Hens Reunited (13 page)

‘Hello?’ she said into the phone.

‘Oh, Alice! You’re there!’ Katie sounded hugely relieved.

‘Is everything all right?’

A sigh came down the receiver. ‘I don’t know. No. I don’t think so. It’s a long story. I was wondering . . . Are you doing anything today?’

Alice couldn’t help a hollow laugh. ‘No.’

‘Oh good. In that case, can I come over?’

‘What – here? I mean – yes, of course! I’ve moved, though, I’ll have to give you directions—’

‘Great, let me grab a pen. How’s it going?’

‘Um . . .’ Alice tried to distract Iris from spoon-banging by opening a drawer and giving her a few random objects. The tea strainer, a faded wooden peg, a plastic blue egg cup. Alice clattered the objects down and tried to concentrate.
How’s it going?
Katie had asked. Ahh. The million-dollar question. ‘Well,’ she said, gazing out the window as a tractor juddered past. The farmer behind the wheel saw her looking and waved a hand in a friendly gesture. Alice raised her own hand back, feeling embarrassed to be caught staring. ‘Well,’ she said again. ‘It’s early days, I guess. We only got here on Saturday, so . . .’

Something struck her. ‘Hang on a minute, why aren’t you at school, anyway? Is it an INSET day or something?’

There was a hesitant pause before Katie replied. ‘I called in sick,’ she said.

‘Are you all right?’ Alice said, surprised. Off work? Katie was the fittest person she knew.

‘No, I’m not,’ Katie replied forlornly. ‘Not really.’

Chapter Seven

Why Can’t I Wake Up With You?

Monday, 16 June 2008

Katie had never pulled a sickie before. She liked her job too much, couldn’t understand people who spent all that time working when they hated being there. Besides, the guilt had always stopped her from skiving, even if she had a hangover or felt ropy. If she didn’t turn up at school, it meant complicated reorganization of her lessons, as well as payment for a supply teacher out of their budget. So usually she’d have to be bedridden and hallucinating with the pain before she’d ever phone in ill.

The thing was, she hadn’t slept the whole weekend. Barely a wink. It was just too damn weird without Steve there, breathing beside her in bed at night, making coffee in the morning, singing tunelessly in the shower. Obviously she and he did their own things at the weekends – he liked to go running or bike over to the gym on Saturdays, whereas she preferred to spend her free time in a slightly more laid-back fashion, sauntering into town with a girlfriend or two, shopping and coffee-ing. It wasn’t as if she and Steve were joined at the hip when they weren’t working, but all the same . . . This weekend, she had been constantly aware of his absence, couldn’t stop wondering where he was, what he was doing. And how would things be when he came back?

More importantly,
would
he come back at all?

On Saturday afternoon she’d had a long-standing arrangement to meet a couple of friends, Becky and Sam, in Broadmead. They were meant to be buying bikinis together for forthcoming holidays, and had decided an event so traumatic called for mutual moral support. They were all part of the same crowd – Katie and Steve, Becky and Rich, Sam and Andy. But how could she go and meet them now this had happened? How could she try on bikinis and chit-chat about the minutiae of their lives without mentioning the new Steve-shaped hole in her life? It would be like Chinese whispers, the talk flashing along the grapevine. She wasn’t ready to go public about it yet, not when things still hung so precariously in the balance.

She’d lied on the phone about having a tummy bug. ‘Oh, poor you,’ Becky had said sympathetically. ‘Hope Steve’s looking after you.’

Katie had squeezed her eyes shut at the words. ‘You know what he’s like,’ she’d replied lightly, not wanting to embellish with any more detail than she had to.

And so, while in a parallel universe another Katie tried on tankinis in Oasis and asked, ‘Does my bum look big in this?’ as she peered over her shoulder to inspect her rear reflection, here in the real world Katie had taken to the sofa and lain there numbly for hours on end, staring up at the ceiling and wondering what to do with herself. For once, there was no master plan. All she wanted was to be there when the phone rang. But it didn’t.

By the time Monday dawned, her eyes felt red and sore from lack of sleep, and she had played and replayed the hotel scenes in her head so many times, she felt as if she were in danger of losing her marbles. She’d meant to go into work all along and then, at the last moment, she’d changed her mind.

Impulse. She never usually acted on it. Katie was always one for reading from the script – never did the improvisation thing. But today . . . today she couldn’t act as if everything was all right. She couldn’t go through with the charade of school, teaching her Year 8s trigonometry, and revising probability and stats with her Year 10s. Not when her head was swimming with thoughts of Steve, not when she felt riddled with confusion and doubts. The kids would make mincemeat out of her; they could sniff out weaknesses from a mile off.

She really needed someone to talk to. Someone to give her advice. Becky, Sam and the rest of the crowd wouldn’t do, of course. If push came to shove, Katie knew they’d be on his side. They were his friends, at the end of the day, however much they’d welcomed her into the gang.

And Georgia hadn’t been a lot of help when Katie had phoned her on Saturday. In fact, she’d actually made Katie feel worse than ever. But there was always Alice. She was kind, wasn’t she? Kind and good to talk to, with the sensitivity and all-round general niceness about her that Katie really craved right now. Alice would understand.

That was why at 1.30, when by rights Katie should have been on lunchtime playground duty, bawling out the Year 9s she always caught smoking round the back of the biology labs, she was instead driving out of Bristol along the Wells Road, towards Alice’s village. Steve hadn’t taken her car to be serviced at all it turned out – she’d found it parked neatly outside the house when she’d got back on Saturday afternoon. He really had planned the whole thing thoroughly, hadn’t he?

Katie blinked at the thought, trying to concentrate on the road. She’d necked a double espresso before getting in the car in the hope that the caffeine would shock her into alertness behind the wheel, but it was making her very jittery and she kept braking nervously when anyone tried to overtake her.

She hadn’t seen Alice for ages – absolutely months. Their friendship had waxed and waned over the years, from best-friend status in that brief time they’d had together at uni, to the odd weekend catch-up and emails when Katie was in Wiltshire, and then as close as sisters for a while again when she’d turned up at Alice and Georgia’s flat in London after walking out on Neil.

Alice had been brilliant in that particular crisis, producing a stream of biscuits, cups of tea, glasses of wine, chocolate, and boxes of tissues. ‘You did the right thing,’ she said over and over again, until Katie started to believe it. ‘Me and Georgia will look after you. You’re staying with us, for as long as you need to.’

Katie had ended up moving in when their other flatmate, Helen, had moved out to live with her boyfriend. And there she’d stayed for the next four years, going back to finish her degree and passing with flying colours.

More recently, Katie had stayed awkwardly on the sidelines when all hell had broken loose between Georgia and Alice, trying not to get too involved, although privately she thought Georgia had been well out of order. And then, when Alice’s marriage had broken down as a result . . .

Katie jumped as a white van blared its horn behind her, and she realized she’d left her indicator flashing since the last roundabout five miles or so back. She stuck two fingers up at the van driver who sailed past, making naughty-naughty finger-wagging gestures at her. ‘Oh, sod
off
,’ she said loudly, hoping he could lip-read.

Damn it, she hadn’t been the most brilliant friend to Alice lately. She’d listened to her plaintive calls when Jake had done the dirty on her, but hadn’t rushed to be by her side, as she would have done in their student days. She’d only visited her once at her parents’ place during the fallout period, even though they were a mere forty-minute drive or so away.

Selfish cow
, she said to herself now. Why hadn’t she made more of an effort? It was partly her guilt, knowing that she was having a fantastic time with Steve in Bristol, happy with work and friends. The thought of visiting pale, wan Alice, with those leaking boobs and unwashed hair, grizzling baby in her arms, still agonizing about Jake, still so upset about Georgia . . . Well. It hadn’t been the most enticing of weekend jaunts.

She flicked the radio on, trying to ignore the bad feelings that were washing through her. No, she hadn’t been a good friend at all. And yet, the first sign of trouble and here
she
was, calling up
Alice
and asking her for help. She was quite surprised Alice hadn’t told her where to get off actually. Instead, she’d sounded grateful for the call; delighted even that Katie wanted to visit. That made Katie feel ten times worse.

Christ, Alice lived in the middle of nowhere. The Bristol streets were long behind her now, and she was winding her way through smaller villages with golden Bath-stone cottages and picture-postcard churches. It was still and hot, and Katie opened the windows and sang along to Squeeze on the radio, trying not to think about the fact that ‘Up the Junction’ was one of Steve’s all-time favourite songs.

She hoped Alice would have some good advice for her, know what to do. Ha, there she was being selfish again, wrapped up in her own problems. Her voice wobbled as she tried to hit the high notes in the song and suddenly she felt tears in her eyes.

Ahh, there was the turning to Alice’s village – and not a moment too soon.

Katie gave a sniff as she indicated left and pulled into a lane, wondering why on earth Alice was hiding here, in deepest Somerset countryside. Chichi Chelsea or Theatre-land this was not. Although perhaps that was the point.

Two minutes later, she parked outside a small whitewashed cottage, its garden in full bloom, its low thatched roof and tiny square windows the stuff of chocolate-box photographs. Gorgeous! Absolutely gorgeous – and perfect for daydreamy, romantic Alice. No wonder she’d sounded chuffed on the phone that Katie wanted to see her – she was probably dying to show off this new place.

It was dead quiet, Alice’s road. Well – she said road, but really it was only a straggle of cottages on the outskirts of the village. A lane.

Oh, fancy living on a country lane! Katie thought of her own busy street with a wince as she went up the front path. The afternoon sun was warm on her face as she admired a peacock butterfly flitting up from a scruffy buddleia bush, and a couple of bees that were humming amidst the lavender. Lucky old Alice!

There was a pushchair outside the house – how relaxing to live somewhere with no crime problems, where you could leave stuff outside without a second thought. You didn’t get that where Katie lived, sadly – didn’t really get that in many places in Britain now, of course, but this . . . this was like being in the 1950s.

She rapped on the door with an old-fashioned brass knocker, tarnished with age. Ahh. Footsteps. And then the door was opening, and . . .

‘Katie!’

‘Alice!’

Christ, but she was skinny. What had happened to those round cheeks and dimples Alice had always had? Was she ill?

‘Come in, come in,’ she was saying. ‘It’s a bit of a state, I’m afraid – we only moved in on Saturday and haven’t quite got things sorted yet . . .’

The front door opened straight into the living room, and Katie pushed it shut before following Alice in. She could barely pay attention to what her friend was saying because she couldn’t keep her eyes off her bottom. Alice in jeans! She had always been one for long floaty skirts to cover herself up, self-conscious as she was about her curves. But now . . . blimey. Jeans and a vest top. Alice-in-bare-flesh-and-tight-fitting-clothes shock! ‘Nice jeans,’ Katie mumbled, out of curiosity as much as anything else.

‘What, these?’ Alice said dismissively. ‘Mmmm, they’re great, jeans, aren’t they? You can get away with not washing them for ages . . . Sit down, anyway,’ she went on. ‘Iris is having a nap thank goodness, so we can have a chat.’

Katie took in the surroundings for the first time – the living room which felt rather like a cave with its low ceiling and dingy atmosphere. There were colourful plastic toys all over the floor, and the walls were bare except for a single framed print of a beaming baby with one white tooth visible.
Okaaaay
, she thought. So the inside of the cottage didn’t quite live up to the promise of the outside façade, but . . . hey, Alice had only just moved in. She could get on with the decorating soon enough.

Katie lowered herself into a squishy armchair that let out a small sigh as her bottom reached the cushion. A musty smell rose from the fabric and she looked at the shiny patches on the chair’s arms before deciding to put her hands in her lap.
Potential
, Sarah Beeny would say about this place.
Bags of potential.
But you’d need a skip for all the crappy old furniture and carpet in here.

Still, at least the baby was asleep. Katie couldn’t help a sneaky sigh of relief. She wasn’t good with babies, she never knew what to do with them; whenever she held one or even smiled at one, it always seemed to start crying.

Alice brought in tall glasses of water – ‘I haven’t had a chance to do a proper shop yet, this is the only cold drink I’ve got, I’m afraid,’ she said as she passed one over – and perched on the saggy sofa.

Katie was starting to feel really bad about inviting herself over on a whim. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I hadn’t realized you’d literally just moved – I’m sure you’ve got enough to do without me barging in . . .’

‘Oh no, it’s fine,’ Alice replied. ‘To be honest, it’s nice to see a friendly face here after this morning.’ A shadow passed across her face and then she gave herself a little shake. ‘So,’ she went on quickly, before Katie could ask what she meant, ‘what’s been happening? What’s with all the bunking off?’