Tess clenched her teeth – as if she’d be interested. She’d recorded the documentary about Nefertiti. She’d watch it tomorrow, when Alan was out with his other golf buddies, after he’d left in his jacket and ridiculous cap, carrying his bag of clubs to the car. Tess groaned. The television screen illuminated his face and his eyes shone with happiness. She didn’t care. She had her friends, her own thoughts. She picked up his teacup, the plate she’d put the biscuits on, and took them through to the kitchen to wash up, avoiding his eyes. As she passed him, he gave a little grunt of thanks.
She washed the dishes, staring out of the kitchen window. The sky was dark blue, dotted with shining specks of stars. The moon slid behind a cloud and emerged again, a pale silver hook. Tess felt very small inside her quiet house, with no sound except for the dripping tap in the kitchen, and the rattle of the television from the next room. She shook her head sadly and told herself again that she didn’t care what Alan did. She’d carry on trying to make her own life fun, as she always did, just for herself.
It was one of those precious moments that could be held still, like a scoop of fresh water in cupped hands, and treasured. A second of pure peace, followed by another. Elvis was curled up at the bottom of the bed and soothing music from the smart speaker filled the room, the gentle melodic voice of Enya. Pam closed her eyes and thought of woodlands, leaves draping their tips in gurgling streams, the sunlight filtering through branches. She reached down to stroke Elvis’s soft fur and felt a damp nose, the wetness of a tongue. She breathed out, grateful for the warmth of a thick duvet and the intense burning of her toes against a hot-water bottle. The past was in the distance. The present was all that mattered. Life, she decided, was good. How could anything be simpler and better than this?
Jen woke early in the morning; her eyes immediately opened wide and she listened. She sat upright in bed, her heart pounding. She’d heard a noise downstairs. She held her breath. The digital alarm said it was almost seven o’clock. She listened harder, her ears straining against the silence. There it was again, a soft bump like a footfall. It had come from the living room. Jen breathed out imperceptibly. It hadn’t come from outside; it wasn’t the soft gliding of a milk float – there hadn’t been one in the street for years – or the heavy rumble of the bin men’s lorry. It had sounded like someone bumping against furniture. It was a burglar.
Jen called out, ‘Who’s there?’
The fear in her own voice made her tremble. She slid out of bed and reached for her dressing gown, pulling it over her nightie. Somehow a second layer made her feel safer. She edged to the top of the stairs, her feet barely touching the carpet. She held onto the banister, supporting each step she took. At the bottom of the stairs, the front door was locked; she’d locked it last night after Eddie had left. Jen listened; empty silence rang in her ears, and then the noise came again, a brief brushing sound, once.
‘Who’s there?’ Her voice was a little stronger but her legs were trembling. She edged towards the door, pushed it open slowly and turned the corner into the living room. Her heart leapt as she saw a hunched shape and a pair of green eyes narrowing in her direction.
‘Gus!’
Jen glanced from the black and white cat to the open curtains: she had left the top window open and the neighbour’s cat had clambered through. She blew air from her mouth in relief as Gus scuttled towards the front door to be let out. She turned the key and opened the door, watching him rush out into the quiet street.
Jen decided she needed to settle her nerves: she’d make herself a cup of strong tea; perhaps she’d have toast and marmalade. She sank onto the sofa and put her head in her hands.
She’d left a window open. It was a small gap, but a burglar could have easily crawled through into her home. She was by herself, vulnerable, prey to all sorts of dangerous people.
At once she wanted Eddie to hold her in his arms, to pull her to him and tell her she was safe. If he’d been there, she wouldn’t have been so afraid. He’d have stood up to a burglar; he’d have been strong.
It was suddenly crystal clear. She loved Eddie; she needed him. They should be together. Not only would she be safer, but she wouldn’t be alone. It made complete sense. Eddie was right, she knew it. He was sensible; he was just what she needed in her life: stability, comfort. Jen took a breath. She knew what she had to do, and at once. She reached for her mobile and dialled his number. Eddie answered almost immediately, his voice a crackle, concerned and reliable.
‘Jen? It’s half past seven. Are you all right, my dear?’
‘Yes.’ That was the word she wanted to say. Jen was breathing rapidly. ‘Yes, Eddie – I’ve never been better. And if you want to ask me again, that’s my answer – yes.’
He was quiet for a moment and then he chuckled softly. ‘Are you saying you’ll marry me, Jen? Really? Well, that’s wonderful news.’
She was smiling, her face stretched with happiness and relief. The warmth in his tone told her she had made the right decision.
‘Eddie… yes, I’m sure.’
‘Excellent. This calls for a celebration. Can you meet me in the café on the seafront – Coffeelicious? It opens at nine. I’ll buy you breakfast.’
Jen nodded, her heart pounding. She realised Eddie couldn’t hear her, so she added, ‘Yes, yes, yes,’ and beamed again at the sound of the word.
‘Oh, then I’ll see you soon, my dear,’ Eddie whispered. ‘And I’ll bring the ring along, shall I?’
3
The five women emerged dripping from the pool, their skin tingling from the exercise. They formed a line unintentionally, five different heights and shapes wearing five different colours. Tess Watkins, blonde hair tied back in a little plait, was short and curvy in a turquoise blue tankini; Rose Grant, her grey-brown hair almost black now drenched with water, was in a sensible navy-blue swimsuit, neat and tidy. Della Donavan clambered out next, shapely in an orange floral swimsuit, her frosted dark curly hair glistening with pearl droplets of water. Then the smallest of the five, Jen Hooper, her shoulder length chestnut hair clipped to her head, wet tendrils dripping, her body slender and delicate in a cream swimsuit. Finally, towering over them all, Pam Marshall stood tall and willowy in a racer-back black swimsuit with blue and red stripes down one side. With her blonde pixie cut flattened against her head and her hands on her hips, she was athletic and broad shouldered. The friends giggled together, shaking water from tired limbs, moving towards the changing rooms, water dripping from their swimsuits. Tess’s voice rose over the laughter. ‘Well, Kathy certainly made us work hard today. I think we deserve some refreshment. Who’s up for a coffee and a slice of cake?’
Rose nodded. It was better than being home alone. Pam breathed out. ‘I’m gasping for a cool drink.’
‘I’m not surprised.’ Tess’s voice was mock-indignant. ‘You were doing aqua aerobics for the five of us today.’
‘I’m worn out.’ Della puffed air from her mouth. ‘It was hard work. It’s supposed to help the aches in my bones but I’m exhausted. I thought it was meant to be gentle exercise.’
Pam snorted. ‘Exercise should never be gentle. It’s like life – we should throw ourselves in, give it 100 per cent, grab it
