Joe has a book about local flora. Did he really, really mean it when he said the position at the house was long-term? With so much that had never been definite in her life, it was stranger still how comforting was the notion of her stay here being potentially indefinite.
She looked at all the empty benches, imagining them occupied in warmer times ahead. Not by the kids from the jewel streets – Amber, Pearl, Diamond, Emerald, Ruby, Garnet, Coral – who loitered and larked around the station but, Tess imagined, by visitors or the retired folk of town like Mary. People with the time to sit, who liked to look at flowers and feel the day on their faces. And for me, she thought. All year round, there'd be room enough in the gardens and the woods for her little entourage too.
They continued to walk down the steep bank; rather Tess walked, Em was transported and Wolf galloped a circuitous route. Em's arm suddenly shot out, a fat little index finger pointing with great conviction as she gave a triumphant ‘wol!’. Tess looked. And then she grinned as she crouched by the buggy kissing Em's hands and burying her nose in her tiny palms.
‘Clever, clever Em,’ she said. ‘Mummy's clever, clever girl.’ She gazed through the gates at the Woodland Centre. Closed it may have been, but on the side of the wall a large colourful cartoon owl with binoculars around his neck solicited them with his friendly wave. She'd never noticed him before, which was not to say that her daughter hadn't.
‘Wol,’ said Tess and Em agreed. ‘Can you say Owl?’ Tess asked. Em nodded earnestly and said ‘wol’ again. ‘Wol it is,’ Tess said softly, ‘wol it is.’ They stood, looking through the gates, waving at the wall and the wol.
When they finally continued their walk through the gardens, crossing the Poohsticks bridge and following the miniature railway and Skelton Beck down to the coast and the coffee shop looking out to sea, Tess felt a surge of immense contentment and wellbeing. Fresh air was only partly the reason. Another was having just bumped into Lisa and her toddler again, and a further open invitation to the singalong, or the mums’ coffee morning or the playground. Lisa marvelled at Tess's news of Wol. And actually, what struck Tess was that for Em too this place now had its own significance; its own unique gifts, albeit in the shape of a cartoon owl. There might be times when she kidded herself but Tess couldn't kid Em. Over and above her mother saying, this is a jolly nice place, Em! let's live here! Em had somehow found something in it all for herself that she liked too.
When Joe pulled into the drive, the first thing he saw was the increased size of the bonfire pile and he thought to himself, Christ, what has she thrown out now? And then he thought, Christ, what's she done inside the house this time? And then he realized, bugger, I forgot the mould-resistant paint I promised her. He sat, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel and, though the journey had been tiring and he wanted nothing more than to unpack, do a few emails and then unwind with a large glass of wine decadently early, he couldn't bring himself to switch off the engine. Instead, he put the car into reverse, turned fast and drove away.
They didn't see him but he saw them. An unassuming girl in jeans, trainers, a sludge-coloured shapeless top, her hair haphazardly tied away from her face; a rangy mangy dog lagging behind her, a buggy which she pushed ahead. Every few footsteps, the girl slowed down, looked over her shoulder and implored the dog to catch up. All the while, her lips moving, chatting to the dog, to the child, about goodness knows what. It struck Joe how Tess looked so much younger and plainer than he knew her to be. He'd seen her prettiness and wondered why she would downplay it. She could make a bit more of herself easily enough. Have a haircut. Choose a nice sweater. Ditch the trainers. Buy a new pair of jeans. Yet there was something that was just right because of its unwavering naturalness. Another glimpse in the rear-view mirror revealed Tess standing in the middle of the road urging Wolf over, like a lollipop lady ushering a recalcitrant schoolboy. What you see is what you get with Tess, Joe thought. Unlike Rachel who, without make-up, looked totally different. Or Nathalie, who in plain underwear just might not hold the same allure. He thought it was probably a better thing to hide under nondescript clothes, than to brandish a fraudulent appearance with a palette of make-up or drawers of dazzling lingerie. And then he thought, for Christ's sake, just get the bloody paint.
At the bottom of the drive, Tess told herself not to be disappointed if Joe's car wasn't there. But it wasn't and she was.
An hour later, she heard the car before Wolf because he was still preoccupied with the gremlins in his tail. And Em wasn't aware that she should be listening out for anything, so she continued an intricate game with the tube from the toilet roll and a ping-pong ball. Tess, though, didn't have anything she ought to be doing so she'd been loitering at the edges of windows. The car door opened and shut. Front door or back door – she wavered. She thought she should be seen to be doing something, not just standing there waiting. She took a step towards the back door. Stopped. Walked towards the hallway. Stopped. Picked up Em then put her down again. Wouldn't he be in by now?
She looked through the window in the hall, standing well back and swaying to increase her field of vision but remain unseen. Joe was not in the driveway. She went into the kitchen and sneaked a look out to the side of the garden. And there he was, circumnavigating the bonfire heap. He picked something up. Oh God, not that dreadful old stringless tennis racquet. Tess laughed abruptly and found herself rapping on the windowpane. He looked up and located her, saw her wagging her finger at him. He gave an imaginary backhand and forehand with the racquet before shrugging and returning it to the heap.
Tess thought, I really ought to wipe this grin off my face.
‘Paint.’
‘I'll start immediately, Mr Saunders.’
But she knows he doesn't mean it as a command; he's holding out two tins so she says thank you and takes them off him and through to the boot room.
‘No problem,’ he says, following her and he doesn't say, actually, it was a bloody problem finding the sodding stuff.
She feels a little hyper, nervy; she wants to show him what she's done – the utility room, the downstairs loo, the start she's made on the den as he calls it though she's taken to calling it the snug. She wants to ask him about Wolf's tail. She wants to tell him all about ‘wol’. She wants to say, shall we have a cup of tea? and then make it good and strong, served in her own cups and saucers. She wants to say, it's nice to see you, Joe. She wants to say, I'm going to cook us up a treat this evening.
‘I'm putting a wash on – do you have any darks?’
And though Joe would rather have been asked if he wanted a cuppa, in a peculiarly domestic way the emotion behind her offer feels much the same.
‘Thanks,’ he says. ‘I'll just unpack, then.’
And as he goes upstairs to his room to sort out his darks for the wash, Tess calls after him.
‘Cup of tea?’
And he smiles, which she can't see. She can only hear his pause. But then he says, lovely. And she exhales a sigh of relief that she hopes he hasn't heard.
She knows she feels disproportionately happy. But so what, she says to herself. So what.
She'd overcooked the fish and was furious with herself. If she hadn't apologized over and over and if she'd taken her eyes off his every mouthful, he would have enjoyed the dish more.
‘Anything's better than room-service,’ he said lightly. ‘That came out wrong,’ he added, not wanting to incite her stroppy side. Not tonight.
Tess acquiesced. ‘Was your trip good, then?’
‘Busy,’ Joe said. ‘France,
