A Desirable Residence - By Madeleine Wickham Page 0,36

Doc Martens, shoving the leaflets grumpily into letterboxes. And she’d averted her eyes from the words on the front of the leaflets; unwilling to show any interest in the subject, even by accident. It was all about the awful Christmas environment parade, that happened every year. If they tried to make her go on that again, they really had to be joking.

They’d finished up in the furthermost reaches of West Silchester, each with two empty carrier bags and a list of streets ticked off and a collection of rubber bands which had gone round the bundles of leaflets.

‘Good work, Carruthers,’ said Jonathan, which was what he said every time. ‘Now let’s get back to headquarters for hot chocolate and rations.’ Alice twitched in annoyance.

‘Actually,’ she said, before she could think about it, ‘I’ve got to get some things. I’ll see you later.’

‘Oh.’ He sounded taken aback, and Alice felt a pouring sensation of guilt and irritation at herself. So what if they traditionally went back home for a huge tea after the leaflets? It wasn’t such a big deal. She felt a pinkness in her cheeks; an imminent embarrassment; the sort she used to have at school whenever she was about to put up her hand.

‘See you at home,’ she muttered, beginning to walk off.

‘Yes, of course,’ said Jonathan. ‘Well, thank you, darling. You were a big help.’

Alice pretended not to hear, and strode off before her father could ask what she needed to get or suggest coming along with her. It was almost worse being praised for doing something than actually having to do it.

She’d arrived at Russell Street in a few minutes, and gone straight into the garage. Now she looked around, exhaling a cloud of smoke, waiting for her customary feeling of satisfaction. But the garage seemed even colder today than it normally did. As she sat down dolefully on the cushions, staring out through the crack in the door at the darkening sky, she felt a strange sense of gloom come over her. She’d been so anxious to get here; so anxious not to go home with her father. But now . . . it wasn’t so great. She looked at her watch. Ten to six. She pulled her jacket around her, and sat rigid, staring sternly ahead. She would stay for another twenty minutes, she promised herself. And she would have two more cigarettes. And then she would go.

Ginny, Piers, and Duncan arrived back at twelve Russell Street at six o’clock. After a morning spent unpacking and arranging, they had gone into Silchester to get some food and look around. Duncan had insisted on buying a long list of exotic ingredients for that evening’s supper, which had inevitably meant trekking about until they eventually found a delicatessen, which was about to close. It had taken all his persuasive powers to get them an extension of ten minutes, during which he asked for brands which the salesgirl had never heard of and fingered packets and bottles with an air of slight disappointment.

‘Well, if this is the provinces . . .’ he said expressively, as they came up the garden path. ‘I mean, their range of olive oils was pitiful.’

‘Duncan,’ said Ginny threateningly. ‘Piers, have you got the key?’

‘I know, I know, I’m sorry,’ said Duncan. ‘It’s all lovely. I’m going to adore it here.’

It had been Piers who suggested Duncan should rent a room from them in Silchester for a while. After all, his lease in Fulham was coming to an end; he didn’t have any work; they could do with the money. Duncan had stood in the kitchen, not quite hiding, while Piers threw these arguments at Ginny. She was tired, she’d just come home from work and she had wet feet from the rain. She’d agreed without really taking in what was being said.

Now she stood, and looked appraisingly at Duncan waiting on the path.

‘You’re not going to be trouble, are you?’ she said.

‘Trouble? What kind of trouble?’

‘I don’t know.’ She looked at him sideways, affection not entirely masking a growing suspicion. ‘Just remember, you’re on probation.’

‘Oh yes, I know. I’m going to be good, I promise.’ He paused. ‘By the way,’ he added casually, ‘I asked Ian Everitt over tonight. As a sort of housewarming.’

‘Duncan! You didn’t!’

‘Oh, for God’s sake, Duncan!’

Alice heard raised voices from inside the garage, and cautiously went to the door. She opened it enough to poke her head out, and looked carefully round the corner. At first she couldn’t