Cupid's Way (4 page)

In the middle of the narrow street stood a white shire horse – a monster of a beast, with a long fringe over blinkered eyes and white fringing over its hooves. The horse stamped and whinnied, thrashing its head from side to side. Evie had no idea how to size horses, but she reckoned this one must be the maximum number of hands possible. Attached to the horse by a wooden harness was a cart with four red-painted wheels. At first glance there didn’t seem to be anyone in the cart, or indeed anyone tending to the horse at all, but when Evie shuffled further forward she caught sight of the top of a man’s head. It was bald, with a tuft of ginger hair above each ear. As she watched, the mystery driver cracked a whip and nudged the horse on. Straight towards Frank’s supermini.

‘Reverse, reverse,’ Mavis cried, but Frank was already half out of the car.

‘Gran, we’d better get out too.’ Evie grabbed her suitcase and reached for the door. ‘Come on, over here.’

They pressed themselves against a brick wall out of harm’s way, and watched Frank advance on the horse and cart, shaking his clenched fist.

‘This is the bloody end for you, Peacock. I’ve told you a million times you can’t bring that mangy old nag up here. What the bloody hell do you think you’re playing at?’

‘What on earth is going on?’ Evie’s heart was racing and she felt the urge to pinch herself. A horse and cart in the middle of a cobbled street; two old men, their jaws set in anger, squaring up to each other. Evie shook her head and looked around for some kind of orientation. To her right was one of the gates that led into Cupid’s Way, and she could see the first of the twelve Victorian houses above an expanse of evergreen hedging. It was just like the others – perfectly preserved, with Gothic revival architecture and tall sash windows, a tiny yard out back and a lawned garden in front. All the gardens were communal now, with a cobbled path running down the middle of the facing rows of two-up, two-down houses. Evie held up her hand to shield her eyes from the winter sun. The window frames could do with a good coat of paint, and some of the roof tiles had slipped into the drooping gutter, but apart from that this house at the end of the street hadn’t changed since she was a child.

Evie had grown up five minutes from here – her mum and her grandparents were close, back then – but while Cupid’s Way itself was unchanged, she couldn’t say the same for the surrounding area. Most of the terraced streets had been bulldozed, making way for modern housing that favoured cul de sacs and crescents, not the linear configuration of old. The curved grey back of a vast warehousing complex bounded the street to the north, while the glittering mirrored facades of a new retail park threw back the sun from the south. And looming behind number one Cupid’s Way, so close it seemed to be leaning over it, was the McAllister building. It was stern and uncompromising – architecture for architecture’s sake, in Evie’s opinion. She regarded it for a moment, taking in the boxy concrete design, and wondering what the hell the city planners had been thinking when they gave the green light to such a monstrosity.

She was quite looking forward to meeting the planners that afternoon, in fact.

The man in the cart was standing now, barely as tall as Frank despite being a good two feet off the ground. He shook his fist right back at Evie’s grandfather, and the breeze made his two patches of red hair flip up around his ears like feathers. He puffed out his chest and stamped one foot; the horse whinnied and shook its head, flicking away the long white fringe and glaring back at the cart and driver.

‘Frank,’ Mavis called. ‘Think of your blood pressure.’ But Frank wasn’t listening. He reached into the cart and grabbed the smaller man by his grubby jacket.

‘Gran, he looks like he might be about to do some serious damage.’ Evie took a step forward, but jumped back again when the horse turned her way. ‘Whoa there, big fella. Nothing to see here.’

Mavis and Evie began to back away down the street, palms held out in front. ‘Come on,’ Mavis said, tugging on Evie’s sleeve. ‘We can slip around the back and go in the other side.’

‘What, and leave Gramps out here on his own? Isn’t that a bit dangerous?’

‘He’s a danger to himself these days, but I don’t think he’s a danger to anyone else. Least of all Bob Peacock. They’re both full of bluster and hot air. Always have been.’

‘That’s Bob Peacock?’ Evie followed her grandmother along a row of back yards with low wooden fences. ‘I can’t believe it. He used to have so much–’

‘Hair? Well, it must be nearly fifteen years since you last saw him. People change. Haven’t I changed?’

‘You never change. But I was going to say dignity. He worked for the council, didn’t he? Something to do with roads.’

Evie remembered the Peacock clan so clearly. There was Alun and Eloise, and old Rolo, who would be ancient by now, if he was still alive. She’d gone to school with little pig-tailed Eloise, but they’d never been what you’d call friends, despite the Peacocks living next door to Evie’s grandparents. Next door three times over, in fact – the Peacocks had bought three of the terraces in Cupid’s Way and, without so much as a nod to building regs, had knocked them into one.

Mavis reached the gate that led to the north end of the street and held it open for Evie. ‘He was a bin man. He used to call himself a road hygienist. Even then he was a complete tosser.’

‘Gran!’

‘I’m sorry, Evie, but that man is driving my Frank crazy.’ She sighed and closed the gate behind them, latching it carefully. From the other end of the path they could hear shouts punctuated by occasional neighing. Mavis rolled her eyes to the sky. ‘They’re as bad as each other. Come on, I’ll make us a cuppa and tell you all about it.’

Evie fell into step beside her and looked around. It was astonishing, really, how little Cupid’s Way had changed over the years, even if it was looking a little rough around the edges. The glass and concrete and sharp lines of the surrounding buildings only provided a counterpoint to the warm red brick and cute little porches. Once you were enclosed within the gardens you could hear birdsong, and the wind rustling through the branches of the hundred-year-old trees, and you could smell the greenery, even in the middle of February. As they turned down the path to Mavis and Frank’s house, Evie saw patches of white in the grass. Snowdrops. She smiled and took a deep breath.

‘You could turn this place into holiday cottages,’ she said. ‘I’d pay to escape here – it’s an oasis of calm amidst all the madness.’

‘Don’t you believe it.’ Mavis put her key in the door and turned to look back at the gardens. ‘There’s more madness in these twelve houses than in the rest of the world put together.’

‘Oh, come on. It’s like some secret haven in here.’

‘And turning it into holiday cottages would be the least of our worries. I don’t think Dynamite Construction have anything quite so picturesque in mind.’

‘No, probably not.’ Evie paused, then lowered her voice. ‘I’m so sorry you’re having to deal with this, Gran. This business with the planners. It’s so beautiful here, I can’t imagine what you must be going through, thinking there’s even the slightest possibility of being forced out.’

Privately, Evie didn’t think her grandparents had anything to worry about. Developers had tried to get hold of Cupid’s Way before. It sat on land worth millions, so they’d been told, and over the last twenty years various schemes had come and gone, each more ambitious than the last. McAllisters had come the closest, but even their plans came to nothing. It wasn’t so easy to slap compulsory purchase orders on home owners, and Evie fully expected it to blow over in a couple of months, the way these things always did. But living through it, when it was your home being fought over? A home you’d lived in for almost eighty years? Evie was telling the truth – she couldn’t imagine how Mavis felt. And she didn’t much want to try.

‘Ah, that’s not the half of it, my love,’ Mavis said. Her face, usually so bright, so upbeat, was pensive. Evie reached out and stroked her arm. Mavis shook her head slightly and smiled. But not before Evie had seen a sadness in her eyes that tore at her heart.

‘Come on, then,’ Mavis said, slapping Evie on the back. ‘What are we doing hanging around out here? It’s bloody freezing, my girl. Let’s get in and have that cup of tea.’

Chapter 5

Evie sat on the single bed in her grandparents’ spare room and looked at her phone. On a whim, she’d left a note for Michael at the hotel reception that morning. She still couldn’t understand why he’d rushed off so suddenly. Maybe he’d got cold feet after offering her a lift and felt awkward. Or maybe he’d seen someone he had to talk to, but didn’t want to have to explain. And why should he, after all? They’d known each other less than a day, had spent an evening together, not by any means alone, and had shared … what, exactly? A few anecdotes, some fragments of history. A meal, a few laughs. Some cocktails.

Still, Evie had felt the loss of him the moment he left the restaurant – like that feeling you get when someone rests a hot hand on your leg for a while, then takes it away. She wasted no time grabbing her luggage and checking out. But not before writing him a note. Her phone number, a smiley face, and the words “Call me.”

She didn’t think for one moment he would. And so far she’d been proved right.

‘Evie. Lunch is ready.’

She got up and smoothed out the quilt – one of her mother’s cast-offs, no doubt. Evie stopped for a moment, resting her hand on the chipped windowsill. She watched a peach-coloured bird eating seeds off a table in the middle of the gardens, and wondered what it had been like for her mother growing up in a place like this. Angela Stone hadn’t wasted any time escaping – as soon as Evie started sixth form she’d packed a bag and answered the call to adventure that had grown over the years from a whisper to a scream. Now she lived in Canada with the man of her dreams, ten acres of land and four golden retrievers. Evie couldn’t blame her, but that didn’t make it any easier to live with.

Across the path, the door to number eight opened and a woman stepped out, followed by a man wearing overalls. The overalls looked brand new, with creases still in the trousers, and were slightly too big for his frame. The woman handed him a canvas tool bag that also looked new, and touched his arm briefly. As the man walked away, turning right at the end of the path, Evie noticed the expression on the woman’s face. Longing. There was no other word for it. Evie smiled to herself and shook her head. Never had she seen a man so unlikely to produce that level of longing in a woman, but it just went to show – you never could tell.

Evie ran down the stairs to where her grandparents were waiting, seated around a tiny wooden table in front of the fire.

‘We usually eat on our laps,’ Mavis explained, ‘but because you’re here we thought we’d get the table in.’

Evie sat and pulled in her chair, scraping her knees against the underside of the tabletop. She rubbed her legs, then lifted her hands and looked at them. ‘This table is covered in cobwebs.’

‘Oh, is it? Well, that’s probably because it’s been outside all winter.’

‘It’s your patio table? Gran, you didn’t have to bring it in for me. I’d be perfectly happy with a tray.’

‘I want to do things properly. Frank, didn’t I ask you to give it a clean before you brought it in?’

Frank mumbled something unintelligible and picked up his fork.

‘Frank’s still in a mood about Bob Peacock and his horse,’ Mavis told Evie. ‘Cheer up, you old git,’ she said, giving her husband a kick under the table. ‘Evie doesn’t want to look at your miserable face. You’ll put her off her dinner. Shepherd’s pie?’ She scooped a large serving onto Evie’s plate. ‘Without the shepherds, I’m afraid.’

Evie grinned – it was an old family joke, a response to her childhood questions about what went in Granny’s dishes.

‘Will we be having cottage pie this week as well?’ she said.

‘No, I couldn’t crush up the bricks small enough.’ Mavis smiled back, and Evie was relieved to see the sunshine had returned to her eyes.

‘Who lives at number eight now?’ she asked, loading up her fork with mince and potato.

‘That’ll be Sarah Lowrie. She’s a lovely girl, lived there about five years.’

‘Her husband, is he some kind of builder?’

Mavis shook her head and swallowed a mouthful. ‘She hasn’t got a husband. Sarah’s what we used to call a spinster. Although she’s only in her thirties, so I suppose there’s still time …’

Mavis tailed off, and Evie put down her fork. Frank looked from one to the other and groaned.

‘Oh, for pity’s sake, not this again. You two, you’re always the same when you get on this subject. Mavis, for the last time, will you leave the poor girl alone. If she wanted to get married she would – look at her, she’s beautiful and successful, she’s got her career and all. It’s not as if she can’t actually get a man, is it? She’s just choosy, aren’t you, my love?’ Frank patted Evie’s hand. ‘There’s nothing wrong with being a single woman these days. You make the most of it. Married life’s not all it’s cracked up to be.’

‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’ Mavis stood up, nearly knocking the rickety table into Evie’s lap. ‘I’ve been a wonderful wife to you, Frank Stone, and if you don’t appreciate me you can bloody well go and–’

‘Gran? Come on, sit down. He’s only winding you up.’ Evie gave her grandfather a sharp stare, and he responded with a shrug and an innocent expression.

‘I was just saying, that’s all. Women are more able these days. They don’t need a man to make them complete.’

‘Well, of all the … I’ll have you know I don’t need a man to make me complete either.’ On her feet again, Mavis glared down at her husband. ‘If I had my time again, to think what I could do with it. I could have been anything – a dancer, an actress.’

‘You’re not wrong about that,’ Frank said in a low voice, raising his eyebrows at Evie, who fought back a grin and held out her hands to her gran.

‘Please, just sit back down and finish your lunch. We’ve got enough going on this afternoon without you two arguing.’ Evie cast around for a change of subject. ‘So if this Sarah person isn’t married, who was the man I just saw leaving her house?’