Questions of Trust A Medical Romance - By Sam Archer Page 0,12

she was soaking in the details around her as she and Jake went about their daily lives in their new home, noting with a forensic eye the minutiae of Pemberham’s architecture, its rhythms, even the subtle quirks of its residents’ accents. All were potential raw material for her writing.

The noise grated through her thoughts again. She craned to look out the window but the sound seemed to be coming from somewhere round the front of the cottage.

Chloe swept Jake up from the floor and went to the front door. On the lane outside, a car Chloe recognised as Margaret McFarland’s, a somewhat clapped-out Volkswagen Beetle, was parked half-protruding from her neighbour’s driveway. Mrs McFarland stood beside it, staring down at it and muttering.

Chloe joined her. The Beetle’s front passenger tyre was flat. More than that, the rim had eaten through the rubber and was naked against the tarmac. It explained the noise Chloe had heard.

‘Och,’ growled the older woman. ‘All I need. I was just reversing out to go and do the shopping when it happened. No warning.’

Chloe thought the tyre must have been in a pretty threadbare state to begin with for the wheel to have broken through, but she didn’t say so. She asked, ‘Have you got a spare?’

‘No idea, pet,’ said Mrs McFarland without embarrassment.

Chloe passed Jake to the other woman – he’d got used to her over the last few days, as she’d popped round on a daily basis – and popped the bonnet. She found the spare wheel in its well, and was thankful to note that the tyre was in pristine condition. Chloe located the jack and wrench and hefted everything out on to the road.

‘What are you doing, dear?’ asked Mrs McFarland, bouncing Jake on her arm.

‘Changing your wheel.’

Mrs McFarland looked astonished. ‘Don’t we need to call someone for that?’

‘Why?’ Chloe found a rock to jam behind the rear wheel. ‘I’ve done it before.’

The hardest part, as always, was loosening the wheel nuts, and Chloe had to brace her foot against the wrench and piston her leg to get some movement. It was a warm day for spring, and by the time she was winding the jack she felt her shirt clinging to her back. Beside her Mrs McFarland watched in fascinated silence.

At the end, Chloe stood up, wiping the sweat from her face with the back of her arm, her hands and jeans grimed with grease. ‘All done,’ she said. ‘But you’ll need to get all the tyres replaced soon, I’m afraid. They’re on their last legs by the look of them.’

‘You’re quite the resourceful girl, aren’t you?’ Mrs McFarland was gazing at her in frank admiration.

Chloe hesitated. Mrs McFarland really shouldn’t be driving the car in a condition like that. ‘Come on. I’ll take you shopping.’

‘No, pet. It’s very kind of you to offer. But you’re busy. I don’t want to be a sponger. It’s a nice day, I can easily walk.’

‘Really, it’s no bother –’ But she could see the other woman meant what she said.

‘Come in for a cuppa, though? You look like you could do with one after all your hard work.’

Chloe accepted gratefully. She left Jake in the other woman’s charge while she washed her hands and face in the bathroom of Margaret’s cottage. Afterwards she helped with the tea things and they sat in Mrs McFarland’s kitchen.

‘Settling in?’ asked Mrs McFarland.

‘Yes, I think I am, rather,’ said Chloe. She told her neighbour about the article she’d had accepted by the Gazette, though she refrained from mentioning the possibility of a regular column. Mrs McFarland would probably start a campaign to have every single person in town write to say how much they enjoyed her initial article just so that the editor would be impressed enough to commission the column, and it could all get embarrassing. As it was, the older woman was effusive in her praise.

‘To think! A famous writer, living next door to me!’

‘Well, I wouldn’t go as far as that,’ smiled Chloe.

‘Oh, don’t put yourself down, dear,’ said Mrs McFarland. ‘The people who lived here before you were so dull, they were practically fossilised.’

She went on to describe several of her circles of friends and told Chloe how excited they were at the prospect of meeting her. Chloe’s heart sank a little. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to cope with a whole bevy of ladies like Margaret McFarland.

As the teapot emptied and the plate of biscuits became increasingly depleted, Chloe began to make