Peppercorn Street (5 page)

Was it possible to make new friends at the age of eighty-four? Winifred took a deep breath and nodded to her reflection in the mirror. She was going to try. She really was.

She must work out in advance what to talk about, though. She was hopeless at thinking of things to say on the spur of the moment. And she would bake a cake, a chocolate cake. That at least she was good at.

She’d spent more than she’d intended on books, but it wasn’t a lot really, considering, and she now had three whole bags of new romances to read.

She washed the dishes after tea, standing looking out at her back garden as the light began to fade, her pleasure diminishing slightly. What would her visitors think of such a messy garden?

But she didn’t dare try to do any tidying up herself. Last time she’d made an effort to do any serious gardening she’d been in so much pain afterwards, hardly able to move, that she’d had to call the doctor out, then rest in bed for a few days. He’d talked about calling in a social worker to help her but she’d refused point-blank, terrified they’d try to get her into one of those care homes for the elderly. She’d kill herself first.

No, the garden would just have to stay a mess.

And her visitors would have to take tea in the kitchen because nowhere else in the house was warm enough.

Would that matter? Her mother would have thought so, but then her mother had always had fires blazing in each room and help with the housework.

Janey watched the old lady from the big house walk slowly past, going into town with a wheeled shopping bag. She always looked elegant in an old-fashioned way, her silver hair carefully knotted in a low bun, a severe style which suited her face, and her clothes immaculate, if a trifle old-fashioned.

She was so lucky to live in the big house at the posh end of the street, the one with the biggest garden. Janey had peeped over the wall as she walked along the path to the
park. There was even a summer house in the back, rather dilapidated, but she supposed an old person couldn’t keep up with the maintenance. Perhaps the owner wasn’t as rich as she seemed.

If it was fine this afternoon, Janey decided, she’d wrap Millie up and go out for a nice long walk, but this morning she had the health visitor coming to see her, and check her out, no doubt. She walked round the flat, making sure everything was tidy and clean. She couldn’t do much about the shabbiness of her second-hand furniture.

When the doorbell rang she pressed the button and invited the health visitor up.

‘They should have found you a ground floor flat,’ Sally said.

‘I was lucky to get this one. I’d had my three months at the
Just Girls
hostel and Millie was making herself very unpopular at the temporary B&B.’

‘Well, the flat’s bigger than most, I will say, and they haven’t spoilt the outside of the building. This must have been a lovely house in its prime.’ Sally plumped to her knees beside Millie, who was lying on the blanket kicking and gurgling. ‘She looks a lot happier today.’

‘The tooth’s through. I noticed it this morning when the spoon clinked.’

‘Little minx! Did you keep your mummy awake?’ Millie kicked even harder, panting happily in response to this attention. Sally smiled as she stood up. ‘Do you mind showing me round? I might be able to help you get some bits and pieces.’

When she’d finished inspecting everything, she said, ‘I think a playpen would be useful at this stage, then you
could pop her in it while you carry up your shopping and the buggy.’

‘Yes. But playpens are a bit expensive.’

‘I know where we can borrow one, but you’ll have to look after it and give it back when she grows out of it.’

‘That’d be marvellous.’ Maybe Sally really was here to help, not criticise. ‘Would you like a cup of tea? I don’t have any coffee, I’m afraid.’

‘I’d love one.’

It was comforting to sit and chat about looking after Millie and by the time the health visitor left, Janey was feeling much better, less alone.

Nicole inspected the flat very carefully. It was partly furnished with reasonable furniture and had two bedrooms plus a decent bathroom. There was a nice large sitting room and a separate kitchen and eating area just off it, in an L-shape, so it didn’t feel cramped. It looked out on to the street so she wouldn’t feel shut away.

‘I’ll take it.’

The woman who’d shown her round beamed. ‘Excellent. I’m sure you won’t regret it. Shall we go back to the office and complete the paperwork?’

‘Yes. I’ll have to ring work first to tell them I’ll be late.’

‘Where do you work?’

‘I’m a librarian.’

‘Oh, excellent. Nice, steady job, that.’

Helen answered the phone at the library and for a moment Nicole couldn’t speak, then she said it out loud. ‘It’s me. I’m going to be late back, I’m afraid. I’m moving out of home so I’ve just rented a flat. I’ve got to sort out the paperwork.’

There was silence, then, ‘Your husband and sons haven’t started being more co-operative, then?’

‘No. Not one of them has lifted a finger for days, not even Sam.’

‘I’m so sorry.’

‘I am too. See you soon.’ Nicole closed her phone and slipped it into her handbag, surprised that she’d managed the call without bursting into tears. Well, she was beyond tears now. Everything felt very unreal, though.

She walked back to the estate agent’s office, handed over her credit card with a steady hand and took away a folder of paperwork on what she must and must not do as a tenant.

When she got into work, Helen gave her a sympathetic look. ‘You all right?’

‘Yes. I feel quite calm now that I’ve made my decision. Trouble is, I can’t move in until Monday.’

‘Pity. How shall you cope over the weekend?’

‘I’ll go out a lot. Can you manage the desk for a few minutes while I organise a day’s emergency leave for Monday?’

She marched into the head librarian’s office and said, ‘Michael, I’m leaving my husband on Monday and I have to move into my new flat. I’ll need a day’s emergency leave.’ She waited for him to grumble.

He looked at her in shock, then said gruffly, ‘I’m sorry. Do you … um, need any more time off than that?’

‘No, I’ll be all right with just one day.’

‘How are you moving your things?’

‘I’ve not thought about that yet.’

‘You could borrow my van if you like. You’re licensed
to drive a bigger vehicle, aren’t you? Or I could nip down and help you carry your stuff.’

Michael usually kept himself to himself and this offer surprised her. She must have shown that.

He added in a rather tight voice, ‘I left my wife a couple of years ago. I know what it’s like.’

‘Thanks. I’ll not trouble you, though. I’ll check out removal firms who do small loads – I’m not taking much – and then get back to you if I need any help. And … well, thank you for offering.’

‘If you don’t mind me saying so, I’d advise you to take everything you can lay your hands on, or you may never see it again.’

It was then she realised she’d been half counting on this being a temporary move – and it might not be. She nodded quickly and went into the ladies till she’d overcome a sudden tendency to weep.

Her boss’s advice made Nicole start mentally revising the list she’d been making of what she’d take with her. What couldn’t she bear to lose? That was the main decider.

As the day passed, however, the white heat of her outrage at her family’s behaviour cooled and she began to wonder if she could actually do it, leave home, leave her sons and husband.
Should
she do it, morally?

If she changed her mind about the flat, could she get her deposit money back? Probably not. And anyway, her sons seemed to have rejected her, which made her feel very sad.

She desperately needed a breathing space, time to think what she wanted from life – and from her marriage. Besides, the boys would be leaving home in a year or two. What would she and Sam do with themselves then?

In a sudden resurgence of anger at herself for dithering, she found a removal firm online and rang up to book them for Monday morning at ten o’clock for a small load.

But she felt very apprehensive when she went home that night, worried about what she would find, what she would say to her family, how she would manage to keep her secret.

She needn’t have got her knickers in such a twist. The house was empty.

There were signs that the boys had come and gone, but the dirty dishes had only been shuffled around. Presumably they’d been rinsing what they needed for each meal. The overflowing rubbish bin was beginning to smell foul so she decided she’d have to empty that, at least, for her own health’s sake.

When she looked into the fridge she found it almost bare, except for a carton of milk and a loaf. She stood with the door open for ages, staring into it, then realised what she was doing and slammed the door shut.

Only then did she see the note on the kitchen table. Paul’s writing.

She wondered briefly where they’d got the money for a pizza, but supposed their father must have given it to them. She felt so hurt and upset by her husband’s complete betrayal of her in all her roles – as wife, as mother, as partner – that she had to fold her arms round herself to hold the pain in.

In the end she went out again, buying herself some fruit, salad and cheese, plus a huge roll of rubbish bin liners
to pack her things in for the move. When she got back, she cleared a corner of the kitchen table and made a salad sandwich, then washed the rest of the lettuce and tomatoes and bundled them in plastic bags, taking her food up to the spare bedroom. If she turned off the radiator in there, they’d last the weekend. She wasn’t very hungry anyway.

Then she went into the master bedroom, which already felt like Sam’s territory, not hers, and began her preparations by going through her clothes in the walk-in wardrobe. She hung the ones she wanted to take at one side and moved her underwear out of the lower drawers into the spare bedroom.

After that, since the others still hadn’t come home, she walked round the house, looking at the smaller pieces of furniture, deciding what to take with her. The laptop, of course. Just let Sam complain about that! The second television from the conservatory, which the boys used as their den and where she was no longer welcome. How had that happened when she’d been the one who’d wanted a conservatory from which to enjoy the garden she tended so lovingly?

By the time the boys got home she’d finished her lists and was making herself another cup of tea.

They took one look at the mess in the kitchen, exchanged glances and edged towards the door.

‘Just a minute, you two. I want to know who broke my ornament.’

More glances, then Paul said, ‘Dad did it. He’s been behaving a bit weirdly, actually, ever since …’ He hesitated.

‘Since
you
opted out of doing your job,’ William finished for him.

‘I’ve opted out of being the only one to do any housework,’ she corrected. ‘I’m quite prepared to do my share of it.’

‘Well, don’t look at me. I’m definitely not domesticated.’ He pushed past his brother and clumped up the stairs.

Paul hesitated. ‘Mum – can’t we … sort this out?’

‘You mean go back to how it was, with me doing more and more of the housework and you three doing less and less? No. Definitely not. If you mean everyone taking a share, then I’m very open to that.’

He shifted uncomfortably. ‘I can’t get the others to talk about it. I’m not doing William’s share, though. Mum … did you know he’s in serious trouble at school, been suspended?’

‘
What?
’

‘They called Dad in yesterday to see the school principal and counsellor. Dad said not to bother you about it and he’d sort it, but I think you ought to know.’

‘What’s William been doing?’

‘Bullying.’

She felt sick to think of a son of hers behaving like that. ‘Does he bully you, too?’

‘He tries to. I usually manage to keep him away. Mum … can’t
you
talk to him?’

‘He doesn’t listen to me any more. Now I come to think of it, he’s been trying to bully me as well. I thought he was going to hit me the other day.’

Paul gasped and looked at her in dismay. Then he shook his head helplessly and slouched off. He didn’t offer to help clear up the kitchen, though. He might be talking to her, but he wasn’t prepared to make that
gesture – and he was probably right in one sense. It wouldn’t make any difference to William. Her elder son had not only grown a lot physically during the past year, he’d changed, turned into a bully, at home as well as at school.

It upset her to leave the mess, but she did.

She had no idea where Sam was or when he’d be back. She couldn’t imagine a meeting at work going on so long. In the end she went to bed and lay down, waking with a start some time later.

What had woken her? Glancing at the bedside clock, she saw it was just after midnight. A car door banged outside and there was the sound of a key in the front door. Whoever it was had trouble fitting the key in the lock and that didn’t sound like Sam. She tiptoed out on to the landing and looked down, ready to call the boys if it was an intruder.

But it was Sam. He reeled into the hall, weaving to and fro, bumping into the wall, clearly very drunk. Had he driven home like that? He must have done. And yet he’d been strongly against drink-driving ever since she’d known him.

Feeling as if nothing else was left to unravel in her life, she went back to bed, placing a chair under the door handle in case he tried to come in. Wine had always made him amorous in the past.

But this time he made no attempt to find her. The only explanation she could think of was that he was being unfaithful and had already made love that evening.

That thought stiffened her resolution, which had been wavering. She was definitely doing the right thing in moving
out. There was no reason for her to stay here any longer.

Only why did it feel so wrong? Why did it hurt so much?

Going for walks not only helped pass the time but the baby loved being out and about. Saturday afternoon was sunny, so mild that Janey lingered in the park and then strolled on to the allotments. She stopped once again to stare enviously over the gate. Come spring, she would enjoy looking at the vegetables, seeing them ripen.

In fact … she might put her name down for an allotment and grow her own vegetables. It’d not only save money but give her something to do which she enjoyed. There was probably a huge waiting list, though. A lot of people wanted to grow their own food these days.

She saw the same old man come out of his hut on one of the big central plots and when he waved to her, she waved back without hesitation.

As he began walking towards her, she stiffened then told herself not to be silly. She and her daughter were quite safe here in the open. If you got paranoid about safety, you’d never do anything interesting. He was probably lonely.

So was she.

He stayed on the other side of the big gate, hands thrust deep into the baggy pockets of a well-worn casual jacket. He was close enough to look into the pram and smile at Millie, who gurgled at him and waved her hands around. ‘What a bonny baby! Must be a girl. What’s her name?’

‘Millie.’

‘Short for Millicent?’

‘Yes. It was my grandma’s name.’

‘I had a cousin called Millie once. I’m Dan Shackleton, by the way.’

‘Janey.’ She didn’t give him her surname and he didn’t comment on that, thank goodness.

‘Not much for you to see here at this time of year.’

‘How soon will you be doing the spring planting? I’m looking forward to seeing what everyone grows.’

‘I don’t start my first plantings till early March, whatever the seed packets say. Like gardening, do you?’

‘I used to help my granddad in his garden. I loved it. I still miss him.’ Her mother had complained about her getting dirty, putting up with it only because her granddad insisted and because he gave her vegetables.

Janey realised Mr Shackleton was waiting patiently for her to say something. ‘Um, is there a long waiting list for allotments, do you know? I was wondering if I could get one. It’d be fun to look after and it might save money to grow my own food.’

‘I’m afraid there’s a long waiting list, because these are statutory allotments and the council can’t use the land for anything else. Some allotments are temporary, just there for a few years till the land is needed. These have been here since the year dot, so we can plant trees and shrubs and know it won’t be wasted effort.’

‘I didn’t know about the different sorts of allotments.’

‘Not many people do. People lost interest in gardening for a while, but they’re coming back to it, my goodness they are. Nothing tastes as good as your own vegetables. I’ve had my plot for nearly twenty years, got two fruit trees on it. If you’re still here in the autumn, I’ll give you a bag of apples. They won’t look pretty but they’ll taste
better than the ones you get in the shops.’

‘That’d be great.’

‘Still, you might as well put your name down for an allotment. That costs nothing and you’ll come to the top of the list one day, if you stay around long enough.’

At that moment a pair of police officers came strolling along the street towards them. Janey tensed as she did every time she saw a policeman now, but these two were fresh-faced, pleasant-looking. She couldn’t imagine them bullying anyone.

They stopped beside her and looked at her companion, which made her feel anxious. Did they not trust Mr Shackleton? Had she put herself and Millie in danger by talking to someone the police kept an eye on?

The female officer smiled at them both in turn, then turned back to the old man. ‘All set for the spring planting, Mr S?’

‘I certainly am. I’ve been studying the seed catalogues and I’m about to send off my orders. Meet Janey and Millie. They’re new to the area.’

‘Settled in Sexton Bassett, have you?’

‘Yes. Me and Millie have moved into a flat on Peppercorn Street.’

‘In that building that’s just been renovated?’

‘Yes.’

‘That’ll be convenient for town, with a baby. She’s a pretty one. Well, must get on. I’ll see you around. Community policing means a lot of walking. I’ve lost pounds since it came in.’

As they walked off, Mr Shackleton said, ‘I knew Katie when she was a little lass coming to the allotments with
her grandpop. He’s dead now, poor fellow, didn’t make old bones, and she’s a woman grown. Look … do you trust me enough to stop and have a cup of tea with me? I’m quite harmless, I promise you, even though I am known to the police.’

He laughed at his own mild joke and Janey smiled with him, but was grateful that he understood her wariness.

‘We can sit outside on my bench – it’s on the sunny, sheltered side of the hut – and Phil’s working down the bottom end of the allotments, so you’ll be quite safe.’

Still she hesitated. Stopping for a quick word was one thing, sitting drinking tea was a much bigger step – for her anyway. She wasn’t sure she fully trusted any man after what had happened to her, but surely she’d be quite safe sitting outside on the bench? ‘Thank you. I’d love a cup of tea.’

‘Good.’ He beamed at her and opened the gate, then led the way across to his hut. ‘It won’t take long to boil the kettle on my gas ring. Would the little ’un like a biscuit? Is she old enough for them?’

‘Not quite. I’ve got some rusks. She’s teething and loves to gum them. It’ll keep her busy for ages.’

Millie remained in a sunny mood, charming Mr Shackleton with her smiles, chewing the rusk happily. She only smeared it over the bottom half of her face, which was tidy eating for her, and she managed to get quite a bit of it down. Janey pulled out a sippy cup to give her a drink of water.

Mr Shackleton brought out a folding table on which he placed a teapot and two mugs next to the packet of biscuits. Then he brought out a milk carton and sugar in
a plastic container. ‘I’d rather do things properly when I have a guest. My wife always used to have very high standards when she set a table for guests. Only I don’t keep china sugar bowls and milk jugs here. No room to store them, you see.’

‘The tea will taste just as good.’ He’d spoken of his wife in the past tense, she noticed. ‘I hope you don’t mind me asking, but is your wife dead?’ His face grew so sad she wished she hadn’t spoken.

‘Peggy’s in a home. Dementia. The poor love doesn’t even recognise me now.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Yeah. Me too. I miss her something shocking. Fifty years we’ll have been married next month. We’d such plans for celebrating it.’

‘Do you have children?’

He nodded. ‘Two sons, but one lives in Reading, so I don’t see much of him and his family. The other lives here in Sexton Bassett so I see him more often. Both of them are doing well: fancy houses, wives working, holidays abroad, children at private schools. But they never seem to have time to stop and chat.’

She nodded, but she didn’t really know how it was for people who had money, lived in fancy houses and had big four-wheel drives. She saw them sometimes as she walked along the posh end of the street, but they didn’t even notice her. Her mother worked in a shop and her father worked on an assembly line. They’d always had to be careful with money in order to buy their own house and have enough left for her father’s beer.