cricket pavilion was still there, where once upon a time, a long time ago, Kate had curled up against the peeling paintwork and smoked her very first cigarette. Head spinning, she had wondered why anyone in their right mind would ever want to smoke and then a few minutes later lit another one to see if she could pin it down.
It wasn’t the only rite of passage marked there. On the boundary of the cricket pitch, under a stand of copper beech, was the bench where she had her first real snog. It was with a boy in the form above her. Kate fished around for his name and found it tucked away under a pile of other dusty, neglected memories: Alan Hart. They’d had several half-hearted attempts on the walk home from school, but because he was so much taller than she was, to make it work he’d had to stoop while she stood on tiptoes. It wasn’t pretty. It most certainly wasn’t sexy.
So, by mutual agreement, they had taken a detour through the park, and found a bench somewhere over there under the trees. He had put his arms around her and pulling Kate close had kissed her with closed, dry lips, pressing his face hard up against hers, furiously, hungrily, as if he might be burrowing for something.
Kate smiled. For an instant the memory was so vivid that she could almost smell him, remembering a boyish mix of sweat and Brut. It made her shiver, how could it be that she had forgotten Alan for all these years? Glancing across the grass Kate wouldn’t have been in the least bit surprised to see a younger version of herself, entwined around Alan Hart, all arms and legs and inhibitions, despite having the waistband of her school skirt rolled over to show an extra couple of inches of leg. Kate tried hard to conjure up his face, but could only manage a long shot of him loping towards her across the playing field, hands stuffed in the pockets of his parka, shoulders slightly hunched against some long gone breeze.
By the end of the summer they had progressed to kissing with tongues and him alternately trying to undo her blouse and get his hand up her skirt. It was around then that Kate decided that whatever it was Alan was trying to do he wasn’t the one she wanted to do it with and called it a day. With the robust survivalism of youth she’d gone on to have a crush on a boy in the sixth form, while Alan, she seemed to remember, had been very upset and bombarded her with notes and cards.
What had happened to him since then? Did he ever think about her? Did he think about them walking hand in hand on the way home? Did her blame her still? Kate stared at the benches wondering what it was they had talked about then? What did they know then?
Unexpectedly, her eyes filled up with tears. The wind that rippled her hair did the same to the canopy of the trees overhead so that the sunlight dappled the tarmac ahead of the wheelchair, making it look as if Maggie and Kate were walking through a babbling, bubbling brook.
‘I’m so pleased you’re home, love,’ said Maggie, breaking into Kate’s train of thought and through the wave of melancholy that threatened to engulf her. ‘Seems a long time since you and I have had a chance to talk.’
Kate slowed down, wondering if they had ever really talked at all.
‘I know you’re busy,’ Maggie was saying.
‘But?’
‘But nothing, I just wanted to say thank you for coming. I’d have had a hell of a job managing on my own if you weren’t here.’
It was almost more than Kate could bear, she’d come to Denham under false pretences.
Without turning, Maggie continued, ‘So do you want to talk about it?’
Kate swallowed hard; was she so transparent? What was she supposed to say?
‘It?’
There was a small silence when Kate realised that she was fooling no one and made an effort to control the little tic under her eye and the other one that threatened to make her voice quiver and break. ‘Not really, it’s just one of those things. Joe and I are going through a bit of a rough patch at the moment. That’s all.’ Kate spoke slowly, holding tight to her emotions in case they caught her by surprise and spilt out. ‘It’ll be fine,’ she added with a surety she most definitely didn’t feel.
Maggie craned around in the chair and caught her gaze. Maggie didn’t actually say that she didn’t believe a word, but Kate thought she saw it in Maggie’s expression.
‘I’m not going to drag out it out of you, Kate. Every generation thinks that they invented sex, lies, all that stuff, that they’re the only ones who have ever gone through anything, but it’s not true. We all struggle sometimes and however unlikely it sounds somebody has always been that way before.’
‘Should I be writing this down? Is that the good mother lecture?’
Maggie laughed, ‘I wouldn’t be that presumptuous. But I think you need to talk to someone about whatever it is that’s eating you up. Your face is full of it, Kate.’
It was a deeply perceptive thing to say and made Kate’s skin prickle. She just hoped Maggie didn’t suggest she ring Chrissie. People always told her that Maggie was wise and funny and good company and although Kate had kind of known that, walking across the playing field was the first time she had truly felt it or appreciated the power of it in a long time.
‘Knowing what’s right and doing it are two very different things. Making choices, knowing what you want and what is worth saving and what it’s better to let go of – even the best marriages can be bloody hard work at times,’ Maggie continued.
Kate held her breath, wondering where the conversation was going to go next. It was one thing to get a glimpse of her mother as a real person – which was disturbing enough – but quite another to look with seeing eyes at her parents’ marriage.
There was a pause and then Maggie said thoughtfully, ‘Although if I were you I wouldn’t say anything to Liz, not that I suppose you would, but she always enjoyed high-octane dramatics. You must remember what she was like when she didn’t want to go to school? Flinging herself on the sofa, wailing like a banshee,’ Maggie laughed. ‘I always thought Liz would end up on the stage rather than the civil service.’
There was a moment’s silence; a moment of mutual remembering, and then Kate said, ‘Liz told me that Guy was your lodger.’
This time they both laughed.
The people in the bookshop were delighted to see Maggie. They insisted Maggie and Kate stayed for coffee and then wrote risqué things on Maggie’s cast while asking after Guy, how she was coping, everyone promising to drop by bearing gifts and gossip.
‘I feel really guilty about this, I was the one who insisted we had another round of cocktails,’ said Taz, handing Kate a mug of decaf. Taz had cropped hennaed hair, creamy white skin and a nose ring, and couldn’t have been a day over twenty-five. She was also the bookshop manager.
Maggie laughed. ‘Oh come on, Ginge, you didn’t exactly force me to drink it, and one more round wasn’t going to make any difference. I should have known better; it’s that cocktail trick – they don’t taste very alcoholic. But don’t worry, we were short-staffed before this, so you’ll have lots and lots of opportunities to work off any residual guilt.’
Taz laughed as Maggie wheeled herself over towards the gardening section.
‘It’s nice to meet you at long last,’ said Taz warmly, turning her attention to Kate. ‘Maggie is always talking about you and the boys. You look a lot like her. She’s very proud of you, you know, successful businesswoman,
