They fell back into their routine: dressing, breakfast, school run, washing, ironing, cleaning, gardening, school run, playtime, TV, dinner, bath and bed. They went shopping at the weekends, saw Michael and Emma from time to time, went for a picnic or lunch with Sandy, her husband Brian and Keira, and had them over in return. There was little or no communication with anyone else. She often thought of Alisha and Sujay but accepted that in more ways than one they were worlds apart. Part of her was saddened not to stay in regular touch with Simon, but she knew his world was so far removed from hers, it was probably for the best.
For the time being, and for the foreseeable future, the focus was on the girls’ schooling and the plans to sell Chalton and move elsewhere. The house had been valued at two point eight million pounds, and although the estate agent had conducted several viewings, none had resulted in a sensible offer so she resolved to remain patient and let things take their course. In an idle moment she’d tried to look for smaller properties on the market using Peter’s old computer, but she wasn’t skilled enough to work it properly and gave up in frustration. She was in no rush and would take advice as and when she needed it.
At 3 p.m. she parked the Range Rover in her usual place, fifty or sixty yards from the school, and wandered up to join the other parents waiting to collect their kids. She’d exchanged the odd pleasantry with a few whom she’d come to recognise, but for the most part people kept to their own little groups and did no more than pass the time of day.
She waited at the school gates, anxious as ever to capture a glimpse of the girls, relieved as ever to see the twins hopping and skipping across the playground, hand in hand with their big sister in control. She waved but they couldn’t see her, preoccupied with their own thoughts and excitement.
“Alice?” She heard the voice and the name but it didn’t register for a moment. “Alice?” The name repeated, louder, persistent. She turned her head, still puzzled, recognition slowly dawning. A woman, about thirty, blonde hair, comfortably built, jeans and trainers and fleece, hand in hand with a small blonde boy, was smiling at her, quizzically. “It is you! Alice!” She stepped forward and Jess frowned. “It’s me! Jade. From the pub?”
Jess shook her head as the years peeled away. The Navigation. Cask Ales, Fine Wines, Home-Cooked Food and Free Moorings. Jade, the Aussie waitress, her trainer, her colleague, her friend, but plumper, older, different hair and with a child. She struggled to find the words, twisted her head to see her girls getting close, felt the need to be polite. She smiled woodenly.
“Jade! How are you? I didn’t recognise you there.”
“Aw, different hair, that’s what did it. How’s it going? Great to see you!”
“Great to see you too.” In a way, it was. They’d been friends until that terrible day, her last, when she’d made her escape from ... the mess. And in a way, it wasn’t. She didn’t want to remember, didn’t want to be reminded of things she’d rather forget. She twisted her head around. The twins. How could she ever forget? “I haven’t seen you here before.”
“Aw, Ben’s just started.” She rubbed the little boy’s head. “How was your day, sweetie?” Ben squirmed and looked away, shy. Jess nodded vacantly.
“So,” she mumbled, lapsing into the obvious, “you live around here?” But Jade was looking past her, over her shoulder. Jess turned and crouched to hug the twins.
“Yeah, in the next village. Fotherham. Who are these little beauties?” she gushed. “Oh my God! Alice. Aren’t they just a delight?” Years in England had done nothing to temper the Australian’s accent or her mannerisms. Jess smiled with pride.
“This is Lucy and this is Sophie. Say hello to Jade and Ben.”
“Hello Jade and Ben,” chimed the twins as one. Leila stood behind them, detached and wary. Jess leant over and pulled her to her side.
“And this is Leila.” Jade did a poor job of hiding her surprise.
“Hi, Leila.” She frowned, clearly thrown off balance, searching for a suitable response. “Aw, Alice, we must get together. Have a good chinwag and catch-up.”
“Why is she calling you Alice?” said Leila, deadpan, staring at the strange woman.
“That’s Mummy’s other name!” piped up Sophie, stomping her foot in exasperation at Leila’s ignorance. Jess decided to bring the encounter to a close.
“Yes. Yes. That would be nice,” she said, trying to be non-committal. She needed to get away and gather her thoughts. But Jade always had been, and still was, irrepressible.
“Let’s have lunch. Tomorrow. In the coffee shop. One o’clock. We can have a good talk before we pick up the little rascals.” She rubbed her son’s head again. Jess searched in vain for an excuse, but she didn’t have one other than she’d rather not, which was the truth, and though she couldn’t bring herself to speak the truth, she couldn’t see beyond it. She smiled.
“Okay. Coffee shop. One o’clock tomorrow. Bye.”
“Great to see you, Alice. Bye.”
Jess led the girls to the Range Rover, relieved to see Jade and Ben walking the other way. As she walked, she kept turning her head and saw them climb into a battered old Fiesta and drive out of town.
As she drove the girls back to Chalton, the twins shouting and screaming in the back, Leila sitting pensively between them, she tried to put it out of her head, but she remained disturbed. It had been a terrible moment in her life; as terrible as her experiences with her father and her husband, but at the time made worse because at The Navigation she’d been lulled into a false sense of security. The new life she’d just started to build, cruelly torn down and trampled on. But then, Mo had done the same thing. She should have known. However, it was all water under the bridge, and through those trials she’d found Peter and he’d found Leila and everything was all right again.
She’d liked Jade. There was no reason they couldn’t be friends again, and she didn’t have any others, so that was a good thing. Despite her initial misgivings, she warmed to the idea and decided she’d try and make the best of it.
***
Jade parked the Fiesta in the car park behind The King’s Head in Fotherham. They manoeuvred themselves around a stack of empty barrels and went in by the back door. She led her young son through the deserted kitchen area and out into the bar where her husband was in his usual spot, sitting at a table with a coffee and a newspaper.
“Hi, hon! Hey. You’ll never guess who I saw today?”
Dave Morley, looked up, disinterested as ever.
“Hello, mate,” he said to his young son. “All right?”