Chapter 14
Fourteen
Friday
EMILY
Lara messages on Friday morning, just as I’m sitting down with a coffee, still in my dressing gown.
Oliver went out early for a second viewing of some offices in Lenton. Nothing unusual in that; he’s building a company from scratch, and this will be the first of many meetings while he gets everything set up and running correctly.
It’s his expression that has stuck with me. More than once, he’s seemed troubled, particularly after looking at his phone. But the concern is soon replaced by his easy, nothing-to-see-here smile.
I open Lara’s message.
Morning. Fancy a walk around the local shops? A little moan over coffee? I’ll drive.
I text back.
Sounds tempting. What time?
An hour later I’m in the passenger seat of her Mini with Marvin, her loveable rescue, in the back.
She parks at the back of M delis, boutiques, charity shops with chaotic window displays, a tiny cobbler’s with a crooked door and a sign saying Cash preferred.
Hanging baskets spill lobelia down red-brick walls.
A specialist cheese shop spills creamy, tangy smells into the street as we pass.
‘You’ll find most of what you need here,’ Lara says, pointing. ‘The artisan bakery does actual dark sourdough, not the supermarket imposter. That florist over there will sketch your bespoke bouquet before she makes it. And best of all, most of the shops are dog-friendly.’
‘I love it already.’ I step aside for a woman walking four chihuahuas. ‘It’s nice to be shown around. You seem to know everywhere.’
She shrugs, pulling Marvin back from the other dogs. ‘Influencer rule number one: know thy local small businesses.’
‘With your followers, I’m surprised they don’t fling freebies at you.’
‘Oh, lots of them do . . . if they know what’s good for them, anyway.’ She gives me a wicked grin.
We browse for England. Try on sunglasses in vivid neon colours that surely suit nobody.
Slip our feet into sleek equestrian boots despite neither of us knowing a stirrup from a saddle.
Lara buys a gold-edged notebook and I buy new ramekins and promise myself I’ll make twice-baked cheese soufflés.
We talk gardens, marinating tomatoes, and whether stuffed courgette flowers are worth the faff at dinner parties.
Later, we sit outside a café on wobbly wooden chairs, Marvin drinking from the provided water bowl and then lying contentedly at our feet.
Lara orders a smoothie; I get a flat white.
She asks about how we’re settling in, but she doesn’t pry, doesn’t push for personal history I’m not offering yet.
She just sits, her face turned up to the sun, and we enjoy a bit of quiet time.
It makes me like her more.
Which makes me cautious. I’m out of practice at having friends who don’t require a cover story.
‘I haven’t said anything to Oliver yet, but I’m thinking about throwing a barbecue at ours next weekend. Just so we can meet everyone on the lane and say hello. What do you think?’
‘We’d love to come. I’m impressed!’
‘Seriously, don’t be.’ I pull a face. ‘It’s just drinks and a few charred sausages.’
‘Trust me, that counts as a full-scale event on Orchard Lane.’ She rolls her eyes. ‘Tim keeps saying we should organize a drinks party, and then we never quite get around to it. You’re putting us all to shame.’
I picture Tim briefly: tall and dark. The way he’d asked smart, incisive questions about the house and Oliver’s new job with just enough interest. On paper, he’s the sort of guy the old Oliver would probably earmark as useful. Or dangerous. Or both.
‘We can make it a shared event if you like. You bring fake flowers from the garden and we’ll provide the food and drink.’
‘Deal. I’ll also bring the “freshly baked” canapés . . . when I’ve taken them out of their Waitrose packaging.’ She laughs and picks up her phone. ‘I’ll add you to the WhatsApp group now then you can send a round-robin invite.’
‘Sounds perfect!’
Afterwards we walk the long park loop with Marvin, who insists on stopping every few steps to sniff a tree or bench.
‘I think he likes you,’ she says when Marvin leans against my shin. ‘He’s usually suspicious of new people, but I can tell he trusts you.’
‘I’m honoured. I’ve always wanted a dog, but . . . there’s never been a good time, I suppose . . .’ I let the sentence fade. Too many moves. Too many reasons to keep ties to a bare minimum. I’m hardly going to say that out loud.
‘Oliver’s already eyeing up a room upstairs for a nursery,’ I say with a grin. ‘Typical him—planning twelve steps ahead.’
‘Oh wow, that’s pretty serious stuff! Maybe you should start with a dog, though?’
We pause by the pond. The geese eye Marvin, not fooled by his apparently harmless lolloping.
‘I don’t think Oliver would want a dog,’ I say. ‘Especially now he’s busy with the new business.’
‘Yeah, Tim’s a bit like that with Marvin too. Supportive . . . mostly.’ Her tone shifts. ‘But he likes to talk as if his job is the only one that matters, you know? Makes it harder to enjoy mine.’
I throw her a sympathetic glance, but she’s staring at the water.
‘You’re clearly doing brilliantly,’ I say. ‘Nobody can take that away from you.’
She smiles, properly this time. ‘Thanks, Emily.’