Page 84 of The Winter of Second Chances
The conversation slipped back to book club business.
‘Interesting that Braddon made Lucy blonde and innocent-looking. If the same story were written by a man, would Lucy have a full moustache and sideburns?’ asked Sally.
‘No,’ said Maeve. ‘If she was written by a man, he’d have made her a whore. She’d have had dark hair and dark eyes and massive tits! She certainly wouldn’t have begged Sir Michael Audley for a platonic relationship; she’d have straddled him the moment she met him and trapped him under her sex spell.’
‘Crikey!’ said Gemma.
‘Is that what happened with Max on Sunday?’ asked Sally. Annie stuck two fingers up at her.
‘No matter how good a Victorian woman tried to be, if she had sex outside of the marriage bed, she was destined for a sticky end in literature!’
Gemma hid her mouth with her hands and coughed out the words, ‘Sex with the window cleaner!’
Maeve laughed.
‘And let that be a lesson to you, Annie.’ Sally wagged a finger in Annie’s direction.
‘Oh, you don’t need to worry about me,’ said Annie. ‘From now on my only relationship is with Mr Knightley.’
‘Good girl,’ said Maeve, as though praising one of her sheep dogs.
Gemma giggled.
‘I’m glad to hear he’s come in handy,’ she said.
The book club disbanded a little before eleven o’clock, with all the women promising they would be back tomorrow night for the fireworks. Annie still wasn’t quite sure what the plan was for the evening but she had been given to believe that John and Paul would have it in hand, and she was happy to leave it to them. For her part, she had decided to make a vat of soup and serve it in mugs with sausage stirrers. It meant another long day at work but if it turned out to be as profitable as Halloween, it would be well worth it.
It was a profitable decision and thank goodness for it. Annie’s credit card was maxed out and she needed to start paying some of it off before she found herself in a financial hole too deep to climb out of.Damn Max, she brooded as the fireworks began. She hated that he had her over a financial barrel. He hadn’t answered his phone since their argument and she still had no access to their account. What little she’d had saved in her own account was down to single figures and she cursed herself for being so complacent with their shared money. She fantasised briefly, amongst the whoops and bangs, about taking a leaf out of Guy Fawkes’s book and blowing up The Pomegranate Seed – maybe even with Max still in it – and claiming on the insurance.
The flare of the firelighters briefly illuminated the shadowy figures of Paul and John as they lit the touchpapers and then melted back into the darkness. They had been setting up all afternoon down by the cove – poor old Alfred had been evicted for the day, but he had taken it good-naturedly and Annie had plied him with sausage sandwiches to soften the blow.
‘Many thanks,’ Alfred mumbled as Annie handed him a gingerbread latte. He dropped three sugar lumps into the already sweet coffee and Annie’s teeth ached in sympathy.
‘Thank you for tidying up the garden, I recognised your handiwork. The borders look lovely.’
‘You still haven’t sorted that fence,’ said Alfred. ‘It won’t last the winter.’
‘No, I know. I’ve been so busy. Sorry.’ Annie marvelled at the strange relationship she had with this grumpy man.
‘I’ll do it for you when I’ve finished my other jobs,’ grumbled Alfred, with all the resignation of a disappointed father.
‘Oh Alfred, would you? That would be marvellous. I’ll see if I can get some new fence posts—’
‘No need,’ Alfred cut her off. ‘I’ll get the wood. I know what’s needed. You’ll probably get all the wrong stuff.’
Annie’s feminist feathers ruffled but she conceded that he was probably right. What did she know about fences?
‘Someone owes me a favour anyway,’ Alfred went on. ‘I’ll get better wood from him than that rubbish they sell in the DIY shops.’
Annie wondered what Alfred could have done to be owed such a big favour but then she reasoned that Alfred used a different currency than most; she wondered again how this lifestyle translated in the city. And then she remembered that he would be gone soon and she felt a niggle of worry for him, sleeping out on the streets in the cold, with all the dangers that sleeping rough presented.
The fireworks weren’t half bad. There were a couple of duds which fizzed and died before they’d begun, drawing jeers and claps from the revellers. But other than that, all the crowd-pleasers were present and correct. The darkness spangled and fizzed with lights so bright they left blobs before Annie’s eyes, as she watched with Lennox and Esme – who were frightened by the noise – through the windows.
Maeve strode in midway through the display, rubbing her hands together against the cold.
‘I hope Podrick’s all right,’ she said. ‘I’ve left him sedated with my daughter. Last year was likeThe Hound of thebloodyBaskervillesin my kitchen with him howling all night.’ She turned and saw Alfred. ‘Ah, just the man! I’ve got a leaking tap I’d like you to have a look at when you get the time. I’ve changed the washer and tightened it all up and it’s still leaking. Think it’s a two-man job. Would appreciate your help.’
‘I’ll come up tomorrow morning,’ said Alfred.
