Alex Hines - Chance

‘Hi, Dad!’

‘Hello, darling,’ he said, as he walked to her door and opened it for her.

‘How are you? Business good?’

‘Yes, thank you, and how are you ?’ She hugged him tightly as he helped her with her bag, then she reached into the back of the car to collect the pudding she had brought with her.

‘Everything seems under control here – the courgettes are coming along well. Your mother is thrilled !’

He turned to Rob, who was pointing his keys at the car to set the alarm. ‘Hello Rob, old chap, good to see you – and on time for once!’ At this, he let out a great belly laugh and Rob smiled the smile of a man heading into court.

‘I’m fine, thank you, Andrew. And yes, we are on time – although if we’d driven at Ava’s speed of choice I think we’d still be somewhere on the A303 right now!’

She shot him a glance. Not right now, please can we just get through lunch? Rob avoided her gaze.

All three headed into the kitchen, with Andrew holding the door wide for Ava and Rob to make an entrance. Ava was holding a large pavlova overflowing with the last of the summer fruit. She had painstakingly assembled it the night before and was relieved to see it had somehow survived Rob’s driving, safe in the special container her mother had given her for Christmas. Though sagging a little, possibly in sympathy with its creator, it was more than passable. Rob looked almost bride-like, carrying a huge bunch of perfect creamy white calla lilies. He strutted into the room and presented them to Jackie with a flourish as if he had taken the time to organise them himself; that Ava had gone out of her way to get in a few extra of her mother’s favourite flowers on the Saturday order seemed of little consequence.

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.