always something going on. She enjoyed being busy.

  That’d make a strange dream to tell Avril about, wouldn’t it? To be busy all the time. But if it made her happy, why not? Once she settled somewhere, maybe she could do some voluntary work with old people. Most people found kids’ charities more appealing but older folk deserved help, too. She loved listening to their stories of when they were young.

  She should be thankful for the progress she’d made, getting a job and a temporary home. Taking out her one and only bottle of wine, she poured herself a glass. ‘To my new home,’ she said aloud, raising it in a salute.

  Just then someone knocked on the door and she jerked in shock, causing wine to splash from her glass on to her hand. She hadn’t heard anyone approaching, so was glad she’d locked the door. She grabbed her brand new tea towel and wiped her hand, calling, ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Only me, Euan.’

  She unlocked the door at once.

  ‘I’m glad to see you’re security conscious. I came to check that everything was all right before I went home.’

  ‘It’s fine. More than fine. I love your caravan. Come in, do.’

  ‘I’m not disturbing you?’

  ‘Not at all. I was just having a drink to celebrate being here. Would you like a glass of wine?’

  ‘Better not. I missed dinner again. I don’t like drinking on an empty stomach.’

  ‘I’ve got some quiche and salad, a nice crusty roll, too.’

  ‘But that’s probably your meal for tomorrow.’

  It was, but she didn’t care. She’d far rather have his company. ‘Only my lunch and I can easily buy a baguette at the hotel café. Do come in.’

  ‘Thank you, then.’ He entered and shut the door behind him, locking it. Then he saw her looking surprised. ‘Habit. I always did lock this door on the world. Do you want me to unlock it again?’

  ‘No. I probably share your habit these days.’ She poured him a glass of wine in one of the cheap glasses she’d bought for less than a pound for four, then busied herself getting him the quiche and salad.

  When she turned, he was sitting at the table, looking very much at home. He ate the food like a man who was ravenous, so she got out the rest of the quiche.

  ‘I’m taking all your food.’

  ‘Oh, I bought a few other things as well. And it’s a poor person who can’t offer food to a friend.’

  He raised his glass again. ‘Here’s to new friendships, then. May they last till they become old ones.’

  She clinked her glass against his and sipped, leaning back and trying not to watch him eat, which was bad manners. Instead she focused on his hands, which were long-fingered and surprisingly graceful for a man. Not manicured and soft, like Craig’s; hands that worked physically, judging by a long scratch on the back of one. Yet still attractive.

  When he’d finished eating, he made a satisfied noise then stared down at the plate. ‘Would you feel demeaned if I asked you to keep my house stocked up with quick, easy foods like this, once I’ve moved into the village? I’ll pay you at the same hourly rate as the rest of your job for doing it.’

  She chuckled. ‘Why should I feel demeaned? I’m employed as a general factotum, aren’t I? That means doing anything legal that you need, as far as I’m concerned.’

  ‘My last so-called secretary objected to doing anything that wasn’t connected to her desk and computer, then she tried to set me up for harassment when she left.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Not sexual harassment, job harassment. Fortunately, we found suspicious copies of my accounts in her personal drawer, and I’d called the union representative in, so it was all cleared up and she didn’t have a leg to stand on. But it could have been messy – and very bad PR for my development.’

  ‘What a good thing you stopped her!’

  ‘Isn’t it? Avril’s going to find me the next secretary and I trust her judgement much more than my own where that’s concerned. She thinks a friend of hers would come in part-time for a while and she’ll fill in the rest herself till she’s sure she can safely leave me.’

  ‘She’s very fond of you, isn’t she?’

  ‘And I’m fond of her. She’s seen me through some difficult times.’ He hesitated, then stared down at his hands, as he said, ‘My wife died suddenly a few years ago, a stroke. Karen was only thirty-seven and it was totally unexpected. I rather went to pieces, I’m afraid. My sons were shocked rigid and at a vulnerable age. Something like that should bring you closer to your children, shouldn’t it? Instead, they clung to one another and now they’re closer than some twins, and I withdrew into myself.

  ‘Then Avril became our universal auntie and I don’t know what we’d have done without her. The boys keep in touch with her more than they keep in touch with me, though they do condescend to send me emails now and then.’ His fond smile said that it was more than just a cool relationship.

  ‘Tell me about them.’

  ‘Jason’s twenty-four. He’s working in California. He’s in IT. Grant’s twenty-two. He’s just finished university and is backpacking round the world. Heaven knows where he is at the moment. It’s a bit worrying generally, but even more so when they get to the Far East.’

  ‘It must be.’

  After another sip of wine, he looked up and gave her one of his warm smiles. ‘What about your children, Molly?’

  ‘I have a son and a daughter and . . . and they’re not s-speaking to me.’ Suddenly she was weeping, found herself in his arms and wept harder against the comfort and strength of his chest. It was as if a dam had burst. He said her name a couple of times in a gentle, caring way, patting her back. Gradually, she managed to stop.

  ‘Tell me how it happened.’

  She explained about the wedding, then how Craig had tried to get her house at a knock-down pri
ce. ‘It could only be him arranging for the harassment. No one else’s house was targeted, just mine.’

  ‘Well, your tenant sounds as if he can take care of himself.’

  She pulled away, scrubbing her eyes, embarrassed.

  ‘Have another glass of wine and we’ll drink to a better future, whatever it may hold.’ He reached across for a tissue and dabbed her cheek.

  She looked at him, caught her breath and knew he was feeling the same surge of attraction. When he pulled her towards him, she went willingly. As he lowered his head to kiss her, she raised hers to meet him halfway and then lost herself in a kiss that was gentle and yet compelling.

  He pulled away and stared at her. ‘I didn’t expect that.’

  ‘No. I didn’t, either. But it made me feel good, wanted. Towards the end, Craig made me feel old, worn out and unattractive.’

  ‘He’s a fool to abandon a treasure like you.’

  She gave him a wry smile. ‘You don’t know yet that I’m a treasure.’

  ‘You feed a hungry man at the drop of a hat. You waken feelings in me that have been dormant for years. No, not the sexual attraction, the other attraction, to the whole woman. I’ve dated since Karen died, of course I have, but I’ve never wanted to stay at home with them and just . . . be cosy. That’s how I feel with you tonight: cosy. It feels good, too. We were happy together, Karen and I. I not only miss her, I miss being part of a couple.’

  She studied his face as he spoke. Could he really be so honest and truthful about his feelings? Could she trust him?

  He stood up. ‘I think we should become good friends before we try anything else, don’t you? We’ve both got scars and yours are rather raw still. There’s no need to rush into anything – though there’s no need to rush away from it either, I hope?’ He looked at her enquiringly.

  She nodded. ‘I agree. You can’t have too many good friends.’

  He stretched, rotating his shoulders wearily. ‘I’d better go home now. I’ve got to sort my things out for the packers. I’m moving into the end house on Thursday.’

  ‘If you need any help, I’m a demon packer. I’ve had a lot of practice lately.’

  ‘I’ll remember that.’

  She went to the door with him, watched him walk off into the darkness, till only his silhouette could be seen outlined at the top of the slope against the faint glow from the hotel. Then she locked the door carefully, cleared up and went to bed.

  The weeping had exhausted her, but it had also shifted the lump of unhappiness that had lodged in her chest.

  And she was surprised at how comfortable, how right she felt with Euan.

  He hadn’t hesitated to talk about their reaction to one another. She liked that. Let’s face it, she liked him. Why deny it? Why not see where the attraction led?

  She smiled into the darkness at the thought that she could still attract a man like him.

  Eight

  On Tuesday morning the post arrived early at the block of flats. Rachel studied the letter. ‘Who’s this from? Oh, it’s that cousin of Dad’s who came to the wedding, Sally something or other. Boring old creature. What’s she writing to me for?’ She dropped the letter on the coffee table unopened.

  ‘Aren’t you going to read it?’

  ‘It can wait till tonight. I don’t want to be late for work.’

  But that evening she continued to ignore the letter, claiming she had to do some ironing.

  ‘You really should open it,’ Jamie said.

  ‘You do it. I can’t be bothered. It won’t be important. She’s an old fusspot and we’ll probably never see her again.’

  He read the letter with a mutter of annoyance.

  ‘Throw it in the bin.’ She reached for another top.

  He stood for a minute, reading it again, then walked across, slapped the letter down on the ironing board and took the iron out of her hand. ‘You need to see what it says.’

  Pulling a face at him, she read it through then shot him a quick glance. ‘I don’t believe her. Dad wouldn’t lie to me.’

  ‘He lied to your mother. Often. We’ve both seen him do that.’

  Rachel screwed the letter up and hurled it across the room, missing the waste-paper basket and leaving it on the floor as she turned back to her ironing. ‘Sorry, but I prefer to believe Dad’s version of events.’

  He picked up the letter and smoothed it out, putting it on the coffee table. ‘Well, I believe Sally. And she’s clearly quite worried about your mother. You should at least set her mind at rest about that. After all, she did give us a wedding present.’

  She pulled a face at him. ‘I’m too busy and I don’t do snail mail.’

  ‘It’d only take five minutes.’

  ‘I am not writing to her. I don’t believe her.’

  ‘I do. So I’ll write.’ He took the letter and walked out without another word.

  She heard the musical tone of his computer starting up and blinked her eyes rapidly. They were starting to quarrel with one another and she didn’t like the feeling of being estranged from him. If he loved her, he’d take her side.

  After she’d finished the ironing, she poked her head into the spare bedroom and asked, ‘Want a cup of coffee?’

  ‘No, thanks.’ His voice was cold and he didn’t turn to look at her.

  She began to feel angry. ‘Who’s more important to you, a distant cousin or me?’

  ‘It’s not that. It’s how you treat your mother that upsets me. It’s the one thing we disagree about. I warn you now, if you ever speak to my mother half as rudely as you speak to your own, there’ll be trouble.’

  ‘I don’t. I haven’t.’

  He looked across at her, his expression stern. ‘Then why do you treat your own mother so badly?’

  ‘You don’t know what she’s like.’

  ‘I’ve known you for two years, and met her lots of times. That gives me a pretty good idea, don’t you think? She’s a really nice person and it upsets me that she’s been treated so badly by all her family. I’ve mentioned that it upsets me before, but you ignore me. The only one who can get through to you is your father. He pulls all your strings and you’d believe him if he told you elephants could fly.’

  With a huff of annoyance she left him to it, switching on the television. But she didn’t see much of the programme because she was too upset. Jamie wasn’t the sort to quarrel, but he was really hung up on this thing about her mother.

  He couldn’t be right about what had happened at the wedding . . . could he?

  Even if he was, what did he expect her to do about it now? She wasn’t going to upset her father. She’d learned to avoid doing that when she was a small child.

  Anyway, her father was fun; her mother wasn’t. She tossed her head and tried to watch what was usually her favourite programme, but a little niggling doubt kept creeping into her mind.

  And Jamie didn’t come to bed till late. She gave up trying to stay awake, turning her dampened pillow over.

  The next day went really well at work. Molly found Avril efficient and informative about Euan’s business. He had other financial interests, but Avril didn’t give details, only hinted that they were successful. And yet, he was about to trade in his expensive convertible for a four-wheel drive. Not a brand new model, either. Was he short of ready cash? Or just being prudent?

  She stood outside the hotel for a few minutes, enjoying the sun and the narrow fringe of gardens that were a riot of flowers at this time of year.

  The thought that Euan might have more money than she’d realized was a warning to her not to get emotionally entangled with him. She had learned to be wary of high flyers, however charming they seemed. Craig could charm the socks off a statue once he got going, but look at how he’d treated her. And some of his colleagues were similar, with wives who never said anything controversial and were very decorative, many of them second wives, younger than their husbands.

  Not that she’d put Euan in the same category as Craig. No way. H
e was a much nicer person. Anyone Avril Buttermere spoke about so warmly couldn’t be treacherous, she was sure. But still, he wasn’t an ordinary man. He was . . . special. Very. And she wished whatever he’d woken in her would calm down again.

  No, she didn’t. He made her feel like a desirable woman for the first time in many years. That was such an ego boost.

  She forced herself to concentrate on her job as she walked down to the sales office. She’d studied all the brochures and felt far better primed to work there. She could do it.

  Euan was on the phone. He waved cheerfully and pointed to the second desk, then continued to talk, patiently explaining the concept of the leisure village and the sorts of houses he was building. How many times must he have gone over that?

  When he put the phone down, he shook his head in irritation. ‘They have a brochure, but they still wanted everything explained in detail.’

  ‘Yes, but . . .’ She hesitated.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Well, the information in the brochure is a bit dense. I don’t think people want to know that much until they’re seriously thinking of buying. I wouldn’t. And anyway, most people are on the Internet these days. That’s where they can get further information if they want it.’

  He looked at her in such surprise she wondered if she’d gone too far. Fancy criticizing your employer on your first full day there! She was so stupid. His next words made her sag back in relief.

  ‘You know, you’re absolutely right, Molly. I never thought of it that way.’ He picked up a brochure and flapped it at her. ‘OK then, apart from answering the phone and showing people round, I’d like you to work on those residents’ rules and on redesigning the basic brochure. You’ll soon find out what folk want to know.’

  ‘Me? Euan, I don’t know anything at all about designing brochures.’

  ‘Oh, we’ll get a graphic artist to finish it off. What I want you to do is sort out the information needed. Pretend it’s the first time you’ve heard about the village and put down what you’d want to know.’

  ‘Well, I’ll try. But don’t be annoyed if I mess it up.’