Maddie Please - The Summer of Second Chances - The laugh-out-loud romantic comedy

‘I’ve no idea, he has a silly thing with blood, I never take much notice. It just encourages him.’

‘Ah, well it was some time ago. OK. I just…well perhaps I’ll catch up with Bryn later.’

‘I wouldn’t bother if I were you. He doesn’t like visitors. As a rule. He’s a very private person. We both are.’

I had the feeling she was delivering some subliminal message but I didn’t quite get it.

Bonnie picked up a battered copy of the Yellow Pages with the tips of her fingers and looked at the cover as though it was written in Swahili.

‘Not after all the trouble with Mrs Webster next door,’ she continued, her voice casually silky. She fired me a sharp look filled with meaning and I shrugged.

‘Mrs Webster had a… thing for Bryn, I’m afraid. She seemed to think there was something between them. Obviously not, but a lot of women…well let’s just say she was punching way above her not inconsiderable weight.’

‘Ah.’

‘Yes, I’m sure you understand .’

Open brackets he’s mine so keep your paws off close brackets.

There didn’t seem much to say after that so I made my way back to Holly Cottage, noticing again with a twinge of envy how beautifully kept Ivy Cottage’s gardens were in comparison to my own.

There were drifts of new colour along the borders as the first of the spring flowers began to bloom; I could glimpse regimented rows of bamboo canes and a trellis laden with burgeoning something. I wished for a moment that I could sneak in and take a proper look. Perhaps if Bonnie hadn’t been there I might have risked it.

I went to the end of the garden and leaned over the fence and was startled when my mobile rang. It was Jess. I had received some texts and a couple of emails but this was the first phone call I’d had for a while.

‘At last! How’s it going, Lottie? Are you OK?’ She sounded just as scatty as ever. I could almost imagine her twirling her hair around her fingers and looking in the mirror for non-existent wrinkles as she spoke to me.

‘I’ve been trying to ring you for days. The signal down there is pants.’

‘Yes, fine, I’ve just been cleaning. I was wondering what to do with the junk in the garden?’

‘Greg will take it away. He’s on his way over in the van. That’s why I’m ringing. He’ll drop off your stuff and load up.’

Her voice sounded odd, as though she was putting on mascara as she was talking.

‘I don’t even know where the tip is. And there’s a stinking wet carpet…’

‘Oh, Lottie! Stop panicking. Greg will sort it out. He’s got that paint for you too. The chalky stuff you wanted. Mouse’s Bum and Coco something. Greg says they are grey and beige and I’m round the bend; thirty pounds for a tin when he can get big tubs of trade white for a fiver. His idea of cutting-edge design is woodchip and magnolia. I told him to beak out of it. I know you’re going to make the place look fab. I hope you’re still up for it?’

‘Yes, of course I am. Bring it on. I’m having a great time. ’

‘Greg might measure up for the new carpets when he gets there. He knows a bloke who will do him a deal. For God’s sake don’t let him buy brown, he doesn’t think there’s any other colour. What did you have in your old hallway? With the stripy wallpaper? Do you remember?’

‘Can’t remember, it was called Pumice, I think.’

I thought back. But all I could remember was that New Year’s Eve party.

Greg and Jess Palmer had been the last to arrive that night, bringing with them their own style and dress code. Their arrival almost caused Ian to trample on his other guests, he was so eager to get to them. Greg stood out in a smooth and expensive-looking dark suit and Jess looked like a high-end stripper in red sequins and studded stilettos. Ian wasn’t actually drooling but it was a pretty close thing.

‘I love this house,’ she purred as she slipped off her (at least I think it was fake) fur, revealing gleaming bronzed shoulders and most of her bosom. ‘Greg and I viewed a place just up the road when we was looking to move here. We always hoped this one would come on the market, if I’m honest. How long did you say you’d lived here?’

‘Nearly eight years, although Ian has been here about ten,’ I said.

We were becoming good friends by this point and now Ian had managed to get his hooks into Greg I had the feeling we might progress from just seeing the Palmers occasionally in the paper shop, the gym and the golf club to seeing a lot of them over the next few months as Ian and Greg blue-sky-thought together as to how best to invest Greg’s money.

‘I love this,’ she said, running a tiny hand over my striped grey wallpaper, ‘and the lighting too. And I really love the colour of that carpet. It’s really classy, ain’t it, Gregsy?’

‘I have a thing about lighting,’ I said. ‘I hate seeing the light bulbs.’

‘You got a great eye for design. You could give me some tips once the en suites are finished. Greg wants to put seagull wallpaper in one and ducks in the other. No, don’t laugh, he’s perfectly serious. Even I can see that’s naff. I only ever do white and cream with lots of gold accents. It doesn’t look the same over here though. Not like it did in Spain. More duller. Must be the lack of sunshine,’ Jess said.

‘Well, the Met Office says we are in for a BBQ summer,’ I said.

‘Really?’ Jess looked hopeful. Her blue eyes gazed at me, lash extensions fluttering.

‘They’re usually wrong so don’t get your hopes up just yet.’ I held out a platter of vol-au-vents and Jess reeled away as though I was offering her strychnine.

‘Oh dear, no thanks, I mustn’t. I get a bit funny about carbs after seven o’clock,’ she said, patting her non-existent tummy. She fished about on the plate for a celery baton and nibbled it, shoulders hunched. Her expression of robust enjoyment was one I usually reserved for cake but I suppose we can’t all be the same.

‘So when are you planning to rent out Holly Cottage again?’ I said.

Jess spoke through stretched lips this time, as though she was putting on lipstick. ‘Oh I don’t know. I’m still not sure what I want to do. I did think of selling it. Anyway. See how we go. A couple of months, maybe?’

‘You mustn’t let me get in the way of that,’ I said.

‘Lottie, I’m just grateful you’ve taken this off my hands. It’s no good asking Greg’s men to do it, they would just slap up some lining paper, paint it with whatever was left over from another job, shove in some off cuts of carpet and it would look rubbish in no time and I’d be back to square one. Look, I’d better go. I’ve got heaps to do here. Greg should be arriving with you soon anyway and – um – Bryn’s not about, is he?’

‘No, I haven’t seen him for a while. I don’t know where he is. There’s someone called Bonnie here though.’

‘Bonnie? Why the…Oh, of course, I remember – Bryn’s gone to Chelsea. Just as well.’

I frowned. ‘Why?’

‘Oh nothing. Look, I’ll shoot off now, there’s someone at the door. And whatever you do, don’t give Greg any cake!’

Jess ended the call, leaving me more than a bit confused. Bryn and Greg were brothers, weren’t they? So why should it be good that Bryn wasn’t there? And he’d gone to Chelsea? What was he doing in Chelsea? He didn’t look like a footballer. Did he?

Twenty minutes later I heard the unfamiliar sound of a vehicle driving up the lane and stopping. I peered through the sitting-room window, holding my breath. The view down towards the village was glorious; especially now the local farmer had cut back the hedges. I could see all the way to the church and the sunlight was glinting off the gold-painted weather vane on the top. But even after all this time I still felt the same plunge of dread when the phone rang or people came to the house unexpectedly. Today there was nothing to worry about; it was just Greg in his white van. I sighed with relief and went to open the front door.