Chance

Jackie was standing at the hob, stirring the gravy. She was wearing a ridiculous saucy apron that Rory had given her that Christmas. Beneath the Venus de Milo emblazoned across her torso she had on a pair of black velvet trousers and a bright patterned knit. It was the sort of garment described as a ‘crazy hotchpotch weekend sweater’ in the catalogue – exactly the kind of thing that made Ava feel quite murderous, but Jackie considered it a ‘hoot’. Her ash-blonde hair was perfectly blow-dried and she was wearing a chunky necklace of randomly sized glass beads twisted together. As ever, her lipstick was perfectly applied – she was, after all, a woman who had named her daughters after Hollywood goddesses.

‘Jackie,’ said Rob, kissing her lightly on the cheek. ‘It’s a joy to see you!’

Going with a charm offensive, thought Ava. Sly move.

‘Rob, how are you?’ Jackie’s face broke into a crinkly-nosed smile as she stretched up to return his kiss. ‘Have you had a dreadful drive?’

‘Not at all,’ he told her. ‘It’s been a glorious morning.’

He’d stolen the march on her and Ava was seething.

‘Sit down and let me get you a drink. Gin and tonic?’

Jackie waved to the large wooden kitchen table on the other side of the room, where Lauren and Rory were already sitting, surrounded by newspapers. Rory was clearly wearing cashmere and was working his way through the same motoring section that Rob had enjoyed earlier that morning. Lauren was reading the style pages, effortlessly glamorous in a floral dress that Ava remembered having seen in a boutique a couple of months ago. She hadn’t even taken it off the rack as it had looked so odd on the hanger, but now it was perfectly obvious that this was a heavenly 1950s tea dress. Rory looked up and smiled as Lauren got up to greet them.

Ava gently placed the pavlova on the kitchen worktop and gave her mother a huge hug.

‘Ava, darling,’ said Jackie, holding her arms out to her. ‘Words fail! You look exhausted. Have you been getting enough protein? You girls work all hours and I don’t think you eat properly. Protein’s what you need. I read about it online – Penny sent me a link on the Facebook.’

‘I’m fine, thank you, Mum,’ Ava told her firmly. ‘And it’s Facebook, not the Facebook.’

‘Yeah, and when did you get a Facebook account, Mum?’ asked Lauren over her shoulder as she hugged her sister. ‘And what are you doing with it?’

‘They started organising so many of my clubs via the Facebook, I was getting rather left out,’ Jackie explained, while Andrew stood behind her at the kitchen worktop with two glasses full of ice, into which he was hurling large slugs of gin. ‘And it turns out it’s wonderful! I’ve hjoined a group for fans of Bishopstone Park, where we can chat about that scandalous gamekeeper business. There’s a woman on there who claims to have seen the scripts in a back of a taxi and she says she know how it’s all going to end. I can barely cope! You girls should get more involved. I’ve checked it out and there’s all sorts of chit-chat about Strictly – different pages about the dancers and the kinds of dance – it would be heaven for you, heaven! And as if that’s not enough, I’ve already seen photos of Penny’s baby granddaughter in Australia – she’s just two days old!’

She was almost puce with excitement.

‘That’s wonderful …’

‘But seriously, Jackie, it’s called Facebook, not the Facebook,’ interrupted Rob.

‘It doesn’t matter, it’s sweet,’ said Ava, putting an arm around him, eager to keep the peace.

‘It’s interesting,’ said Rory, who had now looked up from the motoring section. ‘Because it really was called the Facebook to begin with – it only got changed later. So maybe Jackie’s the most cutting-edge of us all.’

At this, Jackie shrieked with laughter and clapped her hands together.

‘Cutting-edge? Marvellous!’ laughed Andrew.

Clearly Rob didn’t think this comment was at all marvellous as Ava could tell when she felt him stiffen with indignation beneath her touch.

It didn’t take long for the conversation to turn to local gossip. Ava and Lauren, who had grown up in the village, were always keen for an update: who was having a ridiculous argument with whom, how the local farmers had done with the year’s crops and what the latest dramas from the village pub were. There was no shortage of news from Jackie, who had a heart of gold but the eyes of a hawk. No petty grudge went undocumented, no late night shenanigans was unnoticed and thanks to Dave, her favourite barman from the King’s Arms, no drunken indiscretions went unmissed. As it turned out, one of the big local farmers had not only been cheating on his wife but he’d been doing it with the lithe daughter of one of his friends. Just 22, she was fresh out of university and still hanging around at home, with her floppy blonde hair and cardigan sleeves pulled down over her knuckles. Her parents seemed to have been hoping she would simply fall in love with a passing Wiltshire landowner and they might be able to have their house back to themselves. Apparently not!

‘It’s the oldest story of them all,’ declared Jackie. ‘Men are all the same – I don’t know why anyone would get married.’ She chuckled at her own wisdom, seemingly unaware of her audience.

‘Erm, Mum,’ said Ava. ‘We are all still here, you know – your husband and your engaged daughter. And her fiancé.’

‘Well, I didn’t mean us,’ said Jackie with an airy wave. ‘I just meant, you know, generally.’

It was exactly this kind of theatrical generalisation that most irritated Rob. Ava watched his jaw clench and braced herself for his analysis later.

Meanwhile, Lauren and Rory chuckled at Jackie’s ludicrous statement and started teasing her about whether she thought they ought to be getting married.

‘Ooh, that reminds me, Ava! I really want to talk to you about flowers before you go.’

‘Oh girls, you must! Flowers are so important at weddings.’

‘Thanks for that, Mum,’ said Lauren, rolling her eyes at her sister. ‘More much-needed advice for Ava, who as we all know really struggles with her floral know-how.’

‘You lot are so mean, I just want to pass on the wisdom of my great age.’

‘Yeah, you’re ancient,’ Lauren prodded her shoulder, ‘practically a crone.’

While they were teasing each other, Ava was wondering exactly what it was Lauren wanted to say about the flowers for her wedding. Would it be advice on getting a good florist, or was she about to ask her to do them herself? Ava was slightly dreading being asked as she knew it would be a fresh new level of stress, but then she didn’t want to be deemed not up to the job, or too ‘difficult’ either. She was about to ask, but the conversation had meanwhile galloped on to an analysis of how much better this summer’s village fête had been organised. Unsurprisingly, Andrew had some quite firm ideas, while Jackie had the inside track on who had fallen out with whom by the end of the day.

The meal itself proved as delicious as the gossip. Lauren had brought homemade pâté, which she proudly served on Jackie’s favourite Melba toasts before everyone tucked into an amazing piece of roast pork. The crackling was perfect, the gravy sublime and the roast potatoes crisp, comforting nuggets of heaven. Jackie beamed with pride to see them all enjoying it and seemed to puff up like a proud hen as she offered seconds around the table. Ava watched Rob load a second helping onto his plate. He took a mouthful, wiped a trickle of gravy from around his mouth, and then carried on chewing his meat, completely focused on his meal. She tried to imagine how he would look and behave once he was the same age as her dad, who was sitting there with his twinkly-eyed grin and booming laugh. Would she still know Rob when he was that age? Perhaps they’d be sitting like this with their own children one day? Was this where they were heading? It seemed impossible to imagine, but then Ava remembered those years when she had found it unfathomable that they would ever be boyfriend and girlfriend.

Halfway through the meal, relaxed and with the soothing food inside her, Ava felt overwhelmed by tiredness and decided to offer to drive home. She put a hand over her wine glass when Andrew offered her a second glass and whispered over to Rob, ‘You go ahead, I don’t mind driving back – I really don’t fancy drinking.’ At this, he eyed her with suspicion. Ava spotted this and felt as if someone had pinched her heart between finger and thumb. ‘Honestly,’ she told him, ‘just enjoy yourself.’ This wasn’t met with a smile, however, just a shrug and then ‘Fine.’

Ava got up to serve the pavlova. Everyone ooh-ed and ah-ed as she brought it to the table, and Jackie and Andrew seized the opportunity to give them all a rundown of how the various fruits in their little garden were coming along. The courgettes had been the stars of the season, the basil almost out of control during the heat of the summer, but the darling fig tree had let no one down either. Ava concentrated on dividing the meringue into equal portions, preventing the fruit from falling too far down the sides of each slice and letting the chatter wash over her. She was at the exact point where sad and relaxed meet, a resigned melancholy. It was as if the room were in soft focus as she passed a plate to each of them, sat back and enjoyed her pudding, half-listening to a conversation Jackie and Lauren were having about how to keep their jewellery clean. So intent were they on maintaining sparkle without causing damage, it was as if they were in some sort of Bling Club.

‘That ammonia diamond cleaning stuff absolutely stinks, doesn’t it?’ said Lauren.

‘Oh I know, it’s ghastly! Sometimes I have to put my eternity ring in the shed if I’m cooking,’ agreed Jackie. ‘I just can’t bear the smell of it in the house. But then one day I became incredibly nervous that a squirrel or a magpie or some other creature would find its way in there and either help itself to my diamonds or drink the stuff and die.’

‘So what do you do now?’

‘I make your father clean it when I’m at bridge.’

Andrew raised his eyes heavenwards and nodded.

‘It’s like a horrible window into my future,’ said Rory, with the kind of childlike smile that made it perfectly obvious that he loved all conversations about his finest hour: the engagement ring. As the table chuckled collectively, Ava glanced idly at what she called her ‘Dunne’s ring’, with its simple band and small stone. She felt her father’s broad hand pat her leg beneath the table before he leant in and whispered in her ear, ‘Your day will come, my darling. I have no doubt.’ At this, she stared down at her plate, ashamed to be once again comparing herself to Lauren, for whom she was genuinely happy. She felt the tears well up and blinked fast to do her best to quell them: she didn’t care about a wedding or even want a big ring, just a slice of the joy that Lauren and Rory seemed to share – the sense of being in the same boat together was what she envied, not the accompanying accessories.

As Ava looked up, she noticed Rob was staring at her curiously. For the first time all weekend she was completely unable to read what his face was saying. This in turn panicked her, not because she couldn’t tell, but because once she found it so easy to do so. She smiled at him and he smiled back, but each looked as if they had just told the other bad news. Tiredness turned to sadness as she stirred milk into her coffee.

The drive home was even more silent than the one there. Rob reached for the radio controls as soon as the car was out of the driveway and they had stopped waving to Jackie and Andrew. Once he found a books show on Radio 4, they listened to it intently for the entire journey, occasionally commenting companionably. The programme provided a conversational buoy that they clung to gratefully. Anything rather than drown in the mire of the things they suddenly needed to talk about. There was none of the resentment of earlier in the day, it was almost as if their situation was something they shared. At last they had found common ground again. Maybe now they could turn a corner.

Ava pulled up outside the house and turned the engine off.

‘Would you like me to come in?’ asked Rob.

He always stayed over on a Sunday night. They might never have chosen ‘their song’, but there had never been any doubt that Sunday night was ‘their night’. The fact that he even had to ask this question made feel Ava sad. Meanwhile, the sensation of cold, prickly anxiety running through her was increasing.

‘Of course, it’s Sunday.’ She smiled up at him. ‘I’m still really full, though. Not sure about cooking.’

‘Okay, no problem.’ He smiled back, politely.

Their new-found awkwardness continued as they reached the front door, each trying to hold it open for the other: the timidity of a first date, with none of the delicious tension. When they finally entered, both were tired and took their coats off with relief.

Ava went into the kitchen to put the container from the pavlova into the dishwasher and saw that it had not been emptied from last night’s curry. She scanned the room; it quickly became obvious that the ostentatious tidying up that Rob had been doing when she had returned from her run had been somewhat superficial. As she noticed this, she heard the insistent mosquito buzz of racing cars in the living room. Clearly Rob had decided to pop his feet up and catch up on Formula 1. Ava took a deep breath. She didn’t want to be that woman – the one who whinged on about the housework, only pausing to nag about commitment. That woman was everything she dreaded, becoming her was to be avoided at all costs.

She took a deep breath and went upstairs, where she lay down on the bed for a couple of hours, trying to read a book. It was soon replaced by the remainder of the morning’s papers, which she flicked through looking for something to distract her. Eventually she gave up and had a bath. By the time she came back downstairs in her pajamas and fluffy dressing gown they had been at opposite ends of her admittedly tiny house for almost three hours.

‘I’m going to make an omelette,’ she said, standing at the living-room door. ‘Would you like one?’

Rob looked up, displaying all the signs of having forgotten that she was in the house at all.

‘Ooh, yes please! And look – Morgan & Hughes is on.’

The regional detective show was one of Ava’s favourites – second only to Strictly in the cosy autumn TV watching schedules. They had spent many happy evenings together, with trays of comforting wintery food on their laps, trying to work out who the unlikely murderer was. (It was always the most famous of the weekly guest stars!)

‘But it’s already begun.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘I’ve missed the set up.’

‘You’ll catch up …’ He patted the sofa next to him, as if she were a cat.

But you didn’t call me, she wanted to say. You used to call me! She chose not to say anything – it seemed wiser at this point.

Fifteen minutes later she was snuggled next to Rob on the sofa, their omelettes eaten and an apple shared. They watched the programme in the same companionable silence as they had driven back from the Dunnes, as if they were the best flatmates in the world. Later, Rob had a shower while Ava got into bed and returned to her book. He returned from the bathroom wearing pajama bottoms and an old T-shirt, got into bed, kissed Ava on the forehead and rolled over before she had a chance to kiss him back.

‘Good night,’ she mouthed to herself as she leant over to turn off the bedside light. She lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling and listening to the rise and fall of Rob’s breathing.

Just before she fell asleep she realised that Lauren had never explained what she wanted for her wedding flowers.

Chapter Four

Monday, 29 August

Monday. A fresh new day, except it didn’t really feel like it after a muggy, restless night’s sleep. Ava struggled through the morning as if she were wading in treacle. All of the usual tasks seemed to take twice as long; part of the Dutch flower delivery was wrong when it arrived so they were swimming in an extraordinary amount of tulips. A small child, momentarily unwatched, had silently pulled the petals off several hydrangeas within the first hour of Dunne’s being open. She felt stifled in her own shop, her safe place, of which she was usually so proud and felt so at home in. Today it felt too hot, too small for her – it was as if summer had suddenly decided make its final effort.

By eleven o’clock, Ava had dropped a tin pail filled with stale flowery water. She watched with resignation as it spilled out onto the shop floor and all over her feet. The plimsolls she had on seemed particularly inappropriate footwear as she felt the water seep in, knowing they would now stink for a day or two. She remembered standing in front of her wardrobe only a few hours earlier, too tired and defeated to wear anything more sophisticated than the jeans and stripy T-shirt she had opted for. Why bother, she remembered thinking, no one will notice what you’re wearing. Now she regretted not putting on her patent leather ballet pumps.

With her soggy feet and her sour attitude, Ava was less than a ray of sunshine for the customers. She was usually cheered to see Mrs Lambert, an adorable old lady who lived alone in one of the town’s smarter houses and often came by to cheer herself up with flowers. Though old enough that she walked with a stick and her voiced had softened with age, she was always smartly dressed with her hair in neat curls and her jewellery on display. Unfailingly polite and always interested in Ava herself, she was one of her favourite customers. But today she dithered a little, apparently as tired as Ava was. She changed her mind once or twice about what she wanted in her bouquet and Ava would usually make suggestions and tell her what was fresh in but today she was forced to bite her tongue to avoid snapping at the old lady and hurrying her along. Flustered by the change in tone, Mrs Lambert dropped her wallet on the shop floor and Ava realised with a jolt that her impatience was not unnoticed.

‘Oh, let me get it, Mrs L …’ she bent down on the shop floor, her younger hands scooping up the coins from the slate tiles at twice the speed of Mrs Lambert’s arthritic fingers.

‘Thank you, dear,’ she said quietly.

‘I’m so sorry, here we go.’ Ava put the coins into the wallet and handed it to Mrs Lambert. ‘Don’t worry about the rest. I feel I’ve been rude this morning and I’m so sorry – I barely slept in this heat and I can hardly think straight.’ She waved her hand away as Mrs Lambert tried to pass her the few remaining pound coins.

‘Really, dear, that’s very kind but I’m perfectly happy to pay full price.’

‘Of course, please accept my apologies.’

‘I was wondering if you were feeling alright – you’re usually such a happy soul.’

‘One of those days but I’m sorry you bore the brunt of it.’

‘Don’t you worry,’ said Mrs Lambert, taking her flowers and standing as tall as she could. As Ava held the shop door open for her, she turned and looked at her. ‘Just you remember your worth, dear. Don’t go letting anyone take you for granted.’

Ava stood in the doorway, looking out across the square as Mrs Lambert walked away. How did she know to say that? Was she starting to look like a woman who was taken for granted, one of those who settled out of fear of being left alone? Despite the heat she shivered at the thought, then noticed Matt making his way back from the bank, having deposited some cheques.

‘Hello you, all done!’ he announced, as he headed into the shop with her.

‘You feeling better?’

‘Yes, thanks – Mrs Lambert’s so sweet. She’s so dignified, isn’t she?’

‘She’s a class act, boss, no mistake.’

‘Isn’t she just! I could do worse than end up like her.’

‘I don’t think you have to worry about that just yet, do you? Anyway, what about old Rob-o?’

‘Hmm …’ Ava stared into space and Matt quickly looked away.

‘Listen, do you want to go early again if I take a bit of a longer lunch break?’ she continued. She was suddenly keen to take a walk and clear her head, to be outside for a while and feel the breeze by the river.

‘Sure thing! I’ll give Amy a text now and see if she’s up for another driving lesson.’

‘Great! How’s that going, by the way?’

‘She’ll get there.’

‘I see – it’s like that, is it?’

‘Yeah, but you know, patience …’ Truly, Matt seemed to have a boundless supply of it.

‘She’s a lucky girl, I hope she knows that.’

‘Aw, she’s a doll!’

Ava smiled and reached for the canvas bag under her desk. ‘Right then, see you later.’

‘Sure thing, boss.’

Ava walked out into the market square and took a deep breath, determined to turn this suffocating day around. She crossed the square and headed to the Marshall’s, the deli. The husband-and-wife team who ran it were about her age, but had two small children yet they still seemed to work all hours, run a great little business and be astonishingly chirpy to each and every one of their customers. She had a ruddy, rosy, classic English complexion and a sturdy, earthy kind of sexiness. He was of similarly generous proportions – clearly they were a couple that enjoyed consuming their produce as much as selling it. Ava doubted she had ever seen either of them not smiling, and she had caught him pinching her bottom more than once. There was something of a modern-day Ma and Pa Larkin about them.

‘Morning, Ava!’ boomed Jeff Marshall as she entered the deli. ‘Glorious day, gorgeous! How can we help?’

Ava selected some fresh pasta as a bit of a treat, knowing she wouldn’t feel like proper cooking when she got home in this heat, and asked for a box of eggs from the Marshall’s hens, as well as a bunch of enormous-leaved basil.

‘How’s business then?’ asked Sandy in her soft West Country burr, as she bustled up to the till with Ava’s goodies all wrapped in neat paper packages.

‘Not too bad, it’s been a lovely summer. You?’

‘Yeah, can’t complain. And that sister of yours has her wedding coming up?’

‘Not for a few months yet – it’s exciting, though. We’re off to meet the dressmaker in a few days.’

‘Cutting it a bit fine, aren’t you?’ asked Sandy with a small frown.

Ava gave a small wince. ‘Well, yes. But you know Lauren, nothing but the best for her. She has a fancy dressmaker doing her dress and mine – she works on telly stuff like Bishopstone Park and this is her last wedding dress slot of the year. We’re very lucky, apparently.”

‘Goodness! And what about you? Been waiting a while!’ Just as Sandy spoke, it seemed the rest of the lunchtime hubbub in the deli went quiet. For a moment even the air seemed a little more still. Why did people care so much? Just because Lauren was engaged, or did they think something was wrong with her because she’d been with Rob for five years without them so much as living together, let alone getting engaged? For a moment Ava longed for the anonymity of London. She blushed and ran a hand through her hair.

‘Oh, you know. No rush!’ Her voice, intended to be breezily casual, sounded shrill and insincere.

‘Right you are, then.’ Sandy seemed to realise that she had overstepped the mark and gave Ava a big wink as she handed over the goods.

Ava left the shop and headed for one of the benches on the riverbank, looking forward to sitting in the sun with her sandwich. So what was the Marshalls’ secret? Why did they always seem so delighted by one another? Their youngest was easily four, which meant they must have been together for at least as long as Ava and Rob. The chances were they had been a couple for significantly longer and yet they behaved like newly weds. Had they ever collapsed into a rut, or did they genuinely find each other deliciously gorgeous every single day? Were their standards lower, were they more realistic, or did they simply manage to put on a better show in front of their customers?