The Age of Misadventure

‘I’m too independent, too old for love and all that nonsense. Men. Sex. The hassle. Having to compromise. Do what they want to do, go where they want. “Yes, dear – whatever you say, dear.” Sharing a bed with a snoring, sweaty bloke with a beer gut. Having to lend him money for the next bet or wondering if I’ll find frilly knickers in the back of his car that belong to the woman he’s seeing behind my back.’

‘You’re cynical.’

‘Not at all.’

‘Terry must’ve really hurt you.’

‘I’m well over him. He did me a favour. I’d rather have this place and the business, to be honest.’

‘But what about the company? Someone to cuddle up to? Someone to love who loves you back?’

‘I’m happy as I am. Besides, I’m past all that.’

‘Is it dating that bothers you, Georgie? I mean, after all these years, do you think you’d still be able to get excited about going out with a man?’

‘No.’ I shake my head. ‘I’ve had two dates since Terry, both disasters. It put me off completely. What would be the point? I’m too set in my ways. And anyway, men only want a younger, prettier version after a few years …’

‘You mean like Rabbity Alison?’

I push the memory away, finish my wine and grin at her. ‘Okay. It’s big decision time.’ Amanda looks hopeful: she thinks I might agree to start dating. Instead, I offer her a mischievous grin. ‘Should we open another bottle or have a coffee?’

She glances up at the clock on the wall. ‘It’s nearly nine. Coffee, please. I’d better get off soon.’

I pick up the empty plates. The prospect of a bit of quiet, even an early night tucked up with the hot-water bottle, looms in front of me like an old friend. Jade’ll be home around midnight, but she has a key. I’ll see her at breakfast time. I don’t want to appear the fretful, needy mum.

An hour later, the kitchen is clean, with the plates put away, and I’m curled up in bed reading a book about a man who’s lived for hundreds of years but who’s lonely and can’t adjust to the present time. I’m immersed in the middle chapters. The radio is a tinny rattle of music in my ears. The eleven o’clock newsreader mutters something about rising crime rates and the high price of an average family house. I push my feet against the furry warmth of the hot-water bottle beneath my toes and I feel sleepy. I place the book gently on the floor on its front, switch off the radio and reach for the light. My phone buzzes an in-coming call and I pick up.

‘Hello. Bonnie. How are you?’

Her voice comes back as a whisper. ‘Georgie. I’m scared. There’s someone in the house.’

‘Huh? Tell Adie …’

‘Adie’s out. There’s someone downstairs. I’m in the bedroom.’ I can hear her breathing, a shallow rasp. ‘What shall I do?’

I sit upright, wide awake. ‘Are you sure? Did you Skype Demi?’

‘Yes, a few minutes ago. Then I heard someone moving about in the lounge and something fell or smashed. I don’t know what happened but someone’s definitely here. I’m scared.’

My thoughts race. ‘Are you on your own?’

‘Yes. Adie’s out until midnight, at a business meeting.’

I make up my mind at once. ‘Are you dressed?’

‘Yes.’

‘Can you get to the back door safely?’

‘No, but I could climb out of the window and onto the garage roof, grab the drainpipe, drop down to the lawn.’

‘Go now. Take your bag. Keep talking to me.’

‘Then what?’

‘Run to the road across the garden. Get in a taxi, drive into town. Call me.’

I hear her breath in ragged gasps. ‘Okay, I’m doing it, now.’

She’s left the phone on and at first I hear nothing, then a soft dragging sound, perhaps a window opening or a leg stretching, Bonnie climbing outside. A soft bump, silence, then she’s running. I’m holding my breath.

She gasps into the mouthpiece, ‘I think something awful has happened, Georgie. Someone’s broken in. I’m on the drive, my feet are wet – I’ll put my shoes back on …’ There’s silence, soft sounds, then she’s whispering into the phone: ‘I’m on the road now, looking up and down, but there’s no taxi. I was all on my own, Georgie. Adie left hours ago and said he’d be back late; there was a banging noise downstairs and … hang on. Taxi!’ There’s a pause, an engine. ‘Please, yes, the city centre – yes, of course, all that way. Please, quick as you can.’

There’s the gritty sound of a male voice in the background and her reply.

I whisper, ‘Are you all right, Bonnie?’

She breathes out. ‘Yes. I know someone was in the house. I could hear them moving. I can’t talk now.’

‘Bonnie. Do you have money?’

‘I have my card in my handbag. I don’t have a coat, though. I’m freezing.’

An idea pops in my head.

‘Go to the station. Jade’s coming back from Brighton. I’ll call her, tell her what’s happened. The station’ll be busy and it’ll look like you’re getting a train somewhere. Jade’ll meet you and you can come back here together. You’ll be better with people round you. Ring me as soon as you’re at Lime Street.’

‘Okay.’ Her voice trembles and then she’s gone.

My hands shake as I ring Jade. It takes her a while to pick up and at first she’s irritated with my babble, but I take a deep breath and explain.

She says, ‘Oh my God, Mum,’ and is silent.

‘Keep in touch, will you, Jade? And get back here as soon as possible.’

‘Right, Mum. I’ll be back soon with Aunty Bonnie.’

I breathe out. ‘I’ll get the kettle on.’

There’s a pause then Jade says, ‘That’d be nice. I could do with a chat before we go to bed.’ I can hear her thinking. I wait and then she says, ‘I have some news for you too, Mum. I think it’s going to be one of those nights.’

Chapter Seven (#ulink_f0ef2561-3480-56f3-b378-67f0f8c6dce1)

It’s past one o’clock. Bonnie’s hunched over a glass of brandy in the lounge. She’s in my favourite armchair, staring out of the French windows at the patch of lawn outside, wrapped in a thick dressing gown, my striped pyjamas and a pair of my old fluffy slippers. The bracelet still encircles her wrist, the little charms winking in the light. Jade’s in her cream coat, standing by the windows, frowning with her arms tightly folded. She reminds me so much of Terry.

‘Go on then, Mum. Tell me I’m being stupid.’

Bonnie’s face is anxious and tired, stripped of make-up. She bites her lip.