Chapter 6
SIX
Unpacking boxes was hungry work and Nancy had looked up from the mountain of protective paper she’d accumulated to see that it was lunchtime – and she was starving.
She walked into the village – her first proper exploration of the high street.
Ripton was several hundred years old and the buildings were of the original warm grey stone with slate roofs.
There was everything she could possibly need: a chemist, a local grocery that also housed a post office, a bookshop with all the latest titles displayed in its bay windows, a butcher’s, a gift shop, a pub.
She found herself wandering into them all, buying bits and pieces before remembering she had nothing in for dinner and her friend from university, Beth, was coming to visit for the weekend.
She spotted a deli and it was when she came out, clutching a bag full of fresh pasta, a jar of homemade tomato sauce and three large slices of pecan pie, her stomach by now screeching with hunger, that she found herself jostling for space on the narrow pavement with an elderly lady.
‘You’re the new girl,’ declared the lady, smiling. ‘Moved into Willow Barn.’
Nancy, who had been about to cross over the road to a cafe to get some lunch, turned in surprise. So this was what Dean had warned her about . . . everyone will get to know you. And your business.
She looked at the elderly lady in her knee-length green mac and soft, wide-fitting shoes, the kind that allowed for bunions. A floral scarf set off the cheerful expression on her face as she waited for Nancy to answer.
‘I am,’ said Nancy, a touch distracted as she wondered how this woman could possibly know.
Perhaps a new face stuck out a mile in this village, perhaps the woman had seen her going to her new house – or perhaps word had got about and she had been thoroughly discussed.
But this lady was looking at her with a wide, friendly smile.
She put out her hand. ‘Nancy,’ she said. ‘Pleased to meet you.’
‘Hazel,’ said the woman. ‘I’ve lived in Ripton my whole life. All seventy-two years. Never had any reason to go anywhere else. You’ve definitely picked a good ’un.’
‘Oh, excuse me,’ she said, suddenly seeing something behind Nancy and she dug into her coat pocket, where she extracted an old metal tin that had once held travel sweets. Nancy saw Lorna approaching with a dog on a lead.
‘Would Cooper like one?’ asked Hazel and, barely waiting for Lorna’s nod of approval, she fed the cocker spaniel a treat.
‘Thanks, Hazel,’ said Lorna. ‘How’s the exercise plan going?’
‘I’m out here every day. Doctor’s orders. “Got to get the blood sugar levels down.” It’s exhausting to tell you the truth. And not the same since I lost Sukey,’ she added, her eyes welling up.
Lorna patted her arm. ‘She was a lovely dog. And she did get to fourteen, you know. That’s a ripe old age.’
‘Thanks, love. Anyway, I’ve given up all my biscuits and I only have sweetener in my tea now. Hopefully that’ll shut the doc up. Diabetes, my backside.’
Lorna turned to Nancy. ‘Hazel’s our resident dog whisperer. Been shopping?’ she asked, looking at Nancy’s bags.
‘A few things for dinner.’ Nancy nodded across the road. ‘And I think I need a coffee.’
‘You’re going to Bruno’s?’ said Lorna.
Nancy thought she detected a note of alarm in her voice. ‘Yes. Unless . . . it’s a bad idea?’
‘Not at all,’ said Lorna hastily. ‘In fact, mind if I join you?’
They settled themselves at a table, Cooper taking up residence underneath, resting his head on his paws and falling asleep.
‘The food here’s amazing,’ said Lorna. ‘Ah, there’s the chef!’
Nancy looked up. A woman in chef whites, her blonde hair up in a bun, had just come out of the door that led to the kitchen.
‘Imogen!’ called out Lorna, waving.
Nancy could swear Imogen stiffened when she saw them, but she had no choice but to come over.
‘Nancy dragged me in here for a coffee,’ said Lorna.
It hadn’t been like that at all, but Nancy didn’t know how to correct her, and anyway, it shouldn’t matter, should it?
‘I needed a break from emptying boxes,’ she said. ‘You never realize how much stuff you can accumulate. And I only moved from a tiny two-bedroomed flat.’
‘Well, enjoy,’ said Imogen stiffly. ‘I’d better get back into the kitchen.’
‘She’s a fantastic chef,’ said Lorna, as Imogen turned away. ‘With friends in high places!’
When Nancy didn’t ask who, Lorna added in lowered tones: ‘Nigel Slater. They’ve even worked together.’
Nancy smiled politely.
‘So . . .’ said Lorna, once they’d placed their order with the waiter, ‘where in London have you moved from?’
Nancy didn’t remember telling Lorna that she’d come from London and wondered how she knew.
‘Lewisham.’
‘Oh right.’
‘You know it?’
‘No.’ Lorna paused. ‘Does it have posh parts?’
Nancy let out a bark of laughter. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I thought the whole of London was posh . . . or at least cost a fortune to live in. Don’t sheds go for a million quid or something?’
‘Not exactly.’
‘But property’s worth a lot more than here, right? I mean, your old flat, for example . . . it would be more expensive to buy down there than up here.’
Lorna looked at Nancy quizzically and Nancy suddenly realized that she was trying to work out how someone who came from non-posh London could afford a million-pound house on the edge of a reservoir.
‘My husband and I rented,’ said Nancy. ‘So I wouldn’t know.’
Lorna was floored and Nancy was saved from further interrogation by the arrival of the coffees.
‘Do you live in the village?’ asked Nancy.
‘In one of the lanes opposite the school,’ said Lorna. ‘There’s myself, my husband Simon, and Phoenix you met this morning. My youngest is Pepper. She’s six and currently mad about mermaids.’
‘Cute,’ said Nancy. ‘Lara went through a mermaid phase too. I had to get her a costume, which she insisted on wearing in the bath.’
‘Aww,’ said Lorna. ‘Pepper would love that. Do you work?’
‘No.’
Lorna’s eyes widened. ‘Nice.’
‘I used to be a children’s nurse but gave it up a few months ago.’
‘Are you looking for something new?’
‘I’m not sure yet. My old job . . . I loved it but by the end I was exhausted. The pressures on the NHS are well documented. I might go back to nursing at some point, but I might try something completely new.’
‘Like what?’
Nancy threw up her hands. ‘No idea. I used to have a childhood dream of running a shop. Or a gallery.’ She laughed at her pretensions. ‘There’s an empty premises in the high street. Used to be a restaurant? Maybe I’ll make some enquiries.’
‘What, for there?’
‘Have I said something wrong?’
Lorna glanced over at the kitchen. ‘No.’ She looked down at Nancy’s hand, at the wedding ring on her finger. ‘Is it just you? Or will Mr Miller be joining us?’
Nancy baulked.
‘Sorry,’ said Lorna. ‘I’m asking too many questions. My Simon says I should work for the secret service. Divorce, is it? There’s loads of single mums here. I’ll introduce you to some in the playground.’
Nancy nodded mutely.
A strange noise was coming from under the table.
‘Cooper!’ exclaimed Lorna as she peered underneath.
The dog had thrown up.
‘I’m so sorry,’ said Lorna. ‘We tried him on some new food this morning. It obviously hasn’t agreed with him.’
Nancy seized the chance to make her excuses and leave.