Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Bets slipped into the back of the village hall, grateful that the music had already started. Ricky Martin’s ‘Livin’ La Vida Loca’ was playing and the teacher, Nina, was already taking everyone through the basic salsa steps.
‘Hey, Bets,’ called Nina from the front.
‘Hi,’ she called back weakly. ‘Sorry I’m late.’
‘Just join in, you know the steps.’
Bets nodded. It was probably a good job they’d already started; polite conversation was beyond her at the moment. She’d decided to hide at the back of the Latin line-dancing class until she’d got her mojo back, but Doris put paid to that.
‘What you doing at the back there, young lady?’ she demanded, beckoning Bets to her usual spot in the front row.
Bets weaved her way through three rows of dancers, all of them parting easily for her, including Ella in her red, sparkly salsa shoes.
The sight of them made Bets smile, remembering how subdued Ella had been when she first arrived.
Bets lifted her chin and squared her shoulders.
She was not going to let Jack spoil her evening or her love of dancing.
‘That’s my girl,’ said Doris, in a dreadful EastEnders London accent, giving her hips an extra wiggle, shushing out her wide net skirt.
Bets gave her a smile, taking in the eye-watering ensemble, which included a leopard-print crossover top and bright orange leg warmers over the top of black jazz dance shoes.
‘New skirt?’ asked Bets.
‘Charity-shop find.’ Doris shimmied so that Bets could get the full effect.
‘Very nice,’ said Bets. She’d already decided that when she was old she was going to emulate Doris, who lived to the full, and the rest.
As they danced, the tension in Bets’ shoulders began to melt away, although she couldn’t help sneaking the occasional glance over at Jack’s mum, Audrey.
She was, as always, immaculately dressed.
Bets didn’t think she’d ever seen the woman in trousers.
Thankfully, Audrey was carefully mouthing the count to herself and totally absorbed in her footwork.
She liked to get things right and her dancing was like her approach to life: neat, determined and very methodical.
Fearsome could have been her middle name and most of the villagers did as she told them – if they hadn’t managed to hide from her in the first place.
She was the original force of nature, a hurricane.
Now Bets knew her better, she was aware that, despite her sergeant-major exterior, Audrey had a very kind heart.
However, she was a mother first and she was bound to be on her son’s side when she heard that Bets and Jack had split up.
Bets broke out in a sweat at the thought of the family she was losing.
Since she’d got to know the Ashcrofts, she’d learned the difference between stability and chaos.
Audrey’s kitchen was always full of food, the house was clean and welcoming without being show-home tidy, and the electricity supply was constant.
Bets had spent the last few Christmases with the Ashcrofts, and Audrey had always treated her like one of the family.
Advent calendars, Easter Eggs, stockings – she was always included, as if she were a third child. In fact, Audrey treated her like an extension to the family, commandeering her to take part in any of her projects. Would that all stop now?
Bets pushed the thought away and focused on the steps, letting herself go to the music and dodging one of Doris’ more exuberant moves. Despite her age, the older woman had the energy of a dozen Duracell bunnies.
‘Sorry, love,’ said Doris, grinning at her and throwing her arms in the air again.
‘No, you’re not,’ said Bets grinning back. ‘You’re a menace.’
‘I know.’ Doris did another spin, her skirts flying.
Bets felt the familiarity of the class embrace her, the same routines, the same silly jokes, the same people.
Comfort came with familiarity and some might think it boring that she came to this class every Tuesday evening, when the majority of them – excepting Ella – were two generations older than her, but Bets liked the security of knowing who’d be there and what to expect.
When they finished the class, Ella came over to say hello.
‘Coming to the pub?’ she asked.
Bets hesitated for a second, wrinkling her nose.
She could murder a half of lager. But what if Jack was in there?
That was the problem with village life. You couldn’t avoid people forever.
In fact, it seemed that when you really hoped to avoid someone, you invariably ran into them ten times more frequently than normal.
It had been sheer luck that she’d not seen him since last Friday.
Ella stared at her. ‘You okay?’
Bets realised she had yet to give an answer.
‘Yeah, fine. Dodging Doris is thirsty work.’
‘I heard that, young lady,’ said Doris. ‘You can buy the first sherry. Although maybe, after all that dancing, I deserve a margarita.’ She waggled her overgrown, greying eyebrows mischievously.
Bets laughed. ‘Great idea. Cocktails all round.’
As they trooped out of the main hall into the foyer to collect their shoes and jackets, Bets sneaked another glance at Audrey, who this time looked up and gave her a tight-lipped smile.
‘Coming to the pub?’ asked Bets. She summoned up an enquiring smile instead of the desperately hopeful please-still-be-my-friend expression that threatened to unleash itself at any moment.
Audrey frowned. ‘No, not tonight.’ She pushed her handbag over the crook of her arm and turned to another woman beside her who had just said something.
Bets’ heart sank, and for a moment she stood and stared after Audrey. Had it started already? Would she be persona non grata among the Ashcrofts from now on? How would that affect her friendship with Ella, who practically lived with Devon, Jack’s brother?
Her perfect world seemed to be crumbling before her eyes.
When Jack wasn’t here, she’d been able to carry on as normal.
Not telling anyone what happened had helped.
Yes, she’d been in denial, but when she cried on her own at home, only she had known.
Now everything was going to have to change.
She was going to have to find a new home, a new job – the thought of working with Jack and pretending she no longer had feelings for him would be torture, and no doubt Devon and his dad, Geoffrey, wouldn’t want any awkwardness at work.
The group of women walked across the road to the pub, where Greta the landlady welcomed them. As always, her hair was tied up in a bright scarf and she wore her favourite dungarees, channelling her inner Bananarama.
‘Ah, my dancing ladies. Margaritas all round, is it?’ she called, giving a sideways glance towards Doris who had somehow beaten them to the bar and was sitting on a barstool with a cocktail glass in her hand looking like the cat that had swallowed half a dozen canaries.
‘Chin, chin,’ she said and lifted the salt-rimmed glass in a toast to them.
‘Do you know what? I think I will,’ said Bets. ‘Why the heck not?’
Beside her, Ella laughed. ‘Me too. We can’t be outdone by Doris, and I bet Greta makes a mean cocktail.
’ No one quite knew Greta’s origins but she was a genius behind the bar.
Her extensive knowledge of drinks appeared to be bottomless, a bit like the legendary lock-ins she permitted on one day of the year only – the 27th of December, the day after Boxing Day.
With margaritas in hand, which had also been adopted by the other dance-class members including Nina the teacher, Bets and Ella secured the big table in front of the window. Doris hopped off her barstool and came to join them.
Bets sat back in her chair, sipping her drink and listening to the lively chat around her, and smiled to herself as she surveyed the group.
It was an interesting mix of people. Although most were older, there were a couple of teenagers who were doing their A levels any day now and had originally been signed up by their mums, to give them a complete break from school work and revision; and Annie, the mother of a wild pair of toddler twins and a ten-year-old, who never had a moment to herself.
This, she had declared to her husband, was her time, and if he wasn’t home by seven to allow her to get out, it would be instant divorce.
The rest were ladies from the WI who’d initially been bullied into joining the class by Audrey but were now addicted.
And the token male, as he was affectionately called: Richard the vicar.
He claimed it was his way of getting closer to his congregation, but Bets had a strong suspicion that it had been a ploy to get closer to Ella’s godmother, Magda, who was currently away on a round-the-world cruise.
But to give him credit, for all his John Denver earnest appearance, he certainly had a pair of surprising snake hips.
If they had Strictly Come Clergy, he’d be in with a good chance.
‘Bets.’ Ella nudged her and Bets realised she’d been talking to her and she hadn’t heard a word. Too busy thinking about the vicar in sequins.
‘Sorry, what did you say?’
‘I said, “When are you picking up your dog?”’
Bets stared at her and opened her mouth but no words came out. How could she possibly have forgotten? Suddenly, with the force of a meteor hitting Earth, all the consequences of Jack being back permanently collided in her head.
She’d have to move.
Change jobs.
Leave the village.
Not have a dog.
Her stomach hollowed and she was struck by an overwhelming wave of grief.
There was no way she could have Tiggy now.
Finding new accommodation was going to be hard enough round here, let alone locating a place that would let you have a pet.
And where else could she guarantee she could bring a dog to work?
Tears pricked at her eyes and she fought them back.
Poor Tiggy, another person letting her down.
Bets felt heartsick. She’d so desperately wanted something of her own to cherish and lavish unconditional love upon.
It was no good; the tears won, spilling down her face.
‘Bets, what’s wrong?’
Everyone around the table suddenly focused on her, which seemed to make her throat close up even tighter.
‘I-I c-can’t have her.’ She took in a stuttering breath.
‘It’s no g-good.’ A sob escaped her and Ella put her arm around her, which was totally the wrong thing to do because all the emotions Bets had been trying to hold back, ever since that awful phone call from Jack two months before, breached every defence she tried to install.
Like a dam collapsing, her distress flooded out in lumps and chunks, incoherent words of nonsense.
‘N-nowhere t-to live. N-no job. No-not fair. What if … if I couldn’t take her to work. And the landlord said she had to go.’
Doris pushed her fresh margarita towards Bets. ‘Here, drink that.’
Realising she was making an absolute fool of herself with a very public breakdown, Bets snatched up the drink and knocked it back in one satisfying gulp. As the tequila hit her stomach, she gasped. Swiping away her tears with the back of her hand, she said, ‘Thanks, Doris, I needed that.’
‘What’s happened?’ asked Ella.
Bets looked round the table. Every face held sympathy, and the need to come clean coalesced, sharp and bright.
‘Jack finished with me.’ There was a universal – to the very last member of the group – sharp intake of breath. ‘Two months ago.’
‘Two months,’ echoed Ella. ‘Why didn’t you tell us?’
‘Oh, sweetheart,’ said Doris.
‘Because he wasn’t here and I could pretend things were the same as they had been for the last few years. But then he came home. He was supposed to stay in Bristol.’ Her face crumpled. ‘And he didn’t.’
‘The bastard,’ said Doris, taking Bets’ hand, before yelling over to Greta, ‘Another round of margaritas over here. It’s an emergency.’
Bets managed a sniffly laugh. ‘I’m fine. Honestly.’
‘Poppycock and bollocks,’ said Doris. ‘You’re clearly not. And the man’s too stupid to live.’
‘Good job Audrey’s not here,’ said Ella.
Doris sniffed. ‘I’d say the same in front of her. Son or not.’
‘What happened?’ asked Annie gently. ‘Don’t tell us if you don’t want to.’
‘I’ve started, so I’ll finish,’ said Bets with a mirthless laugh. ‘Basically he thinks we’ve grown apart. We’re heading in different directions.’
‘That’s it?’ demanded Doris. ‘Different directions.’ Her face darkened. ‘Doesn’t know how lucky he is.’
‘Oh, Bets, I’m so sorry. I had no idea,’ said Ella. ‘Does anyone know?’
She shrugged. ‘I wondered if Audrey might.’
‘Hmph,’ said Doris. ‘I suppose mother love is a mitigating factor.’
Bets did laugh at that. ‘Jack’s not all bad.’ It wasn’t his fault she loved him as much as ever.
‘But I don’t understand why you can’t adopt a dog,’ said Hannah, one of the teenage girls.
‘Because I’m going to have to move. The house I live in belongs to Jack’s parents and he’s always stayed there with me.
It’s his home really, so I have to move out.
Rental places don’t tend to let you have pets.
And now that he’s home, Jack is bound to want to work at the family practice and I’m not sure that I can work there, seeing him every day.
I don’t want to. And I don’t want to make things difficult with his family.
Of course they’re going to be pleased to have him home and want him to work in the family business. ’
Next to her, Ella squeezed her hand in silent sympathy.
‘Ergo, it wouldn’t be fair to take a dog on, when I have no idea what the future holds.’