Chapter Sixteen
The chance soon presented itself.
She slept through the school run the next morning, oblivious to the homely chaos of breakfasting and dressing two small children. It was lunchtime before she emerged, finding Dan at the cooker in a Cath Kidston floral apron.
‘Omelette?’ he asked. His voice was neutral but she had the impression he was irritated by her presence. Or perhaps by the fact that she’d slept in and was now standing in his kitchen at lunchtime in her pyjamas.
She reminded herself of Anthony’s perspective; just because she didn’t keep conventional hours didn’t mean Boring Dan had the right to judge her. She should coldly refuse his offer.
On the other hand, she was starving and the eggs sizzling in butter smelled delicious.
‘Please,’ she said.
He nodded, keeping his back to her, his shoulders stiffening.
‘That’s really kind of you,’ she said. ‘I – I didn’t know you were such a good cook.’
He glanced over his shoulder. ‘How would you?’
He had a point. She rarely saw him, and she’d only been to the house once before, years ago, when Julia had been expecting Amy and Jen had been invited to the baby shower.
Her impression of Dan had been hazy and unflattering – a suit who expected his wife to cook, clean and care for the children.
Watching him now, as he grated cheese into the omelette he was cooking then checked one that was cooling on a plate, chopped it and placed it in front of George who sat in his highchair, she had to admit that she might have underestimated him.
‘I’ll wash up,’ she said.
He indicated the dishwasher with the spatula.
‘I’ll load the dishwasher,’ she said.
He nodded. ‘That would be good.’ He slid the omelette from the pan and onto a plate. ‘Babe? Grub’s up.’
‘Ooh, yum,’ Julia said, scampering through the doorway and embracing Dan from behind in a backwards hug. ‘Thanks, love. You’re the—oh.’ Her smile wavered as she saw Jen. ‘Hi.’
‘Dan’s making me an omelette.’ Jen cleared her throat. ‘Very kindly,’ she added.
‘It’s good having him at home, we’re making the most of it before he has to go to a conference in Cheltenham for a few days,’ Julia said. ‘This snow’s been a blessing.’
She caught Jen’s eye, clearly willing her sister to understand that she included her unplanned presence in the house in the sentiment. Feigning ignorance, Jen turned to George, who was happily smearing egg around his face.
‘What a good boy, eating up his breakfast,’ she said, tickling the fat little bulge under his chin and smiling as he giggled.
‘Lunch,’ Dan said, plonking a plate in front of her, rather unceremoniously.
Jen ate quickly, ignoring the slightly awkward atmosphere. The food was delicious, she had to admit, the egg buttery, filled with tangy cheese and tasty mushrooms, and crispy at the edge. She had to hand it to Dan; he wasn’t exactly a romantic dashing hero, but he cooked a mean omelette.
After lunch she shooed the others away, reloading the dishwasher, cleaning the kitchen until it gleamed and making a fresh pot of coffee. She wasn’t sure more caffeine was what Dan needed, he seemed kind of on edge, but she had noticed that Julia looked pale and there were shadows under her eyes.
She found her tiptoeing from George’s room, having put him down for a nap.
‘Oh,’ Julia whispered, smiling and rubbing her forehead. ‘Thanks.’
Jen nodded. She watched as Julia sighed and breathed in the smell of the coffee, her auburn curls falling onto her cheeks, and tried to stop herself from noticing that her sister seemed tired and a bit dejected. Tried to stop the concern that came with the realisation.
‘You all right?’ she asked, before she could stop herself.
What did Julia have to be miserable about, after all?
She had a perfect life, didn’t she, the perfect family, the perfectly boring husband.
Yes, Dan was dull, but he seemed to adore Julia and the kids, and apparently Julia was happy with him.
‘Oh, yes, thanks.’ Julia smiled. ‘Bit of a headache, that’s all.’
Jen nodded. She supposed that being woken by your kids at five every morning took its toll after a while, no matter how cute those kids were.
‘Why don’t you lie down for a bit?’ she said. ‘I’ll fetch Amy from school.’
‘I couldn’t,’ Julia said.
But Jen had already taken the coffee from her and was pushing her gently towards the bedroom door. ‘Just for a minute,’ she said, and Julia lay down as Jen drew the curtains.
Julia was already closing her eyes as she crept out.
‘I am sorry, you know,’ Julia said. Jen paused in the doorway. ‘For what happened. I’ve said it before, but I’ll keep saying it until I’m blue in the face if that’s what it takes. If I could go back, I’d never . . .’
Jen looked at her sister, sitting up in bed now, tears standing in her eyes.
She closed the door and walked away.
She left plenty of time to go and fetch Amy.
The snow had fallen on and off all day, and now lay in drifts that swelled over doorsteps and slipped down hedgerows, as light spilled from windows, leaving a warm pool on the crisp white.
The air was sharp with frost and held the woody tang of the smoke that curled from chimneys.
Jen had been in the village for a few days now, and that was enough for everyone to know who she was.
People smiled and waved, greeting her as they walked towards the school.
She tried to respond, but her head was swimming; Julia’s apology was harder to ignore in person.
She was used to deleting the messages and throwing away the cards that had expressed the same sentiment, but the sight of her sister’s teary eyes was difficult to bear.
But, Jen reminded herself as she stomped along, she was justified in her reaction.
Her feelings towards Julia stemmed not just from the ease with which everything worked out for her, the tall one, the pretty one, the clever one, the one who did everything right.
But at the worst time in Jen’s life, she’d turned to Julia, and found only cruelty when she’d needed kindness.
And that was difficult to forget.
She distracted herself by thinking of the previous night, of the heat of Anthony’s hand as he rested it on her knee, the intense gaze of those eyes as he looked at her, listening as though what she said actually mattered.
She reached the school almost without realising, her mind now reliving the moment when he’d leaned in, and she’d dreamed of his lips against her own.
The parents stood in shivering groups, stamping feet and rubbing hands as they waited for the gate to be opened.
Some smiled at Jen, and she nodded back, trying to strike a balance between being friendly and maintaining the distance of someone who was not from the village, and had no intention of staying any longer than was absolutely necessary.
Ted opened the gates, smiling at the parents, bending to pat a dog and oblivious to the giggles of some of the mums who were clearly admiring his broad shoulders and dark eyelashes.
‘Jen, perfect, just the person I wanted to see,’ he said as she walked in, taking her by the arm and steering her towards the noticeboard by the school sign. ‘Look!’ He pointed to the board and turned to her triumphantly.
She looked at him dubiously. ‘You want me to take up dog walking?’
‘God, no, I know you’re a cat person. Look.
’ He tapped the glass front of the board until she realised what he was drawing her attention to.
‘Next Thursday night, open mic at The Plough. I’m going, but Sarah can’t make it now.
Why don’t you come? It’s perfect, you can swot up on all that culture stuff that Train Guy likes. ’
Jen stared at him, trying to keep the horrified expression off her face.
Sunday lunch at the village pub was one thing, but it was hardly the venue for an exciting night out.
And she strongly suspected that whatever passed for culture at The Plough’s open mic would not be in line with the poetry that Anthony wrote.
Ted looked at her, his big brown eyes soft, and she knew she couldn’t resist. ‘Oh, fine,’ she said, a little grumpily. ‘Stop looking at me like that, I’ll come. You’re buying though.’
He grinned. ‘Great!’
Jen glowered. ‘Now stop pestering me, I need to get Amy.’
She hurried off down the path.
‘See you next Thursday,’ he called.
She didn’t reply. None of this mattered, anyway; she had every intention of being safely back in London by next week.
Amy and Lottie were the last two in their class, waiting with their teacher, whose pregnant belly poked out of an open coat. She smiled when she saw Jen, and Amy skipped over.
‘Can Lottie come to play?’ she asked.
Jen was about to refuse – she wasn’t really in a position to be offering childcare in her sister’s home. But then Michelle arrived, with baby Max in a sling, looking pale, her nose red and sore.
‘Sorry, sorry,’ she said, scrabbling in her pocket for a tissue and blowing her nose loudly as Lottie ran to her. ‘Bit under the weather.’
Clearly an understatement. She looked as though she needed to spend a few days tucked up in bed with a steady supply of Lemsips.
‘Amy’s just asking if Lottie can come and play? I could give her some dinner and drop her back to you later?’
‘Pleeease, Mummy, please can I?’ Lottie asked.
Michelle threw Jen a grateful look. ‘If you’re sure?’
Jen nodded, already taking each girl by the hand.
They were gleeful as they ran up the street to Railway Cottages, holding hands and giggling as they skipped ahead, while Jen carried book bags and lunchboxes. The house was quiet when they arrived, Julia and George still sleeping and Dan working, so Jen took the girls outside to make a snowman.
They shrieked with laughter as they ran around, rolling a great ball until it was almost as big as Amy.
‘OK, OK,’ Jen said, laughing. ‘That’s enough, leave some snow!’
They had left very little for the head, and so it was tiny in comparison to the body, creating a distinctly odd-looking snowman, but the girls didn’t care. They stood on tiptoes together to balance it on the body, giggling when it fell off and rolled a little way along the ground.
‘Come back, head!’ Amy cried as she ran after it, bending and stretching out her arms.
‘Naughty head! Come here,’ Lottie said, giggling.
The second attempt was more successful, and they soon completed their creation with Jen’s scarf, the smallest carrot she could find and a couple of raisins for eyes.
‘Oh no!’ Lottie said. ‘I should have bringed Mildred to use for a hat.’
‘What’s a Mildred?’ Amy asked.
‘It’s the cat Train Lady gave me.’
Amy nodded, as though that made perfect sense. ‘I’ve got a cat,’ she said.
In the end they borrowed a little bobble hat of George’s; anything else would have swallowed the head whole.
The girls held hands and gazed in admiration at their snowman.
‘He’s actually the best ever, isn’t he?’ Amy said, her voice soft with awe.
Lottie nodded. ‘The bestest,’ she agreed.
And, as the girls wrapped their arms around Jen, she allowed herself to sink into the moment, drinking in their joy, without letting herself think of all she’d lost, and what might have been.