as Olive called her) telling her that Olive had left the kettle on.
Maddie looked around the room. There was a framed black and white photo on the small side table – a smiling, gutsy-looking woman with her head thrown back in laughter in a fifties floral dress, pinched in at the waist – clutching the handles of a bicycle with a basket. It had been taken on the Isle of Wight. Olive had told her it was when she was ‘courting’ her husband, Stan. Where was that woman now, that life? Maddie scanned the room. She was here, her world reduced to a few photos and memories within four touch-of-lemon walls in matte.
‘Yes, Olive?’ Maddie sat back in the chair and crossed her legs.
‘Ed’s living his life and I think you need to too. You don’t want to have any regrets, do you? Especially not any big ones.’ She narrowed her eyes at Maddie.
Somehow this eighty-seven-year-old could see right through her, and what Maddie wanted to know was: how did she know?
6
She walked home with a new sense of purpose. No more regrets. She was going to mend her ways with Tim and she was going to take charge of her life.
She knew Tim would be tired tonight. It was either sales conferences or visiting bespoke wine outlets across the UK on Tuesdays. Her shoes sunk into the chippy stones on their front path, crunching the gravel beneath. He worked very hard. And she was extremely grateful. Wasn’t she?
Once she’d shut the door behind her and patted the frenzied terrier (and done a double take over how bad his halitosis was today – she must book him into the vet), she realised her phone was buzzing.
It was Rachel. ‘Maddie, how are you? What time shall I meet you tonight?’ She could always lift Maddie’s spirits, with her lively voice. Rachel had been the one to get her to go to choir earlier that summer. Once Ed leaves home you’ll need something else. She’d known Rachel ever since they dented each other’s cars as they were both reversing out of the tiny car park at the back of the corner shop. Rachel Andrews-Lee it had said on the Police Witness form, and Maddie had thought she’d be aloof and tricky to deal with – but it turned out swapping details led to coffee, which had led to a firm friendship. Neither had pursued the insurance claim. Rachel had lived in Little Rowland forever, and was married to ‘her rock’, Alan, who ran a small catering business.
‘Hi, Rach. I’m bushed! Feeling ancient!’ Maddie sat down with a sigh.
‘Less of that! You’re only forty-one!’ screeched Rachel. ‘Next you’ll be telling me you’re buying “comfy shoes”!’
Maddie peered down at her brown brogues.
‘Very funny. OK, see you about eight.’
She wandered into the kitchen to put the kettle on. Taffie was bouncing up and down by her feet, so she opened the back door. He ran out to the back garden as a cool breeze came in, along with some leaves, dancing in the doorway whilst her mind drifted to the first day of next term. Usually she got excited about it, couldn’t wait. Now… she felt – what? Well, exhausted, really. Bored. She’d started as a voluntary teaching assistant, then, a paid job came up as a dinner lady. You can’t do that, Maddie, Tim had said at the time. Why ever not? she’d swiped back at him.
You don’t need to earn; I can support us both.
But I want to work, she’d said, I want to have my own money, my independence. He’d looked her up and down and marched out of the room. That was seven years ago – it all started because Ed was changing, the umbilical cord was getting looser .
She heard the key turn in the lock and something inside her twitched. She took a deep breath and forced her shoulders to lower themselves as she heard Tim, his heels clip-clipping on the wooden floorboards. Be a good wife.
‘Hi, darling.’ He was up behind her before she could turn around. She felt him snake his hands around her waist and hold her close. There was a fragrance she didn’t recognise.
‘Hello. Cup of tea?’ she said.
He kissed her on the head and let go. ‘Nope. I’ll just have a white wine – there’s a new one here I want to try. Fancy some?’
He knew she didn’t like white wine – just red or Prosecco or sometimes vodka and tonic; it drove him