The Second Life of Sally Mottram

When I qualified as a teacher I taught history in Hereford and then in Hartlepool, where I met Jill. Shortly after that I was appointed Head of Department here, and remained it till I retired. I’m writing the definitive book on the history of Potherthwaite, which is also the only book on the history of Potherthwaite.

I was Harry’s secretary. He was fun. He was good-looking. He had hair in those days. We married young, had three children, all of whom have done just about OK. I stayed as Harry’s secretary. He was in and out of things, no one else could understand his affairs. His business affairs, I mean. He’s never had the other kind. Well, as far as I know. No time. We’ve lived in nine houses. Harry has a boat. I hate boats.

None of that was worth going into, so they didn’t go into it. But the curious part of it was that in not having anything to say they found common ground. They hoped Harry and Jill would take at least a few minutes; they were restful together.

And Arnold smiled. Olive could have had no idea just how rare his smiles had become – there hadn’t been many in Cheltenham, but lately there had been very, very few. But when she saw that smile, just a little frisson of regret passed through her, and she understood for the first time what Jill had once seen in him.

The smile emboldened her to ask a question.

‘Don’t you think we should tell them? Wouldn’t it be easier? Don’t you think if we don’t we’ll be treading on eggshells?’

‘Don’t forget I was a history teacher, Olive,’ he replied.

Somehow I don’t think there’s any danger of that, thought Olive.

‘If we tell them, it becomes part of our shared knowledge, it lives on in all our memories and will become a part of our common experience. If we don’t tell them it will remain a piece of history. It will fade.’

‘Do you want it to fade?’ Olive was surprised by her boldness.

Arnold paused, thinking carefully what to say.

‘Yes, I do,’ he said. ‘It was good then, but there’s no point in its being part of our lives now. It has no relevance.’

‘I’m not good at secrets. I almost mentioned Cheltenham earlier.’

‘It’s fresh in our minds. It’ll fade. The whole thing will be forgotten. Shh. They’re coming.’

Harry was carrying a huge dish, which he plonked on a mat on the table. Jill brought a smaller bowl.

‘That smells lovely,’ said Olive.

‘Just a casserole. The old standby,’ said Jill.

‘Lovely,’ said Olive.

‘Haven’t you even poured more wine, Arnold?’ said Jill.

‘Sorry,’ said Arnold, looking anything but sorry. ‘The host fails in his duty yet again.’

He stood up, lifted the white wine bottle, poured a small amount into Olive’s glass.

‘Thank you,’ said Olive. ‘Lovely. I can’t drink red, I’m afraid.’

Harry gave her his ‘don’t advertise your shortcomings’ frown.

Arnold poured regrettably small amounts of red wine into Harry and Jill’s glasses, and nothing into his own.

As she served the food, Jill told them that Harry had been chatting about his boat.

‘What sort of boat?’ asked Arnold.

‘Oh, are you interested in boats?’ said Harry.

‘Not remotely,’ said Arnold. ‘I was trying to please Jill by being proactive in the conversation, as a good host should. It seems I’ve chalked up another failure.’

‘Don’t be disagreeable, darling,’ said Jill. ‘And you still haven’t told us what sort of boat it is?’

‘She’s a thirty-foot yawl,’ said Harry.

Arnold and Jill hadn’t any idea what a thirty-foot yawl was.

‘Tell Arnold what you said, Harry,’ said Jill.

‘I said that I’ve got to bring her round from Emsworth, that’s where I keep her. Olive doesn’t sail.’

‘I tried,’ interrupted Olive, ‘but I got very sick.’

Harry gave her his ‘I think you’re forgetting the frown I gave you a few minutes ago’ frown.

‘So Harry suggested, because it’s a big ask to do it on his own, that I help bring her round to somewhere nearer. That’s all.’

‘Quick work!’ gleamed Arnold.

‘Don’t be stupid, Arnold,’ said Jill. ‘We’re talking boats, not sex. I love you, God knows why sometimes.’

‘This is lovely,’ said Olive. ‘Spicy.’

‘I’ve told you you should put more herbs in your stews,’ said Harry.

‘I have to ask you this,’ said Jill. ‘Arnold’s life has been here and we’ve grown to like it, in a funny sort of way, but what’s brought you here from … where was it?’

‘Emsworth. Chichester Harbour. Near Chichester, not surprisingly. Family.’

‘Oh, you have family in Potherthwaite?’

‘No. We have family in Emsworth.’ Harry laughed. Jill tried to laugh. Olive smiled faintly. Arnold’s face didn’t flicker. ‘Just joking. No, we have a son and two daughters within thirty or so miles of here, all in different directions. I got the old map and compass out and, believe it or not, the most equidistant place was right here in Potherthwaite, and I said to Olive, we’ve got to start somewhere, let’s start there. And this house came up and, Bob’s your uncle, here we are.’

‘And how nice that is,’ said Jill. ‘Isn’t it, Arnold?’

‘It’s providence,’ said Arnold dryly.

‘Well, don’t expect too much,’ said Jill. ‘The town is in the doldrums, if I can put it that way to a sailing man.’

‘Maybe we can help to take it out of the doldrums,’ said Harry.

Jill gave him a look.

‘Do you mean that?’ she said.