turned out to have quite a wild side. Blonde hair askew, pale blue eyes on fire, a button of her already overstretched shirt popping undone, she’d slammed Peggy’s arm down on the table then punched the air, roaring, ‘Yes!’ Her halo definitely hitting the deck. Luke, hooting with laughter, had swept her into his arms where she’d clung like a slug, planting a smacker on his lips. As I say, we were all very tight.
‘Yes, but if anyone’s allowed to flirt with Pete, it’s me; he’s my farrier,’ Angie said petulantly. ‘She’s supposed to fancy Angus.’
‘Peggy flirts with everyone,’ I soothed, recalling how strangely watchful Peggy had been as Angie had flounced out. ‘Good,’ she’d observed to me quietly, taking a thoughtful drag of her cigarette. ‘Important to save Angie from herself sometimes, don’t you think? Nice to see her having a bit of fun, but we don’t want her making a complete fool of herself.’ I’d blinked in surprise. A bit of me had even wondered if Peggy had a master plan going here; if this seemingly frivolous book club she’d organized for her friends had a deeper design. One which made us turn around and take a close look at ourselves, at our motives. Before I had time to reply, though, Peggy had disappeared down to the other end of the room, where she was busy organizing a team game which involved popping a coin down a shirt and jigging about until it appeared from trouser leg or skirt, then passing it on. Simon’s coin would keep getting stuck on the way so Peggy was instructing him in the fine art of helping it along. The porcelain expert’s face had been one of pure delight, and as Peggy threw her head back and roared, I’d thought: no, no master plan. Unless it just involved getting her friends laughing again.
‘Simon was nice, wasn’t he?’ mused Jennie, cradling her mug and gazing out of the window, a distant smile on her face. ‘Remember him hopping around on the sofa, trying to dislodge the coin?’
‘What coin?’ said Angie grumpily.
‘He really loosened up,’ Jennie went on distractedly. ‘His family home is in the next village, that’s why he’s standing for candidacy round here. He stayed there last night. He loves this part of the world. “My little corner of England” he calls it.’ She smiled, remembering. ‘In fact he said he might not wait to buy a cottage, might rent and commute into town.’
‘Why isn’t he married?’ demanded Angie. ‘He must be over thirty. He’s not gay, is he?’
‘There’s someone he never got over, apparently. He’d known her for ages, first girlfriend and all that, and they were going to get married a few years back; they were engaged and everything, but she kept postponing the wedding. It turned out she’d fallen for someone else. He told me all about it. I really liked that about him,’ Jennie observed. ‘His lack of guile. The way he didn’t try to build himself up. Some people wouldn’t have mentioned they’d been ditched but he’s not like that. He’s a really nice man, actually.’
We digested this quietly. ‘Bit smooth for me,’ Angie sniffed eventually, disingenuously too, I thought. She’d done quite a lot of hair-flicking when she’d talked to Simon. She made a pious face and helped herself to the percolator.
‘I like smooth,’ Jennie said with feeling. ‘Haven’t had smooth for years. Decades. Ever. Could very easily get used to smooth.’
I tried not to notice her hands were clenched; just as, last night, as I’d wandered back through the village at midnight, I’d tried not to notice that Simon, as I reached my gate, had just left Jennie’s. I’d been in time to see Jennie disappear inside as Simon turned to walk the two miles up the hill to his parents’ home in Wessington, presumably leaving his car at Peggy’s. A moonlit walk. A contemplative walk, perhaps. Whilst Jennie had gone inside and up the stairs in her dark, sleep-filled house, feeling just a little bit warmer, a little bit happier. And what was wrong with that?
‘You won’t be getting used to anything,’ Angie reminded her brutally. ‘You’re married.’
‘Yes, I know. To Toad.’ Jennie threw back her head and scratched it energetically with both hands. ‘Oh, I’m not about to leap into bed with the man, Angie, but surely this old heart of mine is allowed to quicken occasionally? Even skip a beat? Allow me a little extra-marital flirting, please. It’s surely not a crime