Rumours

‘No, thanks,’ said Stella.

‘Hadley Wood is no longer a purely middle-aged enclave,’ said Alistair. ‘You should know that, Stella – from the property market.’

‘No, thanks,’ said Stella.

‘Who is he?’ asked Robbie.

‘My gynae,’ said Juliet.

‘No, thanks,’ said Stella.

‘Stella,’ Juliet said, ‘don’t be put off by his day job.’

‘The last thing I want to do after a day at the computer screen is to come home and log on,’ said Robbie darkly.

‘Don’t be awkward,’ said Sandie.

‘It’s not his job,’ said Stella.

‘What’s his name?’ asked Sara.

‘Bryanaston.’

‘What sort of a name is Bryanaston?’ asked Sandie.

‘That’s his surname,’ said Juliet. ‘His first name is Henry.’

‘No, thanks,’ said Stella.

They looked at her with For Heaven’s Sake, Why Not? written across their faces.

She shrugged.

‘Not ready?’ Juliet said softly.

‘Not interested,’ said Stella. ‘I’m fine as I am.’

‘For the time being?’ Sandie asked her daughter, a gentle pleading edging her question like garnish.

‘For the time being,’ Stella said. ‘Did any of you watch that new serial on the Beeb on Friday?’

‘About Rembrandt?’

‘With Kevin Branagh?’ said Sandie.

‘Kenneth,’ said everyone else.

‘Yes,’ said Stella.

‘We did.’

‘Us too.’

‘Wasn’t it brilliant?’

‘You and your Rembrandt,’ Sandie said. ‘She wrote her thesis on Rembrandt, you know. She got a first.’

They all knew that, and they all knew Sandie should be allowed to proclaim the fact as often as she liked.

* * *

Stella found Alistair, later on, out in the garage with all the children – including the teenage Twins – looking on in awe as he set his Hornby model railway into action. She watched alongside them for a while, transfixed by the little trees she’d made for him when she was a kid, remembering again the smell of the particular green paint she’d dipped the tiny torn pieces of sponge into. Remembering how they’d dried them on an old cake rack before painstakingly securing them onto matchstick trunks – her first use of Super Glue, her eldest brother coaching her, encouraging her, trusting her.

‘Alistair?’ Reluctantly, he looked up from controlling the points. ‘Here.’ She passed him a brown envelope.

‘What’s this?’

‘My rent, silly,’ she said.

‘Oh.’ He looked at the envelope as if he dreaded the contents.

‘This month and last.’

‘Stella – it’s fine, you know. Juliet and I both say – it’s fine.’

Stella shook her head decisively. ‘No way. It’s your house – and you have done me the most almighty favour in letting me live there for this amount. I know what the true rental value is, you know. My new job, Alistair – it’s a lifesaver. I can make ends meet – with commission, I might even be able to tie them in a bow.’

He continued to look at the envelope. ‘Charlie?’ he asked, very quietly, glancing at Will who was engrossed in Sir Nigel Gresley belting along the tiny track trying to catch up with the Flying Scotsman.

Stella shook her head.

‘No news?’

She shook her head again.

Alistair said Bastard under his breath, not so much for Stella’s sake, but for his own.

‘Please,’ he held the envelope out to her.

‘No, thanks,’ she said. She pushed her hands defiantly into her pockets, and she placed her head gently against her brother’s shoulder. She looked forward to the day when those close to her were no longer irked by Charlie.

Chapter Four

3 Lime Grove Cottages

Tramfield Lane

Long Dansbury