Chapter 16
Sixteen
Sunday
EMILY
I stand in a patch of sunlight in the front garden, admiring how Orchard Lane curves away in both directions. Sturdy brick houses with bottle-green ivy and pastel roses sit behind perfectly trimmed hedges.
I spot Ron Windsor wearing large headphones and jet-washing his Volvo a bit further up, splashes of water darkening his chinos.
He looks up, sees me watching and pulls off the headphones, raising a hand. ‘Hello there!’
I walk to the front gate and he comes over. After mentioning the bench damage and asking whether he saw anything, I remember the barbecue.
‘Oh, and also, I wanted to let you know that we’ll be sending out an invitation to a small barbecue we’re having here next weekend. Be lovely if you and Margaret . . . and your lodger, Rachel, could come.’
‘Splendid!’ He beams, and his eyes flick to my chest and back again. ‘Margaret deals with all that social malarkey, so I’ll be sure to tell her to expect it. Now, I’m glad I’ve seen you, Emily.’ He grips my fingers with a cold, clammy hand. ‘I owe you some Neighbourhood Watch information.’
‘Oh yes, thank you. We definitely want to be involved. Both Oliver and I think it’s a good thing.’
Ron straightens a fraction, his chest lifting. ‘Been doing it for years, to keep things orderly around here.’ He gives a small, satisfied nod. ‘People appreciate knowing someone’s on top of it. Now, tell me a bit more about the vandalism you mentioned.’
I beckon him through the gate and point to the bench.
His expression sharpens. ‘What happened?’
‘It was knocked over on its side, pulled a few yards, scuffing the grass, and a black X was spray-painted over the seat. Oliver’s sanded and stained it now, but I’ve got some photos of the damage if you want me to send them over?’
‘That would be good, yes.’ Ron rubs his chin, his mind already elsewhere. ‘We don’t usually get that kind of thing happening around here.’ He looks left and right, scanning the lane.
‘It was defaced overnight, and you can see where the grass was rucked up by the bench being dragged from its spot. There’s no doubt it was deliberate.’
‘Leave it with me,’ Ron says gravely. ‘I’ll check a few cameras, ask the right questions. There’s not much around here I can’t get to the bottom of and, of course, I have contact with the local police through my position as Neighbourhood Watch coordinator.’
‘Thank you,’ I say, trying not to laugh.
He smiles, pleased. ‘That’s what the Watch is for. We like to keep Orchard Lane safe and sound, just as it should be.’
We say our goodbyes, and Ron returns to his car washing.
I tell Oliver all about it when he comes off a call.
Oliver crosses the kitchen, phone in hand, then doubles back again, like he’s forgotten why he stood up. He sets the phone down, stares at it, picks it up again.
‘Oliver? Did you hear any of that?’
‘What? Oh yes, of course. It’s a great thing to do, don’t get me wrong. It’s just that he’s so worthy about “the Watch”, as he calls it. It’s all a bit “Night gathers, and now my watch begins”’—Oliver quotes solemnly from Game of Thrones—‘“It shall not end until my death” sort of thing.’
I make a mess making the tea because I’m laughing so much.
I stop when I see movement through the window. A flash of pale linen, the shimmer of sunlight on coiffured hair. I brace myself and see that Vanessa is at the side gate, balancing a shallow basket in her arms like she’s practising her entrance.
‘Here’s our friendly neighbour again,’ Oliver drawls, looking up from his phone.
I wipe my hands on a tea towel and open the back door before she can knock.
I greet her warmly. ‘Vanessa! Come in, I’ve got some tea brewing. What have you got in there?’
She lowers the basket so I can see. Inside are half a dozen glossy scones wrapped in a clean cloth, a pot of raspberry jam, and a spray of lavender tucked on top for decoration.
‘I baked far too many,’ she says with a guilty grin.
‘They look delicious.’ I take the basket from her. ‘Come in, Vanessa. I’ll put the kettle on.’
‘I thought you might appreciate them,’ she says, pleased. ‘A powerful man like your husband needs to keep his strength up.’
A grinning Oliver comes over and peers into the basket. ‘Definitely keep my strength up, those.’
‘You’re spoiling us,’ I tell her.
‘Nonsense. It’s what neighbours are for. Besides, Ralph appreciates the change of scene, don’t you, petal?’ She nods to the tiny dachshund nosing at the step, his tail wagging like a metronome.
I pour boiling water into the pot and Oliver starts to pace between his laptop and the French doors, phone in hand. ‘He’s trying to convince himself he can multitask,’ I say.
Vanessa smiles. ‘He’s a man, darling. They call it multitasking when they answer one email while breathing.’
‘I am in the room, you know.’ Oliver frowns.
This time I do allow myself a chuckle. I pop a small bowl of water down for Ralph while Vanessa perches on a stool at the breakfast bar and begins to talk easily, as if we’ve known each other for months.
‘No offence meant, my dear. Charles, my late husband, was just the same,’ she says, tracing a finger along the grain of the countertop. ‘He could never just sit still. He’d be conducting a conference call while pruning the rose bushes. Drove me mad, but goodness me, I do miss it. I miss him.’
‘Were you together long?’ I pour tea into china mugs, a twinge of unease in my chest because I already know about her husband, thanks to Lara’s gossip.
‘Ten years. Not long enough though, apparently . . . for his four children, anyway. They decided quite early on in our relationship that I was a gold digger.’ She gives a brittle laugh.
‘Mind you, each and every one of them was perfectly happy for me to play nurse for those ten years while they happily lived their lives. Not so happy when it came to the will, though.’
Oliver sits down, paying attention now. I brace myself because I get the feeling Vanessa might be a bit of an over-sharer.
‘That’s sad,’ I say softly. ‘You gave up your life to care for him, and you must have felt very let down by his family,’ I remark.
Vanessa gives a small, wistful smile. ‘Despite what they all think, I did it for love. But Charles left me everything, you know—the house, the investments, all of it. More money than I’d ever seen in my life, and all it did was stir up bad blood.’ She exhales with a soft sigh.
Oliver’s frowning as if he’s wondering if he’s heard her right. I deliberately didn’t tell him what Lara had said about Vanessa’s wealth. I knew he wouldn’t be able to resist asking her about it.
‘Charles must have been quite a guy,’ he says.
‘He was that all right. Astute, too . . . right until the very end.’
‘So he cut his family out of the will completely and left you the entire estate, you say?’
I know that pleasant, curious tone of Oliver’s well, and it might mean something, or nothing.
‘That’s right.’ Vanessa shifts on the stool so she’s angled towards Oliver.
‘You see, Charles’s children were nowhere to be found during the last year of his life, and their visits were sparse at best before that—I’m talking months apart.
They were busy waiting for him to die for their big payday, I suppose.
I know that’s harsh, but it needs saying. ’
‘Well, they ought to be ashamed of themselves.’ I frown. ‘They should have thanked you for looking after their dad.’
‘Oh, they did. Up until the day his will was read, when suddenly I became a heartless witch who’d cast an enchanted spell on their poor father.’
Oliver stays quiet, the allure of hearing the full story pulling hard.
I shake my head. ‘That must have been horrible.’
‘It was savage.’ Her jaw tightens, but she keeps her head held high.
‘In the end they lost their claim, of course, because despite what they said Charles was in full possession of all his marbles. He’d done everything by the book, through his solicitor, who vouched for his state of mind.
And I had known nothing of his plans. It was as big a shock to me as it was to everyone else. ’
‘It must have been so upsetting.’
Vanessa nods. ‘Yes, and it took a very long time to get through the legal process. It was stressful. But in the end, the courts upheld Charles’s wishes, and I got it all. Every single penny. Not that it bought me any peace, because I would rather have my Charles.’
‘You poor thing,’ Oliver murmurs. ‘People often show their true colours when there’s money involved,’ he says quietly.
Vanessa smiles, rueful. ‘Oh, don’t I know it. I only wish that were the end of it.’
I frown. ‘How so, if the court ruled in your favour?’
‘Evan, Charles’s eldest son, he has a nasty streak.
He was in trouble in his late twenties for kicking off outside a bar—hurt a man badly enough the police got involved.
’ Vanessa’s brow furrows in concern. ‘For weeks after the ruling he badgered me. Said I could still do the right thing, despite the court ruling. I had to send a solicitor’s letter threatening an injunction. ’
‘That’s awful.’
Vanessa nods. ‘He’s got a history of money troubles. Charles bailed him out on more than one occasion.’
When her gaze drops back to her cup, Oliver’s eyes linger on her a little too long. Something cold uncoils in my stomach. Vanessa has certainly claimed his full attention.
Vanessa continues, her voice soft. ‘My Charles was a generous, old-fashioned sort. A real gentleman. Before he succumbed to Parkinson’s disease, he’d bring me freshly made coffee in bed every morning, make me an Earl Grey mid-afternoon.
The smallest things, but they meant the world.
’ She looks distraught for a second before blinking to bring herself back to the moment.
‘It’s the quiet afterwards that kills you, you know.
That cold space beside you in bed. The empty cup. ’
I feel a weight settle on my chest, and Oliver clears his throat, sets down his glass. ‘If there’s ever anything we can do . . .’
I look at him. These days, Oliver only offers his time to strangers when he wants something in return.
Vanessa waves a hand and nods to the scones. ‘You can let me feed you. I’m happiest when I’m feeding people.’
‘That’s an easy box to tick.’ Oliver grins.
Vanessa turns to me. ‘You’re a lucky lady, Emily. You can tell how much this lovely man adores you.’
I smile and, outside in the garden, Ralph barks at a passing flock of starlings.
‘She doesn’t know how lucky she is, Vanessa,’ Oliver says cheekily.
I roll my eyes. ‘It must have been hard for you, losing Charles and then having to deal with all that jealousy.’
Vanessa sighs. ‘It’s strange. The friends who support you all go back to their own lives eventually, as they must, but it’s the long, lonely nights that threaten to undo you.
When you realize there’s actually no one left who knows exactly how you take your coffee or what your favourite TV programme is. ’
Her eyes glisten and, awkwardly, I say, ‘It’s the little things. I get it.’
Not that she needs to hear what I do and don’t ‘get’. But since my mum died, I do know the ache of missing someone, even someone you still can’t quite forgive, and the habit of pretending everything’s fine.
Still, all this intimate chat feels a bit too much, too soon.
Vanessa tilts her head, looking at us both in turn. ‘You’re kind people, I can see that. And I wish you many years of happiness together here on Orchard Lane. I really mean that.’
Her tone is pointed, and I hold her look.
‘Thank you,’ I say.
‘Yes, thanks,’ Oliver echoes.
Vanessa stands, smoothing down her clothes. ‘Right, I’d better get back now I’ve given you both my sob story,’ she says with a wry smile. ‘Oliver, could I pick your brains about the back door, please? It keeps sticking.’
When she’s gone and Oliver follows her out, I unwrap one of the scones. It’s still faintly warm, the surface brushed with sugar. I break it open and a heavenly buttery smell fills the kitchen.
I take a bite. It’s far too sweet for my liking.
Perfect on the surface but something else altogether inside.
I stand at the sink, staring at the garden as the unsettling thought lands fully formed, heavy as a stone.
Nothing on Orchard Lane is quite what it seems.