Page 79 of Old Girls Go Greek
‘You don’t mind?’
I sat down on my chair again with a bump, astonished at the question.
‘Of course I don’t mind. Why on earth would I mind?’
‘Oh, I don’t know, I thought perhaps you might.’
‘Well, I don’t. Now then, shall we have coffee? I’ve bought a cafetiere and some proper coffee. I got quite a taste for it in Greece.’
After Nicky had gone, I poured myself a glass of wine and sat out in the garden again, enjoying the late afternoon sunshine.
Malcolm getting married again. Well, there was a turn up for the books.
Did I mind? No, I really didn’t. The only thing that surprised me was that Alison had been as daft as I had, and she was in her late fifties and should have known better. He was one of those older men I had been thinking about. Set in their ways, laden down with emotional baggage. Good luck to her.
23
Without the painting group meeting that week, I lost a bit of focus.
I hadn’t realised how much I had come to rely on it. To get me out of the house, to give me something to do which was entirely for me, and of course the company of other people who had become my friends.
I spent my time cleaning, rekindling my damaged relationship with Ivan, refilling the fridge, finishing off the ironing and catching up with the latest box set on television I had been watching before I went away.
How did that brave New York detective with the glossy perfect hair, designer suits and four-inch stilettos actually manage to chase after the criminals so fast, I wondered. And some of her male counterparts seemed to go to work in sharp suits and silk ties, which was odd considering they always ended up in disused warehouses or abandoned buildings full of rusty machinery. I wondered what the actual FBI or CIA thought of those programmes.
The weekend came round again, and I had the house straight, the grass mowed and I was looking forward to the painting group on Tuesday.
Anita called for me and we walked down to the village hall together, our art materials in folders and bags. There was a cold breeze, and the verges were filled with cow parsley and wildflowers, which gave off a fresh green scent that was England in the spring.
‘I’d give anything to be back in Santorini, wouldn’t you?’ Anita said, shivering in her wool jacket. ‘Do you remember what it was like? Trying to go out with as few layers on rather than how many. Not having to think about it raining or taking an umbrella, or a warm coat.’
‘I do,’ I said wistfully, dodging a water-filled pothole at the edge of the lane, ‘but it’s nice to be home again. I’m beginning to like living here, even though it’s taken me a while.’
‘I’m so glad you moved in. The couple who lived at High Winds before you were always complaining about something. The state of the road or the late delivery of the post. And I don’t think they ever really understood that having moved to a rural area, there would be farming going on around them. They told me they had moved from living in Hereford because of the noise. But when one buys a house called Cathedral View, surely one would expect to hear church bells?’
‘I hope Beryl and Effie will be there today,’ I said, ‘I’ve missed them. In fact, I’ve been thinking of inviting them over for afternoon tea one day. You too of course.’
‘They will say yes, I’m sure. They never refuse an invitation, and they are always up for a laugh. I intend to be more Beryl in future. I think it might be fun.’
‘Me too,’ I said, and we grinned at each other.
When we got to the village hall, we could see there were already people inside, amongst them the unmistakeable figure of Dennis ordering everyone about.
‘Come along, ladies, get those easels into a circle. Cassandra will be here soon, and we want to show her we are keen and expecting to start on time. Ah, jolly good, it’s Anita and Maggie!’
‘Meg,’ I said.
‘Absolutely. Now then, I suggest those of us who went on the painting holiday get our work out to show everyone. I’m sure everyone wants to see what we got up to. Well, some of us. Others didn’t do much at all, did they?’
‘Do you mean me, Dennis?’ I said rather boldly, which was very unlike the old me. ‘I was enjoying it as much as anyone. But you have to remember I was just the new girl. I think that’s what you called me.’
‘No need to feel like that,’ he said, ‘it was just a joke. I was saying to Sally only this morning, true creativity and the art of aquarelle is a great leveller. I would have liked to talk more about it but she was emptying the cat litter tray so I don’t think she heard me.’
‘What did he say?’ Anita murmured.
‘No idea,’ I said.
‘Dennis, you do talk in riddles sometimes,’ said a loud voice from the doorway, and we turned to see Beryl and Effie laden down with bags and folders, trying to push past each other to get through the door first. ‘If you mean watercolours, why not just say so? You’re just like my cousin Patrick. He liked to use a lot of big words. He worked for the Foreign Office in the seventies; no wonder there was an oil crisis and a three-day week. Hello, everyone! We are back! The sailors are home from the sea and didn’t we have fun?’
