Page 38 of The Village of Lost and Found

‘I thought that maybe I could come and pay you a visit sometime soon. For old times’ sake.’

He stared out at the overgrown back garden in a daze. ‘I thought you’d evaporate if you weren’t within ten miles of Broadcasting House these days?’

‘Now, now, don’t be nasty,’ she told him. ‘Where are you?’

‘Cranbridge,’ he told her in a dull tone. ‘Don’t you remember? My mother lived here. I’m staying in her cottage whilst I put it on the market.’

The two women in his life hadn’t got on. His mum had told him that marrying Andrea was a huge mistake and she had been right. But she’d never said I told you so. Besides, he had already been too busy beating himself up that there was no room for anyone else’s criticism.

‘Look, I’ve got to go,’ he told her. ‘I’ve got work to do.’

That at least was true. Once more, he had nothing written for his weekly column. He wasn’t even sure if anyone read it these days apart from Frank. And he owed Frank so much.

‘Call me sometime,’ she said, her voice almost purring in his ear.

He quickly hung up and flung his mobile onto the table alongside the flowers.

In a daze, he wandered over to look at the garden once more. On the table behind him, he could hear the mobile pinging with new text messages. No doubt that they were all from Andrea. He didn’t know what she was up to, but he wouldn’t be used like that again.

He reached over and switched off the mobile. Then he headed upstairs to get changed. The only thing that would make him feel better that evening was the company of his friends. Hopefully he would also be able to apologise to Lucy at the same time for upsetting her.

And then there would be gin, of course. An awful lot of gin.

Suddenly the gin tasting night at the pub was looking a lot more appealing than it had done a short time ago.

21

Lucy was filthy and smelt of the rank pond water into which she had fallen when escaping from the bull. But that wasn’t the reason why she was feeling upset as she headed up the stairs into the apartment.

It was actually down to Tom’s remark about her being shallow. Could she blame him? She had no career. No life skills. In his eyes, the only thing she had really succeeded in was being somebody’s mistress.

All she wanted was a long shower and a bit of peace and quiet. But all she could hear as she went further up the stairs was the sound of music becoming louder and louder.

She was somewhat startled as she came into the lounge, where she found a woman with red highlights in her blonde hair, dancing around, clutching a half-empty wine glass.

‘Oooh! I love this one,’ she was shouting.

Molly was in the kitchen and appeared to be wincing at the high volume that was coming out of the speakers. She gave a start when she saw Lucy and shouted, ‘Alexa! Turn it down!’

Thankfully the music faded into a more normal volume.

‘What’s happened?’ asked the stranger, spinning around and almost falling over a kitchen chair in the process.

‘Are you OK?’ asked Molly, looking Lucy up and down at her dishevelled appearance.

‘I had a slight accident,’ Lucy told her, glancing down at her muddy self.

‘Poor you!’ said Molly. ‘By the way, this is my best friend, Bridget. Bridget, this is Lucy. It’s her Uncle Frank who owns the flat,’ she added in a pointed tone.

‘Hiya,’ said Bridget, before stopping and staring. ‘What happened to you?’

‘I fell over,’ muttered Lucy. ‘Into a puddle. I’m going for a shower.’

‘And we’ll open the windows,’ said Bridget, laughing manically. ‘You stink.’

‘Thanks,’ said Lucy, aware that her word was more of a snarl.

‘Bridget, don’t be mean,’ she heard Molly say.