Chapter Twenty-Eight
Ella and I set off to The Angel with Bess padding alongside us.
The country lanes were beautiful at this time of year. Spring had well and truly sprung. The leafy hedgerows that bordered the single-track road bordered of grazing sheep and cows. Wildflowers were in abundance. Trees were smothered in blossom. Birds were in song as they swooped and dived against a late afternoon blue sky.
‘How did the wedding go?’ asked Ella.
‘Fine,’ I said flatly.
‘Really?’
‘Ah, it’s nothing,’ I sighed.
‘Oh, come on, Mum.’ Ella pulled a face. ‘Spill the beans.’
I chewed my lip. To tell my daughter, or not? That was the question. And really, was there anything to tell? It seemed faintly ridiculous to confide about a crush on a man I’d known for all of five minutes. And anyway, if I did tell Ella, she’d then tell Ruby. And then Ruby would tell Tim. And then Tim would be agog and call me up wanting to know if I’d lost the plot.
‘Aw, look at the tiny lambs,’ I cooed. I stopped and peered through a gap in the hedge.
‘Never mind the flipping sheep,’ Ella tutted, as we approached The Angel. ‘This conversation is to be continued.’ She waggled a finger. ‘Meanwhile, you take Bess and find a table. I’ll put in our orders.’
‘Sure,’ I agreed, as we walked into the main bar area.
‘Don’t forget that it’s your tab,’ said Ella, flashing an impudent grin.
‘I said I’d pay,’ I retorted mildly. ‘Unlike my sister, I keep my promises.’
At the mention of her aunt, Ella rolled her eyes. She then turned and headed over to Cathy, the landlady, who was serving behind the bar.
I found a table in a corner and sat down.
‘Nice dog,’ said a gruff voice.
I glanced to my right and experienced a moment of déjà vu. Fred Plaistow and his wife, Mabel, were sitting at the next table. The pair of them were nursing a Guiness apiece.
‘Thank you,’ I said politely.
Mabel was scrutinising me.
‘I know you,’ she said. She picked up her pint glass with gnarled fingers. Sipped thoughtfully. Regarded me over the rim. She set the glass down again. ‘Yer name is Maggie King.’
‘That’s right,’ I nodded.
She wiped some froth from her upper lip.
‘An’ yer a widow.’
‘That’s right,’ I said again.
‘So yer single.’
Nothing like stating the obvious.
Mabel shifted in her seat. She reminded me of a Mastermind contestant. Special subject Maggie King.
I was relieved to see Ella heading towards me, a glass of Prosecco in each hand. Mabel then scrutinised my daughter.
‘And this is yer youngest,’ she said triumphantly.
‘Hello,’ said Ella warily.
She placed the drinks upon the table. Pulling out a chair, she sat down. My daughter flashed me a look accompanied by a pair of raised eyebrows. I wasn’t sure what she was trying to convey. Was it:
Shall we sit elsewhere?
Or
Uh-oh. If we engage in chit-chat with Mabel Plaistow, it will become village gossip more nonsensical than Chinese Whispers.
I returned Ella’s look with one of my own.
I don’t know what to do, so you decide.
But Mabel was holding forth again. This time she was addressing Ella.
‘I was just sayin’ that now yer dad’s passed yer mum is single.’
‘Thanks for pointing out the obvious’ – my daughter wasn’t afraid of offending – ‘but my mother’s change of marital status is both personal and painful. So, if you don’t mind–’
‘Painful?’ Mabel scoffed. ‘Don’t be daft, lass. Yer mum is well over yer dad.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ Ella blinked. ‘With the greatest respect, Mrs Plaistow, you don’t know my mother, and therefore have no idea about–’
‘You can drop the hoity-toity speech, love,’ Mabel sniffed. ‘I ’ave it on good authority that yer mum might be single, but she don’t wanna be.’
Now it was my turn to blink.
‘What did you say?’ I gasped.
‘You ’eard.’ Mabel tapped the side of her nose. ‘I know yer secret. You’ve met a man. And ’e don’t belong to yer.’
My face instantly reddened. It didn’t go unnoticed by my daughter.
‘Whaaat?’ Ella spluttered.
‘They met at the animal shelter,’ Mabel informed Ella. ‘Yer mum ’as bin enjoyin’ walks with ’im.’
Ella gave me a questioning look.
‘An’ this afternoon’ – Mabel continued – ‘yer mum met ’im again.’
‘This afternoon, my mother was at work,’ said Ella haughtily. ‘She’s a photographer.’
‘I know. An’ she woz caught givin’ the bride’s father the come on.’
Ella was starting to look a little wild about the eyes.
‘Now you listen to me–’
‘Ella,’ I warned. ‘Take no–’
Mabel cackled with delight.
‘Take no notice, eh? But everyone was takin’ notice! One of me mates was there. She saw it all.’
‘One of yer… your mates?’ I gasped. Good Lord. Was Mabel acquainted with Mr Stuffed Shirt and Lady Aloof?
‘Agnes,’ said Mabel helpfully. ‘That’s the name of me mate. She cleans at the ’otel, includin’ the weddin’ ceremony room. She likes slippin’ in unnoticed an’ quietly watchin’ on the sidelines. An’ that was when she saw yer.’ Mabel jerked her head at me. ‘Bold as brass. In front of everyone. Makin’ a play for the bride’s dad.’
‘Mum!’ Ella gasped. ‘Is this true?’