into gear and drove away.
CHAPTER TWO
‘CAN I have some sweets?’
‘You’ve only just cleaned your teeth.’
‘Don’t care! I want sweets!’
‘What about if we feed the ducks?’ Cathy bent down beside her son and pointed to the glimmer of water on the other side of the green. ‘There’s a pond over there, and I bet you there’ll be some ducks. Look!’ She held up a plastic bag. ‘I’ve brought the crusts from breakfast.’
‘Don’t want to feed the stupid ducks! I don’t like ducks! They’re just boring, and all they do is quack. I want some sweets!’
‘Robbie, please!’ Cathy frowned, adjusting the bobble hat on her son’s head. ‘Don’t be like this. Look, it’s a beautiful day. Have you ever seen so many daffodils? The sun’s shining, the birds are singing, and there’s a horse further up the green. Shall we go and look at that?’
‘No!’
Cathy stood up. She knew from bitter experience that there was little she could do when her son was in this sort of mood. He was tired, miserable and upset. She so much wanted to show Robbie everything, to share her enthusiasm for the green fields and wide open spaces, and the fresh, pure air, but if he wasn’t interested then there was precious little she could do about it.
She glanced at him now, stomping along beside her, not wanting to look about or hold her hand, not wanting to do anything. Too much to expect, she supposed. It was all too new and too strange.
‘What about if we spend some time feeding the ducks, then I buy you some sweets?’ Cathy suggested, after a moment. ‘What about that?’
‘OK.’ He sounded grudging.
Cathy smiled down at his pouting face. ‘Don’t worry, Robbie, you will like it here eventually; I promise you,’ she told him. ‘It’s just going to take a bit of getting used to, that’s all…’
Feeding the ducks was not the picture-book success Cathy had hoped it was going to be. Robbie accepted the bag of bread she offered him, tipped the contents into the pond, then turned to her and demanded to be taken to the sweet shop.
She almost made a point of denying him his treat—if they had still been at their old home she would have done—but as it was she didn’t want the day to go from bad to worse, and deep down she was afraid that Robbie was suffering and that it was all her fault.
The small shop was crammed full with every kind of provision. Cathy bought a few items for lunch, paid the amount due and handed Robbie a packet of jelly babies as promised.
‘Are you interested in a raffle ticket, my dear?’ The woman serving behind the counter smiled encouragingly. ‘All for a good cause, and you could end up winning tickets to the Spring Ball into the bargain.’
‘Oh…’ Cathy smiled and quickly scanned the poster the lady was pointing to, which advertised a grand ball and a country fair to be held over the same weekend. ‘I’m not sure…’ She glanced into her purse. ‘How much are they?’
‘Three pounds each—which sounds a lot,’ the woman added hurriedly, noting Cathy’s expression, ‘but if you win, it really is a spectacular night out. A real posh setting, with a quartet and a jazz band and some lovely food. It’s held up at the manor house—such a lovely place.’ The woman retrieved a book of raffle tickets from a shelf behind the counter.
‘There are only a few tickets left. New to the village, aren’t you?’ Cathy nodded, conscious of Robbie pulling furiously on her arm. ‘Well, it really would be a great way to meet all your neighbours—practically everyone from the village goes.’ She placed the raffle tickets conspicuously on the counter between them. ‘There aren’t any tickets for the ball left to buy. So this really is the only way you’ll manage to get there.’
‘I’ll have one.’ Cathy delved into her purse for the money. After all, she reasoned, three pounds wasn’t that much money—not these days—and buying a raffle ticket would sort of mark her entrance into the village. Besides, with Robbie threatening to play up she was more than anxious to be out of the shop.
‘That’s lovely!’ The woman, pleased with her sale, took Cathy’s money from her and wrote down her details on the ticket stub. ‘They always let me have a few pairs of tickets up at the house. I do a bit for the local old people; the proceeds from this will go towards their summer outing. Look after this raffle ticket, now!’ she called, as Cathy opened the door and a stream of sunshine flooded into the rather gloomy interior. ‘We’ll need that for proof of purchase if you win.’
Fat chance of that! Cathy thought as she left the shop. When have I ever won anything in my life before?
‘Cathy? Cathy Taylor, is that you?’ Cathy turned around, surprised that someone should be calling her by name. A young woman, about her own age, was walking towards her. ‘It is you! Goodness gracious! Well, you are the last person I expected to see here!’ The neat coral mouth curved into an attractive smile. ‘You’re looking well!’
‘Am I?’ Cathy smiled too, stalling for time.
‘Now, be honest, you haven’t a clue who I am, have you?’ The young woman laughed gaily. ‘I can see it in your expression!’
‘Well, no…’ Cathy smiled hesitantly. She glanced at the glamorous apparition before her, scanning her memory for possibilities.
‘Don’t worry, I’m not offended. In fact I think it would be worse if you did recognise me—I used to look dreadful at school. Fat with glasses and my hair in a frightful mess!’
The picture began to be a bit clearer. Cathy focused on the beautifully made-up face more closely. ‘Sandra?’ she queried. ‘Sandra Beale? We used to sit together in Maths.’
‘You’ve got it! So, how are you after all these years?’
‘Oh, I’m fine.’ Cathy managed a weak smile. She felt rather overwhelmed. It was difficult to take in that this gorgeous-looking woman was the same quiet, frumpy girl that no one had bothered much with at school.
‘I know what you’re thinking.’ Even white teeth flashed becomingly in the sunlight. ‘Such a metamorphosis, isn’t it?’ Sandra spread her arms wide, showing off herself to full effect. She was dressed elegantly in shades of cream and brown. Cathy’s gaze rested appreciatively on fitted jodphurs and a beautifully soft roll-neck pullover, worn beneath a chunky brown corduroy jacket. On her feet were a pair of supple, knee-length leather boots.
‘What happened?’ Cathy asked, trying not to imagine the sort of mess she must look in comparison. She had bathed in four inches of lukewarm water this morning, thrown on a pair of clean, but rather worn denims, and grabbed the nearest jumper to hand from the large cardboard box that was part of her wardrobe. It happened to be a dazzling assortment of multicoloured stripes and extremely large. Cathy pushed the sleeves up over her hands. With a purple woollen hat jammed on her bubbly red hair, she felt like a clown in comparison to Sandra’s tastefully clad figure.
‘Oh, I decided I was sick of being Little Miss Nobody. Amazing what you can do with a bottle of bleach, contact lenses, make-up and a few well-chosen clothes, isn’t it?’
‘You look…’ Cathy shook her head in admiration. ‘Stunning.’
‘Thanks!’ Sandra looked suitably pleased. ‘So what are you doing here? Visiting?’
‘Er…no. No, actually, I’ve…well, we’ve just moved in.’
‘Really?’ Sandra didn’t bother to hide her surprise. ‘Where?’
‘Stanway Cottage. It’s just past the last turning to the green, next to the tree which looks as if its about to fall down.’
‘You don’t mean old Mrs