Freya North - Chances

‘Scamp.’

‘Bless him.’

‘He’ll go far.’

‘He’s a boy genius.’

‘You would say that. You’re his mother.’

‘You’ll be like that about Amelia.’

‘Oh, I already am – she may be only nine months old but you do know she’s the most beautiful child ever to have been born and staggeringly gifted too.’

‘Come on, bloody traffic.’

Candy passed Michelle her phone. ‘Let her know we’re going to be late. Tell her it’ll give her time to wrap Jake’s present.’

‘V, it’s Mushroom – yes, late as always. Actually, it’s traffic this time. Honestly! We’re on our way – with wine and delectables from Marks and Sparks. See you in a mo’.’

‘Is delectables a word?’ Candy asked.

‘It’s perfect.’

‘Mrs Sherlock, don’t you think you’re too old to be called Mushroom?’

‘She couldn’t pronounce Michelle when she was little. Granted, it’s not the most beguiling of nicknames.’

‘But you like it.’

‘I do.’

‘And yet you call her V, which she hates.’

‘I know.’

‘She gave me short shrift the one and only time I tried it.’

‘I’ve known her my whole life – you’ve only known her since school, remember.’

‘Ner ner!’ Candy laughed. Then she paused. ‘I haven’t actually seen her since the Easter egg event at her shop. It’ll be good to see what else she’s done to the house – though I can’t believe there was any more minging old carpet to rip up. And there’s only so many times you can paint a wall white.’

‘She’ll put the colour back into her life when she’s ready, Candy.’

‘Or subtle shades of Farrow and Ball – I bought her a subscription to LivingEtc for Christmas.’

‘I bought her a deckchair emblazoned with “Keep Calm and Carry On”.’

For Candy and Michelle, seeing Vita barefoot was a great sight. Not that she had particularly stunning feet – just that, to her closest friends, it made her look so at home, standing on her doorstep with no shoes on. It also spoke of the warm weather, that summer was truly coming, that socks wouldn’t be needed for months, indoors or out.

Michelle and Candy waxed lyrical about the Victorian tiles on the front doorstep even though most were cracked or chipped, and as soon as they were over the threshold, they continued their assault of compliments, gushing about the floorboards as if Vita had sawn them herself instead of simply ripping up the old carpets. Both had been to the cottage many times and could see that she’d done little more to it since they were last there. Still, they cooed over her soft furnishings, ran their hands over windowsills and doors and told her the kitchen smelt amazing, even though she was merely heating up the finger food they’d brought with them.

Their enthusiasm was excessive – especially as neither saw her staying there indefinitely. They saw the cottage as a good, solid foothold on her road to independence, a good thing financially – she’d bought just at the right time – but ultimately wouldn’t the hip-and-happening canal-side development better suit a single woman in her mid-thirties?

‘Let’s eat outside,’ Vita said.

‘Have you done much to the garden?’

‘Come and see.’

Michelle and Candy brought out a kitchen chair each and Vita followed with cushions. To make room for the extra chairs, Vita scurried about moving the pots of pansies, a galvanized trough with chives and thyme doing well, a trowel and a plastic watering can. The deckchair that Michelle had bought her was positioned to catch the last of the sun that lingered on the small paved area right outside the kitchen door as if blessing it. It couldn’t really be called a patio – just as the small patch of grass couldn’t be called a lawn; nor could the bed which ran the short length to the back of the garden be called a herbaceous border. But Vita’s friends noted the planting she’d done – just busy-lizzies and geraniums but a quick colour fix to welcome the summer nonetheless.

‘I really need a table – sorry, laps’ll have to do.’

‘What’s in the shed at the back?’

‘Spiders.’

Back in midwinter, when she’d first shown them around, Vita had gone on and on about trees being the cathedrals of the natural world while Candy had described the pear tree as more like a derelict sixties tower block. The tree had seemed so dark, so overbearing and ominous with its thrust and scratch of bare branches, its dense trunk. Today, it struck Michelle and Candy as a more benign presence, like an over-the-top prop at a Hollywood wedding, billowing with blossom which wafted down gently around them like confetti, like manna, like fake snow in a department-store window display at Christmas. Soft and pretty – if you ignored the little brown bits which were surprisingly itchy. Vita, however, was grinning at it inanely.

‘Who needs acreage and fancy shrubs when you have something like that in the garden,’ she said. ‘The tree is the garden!’

‘Can you imagine the amount of pears you’re going to have,’ said Candy, with slight unease. She wasn’t entirely sure whether each flower on Vita’s tree equalled a future fruit.

‘I know!’ she said, ignoring the point. ‘I thought I might try making chutney or something, perhaps a cordial – and I could bottle it and do labels and sell it in the shop.’

‘Tim’ll love that,’ Candy said under her breath.

‘I heard that,’ Vita said.

‘How is the charming son-of-a?’ Candy asked.

The pause that ensued really should have been long enough for Candy to check in with Michelle and note a glower which said, Don’t go there. But she didn’t. She was picking petals from her wine.

‘I miss the company but I don’t miss him,’ Vita announced brightly, a mantra she’d trained herself to deliver. ‘It’s a bugger about the business – but neither of us can afford to buy the other out.’

‘You wouldn’t sell to him, would you?’

‘I’d rather have That Shop to myself. But I can’t afford it.’

‘How’s his day job?’

Vita shrugged. ‘I don’t know how much marketing consultants are wanted – or worth – in a recession.’

‘Here’s to you,’ said Candy, ‘not him.’ She chinked her glass against Vita’s.

‘And you.’

‘May a gallant knight ride by soon and sweep you off your feet.’

‘No, thanks,’ said Vita.

‘A bit of rough, then?’

Vita laughed. ‘I think I should be on my own for a while, actually.’

‘Yay! Girl power and women’s lib and all that.’

Candy always had the other two giggling.

‘It’s warm, isn’t it. I can’t believe there’s going to be a heatwave – when we’ve just raided the piggy bank to go to Florida this summer,’ said Michelle.

‘I’m going to have a staycation,’ said Vita, ‘here in my garden.’

‘Gathering pears and churning chutney?’ said Candy.

‘How delightfully Thomas Hardy,’ said Michelle.

‘Oh shit! The spring rolls!’ Vita darted back into the kitchen to rescue them.

‘Don’t tell her,’ Michelle said to Candy.

‘Don’t tell her about what?’ Candy said to Michelle.

‘About Tim,’ Michelle said to Candy as if she was dense.

‘Don’t tell me what about Tim?’ Vita said to both of them, standing there with a plate of spring rolls so over-cooked they looked like cigarillos.

‘Oh, nothing,’ said Candy. ‘I do love busy-lizzies.’

‘They’re called Impatiens,’ said Michelle.

‘Stop changing the subject,’ said Vita, hiding growing unease behind a larky tone.

‘Actually – you know what? It’s no bad thing for her to hear,’ Candy said to Michelle who turned her head and stared stubbornly at the old fence that looked as though it was staggering along at the back of the garden.